13118 ---- PROFILES FROM CHINA Sketches in Free Verse of People and Things Seen in the Interior by EUNICE TIETJENS 1917 To My Mother CONTENTS PROEM The Hand FROM THE INTERIOR Cormorants A Scholar The Story Teller The Well The Abandoned God The Bridge The Shop My Servant The Feast The Beggar Interlude The City Wall Woman Our Chinese Acquaintance The Spirit Wall The Most-Sacred Mountain The Dandy New China: The Iron Works Spring Meditation Chinese New Year ECHOES Crepuscule Festival of the Dragon Boats Kang Yi Poetics A Lament of Scarlet Cloud The Son of Heaven The Dream Fêng-Shui CHINA OF THE TOURISTS Reflections in a Ricksha The Camels The Connoisseur: An American Sunday in the British Empire: Hong Kong On the Canton River Boat The Altar of Heaven The Chair Ride The Sikh Policeman: a British Subject The Lady of Easy Virtue: an American In the Mixed Court: Shanghai Proem Profiles from China The Hand As you sit so, in the firelight, your hand is the color of new bronze. I cannot take my eyes from your hand; In it, as in a microcosm, the vast and shadowy Orient is made visible. Who shall read me your hand? You are a large man, yet it is small and narrow, like the hand of a woman and the paw of a chimpanzee. It is supple and boneless as the hands wrought in pigment by a fashionable portrait painter. The tapering fingers bend backward. Between them burns a scented cigarette. You poise it with infinite daintiness, like a woman under the eyes of her lover. The long line of your curved nail is fastidiousness made flesh. Very skilful is your hand. With a tiny brush it can feather lines of ineffable suggestion, glints of hidden beauty. With a little tool it can carve strange dreams in ivory and milky jade. And cruel is your hand. With the same cold daintiness and skill it can devise exquisite tortures, eternities of incredible pain, that Torquemada never glimpsed. And voluptuous is your hand, nice in its sense of touch. Delicately it can caress a quivering skin, softly it can glide over golden thighs.... Bilitis had not such long nails. Who can read me your hand? In the firelight the smoke curls up fantastically from the cigarette between your fingers which are the color of new bronze. The room is full of strange shadows. I am afraid of your hand.... From the Interior Cormorants The boats of your masters are black; They are filthy with the slimy filth of ages; like the canals on which they float they give forth an evil smell. On soiled perches you sit, swung out on either side over the scummy water--you who should be savage and untamed, who should ride on the clean breath of the sea and beat your pinions in the strong storms of the sea. Yet you are not held. Tamely you sit and willingly, ten wretches to a boat, lurching and half asleep. Around each throat is a ring of straw, a small ring, so that you may swallow only small things, such as your masters desire. Presently, when you reach the lake, you will dive. At the word of your masters the parted waters will close over you and in your ears will be the gurgling of yellow streams. Hungrily you will search in the darkened void, swiftly you will pounce on the silver shadow.... Then you will rise again, bearing in your beak the struggling prey, And your lousy lords, whose rings are upon your throats, will take from you the catch, giving in its place a puny wriggler which can pass the gates of straw. Such is your servitude. Yet willingly you sit, lurching and half asleep. The boatmen shout one to another in nasal discords. Lazily you preen your great wings, eagle wings, built for the sky; And you yawn.... Faugh! The sight of you sickens me, divers in inland filth! You grow lousy like your lords, For you have forgotten the sea. Wusih A Scholar You sit, chanting the maxims of Confucius. On your head is a domed cap of black satin and your supple hands with their long nails are piously folded. You rock to and fro rhythmically. Your voice, rising and falling in clear nasal monosyllables, flows on steadily, monotonously, like the flowing of water and the flowering of thought. You are chanting, it seems, of the pious conduct of man in all ages, And I know you for a scoundrel. None the less the maxims of Confucius are venerable, and your voice pleasant. I listen attentively.... Wusih The Story Teller In a corner of the market-place he sits, his face the target for many eyes. The sombre crowd about him is motionless. Behind their faces no lamp burns; only their eyes glow faintly with a reflected light. For their eyes are on his face. It alone is alive, is vibrant, moving bronze under a sun of bronze. The taut skin, like polished metal, shines along his cheek and jaw. His eyes cut upward from a slender nose, and his quick mouth moves sharply out and in. Artful are the gestures of his mouth, elaborate and full of guile. When he draws back the bow of his lips his face is like a mask of lacquer, set with teeth of pearl, fantastic, terrible.... What strange tale lives in the gestures of his mouth? Does a fox-maiden, bewitching, tiny-footed, lure a scholar to his doom? Is an unfilial son tortured of devils? Or does a decadent queen sport with her eunuchs? I cannot tell. The faces of the people are wooden; only their eyes burn dully with a reflected light. I shall never know. I am alien ... alien. Nanking The Well The Second Well under Heaven lies at the foot of the Sacred Mountain. Perhaps the well is sacred because it is clean; or perhaps it is clean because it is sacred. I cannot tell. At the bottom of the well are coppers and coins with square holes in them, thrown thither by devout hands. They gleam enticingly through the shallow water. The people crowd about the well, leaning brown covetous faces above the coping as my copper falls slantwise to rest. Perhaps it will bring me luck, who knows? It is a very sacred well. Or perhaps, when it is quite dark, someone who is hungry.... Then the luck will be his! The Village of the Mud Idols The Abandoned God In the cold darkness of eternity he sits, this god who has grown old. His rounded eyes are open on the whir of time, but man who made him has forgotten him. Blue is his graven face, and silver-blue his hands. His eyebrows and his silken beard are scarlet as the hope that built him. The yellow dragon on his rotting robes still rears itself majestically, but thread by thread time eats its scales away, And man who made him has forgotten him. For incense now he breathes the homely smell of rice and tea, stored in his anteroom; For priests the busy spiders hang festoons between his fingers, and nest them in his yellow nails. And darkness broods upon him. The veil that hid the awful face of godhead from the too impetuous gaze of worshippers serves in decay to hide from deity the living face of man, So god no longer sees his maker. Let us drop the curtain and be gone! I am old too, here in eternity. Pa-tze-kiao The Bridge The Bridge of the Eight Scholars spans the canal narrowly. On the gray stone of its arch are carvings in low relief, and the curve of its span is pleasing to the eye. No one knows how old is the Bridge of the Eight Scholars. In our house-boat we pass under it. The boatman with the rat-like face twists the long broken-backed oar, churning the yellow water, and we creep forward steadily. On the bridge the village is assembled. Foreign devils are a rarity. The gold-brown faces are not unfriendly, merely curious. They peer in rows over the rail with grunts of nasal interest. Tentatively, experimentally, as we pass they spit down upon us. Not that they wish us ill, but it can be done, and the temptation is too great. We retire into the house-boat. The roof scrapes as we pass under the span of the Bridge of the Eight Scholars. Pa-tze-kiao The Shop (The articles sold here are to be burned at funerals for the use of the dead in the spirit world.) The master of the shop is a pious man, in good odor with the priests. He is old and honorable and his white moustache droops below his chin. Mencius, I think, looked so. The shop behind him is a mimic world, a world of pieties and shams--the valley of remembrance--the dwelling place of the unquiet dead. Here on his shelves are ranged the splendor and the panoply of life, silk in smooth gleaming rolls, silver in ingots, carving and embroidery and jade, a scarlet bearer-chair, a pipe for opium.... Whatever life has need of, it is here, And it is for the dead. Whatever life has need of, it is here. Yet it is here in sham, in effigy, in tortured compromise. The dead have need of silk. Yet silk is dear, and there are living backs to clothe. The rolls are paper.... Do not look too close. The dead I think will understand. The carvings, too, the bearer-chair, the jade--yes, they are paper; and the shining ingots, they are tinsel. Yet they are made with skill and loving care! And if the priest knows--surely he must know!-- when they are burned they'll serve the dead as well as verities. So living mouths can feed. The master of the shop is a pious man. He has attained much honor and his white moustache droops below his chin. "Such an one" he says "I burned for my own father. And such an one my son will burn for me. For I am old, and half my life already dwells among the dead." And, as he speaks, behind him in the shop I feel the presence of a hovering host, the myriads of the immortal dead, the rulers of the spirit in this land.... For in this kingdom of the dead they who are living cling with fevered hands to the torn fringes of the mighty past. And if they fail a little, compromise.... The dead I think will understand. Soochow My Servant The feet of my servant thump on the floor. _Thump,_ they go, and _thump_--dully, deformedly. My servant has shown me her feet. The instep has been broken upward into a bony cushion. The big toe is pointed as an awl. The small toes are folded under the cushioned instep. Only the heel is untouched. The thing is white and bloodless with the pallor of dead flesh. But my servant is quite contented. She smiles toothlessly and shows me how small are her feet, her "golden lilies." _Thump_, they go, and _thump!_ Wusih The Feast So this is the wedding feast! The room is not large, but it is heavily crowded, filled with small tables, filled with many human bodies. About the walls are paintings and banners in sharp colors; above our heads hang innumerable gaudy lanterns of wood and paper. We sit in furs, shivering with the cold. The food passes endlessly, droll combinations in brown gravies--roses, sugar, and lard--duck and bamboo--lotus, chestnuts, and fish-eggs--an "eight-precious pudding." They tempt curiosity; my chop-sticks are busy. The warm rice-wine trickles sparingly. The groom is invisible somewhere, but the bride martyrs among us. She is clad in scarlet satin, heavily embroidered with gold. On her head is an edifice of scarlet and pearls. For weeks, I know, she has wept in protest. The feast-mother leads her in to us with sacrificial rites. Her eyes are closed, hidden behind her curtain of strung beads; for three days she will not open them. She has never seen the bridegroom. At the feast she sits like her own effigy. She neither eats nor speaks. Opposite her, across the narrow table, is a wall of curious faces, lookers-on--children and half-grown boys, beggars and what-not--the gleanings of the streets. They are quiet but they watch hungrily. To-night, when the bridegroom draws the scarlet curtains of the bed, they will still be watching hungrily.... Strange, formless memories out of books struggle upward in my consciousness. This is the marriage at Cana.... I am feasting with the Caliph at Bagdad.... I am the wedding guest who beat his breast.... My heart is troubled. What shall be said of blood-brotherhood between man and man? Wusih The Beggar _Christ! What is that--that--Thing? Only a beggar, professionally maimed, I think._ Across the narrow street it lies, the street where little children are. It is rocking its body back and forth, back and forth, ingratiatingly, in the noisome filth. Beside the body are stretched two naked stumps of flesh, on one the remnant of a foot. The wounds are not new wounds, but they are open and they fester. There are flies on them. The Thing is whining, shrilly, hideously. _Professionally maimed, I think._ Christ! Hwai Yuen Interlude It is going to be hot here. Already the sun is treacherous and a dull mugginess is in the air. I note that winter clothes are shedding one by one. In the market-place sits a coolie, expanding in the warmth. He has opened his ragged upper garments and his bronze body is naked to the belt. He is examining it minutely, occasionally picking at something with the dainty hand of the Orient. If he had ever seen a zoological garden I should say he was imitating the monkeys there. As he has not, I dare say the taste is ingrained. At all events it is going to be hot here. The Village of the Mud Idols The City Wall About the city where I dwell, guarding it close, runs an embattled wall. It was not new I think when Arthur was a king, and plumèd knights before a British wall made brave clangor of trumpets, that Launcelot came forth. It was not new I think, and now not it but chivalry is old. Without, the wall is brick, with slots for firing, and it drops straightway into the evil moat, where offal floats and nameless things are thrown. Within, the wall is earth; it slants more gently down, covered with grass and stubbly with cut weeds. Below it in straw lairs the beggars herd, patiently whining, stretching out their sores. And on the top a path runs. As I walk, lifted above the squalor and the dirt, the timeless miracle of sunset mantles in the west, The blue dusk gathers close And beauty moves immortal through the land. And I walk quickly, praying in my heart that beauty will defend me, will heal up the too great wounds of China. I will not look--to-night I will not look--where at my feet the little coffins are, The boxes where the beggar children lie, unburied and unwatched. I will not look again, for once I saw how one was broken, torn by the sharp teeth of dogs. A little tattered dress was there, and some crunched bones.... I need not look. What can it help to look? Ah, I am past! And still the sunset glows. The tall pagoda, like a velvet flower, blossoms against the sky; the Sacred Mountain fades, and in the town a child laughs suddenly. I will hold fast to beauty! Who am I, that I should die for these? I will go down. I am too sorely hurt, here on the city wall. Wusih Woman Strangely the sight of you moves me. I have no standard by which to appraise you; the outer shell of you is all I know. Yet irresistibly you draw me. Your small plump body is closely clad in blue brocaded satin. The fit is scrupulous, yet no woman's figure is revealed. You are decorously shapeless. Your satin trousers even are lined with fur. Your hair is stiff and lustrous as polished ebony, bound at the neck in an adamantine knot, in which dull pearls are encrusted. Your face is young and round and inscrutably alien. Your complexion is exquisite, matte gold over-lying blush pink, textured like ripe fruit. Your nose is flat, the perfect nose of China. Your eyes--your eyes are witchery! The blank curtain of your upper lid droops sharply on the iris, and when you smile the corners twinkle upward. It is your eyes, I think, that move me. They are so bright, so black! They are alert and full of curiosity as the eyes of a squirrel, and like the eyes of a squirrel they have no depth behind them. They are windows opening on a world as small as your bound feet, a world of ignorances, and vacuities, and kitchen-gods. And yet your eyes are witchery. When you smile you are the woman-spirit, adorable. I cannot appraise you, yet strangely the sight of you moves me. I believe that I shall dream of you. Pa-tze-kiao Our Chinese Acquaintance We met him in the runway called a street, between the warrens known as houses. He looked still the same, but his French-cut tweeds, his continental hat, and small round glasses were alien here. About him we felt a troubled uncertainty. He greeted us gladly. "It is good," he said in his soft French, "to see my foreign friends again. You find our city dirty I am sure. On every stone dirt grows in China. How the people crowd! The street is choked. _No jee ba_! Go away, curious ones! The ladies cannot breathe.... No, my people are not clean. They do not understand, I think. In Belgium where I studied-- ... Yes, I was studying in Bruges, studying Christianity, when the great war came. We, you know, love peace. I could not see.... "So I came home. "But China is very dirty.... Our priests are rascals, and the people ... I do not know. "Is there, perhaps, a true religion somewhere? The Greeks died too--and they were clean." Behind his glasses his slant eyes were troubled. "I do not know," he said. Wusih The Spirit Wall It stands before my neighbor's door, between him and the vegetable garden and the open toilet pots and the dirty canal. Not that he wishes to hide these things. On the contrary, he misses the view. But China, you must understand, is full of evil spirits, demons of the earth and air, foxes and _shui-mang_ devils, and only the priest knows what beside. A man may at any moment be bewitched, so that his silk-worms die and his children go blind and he gets the devil-sickness. So living is difficult. But Heaven has providentially decreed that these evil spirits can travel only in a straight line. Around a corner their power evaporates. So my neighbor has built a wall that runs before his door. Windows of course he has none. He cannot see his vegetable garden, and his toilet pots, and the dirty canal. But he is quite safe! Wusih The Most-Sacred Mountain Space, and the twelve clean winds of heaven, And this sharp exultation, like a cry, after the slow six thousand steps of climbing! This is Tai Shan, the beautiful, the most holy. Below my feet the foot-hills nestle, brown with flecks of green; and lower down the flat brown plain, the floor of earth, stretches away to blue infinity. Beside me in this airy space the temple roofs cut their slow curves against the sky, And one black bird circles above the void. Space, and the twelve clean winds are here; And with them broods eternity--a swift, white peace, a presence manifest. The rhythm ceases here. Time has no place. This is the end that has no end. Here when Confucius came, a half a thousand years before the Nazarene, he stepped, with me, thus into timelessness. The stone beside us waxes old, the carven stone that says: _On this spot once Confucius stood and felt the smallness of the world below._ The stone grows old. Eternity Is not for stones. But I shall go down from this airy space, this swift white peace, this stinging exultation; And time will close about me, and my soul stir to the rhythm of the daily round. Yet, having known, life will not press so close, and always I shall feel time ravel thin about me; For once I stood In the white windy presence of eternity. Tai Shan The Dandy He swaggers in green silk and his two coats are lined with fur. Above his velvet shoes his trim, bound ankles twinkle pleasantly. His nails are of the longest. Quite the glass of fashion is Mr. Chu! In one slim hand--the ultimate punctilio--dangles a bamboo cage, wherein a small brown bird sits with a face of perpetual surprise. Mr. Chu smiles the benevolent smile of one who satisfies both fashion and a tender heart. Does not a bird need an airing? Wusih New China: The Iron Works The furnaces, the great steel furnaces, tremble and glow; gigantic machinery clanks, and in living iridescent streams the white-hot slag pours out. This is to-morrow set in yesterday, the west imbedded in the east, a graft but not a growth. And you who walk beside me, picking your familiar way between the dynamos, the cars, the piles of rails-- you too are of to-morrow, grafted with an alien energy. You wear the costume of the west, you speak my tongue as one who knows; you talk casually of Sheffield, Pittsburgh, Essen.... You touch on Socialism, walk-outs, and the industrial population of the British Isles. Almost you might be one of us. And then I ask: "How much do those poor coolies earn a day, who take the place of carts?" You shrug and smile. "Eighteen coppers. Something less than eight cents in your money. They are not badly paid. They do not die." Again I ask: "And is it true that you've a Yâmen, a police judge, all your own?" Another shrug and smile. "Yes, he attends to all small cases of disorder. For larger crimes we pass the offender over to the city courts." * * * * * "Conditions" you explain as we sit later with a cup of tea, "conditions here are difficult." Your figure has grown lax, your voice a little weary. You are fighting, I can see, upheld by that strange graft of western energy. Yet odds are heavy, and the Orient is in your blood. Your voice is weary. "There are no skilled laborers" you say, "Among the owners no coöperation. It is like--like working in a nightmare, here in China. It drags at me, it drags".... You bow me out with great civility. The furnaces, the great steel furnaces, tremble and glow, gigantic machinery clanks and in living iridescent streams the white-hot slag pours out. Beyond the gate the filth begins again. A beggar rots and grovels, clutching at my skirt with leprous hands. A woman sits sorting hog-bristles; she coughs and sobs. The stench is sickening. _To-morrow!_ did they say? Hanyang Spring The toilet pots are very loud today. It is spring and the warmth is highly favorable to fermentation. Some odors are unbelievable. At the corner of my street is an especially fragrant reservoir. It is three feet in diameter, set flush with the earth, and well filled. Above it squats a venerable Chinaman with a face such as Confucius must have worn. His silk skirt is gathered daintily about his waist, and his rounded rear is suspended in mid-air over the broken pottery rim. He gazes at me contemplatively as I pass with eyes in which the philosophy of the ages has its dwelling. I wonder whether he too feels the spring. Wusih Meditation In all the city where I dwell two spaces only are wide and clean. One is the compound about the great church of the mission within the wall; the other is the courtyard of the great factory beyond the wall. In these two, one can breathe. And two sounds there are, above the multitudinous crying of the city, two sounds that recur as time recurs--the great bell of the mission and the whistle of the factory. Every hour of the day the mission bell strikes, clear, deep-toned--telling perhaps of peace. And in the morning and in the evening the factory whistle blows, shrill, provocative--telling surely of toil. Now, when the mulberry trees are bare and the wintry wind lifts the rags of the beggars, the day shift at the factory is ten hours, and the night shift is fourteen. They are divided one from the other by the whistle, shrill, provocative. The mission and the factory are the West. What they are I know. And between them lies the Orient--struggling and suffering, spawning and dying--but what it is I shall never know. Yet there are two clean spaces in the city where I dwell, the compound of the church within the wall, and the courtyard of the factory beyond the wall. It is something that in these two one can breathe. Wusih Chinese New Year Mrs. Sung has a new kitchen-god. The old one--he who has presided over the household this twelvemonth--has returned to the Celestial Regions to make his report. Before she burned him Mrs. Sung smeared his mouth with sugar; so that doubtless the report will be favorable. Now she has a new god. As she paid ten coppers for him he is handsomely painted and should be highly efficacious. So there is rejoicing in the house of Mrs. Sung. Peking Echoes Crepuscule Like the patter of rain on the crisp leaves of autumn are the tiny footfalls of the fox-maidens. Festival of the Dragon Boats On the fifth day of the fifth month the statesman Küh Yuen drowned himself in the river Mih-lo. Since then twenty-three centuries have passed, and the mountains wear away. Yet every year, on the fifth day of the fifth month, the great Dragon Boats, gay with flags and gongs, search diligently in the streams of the Empire for the body of Küh Yuen. Kang Yi When Kang Yi had been long dead the Empress decreed upon him posthumous decapitation, so that he walks for ever disgraced among the shades. Poetics While two ladies of the Imperial harem held before him a screen of pink silk, and a P'in Concubine knelt with his ink-slab, Li Po, who was very drunk, wrote an impassioned poem to the moon. A Lament of Scarlet Cloud O golden night, lit by the flame of seven stars, the years have drunk you too. The Son of Heaven Like this frail and melancholy rain is the memory of the Emperor Kuang-Hsü, and of his sufferings at the hand of Yehonala. Yet under heaven was there found no one to avenge him. Now he has mounted the Dragon and has visited the Nine Springs. His betrayer sits upon the Dragon Throne. Yet among the shades may he not take comfort from the presence of his Pearl Concubine? The Dream When he had tasted in a dream of the Ten Courts of Purgatory, Doctor Tsêng was humbled in spirit, and passed his life in piety among the foot-hills. Fêng-Shui At the Hour of the Horse avoid raising a roof-tree, for by the trampling of his hoofs it may be beaten down; And at the Hour of the cunning Rat go not near a soothsayer, for by his cunning he may mislead the oracle, and the hopes of the enquirer come to naught. China of the Tourists Reflections in a Ricksha This ricksha is more comfortable than some. The springs are not broken, and the seat is covered with a white cloth. Also the runner is young and sturdy, and his legs flash pleasantly. I am not ill at ease. The runner interests me. Between the shafts he trots easily and familiarly, lifting his knees prettily and holding his shoulders steady. His hips are lean and narrow as a filly's; his calves might have posed for Praxiteles. He is a modern, I perceive, for he wears no queue. Above a rounded neck rises a shock of hair the shade of dusty coal. Each hair is stiff and erect as a brush bristle. There are lice in them no doubt-- but then perhaps we of the West are too squeamish in details of this minor sort. What interests me chiefly is the back of his ears. Not that they are extraordinary as ears; it is their very normality that touches me. I find them smaller than those of a horse, but undoubtedly near of kin. There is no denying the truth of evolution; Yet as a beast of burden man is distinctly inferior. It is odd. At home I am a democrat. A republic, a true republic, seems not improbable, a fighting dream. Yet beholding the back of the ears of a trotting man I perceive it to be impossible--the millennium another million years away. I grow insufferably superior and Anglo-Saxon. I am sorry, but what would you? One is what one is. Hankow The Camels Whence do you come, and whither make return, you silent padding beasts? Over the mountain passes; through the Great Wall; to Kalgan--and beyond, whither?... Here in the city you are alien, even as I am alien. Your sidling jaw, your pendulous neck--incredible--and that slow smile about your eyes and lip, these are not of this land. About you some far sense of mystery, some tawny charm, hangs ever. Silently, with the dignity of the desert, your caravans move among the hurrying hordes, remote and slowly smiling. But whence are you, and whither do you make return? Over the mountain passes; through the Great Wall; to Kalgan--and beyond, whither?... Peking The Connoisseur: An American He is not an old man, but he is lonely. He who was born in the clash of a western city dwells here, in this silent courtyard, alone. Seven servants he has, seven men-servants. They move about quietly and their slippered feet make no sound. Behind their almond eyes move green, sidelong shadows, and their limber hands are never still. In his house the riches of the Orient are gathered. Ivory he has, carved in a thousand quaint, enticing shapes--pleasant to the hand, smooth with the caressing of many fingers. And jade is there, dark green and milky white, with amber from Korea and strange gems--beryl, chrysoprase, jasper, sardonyx.... His lacquered shelves hold priceless pottery--peachblow and cinnabar and silver grey--pottery glazed like the new moon, fired how long ago for a moon-pale princess of the East, whose very name is dust! In his vaults are incredible textures and colors that vibrate like struck jade. Stiff with gold brocade they are, or soft as the coat of a fawn--these sacred robes of a long dead priest, silks of a gold-skinned courtesan, embroideries of a lost throne. When he unfolds them the shimmering heaps are like living opals, burning and moving darkly with the warm breath of beauty. And other priceless things the collector has, so that in many days he could not look upon them all. Every morning his seven men-servants dress him, and every evening they undress him. Behind their almond eyes move green sidelong shadows. In this silent courtyard the collector lives. He is not an old man but he is lonely. Peking Sunday in the British Empire: Hong Kong In the aisle of the cathedral it lies, an army rifle of the latest type. It is laid on the black and white mosaic, between the carved oaken pews and the strip of brown carpet in the aisle. A crimson light from the stained-glass window yonder glints on the blue steel of its barrel, and the khaki of its shoulder-strap blends with the brown of the carpet. The stiff backs of its owner and a hundred like him are very still. The vested choir chants prettily. Then the bishop speaks: "O God, who art the author of peace and lover of concord,... defend us thy humble servants in all assaults of our enemies." "Amen!" say the owners of the khaki backs. The light has shifted a little. On the blue steel barrel of the rifle the glint is turquoise now. That will be from the robe of the shepherd in the window yonder, He of the quiet eyes.... Hong Kong On the Canton River Boat Up and down, up and down, paces the sentry. He is dressed in a uniform of khaki and his socks are green. Over his shoulder is slung a rifle, and from his belt hang a pistol and cartridge pouch. He is, I think, Malay and Chinese mixed. Behind him the rocky islands, hazed in blue, the yellow sun-drenched water, the tropic shore, pass as a background in a dream. He only is sweltering reality. Yet he is here to guard against a nightmare, an anachronism, something that I cannot grasp. He is guarding me from pirates. Piracy! The very name is fantastic in my ears, colored like a toucan in the zoo. And yet the ordinance is clear: "Four armed guards, strong metal grills behind the bridge, the engine-room enclosed--in case of piracy." The socks of the sentry are green. Up and down, up and down he paces, between the bridge and the first of the life-boats. In my deck chair I grow restless. Am I then so far removed from life, so wrapped in cotton wool, so deep-sunk in the soft lap of civilization, that I cannot feel the cold splash of truth? It is a disquieting thought--for certainly piracy seems as fantastic as ever. The socks of the sentry annoy me. They are _too_ green for so hot a day. And his shoes squeak. I should feel much cooler if he wouldn't pace so. Piracy! Somewhere on the River The Altar of Heaven Beneath the leaning, rain-washed sky this great white circle--beautiful! In three white terraces the circle lies, piled one on one toward Heaven. And on each terrace the white balustrade climbs in aspiring marble, etched in cloud. And Heaven is very near. For this is worship native as the air, wide as the wind, and poignant as the rain, Pure aspiration, the eternal dream. Beneath the leaning sky this great white circle! Peking The Chair Ride The coolies lift and strain; My chair creaks rhythmically. It is not yet morning and the live darkness pushes about us, a greedy darkness that has swallowed even the stars. In all the world there is left only my chair, with the tiny horn lantern before it. There are also, it is true, the undersides of trees in the lantern-light and the stony path that flows past ceaselessly. But these things flit and change. Only I and the chair and the darkness are permanent. We have been moving so since time was in the womb. The seat of my chair is of wicker. It is not unlike an invalid chair, and I, in it, am swaddled like an invalid, wrapped in layer on layer of coddling wool. But there are no wheels to my chair. I ride on the steady feet of four queued coolies. The tramp of their lifted shoes is the rhythm of being, throbbing in me as my own heart throbs. Save for their feet the bearers are silent. They move softly through the live darkness. But now and again I am shifted skilfully from one shoulder to the other. The breath of the coolies is short. They strain, and in spite of the cold I know they are sweating. It is wicked of course! My five dollars ought not to buy life. But it is all they understand; And even I am not precisely comfortable. The darkness is thinning a little. On either side loom featureless black hills, their summits sharp and ragged. The Great Wall is somewhere hereabouts. My chair creaks rhythmically. In another year it will be day. Ching-lung-chiao The Sikh Policeman: A British Subject Of what, I wonder, are you thinking? It is something beyond my world I know, something that I cannot guess. Yet I wonder. Of nothing Chinese can you be thinking, for you hate them with an automatic hatred--the hatred of the well-fed for the starved, of the warlike for the weak. When they cross you, you kick them, viciously, with the drawing back of your silken beard, your black, black beard, from your white teeth. With a snarl you kick them, sputtering curses in short gutturals. You do not even speak their tongue, so it cannot be of them you are thinking. Yet neither do you speak the tongue of the master whom you serve. No more do you know of us the "Masters" than you know of them the "dogs." We are above you, they below. And between us you stand, guarding the street, erect and splendid, lithe and male. Your scarlet turban frames your neat black head, And you are thinking. Or are you? Perhaps we only are stung with thought. I wonder. Shanghai The Lady of Easy Virtue: An American _Lotus_, So they called your name. Yet the green swelling pod, the fruit-like seeds and heavy flower, are nothing like to you. Rather, like a pitcher plant you are, for hope and all young wings are drowned in you. Your slim body, here in the café, moves brightly in and out. Green satin, and a dance, white wine and gleaming laughter, with two nodding earrings--these are Lotus. And in the painted eyes cold steel, and on the lips a vulgar jest; Hands that fly ever to the coat lapels, familiar to the wrists and to the hair of men. These too are Lotus. And what more--God knows! You too perhaps were stranded here, like these poor homesick boys, in this great catch-all where the white race ends, this grim Shanghai that like a sieve hangs over filth and loneliness. You were caught here like these, and who could live, young and so slender--in Shanghai? Green satin, and a gleaming throat, and painted eyes of steel, Hunter or hunted, Peace be with you, _Lotus_! Shanghai In the Mixed Court: Shanghai Two men sit in judgment on their fellows. Side by side they sit, raised on the pedestal of the law, at grips with squalor and ignorance. They are civilization--and they are very grave. One of them is of my own people, a small man, definite, hard-featured, an accurate weapon of small calibre. Of the other I cannot judge. He is heavily built, and when he is still the dignity of the Orient is about him like his robe. His head is large and beautifully domed, his hands tapering and aristocratic. When he speaks it is of subtleties. But when he speaks his dignity drops from him. His eyes shift quickly from one end of their little slit to the other, his mouth, his full brown mouth, moves over-fast, his hands flicker back and forth. The courtroom is crowded with ominous yellow poverty. The cases are of many sorts. A woman, she of the little tortured feet and sullen face, has kidnapped a small boy to sell. A man was caught smuggling opium. A tea-merchant, in dark green silk, complains that he was decoyed and held prisoner in a lodging-house for ransom. A gambling den has been raided and the ivory dominoes are shown in court. The prisoners are stoically sullen. The odor of them fills the room. Above them sit the two men, raised on the pedestal of the law, judging their fellows. I turn to the man beside me, waiting his case. "Tell me" I ask "of these men, which is the better judge?" He answers carefully. "The Chinaman is cleverer by half. He sees where the other is blind. But Chinese magistrates are bought, and this one sells himself too cheap." "And the other?" I ask again. "A good man, and quite honest. You see he doesn't care." The judges put their heads together. They are civilization and they are very grave. What, I wonder, is civilization? Shanghai 10321 ---- DRAGON'S BLOOD by HENRY MILNER RIDEOUT with illustrations by HAROLD M. BRETT 1909 To CHARLES TOWNSEND COPELAND, 15 Hollis Hall, Cambridge, Massachusetts Dear Cope, Mr. Peachey Carnehan, when he returned from Kafiristan, in bad shape but with a king's head in a bag, exclaimed to the man in the newspaper office, "And you've been sitting there ever since!" There is only a pig in the following poke; and yet in giving you the string to cut and the bag to open, I feel something of Peachey's wonder to think of you, across all this distance and change, as still sitting in your great chair by the green lamp, while past a dim background of books moves the procession of youth. Many of us, growing older in various places, remember well your friendship, and are glad that you are there, urging our successors to look backward into good books, and forward into life. Yours ever truly, H. M. R. _Sausalito, California_. CONTENTS I. A LADY AND A GRIFFIN II. THE PIED PIPER III. UNDER FIRE IV. THE SWORD-PEN V. IN TOWN VI. THE PAGODA VII. IPHIGENIA VIII. THE HOT NIGHT IX. PASSAGE AT ARMS X. THREE PORTALS XI. WHITE LOTUS XII. THE WAR BOARD XIII. THE SPARE MAN XIV. OFF DUTY XV. KAÚ FAI XVI. THE GUNWALE XVII. LAMP OF HEAVEN XVIII. SIEGE XIX. BROTHER MOLES XX. THE HAKKA BOAT XXI. THE DRAGON'S SHADOW ILLUSTRATIONS _"Good-by! A pleasant voyage"_ ... Frontispiece _Rudolph was aware of crowded bodies, of yellow faces grinning_ _He let the inverted cup dangle from his hands_ _He went leaping from sight over the crest_ CHAPTER I A LADY AND A GRIFFIN It was "about first-drink time," as the captain of the Tsuen-Chau, bound for Shanghai and Japan ports, observed to his friend Cesare Domenico, a good British subject born at Malta. They sat on the coolest corner in Port Said, their table commanding both the cross-way of Chareh Sultan el Osman, and the short, glaring vista of desert dust and starved young acacias which led to the black hulks of shipping in the Canal. From the Bar la Poste came orchestral strains--"Ai nostri monti"--performed by a piano indoors and two violins on the pavement. The sounds contended with a thin, scattered strumming of cafe mandolins, the tinkle of glasses, the steady click of dominoes and backgammon; then were drowned in the harsh chatter of Arab coolies who, all grimed as black as Nubians, and shouldering spear-headed shovels, tramped inland, their long tunics stiff with coal-dust, like a band of chain-mailed Crusaders lately caught in a hurricane of powdered charcoal. Athwart them, Parisian gowns floated past on stout Italian forms; hulking third-class Australians, in shirtsleeves, slouched along toward their mail-boat, hugging whiskey bottles, baskets of oranges, baskets of dates; British soldiers, khaki-clad for India, raced galloping donkeys through the crowded and dusty street. It was mail-day, and gayety flowed among the tables, under the thin acacias, on a high tide of Amer Picon. Through the inky files of the coaling-coolies burst an alien and bewildered figure. He passed unnoticed, except by the filthy little Arab bootblacks who swarmed about him, trotting, capering, yelping cheerfully: "Mista Ferguson!--polish, finish!--can-can--see nice Frencha girl--Mista McKenzie, Scotcha fella from Dublin--smotta picture--polish, finish!"--undertoned by a squabbling chorus. But presently, studying his face, they cried in a loud voice, "Nix! Alles!" and left him, as one not desiring polish. "German, that chap," drawled the captain of the Tsuen-Chau, lazily, noticing the uncertain military walk of the young man's clumsy legs, his uncouth clothes, his pale visage winged by blushing ears of coral pink. "The Eitel's in, then," replied Cesare. And they let the young Teuton vanish in the vision of mixed lives. Down the lane of music and chatter and drink he passed slowly, like a man just wakened,--assailed by Oriental noise and smells, jostled by the races of all latitudes and longitudes, surrounded and solitary, unheeded and self-conscious. With a villager's awkwardness among crowds, he made his way to a German shipping-office. "Dispatches for Rudolph Hackh?" he inquired, twisting up his blond moustache, and trying to look insolent and peremptory, like an employer of men. "There are none, sir," answered an amiable clerk, not at all impressed. Abashed once more in the polyglot street, still daunted by his first plunge into the foreign and the strange, he retraced his path, threading shyly toward the Quai François Joseph. He slipped through the barrier gate, signaled clumsily to a boatman, crawled under the drunken little awning of the dinghy, and steered a landsman's course along the shining Canal toward the black wall of a German mail-boat. Cramping the Arab's oar along the iron side, he bumped the landing-stage. Safe on deck, he became in a moment stiff and haughty, greeting a fellow passenger here and there with a half-military salute. All afternoon he sat or walked alone, unapproachable, eyeing with a fierce and gloomy stare the squalid front of wooden houses on the African side, the gray desert glare of Asia, the pale blue ribbon of the great Canal stretching southward into the unknown. He composed melancholy German verses in a note-book. He recalled famous exiles--Camoens, Napoleon, Byron--and essayed to copy something of all three in his attitude. He cherished the thought that he, clerk at twenty-one, was now agent at twenty-two, and traveling toward a house with servants, off there beyond the turn of the Canal, beyond the curve of the globe. But for all this, Rudolph Hackh felt young, homesick, timid of the future, and already oppressed with the distance, the age, the manifold, placid mystery of China. Toward that mystery, meanwhile, the ship began to creep. Behind her, houses, multi-colored funnels, scrubby trees, slowly swung to blot out the glowing Mediterranean and the western hemisphere. Gray desert banks closed in upon her strictly, slid gently astern, drawing with them to the vanishing-point the bright lane of traversed water. She gained the Bitter Lakes; and the red conical buoys, like beads a-stringing, slipped on and added to the two converging dotted lines. "Good-by to the West!" thought Rudolph. As he mourned sentimentally at this lengthening tally of their departure, and tried to quote appropriate farewells, he was deeply touched and pleased by the sadness of his emotions. "Now what does Byron say?" The sombre glow of romantic sentiment faded, however, with the sunset. That evening, as the ship glided from ruby coal to ruby coal of the gares, following at a steady six knots the theatric glare of her search-light along arsenically green cardboard banks, Rudolph paced the deck in a mood much simpler and more honest. In vain he tried the half-baked philosophy of youth. It gave no comfort; and watching the clear desert stars of two mysterious continents, he fell prey to the unbounded and unintelligible complexity of man's world. His own career seemed no more dubious than trivial. Succeeding days only strengthened this mood. The Red Sea passed in a dream of homesickness, intolerable heat, of a pale blue surface stretched before aching eyes, and paler strips of pink and gray coast, faint and distant. Like dreams, too, passed Aden and Colombo; and then, suddenly, he woke to the most acute interest. He had ignored his mess-mates at their second-class table; but when the new passengers from Colombo came to dinner, he heard behind him the swish of stiff skirts, felt some one brush his shoulder, and saw, sliding into the next revolving chair, the vision of a lady in white. "_Mahlzeit_" she murmured dutifully. But the voice was not German. Rudolph heard her subside with little flouncings, and felt his ears grow warm and red. Delighted, embarrassed, he at last took sufficient courage to steal side-glances. The first showed her to be young, fair-haired, and smartly attired in the plainest and coolest of white; the second, not so young, but very charming, with a demure downcast look, and a deft control of her spoon that, to Rudolph's eyes, was splendidly fastidious; at the third, he was shocked to encounter the last flitting light of a counter-glance, from large, dark-blue eyes, not devoid of amusement. "She laughs at me!" fumed the young man, inwardly. He was angry, conscious of those unlucky wing-and-wing ears, vexed at his own boldness. "I have been offensive. She laughs at me." He generalized from long inexperience of a subject to which he had given acutely interested thought: "They always do." Anger did not prevent him, however, from noting that his neighbor traveled alone, that she must be an Englishwoman, and yet that she diffused, somehow, an aura of the Far East and of romance. He shot many a look toward her deck-chair that evening, and when she had gone below, strategically bought a cigar, sat down in the chair to light it, and by a carefully shielded match contrived to read the tag that fluttered on the arm: "B. Forrester, Hongkong." Afterward he remembered that by early daylight he might have read it for nothing; and so, for economic penance, smoked to the bitter end, finding the cigar disagreeable but manly. At all events, homesickness had vanished in a curious impatience for the morrow. Miss Forrester: he would sit beside Miss Forrester at table. If only they both were traveling first-class!--then she might be a great lady. To be enamored of a countess, now--A cigar, after all, was the proper companion of bold thoughts. At breakfast, recalling her amusement, he remained silent and wooden. At tiffin his heart leaped. "You speak English, I'm sure, don't you?" Miss Forrester was saying, in a pleasant, rather drawling voice. Her eyes were quite serious now, and indeed friendly. Confusion seized him. "I have less English to amuse myself with the ladies," he answered wildly. Next moment, however, he regained that painful mastery of the tongue which had won his promotion as agent, and stammered: "Pardon. I would mean, I speak so badly as not to entertain her." "Indeed, you speak very nicely," she rejoined, with such a smile as no woman had ever troubled to bestow on him. "That will be so pleasant, for my German is shocking." Dazed by the compliment, by her manner of taking for granted that future conversation which had seemed too good to come true, but above all by her arch, provoking smile, Rudolph sat with his head in a whirl, feeling that the wide eyes of all the second-cabiners were penetrating the tumultuous secret of his breast. Again his English deserted, and left him stammering. But Miss Forrester chatted steadily, appeared to understand murmurs which he himself found obscure, and so restored his confidence that before tiffin was over he talked no less gayly, his honest face alight and glowing. She taught him the names of the strange fruits before them; but though listening and questioning eagerly, he could not afterward have told loquat from pumelo, or custard-apple from papaya. Nor could this young man, of methodical habits, ever have told how long their voyage lasted. It passed, unreal and timeless, in a glorious mist, a delighted fever: the background a blur of glossy white bulkheads and iron rails, awnings that fluttered in the warm, languorous winds, an infinite tropic ocean poignantly blue; the foreground, Miss Forrester. Her white figure, trim and dashing; her round blue eyes, filled with coy wonder, the arch innocence of a spoiled child; her pale, smooth cheeks, rather plump, but coming oddly and enticingly to a point at the mouth and tilted chin; her lips, somewhat too full, too red, but quick and whimsical: he saw these all, and these only, in a bright focus, listening meanwhile to a voice by turns languid and lively, with now and then a curious liquid softness, perhaps insincere, yet dangerously pleasant. Questioning, hinting, she played at motherly age and wisdom. As for him, he never before knew how well he could talk, or how engrossing his sober life, both in his native village on the Baltic and afterward in Bremen, could prove to either himself or a stranger. Yet he was not such a fool, he reflected, as to tell everything. So far from trading confidences, she had told him only that she was bound straight on to Hongkong; that curiosity alone had led her to travel second-class, "for the delightful change, you know, from all such formality"; and that she was "really more French than English." Her reticence had the charm of an incognito; and taking this leaf from her book, he gave himself out as a large, vaguely important person journeying on a large, vague errand. "But you are a griffin?" she had said, as they sat together at tea. "Pardon?" he ventured, wary and alarmed, wondering whether he could claim this unknown term as in character with his part. "I mean," Miss Forrester explained, smiling, "it is your first visit to the Far East?" "Oh, yes," he replied eagerly, blushing. He would have given worlds to say, "No." "Griffins are such nice little monsters," she purred. "I like them." Sometimes at night, waked by the snores of a fat Prussian in the upper berth, he lay staring into the dark, while the ship throbbed in unison with his excited thoughts. He was amazed at his happy recklessness. He would never see her again; he was hurrying toward lonely and uncertain shores; yet this brief voyage outvalued the rest of his life. In time, they had left Penang,--another unheeded background for her arch, innocent, appealing face,--and forged down the Strait of Malacca in a flood of nebulous moonlight. It was the last night out from Singapore. That veiled brightness, as they leaned on the rail, showed her brown hair fluttering dimly, her face pale, half real, half magical, her eyes dark and undefined pools of mystery. It was late; they had been silent for a long time; and Rudolph felt that something beyond the territory of words remained to be said, and that the one brilliant epoch of his life now drew madly to a close. "What do you think of it all?" the woman asked suddenly, gravely, as though they had been isolated together in the deep spaces of the same thought. "I do not yet--Of what?" rejoined Rudolph, at a loss. "Of all this." She waved an eloquent little gesture toward the azure-lighted gulf. "Oh," he said. "Of the world?" "Yes," she answered slowly. "The world. Life." Her tone, subdued and musical, conveyed in the mere words their full enigma and full meaning. "All this that we see." "Who can tell?" He took her seriously, and ransacked all his store of second-hand philosophy for a worthy answer,--a musty store, dead and pedantic, after the thrilling spirit of her words. "Why, I think--it is--is it not all now the sense-manifest substance of our duty? Pardon. I am obscure. '_Das versinnlichte Material unserer Pflicht_' No?" Her clear laughter startled him. "Oh, how moral!" she cried. "What a highly moral little griffin!" She laughed again (but this time it was like the splash of water in a deep well), and turned toward him that curiously tilted point of chin and mouth, her eyes shadowy and mocking. She looked young again,--the spirit of youth, of knowledge, of wonderful brightness and unbelief. "Must we take it so very, very hard?" she coaxed. "Isn't it just a place to be happy in?" As through a tumult he heard, and recognized the wisdom of the ages. "Because," she added, "it lasts such a little while--" On the rail their hands suddenly touched. He was aware of nothing but the nearness and pallor of her face, the darkness of her eyes shining up at him. All his life seemed to have rushed concentrating into that one instant of extreme trouble, happiness, trembling fascination. Footsteps sounded on the deck behind them; an unwelcome voice called jocosely:-- "Good efening!" The ship's doctor advanced with a roguish, paternal air. "You see at the phosphor, not?" Even as she whipped about toward the light, Rudolph had seen, with a touch of wonder, how her face changed from a bitter frown to the most friendly smile. The frown returned, became almost savage, when the fat physician continued:-- "To see the phosphor is too much moon, Mrs. Forrester?" Had the steamer crashed upon a reef, he would hardly have noticed such a minor shipwreck. Mrs. Forrester? why, then--When the doctor, after ponderous pleasantries, had waddled away aft, Rudolph turned upon her a face of tragedy. "Was that true?" he demanded grimly. "Was what true?" she asked, with baby eyes of wonder, which no longer deceived, but angered. "What the doctor said." Rudolph's voice trembled. "The tittle--the title he gave you." "Why, of course," she laughed. "And you did not tell me!" he began, with scorn. "Don't be foolish," she cut in. From beneath her skirt the toe of a small white shoe tapped the deck angrily. Of a sudden she laughed, and raised a tantalizing face, merry, candid, and inscrutable. "Why, you never asked me, and--and of course I thought you were saying it all along. You have such a dear, funny way of pronouncing, you know." He hesitated, almost believing; then, with a desperate gesture, wheeled and marched resolutely aft. That night it was no Prussian snores which kept him awake and wretched. "Everything is finished," he thought abysmally. He lay overthrown, aching, crushed, as though pinned under the fallen walls of his youth. At breakfast-time, the ship lay still beside a quay where mad crowds of brown and yellow men, scarfed, swathed, and turbaned in riotous colors, worked quarreling with harsh cries, in unspeakable interweaving uproar. The air, hot and steamy, smelled of strange earth. As Rudolph followed a Malay porter toward the gang-plank, he was painfully aware that Mrs. Forrester had turned from the rail and stood waiting in his path. "Without saying good-by?" she reproached him. The injured wonder in her eyes he thought a little overdone. "Good-by." He could not halt, but, raising his cap stiffly, managed to add, "A pleasant voyage," and passed on, feeling as though she had murdered something. He found himself jogging in a rickshaw, while equatorial rain beat like down-pouring bullets on the tarpaulin hood, and sluiced the Chinaman's oily yellow back. Over the heavy-muscled shoulders he caught glimpses of sullen green foliage, ponderous and drooping; of half-naked barbarians that squatted in the shallow caverns of shops; innumerable faces, black, yellow, white, and brown, whirling past, beneath other tarpaulin hoods, or at carriage windows, or shielded by enormous dripping wicker hats, or bared to the pelting rain. Curious odors greeted him, as of sour vegetables and of unknown rank substances burning. He stared like a visionary at the streaming multitude of alien shapes. The coolie swerved, stopped, tilted his shafts to the ground. Rudolph entered a sombre, mouldy office, where the darkness rang with tiny silver bells. Pig-tailed men in skull-caps, their faces calm as polished ivory, were counting dollars endlessly over flying finger-tips. One of these men paused long enough to give him a sealed dispatch,--the message to which the ocean-bed, the Midgard ooze, had thrilled beneath his tardy keel. "Zimmerman recalled," the interpretation ran; "take his station; proceed at once." He knew the port only as forlorn and insignificant. It did not matter. One consolation remained: he would never see her again. CHAPTER II THE PIED PIPER A gray smudge trailing northward showed where the Fa-Hien--Scottish Oriental, sixteen hundred tons--was disappearing from the pale expanse of ocean. The sampan drifted landward imperceptibly, seeming, with nut-brown sail unstirred, to remain where the impatient steamer had met it, dropped a solitary passenger overside, and cast him loose upon the breadth of the antipodes. Rare and far, the sails of junks patched the horizon with umber polygons. Rudolph, sitting among his boxes in the sampan, viewed by turns this desolate void astern and the more desolate sweep of coast ahead. His matting sail divided the shining bronze outpour of an invisible river, divided a low brown shore beyond, and above these, the strips of some higher desert country that shone like snowdrifts, or like sifted ashes from which the hills rose black and charred. Their savage, winter-blasted look, in the clear light of an almost vernal morning, made the land seem fabulous. Yet here in reality, thought Rudolph, as he floated toward that hoary kingdom,--here at last, facing a lonely sea, reared the lifeless, inhospitable shore, the sullen margin of China. The slow creaking of the spliced oar, swung in its lashing by a half-naked yellow man, his incomprehensible chatter with some fellow boatman hidden in the bows, were sounds lost in a drowsy silence, rhythms lost in a wide inertia. Time itself seemed stationary. Rudolph nodded, slept, and waking, found the afternoon sped, the hills gone, and his clumsy, time-worn craft stealing close under a muddy bank topped with brown weeds and grass. They had left behind the silted roadstead, and now, gliding on a gentle flood, entered the river-mouth. Here and there, against the saffron tide, or under banks quaggy as melting chocolate, stooped a naked fisherman, who--swarthy as his background but for a loin-band of yellow flesh--shone wet and glistening while he stirred a dip-net through the liquid mud. Faint in the distance harsh cries sounded now and then, and the soft popping of small-arms,--tiny revolts in the reign of a stillness aged and formidable. Crumbling walls and squat ruins, black and green-patched with mould--old towers of defense against pirates--guarded from either bank the turns of the river. In one reach, a "war-junk," her sails furled, lay at anchor, the red and white eyes staring fish-like from her black prow: a silly monster, the painted tompions of her wooden cannon aiming drunkenly askew, her crew's wash fluttering peacefully in a line of blue dungaree. Beyond the next turn, a fowling-piece cracked sharply, close at hand; something splashed, and the ruffled body of a snipe bobbed in the bronze flood alongside. "Hang it!" complained a voice, loudly. "The beggar was too--Hallo! Oh, I say, Gilly! Gilly, ahoy! Pick us up, there's a good chap! The bird first, will you, and then me." A tall young man in brown holland and a battered _terai_ stood above on the grassy brink. "Oh, beg pardon," he continued. "Took you for old Gilly, you know." He snapped the empty shells from his gun, and blew into the breech, before adding, "Would _you_ mind, then? That is, if you're bound up for Stink-Chau. It's a beastly long tramp, and I've been shooting all afternoon." Followed by three coolies who popped out of the grass with game-bags, the young stranger descended, hopped nimbly from tussock to gunwale, and perched there to wash his boots in the river. "Might have known you weren't old Gilly," he said over his shoulder. "Wutzler said the Fa-Hien lay off signaling for sampan before breakfast. Going to stay long?" "I am agent," answered Rudolph, with a touch of pride, "for Fliegelman and Sons." "Oh?" drawled the hunter, lazily. He swung his legs inboard, faced about, and studied Rudolph with embarrassing frankness. He was a long-limbed young Englishman, whose cynical gray eyes, and thin face tinged rather sallow and Oriental, bespoke a reckless good humor. "Life sentence, eh? Then your name's--what is it again?--Hackh, isn't it? Heywood's mine. So you take Zimmerman's place. He's off already, and good riddance. He _was_ a bounder!--Charming spot you've come to! I daresay if your Fliegelmans opened a hong in hell, you might possibly get a worse station." Without change of manner, he uttered a few gabbling, barbaric words. A coolie knelt, and with a rag began to clean the boots, which, from the expression of young Mr. Heywood's face, were more interesting than the arrival of a new manager from Germany. "It will be dark before we're in," he said. "My place for the night, of course, and let your predecessor's leavings stand over till daylight. After dinner we'll go to the club. Dinner! Chicken and rice, chicken and rice! Better like it, though, for you'll eat nothing else, term of your life." "You are very kind," began Rudolph; but this bewildering off-hand youngster cut him short, with a laugh:-- "No fear, you'll pay me! Your firm supplies unlimited liquor. Much good that ever did us, with old Zimmerman." The sampan now slipped rapidly on the full flood, up a narrow channel that the setting of the sun had turned, as at a blow, from copper to indigo. The shores passed, more and more obscure against a fading light. A star or two already shone faint in the lower spaces. A second war-junk loomed above them, with a ruddy fire in the stern lighting a glimpse of squat forms and yellow goblin faces. "It is very curious," said Rudolph, trying polite conversation, "how they paint so the eyes on their jonks." "No eyes, no can see; no can see, no can walkee," chanted Heywood in careless formula. "I say," he complained suddenly, "you're not going to 'study the people,' and all that rot? We're already fed up with missionaries. Their cant, I mean; no allusion to cannibalism." He lighted a cigarette. After the blinding flare of the match, night seemed to have fallen instantaneously. As their boat crept on to the slow creaking sweep, both maintained silence, Rudolph rebuked and lonely, Heywood supine beneath a comfortable winking spark. "What I mean is," drawled the hunter, "we need all the good fellows we can get. Bring any new songs out? Oh, I forgot, you're a German, too.--A sweet little colony! Gilly's the only gentleman in the whole half-dozen of us, and Heaven knows he's not up to much.--Ah, we're in. On our right, fellow sufferers, we see the blooming Village of Stinks." He had risen in the gloom. Beyond his shadow a few feeble lights burned low and scattered along the bank. Strange cries arose, the bumping of sampans, the mournful caterwauling of a stringed instrument. "The native town's a bit above," he continued. "We herd together here on the edge. No concession, no bund, nothing." Their sampan grounded softly in malodorous ooze. Each mounting the bare shoulders of a coolie, the two Europeans rode precariously to shore. "My boys will fetch your boxes," called Heywood. "Come on." The path, sometimes marshy, sometimes hard-packed clay or stone flags deeply littered, led them a winding course in the night. Now and then shapes met them and pattered past in single file, furtive and sinister. At last, where a wall loomed white, Heywood stopped, and, kicking at a wooden gate, gave a sing-song cry. With rattling weights, the door swung open, and closed behind them heavily. A kind of empty garden, a bare little inclosure, shone dimly in the light that streamed from a low, thick-set veranda at the farther end. Dogs flew at them, barking outrageously. "Down, Chang! Down, Chutney!" cried their master. "Be quiet, Flounce, you fool!" On the stone floor of the house, they leaped upon him, two red chows and a fox-terrier bitch, knocking each other over in their joy. "Olo she-dog he catchee plenty lats," piped a little Chinaman, who shuffled out from a side-room where lamplight showed an office desk. "Too-day catchee. Plenty lats. No can." "My compradore, Ah Pat," said Heywood to Rudolph. "Ah Pat, my friend he b'long number one Flickleman, boss man." The withered little creature bobbed in his blue robe, grinning at the introduction. "You welly high-tone man," he murmured amiably. "Catchee goo' plice." "All the same, I don't half like it," was Heywood's comment later. He had led his guest upstairs into a bare white-washed room, furnished in wicker. Open windows admitted the damp sea breeze and a smell, like foul gun-barrels, from the river marshes. "Where should all the rats be coming from?" He frowned, meditating on what Rudolph thought a trifle. Above the sallow brown face, his chestnut hair shone oddly, close-cropped and vigorous. "Maskee, can't be helped.--O Boy, one sherry-bitters, one bamboo!" "To our better acquaintance," said Rudolph, as they raised their glasses. "What? Oh, yes, thanks," the other laughed. "Any one would know you for a griffin here, Mr. Hackh. You've not forgotten your manners yet." When they had sat down to dinner in another white-washed room, and had undertaken the promised rice and chicken, he laughed again, somewhat bitterly. "Better acquaintance--no fear! You'll be so well acquainted with us all that you'll wish you never clapped eyes on us." He drained his whiskey and soda, signaled for more, and added: "Were you ever cooped up, yachting, with a chap you detested? That's the feeling you come to have.--Here, stand by. You're drinking nothing." Rudolph protested. Politeness had so far conquered habit, that he felt uncommonly flushed, genial, and giddy. "That," urged Heywood, tapping the bottle, "that's our only amusement. You'll see. One good thing we can get is the liquor. 'Nisi damnose bibimus,'--forget how it runs: 'Drink hearty, or you'll die without getting your revenge,'" "You are then a university's-man?" cried Rudolph, with enthusiasm. The other nodded gloomily. On the instant his face had fallen as impassive as that of the Chinese boy who stood behind his chair, straight, rigid, like a waxen image of Gravity in a blue gown.--"Yes, of sorts. Young fool. Scrapes. Debt. Out to Orient. Same old story. More debt. Trust the firm to encourage that! Debt and debt and debt. Tied up safe. Transfer. Finish! Never go Home."--He rose with a laugh and an impatient gesture.--"Come on. Might as well take in the club as to sit here talking rot." Outside the gate of the compound, coolies crouching round a lantern sprang upright and whipped a pair of sedan-chairs into position. Heywood, his feet elevated comfortably over the poles, swung in the lead; Rudolph followed, bobbing in the springy rhythm of the long bamboos. The lanterns danced before them down an open road, past a few blank walls and dark buildings, and soon halted before a whitened front, where light gleamed from the upper story. "Mind the stairs," called Heywood. "Narrow and beastly dark." As they stumbled up the steep flight, Rudolph heard the click of billiard balls. A pair of hanging lamps lighted the room into which he rose,--a low, gloomy loft, devoid of comfort. At the nearer table, a weazened little man bent eagerly over a pictorial paper; at the farther, chalking their cues, stood two players, one a sturdy Englishman with a gray moustache, the other a lithe, graceful person, whose blue coat, smart as an officer's, and swarthy but handsome face made him at a glance the most striking figure in the room. A little Chinese imp in white, who acted as marker, turned on the new-comers a face of preternatural cunning. "Mr. Wutzler," said Heywood. The weazened reader rose in a nervous flutter, underwent his introduction to Rudolph with as much bashful agony as a school-girl, mumbled a few words in German, and instantly took refuge in his tattered _Graphic_. The players, however, advanced in a more friendly fashion. The Englishman, whose name Rudolph did not catch, shook his hand heartily. "Mr. Hackh is a welcome addition." He spoke with deliberate courtesy. Something in his voice, the tired look in his frank blue eyes and serious face, at once engaged respect. "For our sakes," he continued, "we're glad to see you here. I am sure Doctor Chantel will agree with me." "Ah, indeed," said the man in military blue, with a courtier's bow. Both air and accent were French. "Most welcome." "Let's all have a drink," cried Heywood. Despite his many glasses at dinner, he spoke with the alacrity of a new idea. "O Boy, whiskey _Ho-lan suey, fai di_!" Away bounded the boy marker like a tennis-ball. "Hello, Wutzler's off already!"--The little old reader had quietly disappeared, leaving them a vacant table.--"Isn't he weird?" laughed Heywood, as they sat down. "Comes and goes like a ghost." "It is his Chinese wife," declared Chantel, preening his moustache. "He is always ashame to meet the new persons." "Poor old chap," said Heywood. "I know--feels himself an outcast and all that. Humph! With us! Quite unnecessary."--The Chinese page, quick, solemn, and noiseless, glided round the table with his tray.--"Ah, you young devil! You're another weird one, you atom. See those bead eyes watching us, eh? A Gilpin Homer, you are, and some fine day we'll see you go off in a flash of fire. If you don't poison us all first.--Well, here's fortune!" "Your health, Mr. Hackh," amended the other Englishman. As they set down their glasses, a strange cry sounded from below,--a stifled call, inarticulate, but in such a key of distress that all four faced about, and listened intently. "Kom down," called a hesitating voice, "kom down and look-see." They sprang to the stairs, and clattered downward. Dim radiance flooded the landing, from the street door. Outside, a smoky lantern on the ground revealed the lower levels. In the wide sector of light stood Wutzler, shrinking and apologetic, like a man caught in a fault, his wrinkled face eloquent of fear, his gesture eloquent of excuse. Round him, as round a conjurer, scores of little shadowy things moved in a huddling dance, fitfully hopping like sparrows over spilt grain. Where the light fell brightest these became plainer, their eyes shone in jeweled points of color. "By Jove, Gilly, they are rats!" said Heywood, in a voice curiously forced and matter-of-fact. "Flounce killed several this afternoon, so my--" No one heeded him; all stared. The rats, like beings of incantation, stole about with an absence of fear, a disregard of man's presence, that was odious and alarming. "Earthquake?" The elder Englishman spoke as though afraid of disturbing some one. The French doctor shook his head. "No," he answered in the same tone. "Look." The rats, in all their weaving confusion, displayed one common impulse. They sprang upward continually, with short, agonized leaps, like drowning creatures struggling to keep afloat above some invisible flood. The action, repeated multitudinously into the obscure background, exaggerated in the foreground by magnified shadows tossing and falling on the white walls, suggested the influence of some evil stratum, some vapor subtle and diabolic, crawling poisonously along the ground. Heywood stamped angrily, without effect. Wutzler stood abject, a magician impotent against his swarm of familiars. Gradually the rats, silent and leaping, passed away into the darkness, as though they heard the summons of a Pied Piper. "It doesn't attack Europeans." Heywood still used that curious inflection. "Then my brother Julien is still alive," retorted Doctor Chantel, bitterly. "What do you think, Gilly?" persisted Heywood. His compatriot nodded in a meaningless way. "The doctor's right, of course," he answered. "I wish my wife weren't coming back." "Dey are a remember," ventured Wutzler, timidly. "A warnung." The others, as though it had been a point of custom, ignored him. All stared down, musing, at the vacant stones. "Then the concert's off to-morrow night," mocked Heywood, with an unpleasant laugh. "On the contrary." Gilly caught him up, prompt and decided. "We shall need all possible amusements; also to meet and plan our campaign. Meantime,--what do you say, Doctor?--chloride of lime in pots?" "That, evidently," smiled the handsome man. "Yes, and charcoal burnt in braziers, perhaps, as Père Fenouil advises. Fumigate."--Satirical and debonair, he shrugged his shoulders.--"What use, among these thousands of yellow pigs?" "I wish she weren't coming," repeated Gilly. Rudolph, left outside this conference, could bear the uncertainty no longer. "I am a new arrival," he confided to his young host. "I do not understand. What is it?" "The plague, old chap," replied Heywood, curtly. "These playful little animals get first notice. You're not the only arrival to-night." CHAPTER III UNDER FIRE The desert was sometimes Gobi, sometimes Sahara, but always an infinite stretch of sand that floated up and up in a stifling layer, like the tide. Rudolph, desperately choked, continued leaping upward against an insufferable power of gravity, or straining to run against the force of paralysis. The desert rang with phantom voices,--Chinese voices that mocked him, chanting of pestilence, intoning abhorrently in French. He woke to find a knot of bed-clothes smothering him. To his first unspeakable relief succeeded the astonishment of hearing the voices continue in shrill chorus, the tones Chinese, the words, in louder fragments, unmistakably French. They sounded close at hand, discordant matins sung by a mob of angry children. Once or twice a weary, fretful voice scolded feebly: "Un-peu-de-s'lence! Un-peu-de-s'lence!" Rudolph rose to peep through the heavy jalousies, but saw nothing more than sullen daylight, a flood of vertical rain, and thin rivulets coursing down a tiled roof below. The morning was dismally cold. "Jolivet's kids wake you?" Heywood, in a blue kimono, nodded from the doorway. "Public nuisance, that school. Quite needless, too. Some bally French theory, you know, sphere of influence, and that rot. Game played out up here, long ago, but they keep hanging on.--Bath's ready, when you like." He broke out laughing. "Did you climb into the water-jar, yesterday, before dinner? Boy reports it upset. You'll find the dipper more handy.--How did you ever manage? One leg at a time?" Echoes of glee followed his disappearance. Rudolph, blushing, prepared to descend into the gloomy vault of ablution. Charcoal fumes, however, and the glow of a brazier on the dark floor below, not only revived all his old terror, but at the stair-head halted him with a new. "Is the water safe?" he called. Heywood answered impatiently from his bedroom. "Nothing safe in this world, Mr. Hackh. User's risk." An inaudible mutter ended with, "Keep clean, anyway." At breakfast, though the acrid smoke was an enveloping reminder, he made the only reference to their situation. "Rain at last: too late, though, to flush out the gutters. We needed it a month ago.--I say, Hackh, if you don't mind, you might as well cheer up. From now on, it's pure heads and tails. We're all under fire together." Glancing out of window at the murky sky, he added thoughtfully, "One excellent side to living without hope, maskee fashion: one isn't specially afraid. I'll take you to your office, and you can make a start. Nothing else to do, is there?" Dripping bearers and shrouded chairs received them on the lower floor, carried them out into a chill rain that drummed overhead and splashed along the compound path in silver points. The sunken flags in the road formed a narrow aqueduct that wavered down a lane of mire. A few grotesque wretches, thatched about with bamboo matting, like bottles, or like rosebushes in winter, trotted past shouldering twin baskets. The smell of joss-sticks, fish, and sour betel, the subtle sweetness of opium, grew constantly stronger, blended with exhalations of ancient refuse, and (as the chairs jogged past the club, past filthy groups huddling about the well in a marketplace, and onward into the black yawn of the city gate) assailed the throat like a bad and lasting taste. Now, in the dusky street, pent narrowly by wet stone walls, night seemed to fall, while fresh waves of pungent odor overwhelmed and steeped the senses. Rudolph's chair jostled through hundreds and hundreds of Chinese, all alike in the darkness, who shuffled along before with switching queues, or flattened against the wall to stare, almost nose to nose, at the passing foreigner. With chairpoles backing into one shop or running ahead into another, with raucous cries from the coolies, he swung round countless corners, bewildered in a dark, leprous, nightmare bazaar. Overhead, a slit of cloudy sky showed rarely; for the most part, he swayed along indoors, beneath a dingy lattice roof. All points of the compass vanished; all streets remained alike,--the same endless vista of mystic characters, red, black, and gold, on narrow suspended tablets, under which flowed the same current of pig-tailed men in blue and dirty white. From every shop, the same yellow faces stared at him, the same elfin children caught his eye for a half-second to grin or grimace, the same shaven foreheads bent over microscopical tasks in the dark. At first, Rudolph thought the city loud and brawling; but resolving this impression to the hideous shouts of his coolies parting the crowd, he detected, below or through their noise, from all the long cross-corridors a wide and appalling silence. Gradually, too, small sounds relieved this: the hammering of brass-work, the steady rattle of a loom, or the sing-song call and mellow bell of some burdened hawker, bumping past, his swinging baskets filled with a pennyworth of trifles. But still the silence daunted Rudolph in this astounding vision, this masque of unreal life, of lost daylight, of annihilated direction, of placid turmoil and multifarious identity, made credible only by the permanence of nauseous smells. Somewhere in the dark maze, the chairs halted, under a portal black and heavy as a Gate of Dreams. And as by the anachronism of dreams there hung, among its tortuous symbols, the small, familiar placard--"Fliegelman and Sons, Office." Heywood led the way, past two ducking Chinese clerks, into a sombre room, stone-floored, furnished stiffly with a row of carved chairs against the wall, lighted coldly by roof-windows of placuna, and a lamp smoking before some commercial god in his ebony and tinsel shrine. "There," he said, bringing Rudolph to an inner chamber, or dark little pent-house, where another draughty lamp flickered on a European desk. "Here's your cell. I'm off--call for you later. Good luck!"--Wheeling in the doorway, he tossed a book, negligently.--"Caught! You may as well start in, eh?--'Cantonese Made Worse,'" To his departing steps Rudolph listened as a prisoner, condemned, might listen to the last of all earthly visitors. Peering through a kind of butler's window, he saw beyond the shrine his two pallid subordinates, like mystic automatons, nodding and smoking by the doorway. Beyond them, across a darker square like a cavern-mouth, flitted the living phantoms of the street. It seemed a fit setting for his fears. "I am lost," he thought; lost among goblins, marooned in the age of barbarism, shut in a labyrinth with a Black Death at once actual and mediaeval: he dared not think of Home, but flung his arms on the littered desk, and buried his face. On the tin pent-roof, the rain trampled inexorably. At last, mustering a shaky resolution, he set to work ransacking the tumbled papers. Happily, Zimmerman had left all in confusion. The very hopelessness of his accounts proved a relief. Working at high tension, Rudolph wrestled through disorder, mistakes, falsification; and little by little, as the sorted piles grew and his pen traveled faster, the old absorbing love of method and dispatch--the stay, the cordial flagon of troubled man--gave him strength to forget. At times, felt shoes scuffed the stone floor without, and high, scolding voices rose, exchanging unfathomable courtesy with his clerks. One after another, strange figures, plump and portly in their colored robes, crossed his threshold, nodding their buttoned caps, clasping their hands hidden in voluminous sleeves. "My 'long speakee my goo' flien'," chanted each of these apparitions; and each, after a long, slow discourse that ended more darkly than it began, retired with fatuous nods and smirks of satisfaction, leaving Rudolph dismayed by a sense of cryptic negotiation in which he had been found wanting. Noon brought the only other interval, when two solemn "boys" stole in with curry and beer. Eat he could not in this lazaret, but sipped a little of the dark Kirin brew, and plunged again into his researches. Alone with his lamp and rustling papers, he fought through perplexities, now whispering, now silent, like a student rapt in some midnight fervor. "What ho! Mustn't work this fashion!" Heywood's voice woke him, sudden as a gust of sharp air. "Makee finish!" The summons was both welcome and unwelcome; for as their chairs jostled homeward through the reeking twilight, Rudolph felt the glow of work fade like the mockery of wine. The strange seizure returned,--exile, danger, incomprehensibility, settled down upon him, cold and steady as the rain. Tea, at Heywood's house, was followed by tobacco, tobacco by sherry, and this by a dinner from yesterday's game-bag. The two men said little, sitting dejected, as if by agreement. But when Heywood rose, he changed into gayety as a man slips on a jacket. "Now, then, for the masked ball! I mean, we can't carry these long faces to the club, can we? Ladies' Night--what larks!" He caught up his cap, with a grimace. "The Lord loveth a cheerful liar. Come ahead!" On the way, he craned from his chair to shout, in the darkness:-- "I say! If you can do a turn of any sort, let the women have it. All the fun they get. Be an ass, like the rest of us. Maskee how silly! Mind you, it's all hands, these concerts!" No music, but the click of ivory and murmur of voices came down the stairway of the club. At first glance, as Rudolph rose above the floor, the gloomy white loft seemed vacant as ever; at second glance, embarrassingly full of Europeans. Four strangers grounded their cues long enough to shake his hand. "Mr. Nesbit,--Sturgeon--Herr Kempner--Herr Teppich,"--he bowed stiffly to each, ran the battery of their inspection, and found himself saluting three other persons at the end of the room, under a rosy, moon-bellied lantern. A gray matron, stout, and too tightly dressed for comfort, received him uneasily, a dark-eyed girl befriended him with a look and a quiet word, while a tall man, nodding a vigorous mop of silver hair, crushed his hand in a great bony fist. "Mrs. Earle," Heywood was saying, "Miss Drake, and--how are you, padre?--Dr. Earle." "Good-evening," boomed the giant, in a deep and musical bass. "We are very glad, very glad." His voice vibrated through the room, without effort. It struck one with singular force, like the shrewd, kind brightness of his eyes, light blue, and oddly benevolent, under brows hard as granite. "Sit down, Mr. Hackh," he ordered genially, "and give us news of the other world! I mean," he laughed, "west of Suez. Smoking's allowed--here, try that!" He commanded them, as it were, to take their ease,--the women among cushions on a rattan couch, the men stretched in long chairs. He put questions, indolent, friendly questions, opening vistas of reply and recollection; so that Rudolph, answering, felt the first return of homely comfort. A feeble return, however, and brief: in the pauses of talk, misgiving swarmed in his mind, like the leaping vermin of last night. The world into which he had been thrown still appeared disorderly, incomprehensible, and dangerous. The plague--it still recurred in his thoughts like a sombre motive; these friendly people were still strangers; and for a moment now and then their talk, their smiles, the click of billiards, the cool, commonplace behavior, seemed a foolhardy unconcern, as of men smoking in a powder magazine. "Clearing a bit, outside," called Nesbit. A little, wiry fellow, with cheerful Cockney speech, he stood chalking his cue at a window. "I say, what's the matter one piecee picnic this week? Pink Pagoda, eh? Mrs. Gilly's back, you know." "No, is she?" wheezed the fat Sturgeon, with something like enthusiasm. "Now we'll brighten up! By Jove, that's good news. That's worth hearing. Eh, Heywood?" "Rather!" drawled Rudolph's friend, with an alacrity that seemed half cynical, half enigmatic. A quick tread mounted the stairs, and into the room rose Dr. Chantel. He bowed gracefully to the padre's group, but halted beside the players. Whatever he said, they forgot their game, and circled the table to listen. He spoke earnestly, his hands fluttering in nervous gestures. "Something's up," grumbled Heywood, "when the doctor forgets to pose." Behind Chantel, as he wheeled, heaved the gray bullet-head and sturdy shoulders of Gilly. "Alone?" called the padre. "Why, where's the Mem?" He came up with evident weariness, but replied cheerfully:-- "She's very sorry, and sent chin-chins all round. But to-night--Her journey, you know. She's resting.--I hope we've not delayed the concert?" "Last man starts it!" Heywood sprang up, flung open a battered piano, and dragged Chantel to the stool. "Come, Gilly, your forfeit!" The elder man blushed, and coughed. "Why, really," he stammered. "Really, if you wish me to!" Heywood slid back into his chair, grinning. "Proud as an old peacock," he whispered to Rudolph. "Peacock's voice, too." Dr. Chantel struck a few jangling chords, and skipping adroitly over sick notes, ran a flourish. The billiard-players joined the circle, with absent, serious faces. The singer cleared his throat, took on a preternatural solemnity, and began. In a dismal, gruff voice, he proclaimed himself a miner, deep, deep down:-- "And few, I trow, of my being know, And few that an atom care!" His hearers applauded this gloomy sentiment, till his cheeks flushed again with honest satisfaction. But in the full sweep of a brilliant interlude, Chantel suddenly broke down. "I cannot," he declared sharply. As he turned on the squealing stool, they saw his face white and strangely wrought. "I had meant," he said, with painful precision, "to say nothing to-night, and act as--I cannot. Judge you, what I feel." He got uncertainly to his feet, hesitating. "Ladies, you will not be alarmed." The four players caught his eye, and nodded. "It is well that you know. There is no danger here, more than--I am since disinfected. Monsieur Jolivet, my compatriot--You see, you understand. Yes, the plague." For a space, the distant hum of the streets invaded the room. Then Heywood's book of music slapped the floor like a pistol-shot. "You left him!" He bounced from his chair, raging. "You--Pêng! Where's my cap?" Quick as he was, the dark-eyed girl stood blocking his way. "Not you, Mr. Heywood," she said quietly. "I must go stay with him." They confronted each other, man and woman, as if for a combat of will. The outbreak of voices was cut short; the whole company stood, like Homeric armies, watching two champions. Chantel, however, broke the silence. "Nobody must go." He eyed them all, gravely. "I left him, yes. He does not need any one. Personne. Very sudden. He went to the school sick this morning. Swollen axillae--the poor fool, not to know!--et puis--enfin--He is dead." Heywood pitched his cap on the green field of the billiard-cloth. "The poor pedagogue!" he said bitterly. "_He_ was going Home." Sudden, hot and cold, like the thrust of a knife, it struck Rudolph that he had heard the voice of this first victim,--the peevish voice which cried so weakly for a little silence, at early daylight, that very morning. A little silence: and he had received the great. A gecko fell from the ceiling, with a tiny thump that made all start. He had struck the piano, and the strings answered with a faint, aeolian confusion. Then, as they regarded one another silently, a rustle, a flurry, sounded on the stairs. A woman stumbled into the loft, sobbing, crying something inarticulate, as she ran blindly toward them, with white face and wild eyes. She halted abruptly, swayed as though to fall, and turned, rather by instinct than by vision, to the other women. "Bertha!" protested Gilly, with a helpless stare. "My dear!" "I couldn't stay!" she cried. "The amah told me. Why did you ever let me come back? Oh, do something--help me!" The face and the voice came to Rudolph like another trouble across a dream. He knew them, with a pang. This trembling, miserable heap, flung into the arms of the dark-eyed girl, was Mrs. Forrester. "Go on," said the girl, calmly. She had drawn the woman down beside her on the rattan couch, and clasping her like a child, nodded toward the piano. "Go on, as if the doctor hadn't--hadn't stopped." Heywood was first to obey. "Come, Chantel, chantez! Here's your song." He took the stool in leap-frog fashion, and struck a droll simultaneous discord. "Come on.-- Well, then, catch me on the chorus!" "Pour qu' j' finisse Mon service Au Tonkin je suis parti!" To a discreet set of verses, he rattled a bravado accompaniment. Presently Chantel moved to his side, and, with the same spirit, swung into the chorus. The tumbled white figure on the couch clung to her refuge, her bright hair shining below the girl's quiet, thoughtful face. She was shaken with convulsive regularity. In his riot of emotions, Rudolph found an over-mastering shame. A picture returned,--the Strait of Malacca, this woman in the blue moonlight, a Mistress of Life, rejoicing, alluring,--who was now the single coward in the room. But was she? The question was quick and revolting. As quickly, a choice of sides was forced on him. He understood these people, recalled Heywood's saying, and with that, some story of a regiment which lay waiting in the open, and sang while the bullets picked and chose. All together: as now these half-dozen men were roaring cheerfully:-- "Ma Tonkikí, ma Tonkikí, ma Tonkinoise, Yen a d'autr's qui m' font les doux yeux, Mais c'est ell' que j'aim' le mieux!" The new recruit joined them, awkwardly. CHAPTER IV THE SWORD-PEN "Wutzler was missing last night," said Heywood, lazily. He had finished breakfast, and lighted a short, fat, glossy pipe. "Just occurred to me. We must have a look in on him. Poor old Wutz, he's getting worse and worse. Chantel's right, I fancy: it's the native wife." He rose, with a short laugh. "Queer. The rest never feel so,--Nesbit, and Sturgeon, and that lot. But then, they don't fall so low as to marry theirs." "By the way," he sneered, on the landing, "until this scare blows over, you'd better postpone any such establishment, if you intend--" "I do not," stammered Rudolph. To his amazement, the other clapped him on the shoulder. "I say!" The sallow face and cynical gray eyes lighted, for the first time, with something like enthusiasm. Next moment they had darkened again, but not before he had said gruffly, "You're not a bad little chap." Morosely, as if ashamed of this outburst, he led the way through the bare, sunny compound, and when the gate had closed rattling behind them, stated their plans concisely and sourly. "No work to-day, not a stroke! We'll just make it a holiday, catchee good time.--What? No. Rot! I won't work, and you can't. That's all there is about that. Don't be an ass! Come along. We'll go out first and see Captain Kneebone." And when Rudolph, faithful to certain tradesmen snoring in Bremen, would have protested mildly, he let fly a stinging retort, and did not regain his temper until they had passed the outskirts of the village. Yet even the quarrel seemed part of some better understanding, some new, subtle bond between two lonely men. Before them opened a broad field dotted with curious white disks, like bone buttons thrown on a green carpet. Near at hand, coolies trotted and stooped, laying out more of these circular baskets, filled with tiny dough-balls. Makers of rice-wine, said Heywood; as he strode along explaining, he threw off his surly fit. The brilliant sunlight, the breeze stirring toward them from a background of drooping bamboos, the gabble of coolies, the faint aroma of the fermenting _no-me_ cakes, began, after all, to give a truant sense of holiday. Almost gayly, the companions threaded a marshy path to the river, and bargained with a shrewd, plump woman who squatted in the bow of a sampan. She chaffered angrily, then laughed at some unknown saying of Heywood's, and let them come aboard. Summoned by voluble scolding, her husband appeared, and placidly labored at the creaking sweep. They slipped down a river of bronze, between the oozy banks; and the war-junks, the naked fisherman, the green-coated ruins of forts, drifted past like things in reverie, while the men lay smoking, basking in bright weather. They looked up into serene spaces, and forgot the umbra of pestilence. Heywood, now lazy, now animated, exchanged barbaric words with the boat-woman. As their tones rose and fell, she laughed. Long afterward, Rudolph was to remember her, a wholesome, capable figure in faded blue, darting keen glances from her beady eyes, flashing her white teeth in a smile, or laughing till the green pendants of false jade trembled in her ears. "Her name is Mrs. Wu," said Heywood, between smoke-rings, "and she is a lady of humor. We are discussing the latest lawsuit, which she describes as suing a flea and winning the bite. Her maiden name was the Pretty Lily. She is captain of this sampan, and fears that her husband does not rate A. B." Where the river disembogued, the Pretty Lily, cursing and shrilling, pattering barefoot about her craft, set a matting sail and caught the breeze. Over the copper surface of the roadstead, the sampan drew out handily. Ahead, a black, disreputable little steamer lay anchored, her name--two enormous hieroglyphics painted amidships--staring a bilious yellow in the morning sun. Under these, at last, the sampan came bumping, unperceived or neglected. Overhead, a pair of white shoes protruded from the rail in a blue film of smoke. They twitched, as a dry cackle of laughter broke out. "Kut Sing, ahoy!" shouted Heywood. "On deck! Kneebone!" The shoes whipped inboard. Outboard popped a ruddy little face, set in the green circle of a _topi_, and contorted with laughter. "Listen to this, will ye!" cried the apparition, as though illustrating a point. Leaning his white sleeves on the rail, cigar in one fist, Tauchnitz volume in the other, he roared down over the side a passage of prose, from which his visitors caught only the words "Ginger Dick" and "Peter Russet," before mirth strangled him. "God bless a man," he cried, choking, "that can make a lonesome old beggar laugh, out here! Eh, what? How he ever thinks up--But he's took to writing plays, they tell me. Plays!" He scowled ferociously. "Fat lot o' good they are, for skippers, and planters, and gory exiles! Eh, what? Be-george, I'll write him a chit! _I'll_ tell him! Plays be damned; we want more stories!" Red and savage, he hurled the book fluttering into the sea, then swore in consternation. "Oh, I say!" he wailed. "Fish her out! I've not finished her. My intention was, ye know, to fling the bloomin' cigar!" Heywood, laughing, rescued the volume on a long bamboo. "Just came out on the look-see, captain," he called up. "Can't board you. Plague ashore." "Plague be 'anged!" scoffed the little captain. "That hole's no worse with plague than't is without. Got two cases on board, myself--coolies. Stowed 'em topside, under the boats.--Come up here, ye castaway! Come up, ye goatskin Robinson Crusoe, and get a white man's chow!" He received them on deck,--a red, peppery little officer, whose shaven cheeks and close gray hair gave him the look of a parson gone wrong, a hedge-priest run away to sea. Two tall Chinese boys scurried about with wicker chairs, with trays of bottles, ice, and cheroots, while he barked his orders, like a fox-terrier commanding a pair of solemn dock-rats. The white men soon lounged beside the wheel-house. "So you brought Mrs. Forrester," drawled Heywood. Rudolph, wondering if they saw him wince, listened with painful eagerness. But the captain disposed of that subject very simply. "_She's_ no good." He stared up at the grimy awning. "What I'm thinking is, will that there Dacca babu at Koprah slip me through his blessed quarantine for twenty-five dollars. What?" Their talk drifted far away from Rudolph, far from China itself, to touch a hundred ports and islands, Cebu and Sourabaya, Tavoy and Selangor. They talked of men and women, a death at Zamboanga, a birth at Chittagong, of obscure heroism or suicide, and fortunes made or lost; while the two boys, gentle, melancholy, gliding silent in bright blue robes, spread a white tablecloth, clamped it with shining brass, and laid the tiffin. Then the talk flowed on, the feast made a tiny clatter of jollity in the slumbering noon, in the silence of an ocean and a continent. And when at last the visitors clambered down the iron side, they went victorious with Spanish wine. "Mind ye," shouted Captain Kneebone, from the rail, "that don't half exhaust the subjeck o' lott'ries! Why, luck"--He shook both fists aloft, triumphantly, as if they had been full of money. "Just ye wait. I've a tip from Calcutta that--Never mind. Bar sells, when that fortch'n comes, my boy, the half's yours! Home we go, remember that!" The sampan drew away. Sweeping his arm violently, to threaten the coast of China and the whole range of his vision,-- "You're the one man," he roared, "that makes all this mess--worth a cowrie!" Heywood laughed, waved his helmet, and when at last he turned, sat looking downward with a queer smile. "Illusions!" he chuckled. "What would a chap ever do without 'em? Old Kneebone there: his was always that--a fortune in a lottery, and then Home! Illusions! And he's no fool, either. Good navigator. Decent old beggar." He waved his helmet again, before stretching out to sleep. "Do you know, I believe--he _would_ take me." The clinkered hills, quivering in the west, sank gradually into the heated blur above the plains. As gradually, the two men sank into dreams. Furious, metallic cries from the Pretty Lily woke them, in the blue twilight. She had moored her sampan alongside a flight of stone steps, up which, vigorously, with a bamboo, she now prodded her husband. He contended, snarling, but mounted; and when Heywood's silver fell jingling into her palm, lighted his lantern and scuffed along, a churlish guide. At the head of the slimy stairs, Heywood rattled a ponderous gate in a wall, and shouted. Some one came running, shot bolts, and swung the door inward. The lantern showed the tawny, grinning face of a servant, as they passed into a small garden, of dwarf orange trees pent in by a lofty, whitewashed wall. "These grounds are yours, Hackh," said Heywood. "Your predecessor's boy; and there"--pointing to a lonely barrack that loomed white over the stunted grove--"there's your house. You draw the largest in the station. A Portuguese nunnery, it was, built years ago. My boys are helping set it to rights; but if you don't mind, I'd like you to stay on at my beastly hut until this--this business takes a turn. Plenty of time." He nodded at the fat little orange trees. "We may live to take our chow under those yet, of an evening. Also a drink. Eh?" The lantern skipped before them across the garden, through a penitential courtyard, and under a vaulted way to the main door and the road. With Rudolph, the obscure garden and echoing house left a sense of magical ownership, sudden and fleeting, like riches in the Arabian Nights. The road, leaving on the right a low hill, or convex field, that heaved against the lower stars, now led the wanderers down a lane of hovels, among dim squares of smoky lamplight. Wu, their lantern-bearer, had turned back, and they had begun to pass a few quiet, expectant shops, when a screaming voice, ahead, outraged the evening stillness. At the first words, Heywood doubled his pace. "Come along. Here's a lark--or a tragedy." Jostling through a malodorous crowd that blockaded the quarrel, they gained the threshold of a lighted shop. Against a rank of orderly shelves, a fat merchant stood at bay, silent, quick-eyed, apprehensive. Before him, like an actor in a mad scene, a sobbing ruffian, naked to the waist, convulsed with passion, brandished wild fists and ranted with incredible sounds. When breath failed, he staggered, gasping, and swept his audience with the glazed, unmeaning stare of drink or lunacy. The merchant spoke up, timid and deprecating. As though the words were vitriol, the other started, whirled face to face, and was seized with a new raving. Something protruded at his waistband, like a rudimentary, Darwinian stump. To this, all at once, his hand flung back. With a wrench and a glitter, he flourished a blade above his head. Heywood sprang to intervene, in the same instant that the disturber of trade swept his arm down in frenzy. Against his own body, hilt and fist thumped home, with the sound as of a football lightly punted. He turned, with a freezing look of surprise, plucked at the haft, made one step calmly and tentatively toward the door, stumbled, and lay retching and coughing. The fat shop-keeper wailed like a man beside himself. He gabbled, imploring Heywood. The young man nodded. "Yes, yes," he repeated irritably, staring down at the body, but listening to the stream of words. Murmurs had risen, among the goblin faces blinking in the doorway. Behind them, a sudden voice called out two words which were caught up and echoed harshly in the street. Heywood whipped about. "Never called me that before," he said quickly. "Come outside." He flung back a hurried sentence to the merchant, caught Rudolph's arm, and plunged into the crowd. The yellow men gave passage mechanically, but with lowering faces. Once free in the muddy path, he halted quickly, and looked about. "Might have known," he grumbled. "Never called me 'Foreign Dog' before, or 'Jesus man,' He set 'em on." Rudolph followed his look. In the dim light, at the outskirts of the rabble, a man was turning away, with an air of contempt or unconcern. The long, pale, oval face, the hard eyes gleaming with thought, had vanished at a glance. A tall, slight figure, stooping in his long robe, he glided into the darkness. For all his haste, the gait was not the gait of a coolie. "That," said Heywood, turning into their former path, "that was Fang, the Sword-Pen, so-called. Very clever chap. Of the two most dangerous men in the district, he's one." They had swung along briskly for several minutes, before he added: "The other most dangerous man--you've met him already. If I'm not mistaken, he's no less a person than the Reverend James Earle." "What!" exclaimed Rudolph, in dull bewilderment. "Yes," grunted his friend. "The padre. We must find him to-night, and report." He strode forward, with no more comment. At his side, Rudolph moved as a soldier, carried onward by pressure and automatic rhythm, moves in the apathy of a forced march. The day had been so real, so wholesome, full of careless talk and of sunlight. And now this senseless picture blotted all else, and remained,--each outline sharper in memory, the smoky lamp brighter, the blow of the hilt louder, the smell of peanut oil more pungent. The episode, to him, was a disconnected, unnecessary fragment, one bloody strand in the whole terrifying snarl. But his companion stalked on in silence, like a man who saw a pattern in the web of things, and was not pleased. CHAPTER V IN TOWN Night, in that maze of alleys, was but a more sinister day. The same slant-eyed men, in broken files, went scuffing over filthy stone, like wanderers lost in a tunnel. The same inexplicable noises endured, the same smells. Under lamps, the shaven foreheads still bent toward microscopic labor. The curtained window of a fantan shop still glowed in orange translucency, and from behind it came the murmur and the endless chinking of cash, where Fortune, a bedraggled, trade-fallen goddess, split hairs with coolies for poverty or zero. Nothing was altered in these teeming galleries, except that turbid daylight had imperceptibly given place to this other dimness, in which lanterns swung like tethered fire-balloons. Life went on, mysteriously, without change or sleep. While the two white men shouldered their way along, a strange chorus broke out, as though from among the crowded carcasses in a butcher's stall. Shrill voices rose in unearthly discord, but the rhythm was not of Asia. "There goes the hymn!" scoffed Heywood. He halted where, between the butcher's and a book-shop, the song poured loud through an open doorway. Nodding at a placard, he added: "Here we are: 'Jesus Religion Chapel.' Hear 'em yanging! 'There is a gate that stands ajar.' That being the case, in you go!" Entering a long, narrow room, lighted from sconces at either side, they sat down together, like schoolmates, on a low form near the door. From a dais across at the further end, the vigorous white head of Dr. Earle dominated the company,--a strange company, of lounging Chinamen who sucked at enormous bamboo pipes, or squinted aimlessly at the vertical inscriptions on the walls, or wriggling about, stared at the late-comers, nudged their neighbors, and pointed, with guttural exclamations. The song had ended, and the padre was lifting up his giant's voice. To Rudolph, the words had been mere sound and fury, but for a compelling honesty that needed no translation. This man was not preaching to heathen, but talking to men. His eyes had the look of one who speaks earnestly of matters close at hand, direct, and simple. Along the forms, another and another man forgot to plait his queue, or squirm, or suck laboriously at his pipe. They listened, stupid or intent. When some waif from the outer labyrinth scuffed in, affable, impudent, hailing his friends across the room, he made but a ripple of unrest, and sank gaping among the others like a fish in a pool. Even Heywood sat listening--with more attention than respect, for once he muttered, "Rot!" Toward the close, however, he leaned across and whispered, "The old boy reels it off rather well to-night. Different to what one imagined." Rudolph, for his part, sat watching and listening, surprised by a new and curious thought. A band of huddled converts sang once more, in squealing discords, with an air of sad, compulsory, and diabolic sarcasm. A few "inquirers" slouched forward, and surrounding the tall preacher, questioned him concerning the new faith. The last, a broad, misshapen fellow with hanging jowls, was answered sharply. He stood arguing, received another snub, and went out bawling and threatening, with the contorted face and clumsy flourishes of some fabulous hero on a screen. The missionary approached smiling, but like a man who has finished the day's work. "That fellow--Good-evening: and welcome to our Street Chapel, Mr. Hackh--That fellow," he glanced after the retreating figure, "he's a lesson in perseverance, gentlemen. A merchant, well-to-do: he has a lawsuit coming on--notorious--and tries to join us for protection. Cheaper to buy a little belief, you know, than to pay Yamên fines. Every night he turns up, grinning and bland. I tell him it won't do, and out he goes, snorting like a dragon." Rudolph's impulse came to a head. "Dr. Earle," he stammered, "I owe you a gratitude. You spoke to these people so--as--I do not know. But I listened, I felt--Before always are they devils, images! And after I hear you, they are as men." The other shook his great head like a silver mane, and laughed. "My dear young man," he replied, "they're remarkably like you and me." After a pause, he added soberly:-- "Images? Yes, you're right, sir. So was Adam. The same clay, the same image." His deep voice altered, his eyes lighted shrewdly, as he turned to Heywood. "This is an unexpected pleasure." "Quite," said the young man, readily. "If you don't mind, padre, you made Number One talk. Fast bowling, and no wides. But we really came for something else." In a few brief sentences, he pictured the death in the shop.--So, like winking! The beggar gave himself the iron, fell down, and made finish. Now what I pieced out, from his own bukhing, and the merchant's, was this:-- "The dead man was one Aú-yöng, a cormorant-fisher. Some of his best birds died, he had a long run of bad luck, and came near starving. So he contrived, rather cleverly, to steal about a hundred catties of Fuh-kien hemp. The owner, this merchant, went to the elders of Aú-yöng's neighborhood, who found and restored the hemp, nearly all. Merchant lets the matter drop. But the neighbors kept after this cormorant fellow, worked one beastly squeeze or another, ingenious baiting, devilish--Rot! you know their neighborhoods better than I! Well, they pushed him down-hill--poor devil, showing that's always possible, no bottom! He brooded, and all that, till he thought the merchant and the Jesus religion were the cause of all. So bang he goes down the pole,--gloriously drunk,--marches into his enemy's shop, and uses that knife. The joke is now on the merchant, eh?" "Just a moment," begged the padre. "One thread I don't follow--the religion. Who was Christian? The merchant?" "Well, rather! Thought I told you," said Heywood. "One of yours--big, mild chap--Chok Chung." The elder man sat musing. "Yes," the deep bass rumbled in the empty chapel, "he's one of us. Extremely honest. I'm--I'm very sorry. There may be trouble." "Must be, sir," prompted the younger. "The mob, meanwhile, just stood there, dumb,--mutes and audience, you know. All at once, the hindmost began squalling 'Foreign Dog,' 'Goat Man.' We stepped outside, and there, passing, if you like, was that gentle bookworm, Mr. Fang." "Fang?" echoed the padre, as in doubt. "I've heard the name." "Heard? Why, doctor," cried Heywood, "that long, pale chap,--lives over toward the Dragon Spring. Confucian, very strict; keen reader; might be a mandarin, but prefers the country gentleman sort; bally mischief-maker, he's done more people in the eye than all the Yamên hacks and all their false witnesses together! Hence his nickname--the Sword-Pen." Dr. Earle sharpened his heavy brows, and studied the floor. "Fang, the Sword-Pen," he growled; "yes, there will be trouble. He hates us. Given this chance--Humph! Saul of Tarsus.--We're not the Roman Church," he added, with his first trace of irritation. "Always occurring, this thing." Once more he meditated; then heaved his big shoulders to let slip the whole burden. "One day at a time," he laughed. "Thank you for telling us.--You see, Mr. Hackh, they're not devils. The only fault is, they're just human beings. You don't speak the language? I'll send you my old teacher." They talked of things indifferent; and when the young men were stumbling along the streets, he called after them a resounding "Good-night! Thanks!"--and stood a resolute, gigantic silhouette, filling, as a right Doone filled their doorframe, the entrance to his deserted chapel. At his gate, felt Rudolph, they had unloaded some weight of responsibility. He had not only accepted it, but lightened them further, girt them, by a word and a look. Somehow, for the first time since landing, Rudolph perceived that through this difficult, troubled, ignorant present, a man might burrow toward a future gleam. The feeling was but momentary. As for Heywood, he still marched on grimly, threading the stuffed corridors like a man with a purpose. "No dinner!" he snapped. "Catchee bymby, though. We must see Wutzler first. To lose sight of any man for twenty-four hours, nowadays,--Well, it's not hardly fair. Is it?" They turned down a black lane, carpeted with dry rubbish. At long intervals, a lantern guttering above a door showed them a hand's-breadth of the dirty path, a litter of broken withes and basket-weavers' refuse, between the mouldy wall of the town and a row of huts, no less black and silent. In this greasy rift the air lay thick, as though smeared into a groove. Suddenly, among the hovels, they groped along a checkered surface of brick-work. The flare of Heywood's match revealed a heavy wooden door, which he hammered with his fist. After a time, a disgruntled voice within snarled something in the vernacular. Heywood laughed. "Ai-yah! Who's afraid? Wutzler, you old pirate, open up!" A bar clattered down, the door swung back, and there, raising a glow-worm lantern of oiled paper, stood such a timorous little figure as might have ventured out from a masquerade of gnomes. The wrinkled face was Wutzler's, but his weazened body was lost in the glossy black folds of a native jacket, and below the patched trousers, his bare ankles and coolie-sandals of straw moved uneasily, as though trying to hide behind each other. "Kom in," said this hybrid, with a nervous cackle. "I thought you are thiefs. Kom in." Following through a toy courtyard, among shadow hints of pigmy shrubs and rockery, they found themselves cramped in a bare, clean cell, lighted by a European lamp, but smelling of soy and Asiatics. Stiff black-wood chairs lined the walls. A distorted landscape on rice-paper, narrow scarlet panels inscribed with black cursive characters, pith flowers from Amoy, made blots of brightness. "It iss not moch, gentlemen," sighed Wutzler, cringing. "But I am ver' glad." Heywood flung himself into a chair. "Not dead yet, you rascal?" he cried. "And we came all the way to see you. No chow, either." "Oh, allow me," mumbled their host, in a flutter. "My--she--I will speak, I go bring you." He shuffled away, into some further chamber. Heywood leaned forward quickly. "Eat it," he whispered, "whether you can or not! Pleases the old one, no bounds. We're his only visitors--" "Here iss not moch whiskey." Wutzler came shambling in, held a bottle against the light, and squinted ruefully at the yellow dregs. "I will gif you a _kong_ full, but I haf not." He dodged out again. They heard his angry whispers, and a small commotion of the household,--brazen dishes clinking, squeals, titters, and tiny bare feet skipping about,--all the flurry of a rabbit-hutch in Wonderland. Once, near the threshold, a chubby face, very pale, with round eyes of shining jet, peered cautious as a mouse, and popped out of sight with a squeak. Wutzler, red with excitement, came and went like an anxious waiter, bringing in the feast. "Here iss not moch," he repeated sadly. But there were bits of pig-skin stewed in oil; bean-cakes; steaming buns of wheat-flour, stuffed with dice of fat pork and lumps of sugar; three-cornered rice puddings, _no-me_ boiled in plantain-leaf wrappers; with the last of the whiskey, in green cups. While the two men ate, the shriveled outcast beamed timidly, hovering about them, fidgeting. "Herr Hackh," he suddenly exclaimed, in a queer, strained voice, "you do not know how dis yong man iss goot! No! He hass to me--_immer_--" He choked, turned away, and began fussing with the pith flowers; but not before Rudolph had seen a line glistening down the sun-dried cheeks. "Stuff! Cadging for chow, does one acquire merit?" retorted Heywood, over his shoulder. "You talk like a bonze, Wutz." He winked. "I'd rather hear the sing-song box." "_Ach so_, I forget!" Still whimpering, Wutzler dragged something from a corner, squatted, and jerked at a crank, with a noise of ratchets. "She blay not so moch now," he snuffled. "Captain Kneepone he has gifen her, when she iss all op inside for him. I haf rebaired, but she blay only one song yet. A man does not know, Herr Hackh, what he may be. Once I haf piano, and viola my own, yes, and now haf I diss small, laffing, sick teufel!" He rose, and faced Heywood with a trembling, passionate gesture. "But diss yong man, he stand by der oldt fellow!" The streaming eyes blinked absurdly. Behind him, with a whirring sound, a metallic voice assailed them in a gabble of words, at first husky and broken, then clear, nasal, a voice from neither Europe nor Asia, but America:-- "Then did I laff? Ooh, aha-ha ha ha, Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! I could not help but laffing, Ooh, aha-ha ..." From a throat of tin, it mocked them insanely with squealing, black-hearted guffaws. Heywood sat smoking, with the countenance of a stoic; but when the laughter in the box was silent, he started abruptly. "We're off, old chap," he announced. "Bedtime. Just came to see you were all up-standing. Tough as ever? Good! Don't let--er--anything carry you off." At the gate, Wutzler held aloft his glow-worm lantern. "Dose fellows catch me?" he mumbled, "Der plagues--dey will forget me. All zo many shoots, _kugel_, der bullet,--'_gilt's mir, oder gilt es dir?_' Men are dead in der Silk-Weafer Street. Dey haf hong up nets, and dorns, to keep out der plague's-goblins off deir house. Listen, now, dey beat gongs!--But we are white men. You--you tell me zo, to-night!" He blubbered something incoherent, but as the gate slammed they heard the name of God, in a broken benediction. They had groped out of the cleft, and into a main corridor, before Heywood paused. "That devil in the box!" He shook himself like a spaniel. "Queer it should get into me so. But I hate being laughed at by--anybody." A confused thunder of gongs, the clash of cymbals smothered in the distance, maintained a throbbing uproar, pierced now and then by savage yells, prolonged and melancholy. As the two wanderers listened,-- "Where's the comfort," said Heywood, gloomily, "of knowing somebody's worse off?--No, I wasn't thinking of Wutzler, then. Talk of germs! why, over there, it's goblins they're scaring away. Think, behind their nets and thorns, what wretches--women, too, and kids--may be crouched down, quaking, sick with terror. Humph!--I don't mind saying"--for a moment his hand lay on Rudolph's shoulder--"that I loathe giving this muck-hole the satisfaction--I'd hate to go Out here, that's all." CHAPTER VI THE PAGODA He was spared that inconvenience. The untimely rain and cold, some persons said, the few days of untimely heat following, had drowned or dried, frozen or burnt out, the seeds of peril. But accounts varied, reasons were plentiful. Soldiers had come down from the chow city, two-score _li_ inland, and charging through the streets, hacking and slashing the infested air, had driven the goblins over the walls, with a great shout of victory. A priest had freighted a kite with all the evil, then cut it adrift in the sky. A mob had dethroned the God of Sickness, and banished his effigy in a paper junk, launched on the river at night, in flame. A geomancer proclaimed that a bamboo grove behind the town formed an angle most correct, germane, and pleasant to the Azure Dragon and the White Tiger, whose occult currents, male and female, run throughout Nature. For any or all of these reasons, the town was delivered. The pestilence vanished, as though it had come but to grant Monsieur Jolivet his silence, and to add a few score uncounted living wretches to the dark, mighty, imponderable host of ancestors. The relief, after dragging days of uncertainty, came to Rudolph like a sea-breeze to a stoker. To escape and survive,--the bare experience seemed to him at first an act of merit, the deed of a veteran. The interim had been packed with incongruity. There had been a dinner with Kempner, solemn, full of patriotism and philosophy; a drunken dinner at Teppich's; another, and a worse, at Nesbit's; and the banquet of a native merchant, which began at four o'clock on melon-seeds, tea, black yearling eggs, and a hot towel, and ended at three in the morning on rice-brandy and betel served by unreal women with chalked faces and vermilion-spotted lips, simpering and melancholy. By day, there was work, or now and then a lesson with Dr. Earle's teacher, a little aged Chinaman of intricate, refined, and plaintive courtesy. Under his guidance Rudolph learned rapidly, taking to study as a prodigal might take to drink. And with increasing knowledge came increasing tranquillity; as when he found that the hideous cry, startling him at every dawn, was the signal not for massacre, but buffalo-milk. Then, too, came the mild excitement of moving into his own house, the Portuguese nunnery. Through its desolate, lime-coated spaces, his meagre belongings were scattered all too easily; but the new servants, their words and ways, not only kept his hands full, but gave strange food for thought. The silent evenings, timed by the plash of a frog in a pool, a cry from the river, or the sing-song of a "boy" improvising some endless ballad below-stairs; drowsy noons above the little courtyard, bare and peaceful as a jail; homesick moments at the window, when beyond the stunted orangery, at sunset, the river was struck amazingly from bronze to indigo, or at dawn flashed from pearl-gray to flowing brass;--all these, and nights between sleep and waking, when fancy peopled the echoing chambers with the visionary lives, now ended, of meek, brown sisters from Goa or Macao, gave to Rudolph intimations, vague, profound, and gravely happy, as of some former existence almost recaptured. Once more he felt himself a householder in the Arabian tales. And yet, when his life was growing all but placid, across it shot some tremor of disquieting knowledge. One evening, after a busy day among his piece-goods, he had walked afield with Heywood, and back by an aimless circuit through the twilight. His companion had been taciturn, of late; and they halted, without speaking, where a wide pool gleamed toward a black, fantastic belt of knotted willows and sharp-curving roofs. Through these broke the shadow of a small pagoda, jagged as a war-club of shark's teeth. Vesper cymbals clashed faintly in a temple, and from its open door the first plummet of lamplight began to fathom the dark margin. A short bridge curved high, like a camel's hump, over the glimmering half-circle of a single arch. Close by, under a drooping foreground of branches, a stake upheld an oblong placard of neat symbols, like a cartouche to explain a painting. "It is very beautiful," ventured Rudolph, twisting up his blond moustache with satisfaction. "Very sightly. I would say--picturesque, no?" "Very," said Heywood, absently. "Willow Pattern." "And the placard, so finishing, so artistic--That says?" "Eh, what? Oh, I wasn't listening." Heywood glanced carelessly at the upright sentence. That's a notice:-- "'Girls May Not be Drowned in This Pond.'" He started on, without comment. Without reply, Rudolph followed, gathering as he walked the force of this tremendous hint. Slow, far-reaching, it poisoned the elegiac beauty of the scene, alienated the night, and gave to the fading country-side a yet more ancient look, sombre and implacable. He was still pondering this, when across their winding foot-path, with a quick thud of hoofs, swept a pair of equestrian silhouettes. It was half glimpse, half conjecture,--the tough little ponies trotting stubbornly, a rider who leaned across laughing, and a woman who gayly cried at him: "You really do understand me, don't you?" The two jogging shadows melted in the bamboo tracery, like things blown down the wind. But for years Rudolph had known the words, the laugh, the beguiling cadence, and could have told what poise of the head went with them, what dangerous glancing light. Suddenly, without reason, he felt a gust of rage. It was he that understood. It was to him these things belonged. The memory of her weakness was lost in the shining memory of her power. He should be riding there, in the dusk of this lonely and cruel land. Heywood had thrown after them a single gloomy stare, down the pointed aisle of bamboos. "Well matched!" he growled. "Chantel--He bounds in the saddle, and he bounds afoot!" Rudolph knew that he had hated Chantel at sight. He could not bring himself, next day, to join their party for tiffin at the Flowery Pagoda. But in the midst of his brooding, Teppich and the fat Sturgeon assailed the nunnery gate with pot-valiant blows and shouts. They had brought chairs, to carry him off; and being in no mood to fail, though panting and struggling, they packed him into a palanquin with many bottles of the best wine known to Fliegelman and Sons. By a short cut through the streets--where checkered sunshine, through the lattice roof, gave a muddy, subdued light as in a roiled aquarium--the revelers passed the inland wall. Here, in the shade, grooms awaited them with ponies; and scrambling into saddle, they trotted off through gaps in the bamboos, across a softly rolling country. Tortuous foot-paths of vivid pink wound over brilliant green terraces of young paddy. The pink crescents of new graves scarred the hillsides, already scalloped and crinkled with shelving abodes of the venerable dead. Great hats of farmers stooping in the fields, gleamed in the sun like shields of brass. Over knolls and through hollows the little cavalcade jogged steadily, till, mounting a gentle eminence, they wound through a grove of camphor and Flame-of-the-Forest. Above the branches rose the faded lilac shaft of an ancient pagoda, ruinously adorned with young trees and wild shrubs clinging in the cornices. At the foot of this aged fantasy in stone, people were laughing. The three riders broke cover in time to see Mrs. Forrester, flushed and radiant, end some narrative with a droll pantomime. She stood laughing, the life and centre of a delighted group. "And Gilbert Forrester," she cried, turning archly on her husband, "said that wasn't funny!" Gilly tugged his gray moustache, in high good-nature. Chantel, Nesbit, and Kempner laughed uproariously, the padre and the dark-eyed Miss Drake quietly, Heywood more quietly, while even stout, uneasy Mrs. Earle smiled as in duty bound. A squad of Chinese boys, busy with tiffin-baskets, found time to grin. To this lively actress in the white gown they formed a sylvan audience under the gnarled boughs and the pagoda. "Too late!" called the white-haired giant, indulgently, to the dismounting trio. "Mr. Hackh, you should have come spurring." Rudolph advanced, pale, but with a calmness of which, afterward, he was justly proud. The heroine of the moment turned toward him quickly, with a look more natural, more sincere, than she had ever given him. "Is this Mr. Hackh?" she said graciously. "I've heard so much about you!" The young man himself was almost deceived. Was there a German mail-boat? Was there a club, from which he had stolen out while she wept, ignominiously, in that girl's arms? And then of a sudden he perceived, with a fatuous pleasure, how well she knew him, to know that he had never spoken. His English, as he drew up a stool beside Miss Drake, was wild and ragged; but he found her an astonishing refuge. For the first time, he recalled that this quiet girl had been beautiful, the other night; and though now by day that beauty was rather of line than of color, he could not understand how it had been overlooked. Tiffin, meanwhile, sped by like an orgy. He remembered asking so many questions, about the mission hospital and her school for orphans, that the girl began at last to answer with constraint, and with puzzled, sidelong scrutiny. He remembered how even the tolerant Heywood shot a questioning glance toward his wine-glass. He remembered telling a brilliant story, and reciting "Old Captain Mau in Vegesack,"--rhymes long forgotten, now fluent and spontaneous. The applause was a triumph. Through it, as through a haze, he saw a pair of wide blue eyes shining with startled admiration. But the best came when the sun had lowered behind the grove, the company grown more silent, and Mrs. Forrester, leaning beside the door of the tower, turned the great pegs of a Chinese lute. The notes tinkled like a mandolin, but with now and then an alien wail, a lament unknown to the West. "Sing for us," begged the dark-eyed girl; "a native song." The other smiled, and bending forward as if to recollect, began in a low voice, somewhat veiled, but musical and full of meaning. "The Jasmine Flower," first; then, "My Love is Gathering Dolichos"; and then she sang the long Ballad of the Rice,--of the husband and wife planting side by side, the springing of the green blades, the harvest by millions upon millions of sheaves, the wealth of the State, more fragrant to ancestors than offerings of spice:-- "...O Labor and Love and hallowed Land! Think you these things are but still to come? Think you they are but near at hand, Only now and here?--Behold. They were the same in years of old!" In her plaintive interlude, the slant-eyed servants watched her, nodding and muttering under the camphor trees. "And here's a song of exile," she said. "I render it very badly."--Rudolph had never seen her face like this, bending intently above the lute. It was as though in the music she found and disclosed herself, without guile. "...Blue was the sky, And blue the rice-pool water lay Holding the sky; Blue was the robe she wore that day. Alas, my sorrow! Why Must life bear all away, Away, away, Ah, my beloved, why?" A murmur of praise went round the group, as she put aside the instrument. "The sun's getting low," she said lightly, "and I _must_ see that view from the top." Chantel was rising, but sat down again with a scowl, as she turned to Rudolph. "You've never seen it, Mr. Hackh? Do come help me up." Inside, with echoing steps, they mounted in a squalid well, obscurely lighted from the upper windows, toward which decaying stairs rose in a dangerous spiral, without guard-rail. A misstep being no trifle, Rudolph offered his hand for the mere safety; but she took it with a curious little laugh. They climbed cautiously. Once, at a halt, she stood very close, with eyes shining large in the dusk. Her slight body trembled, her head shook with stifled merriment, like a girl overcome by mischief. "What a queer little world!" she whispered. "You and I here!--I never dreamed you could be funny. It made me so proud of you, down there!" He muttered something vague; and--the stairs ending in ruin at the fourth story--handed her carefully through the window to a small outer balustrade. As they stood together at the rail, he knew not whether to be angry, suspicious, or glad. "I love this prospect," she began quietly. "That's why I wanted you to come." Beyond the camphors, a wide, strange landscape glowed in the full, low-streaming light. The ocean lay a sapphire band in the east; in the west, on a long ridge, undulated the gray battlements of a city, the antique walls, warmed and glorified, breasting the flood of sunset. All between lay vernal fields and hillocks, maidenhair sprays of bamboo, and a wandering pattern of pink foot-paths. Slowly along one of these, a bright-gowned merchant rode a white pony, his bells tinkling in the stillness of sea and land. Everywhere, like other bells more tiny and shrill, sounded the trilling of frogs. As the two on the pagoda stood listening,-- "It was before Rome," she declared thoughtfully. "Before Egypt, and has never changed. You and I are just--" She broke off, humming:-- "Only here and now? Behold They were the same in years of old!" Her mood colored the scene: the aged continuity of life oppressed him. Yet he chose rather to watch the straggling battlements, far off, than to meet her eyes or see her hair gleaming in the sun. Through many troubled days he had forgotten her, despised her, bound his heart in triple brass against a future in her hateful neighborhood; and now, beside her at this time-worn rail, he was in danger of being happy. It was inglorious. He tried to frown. "You poor boy." Suddenly, with an impulse that must have been generous, she rested her hand on his arm. "I was sorry. I thought of you so often." At these close quarters, her tremulous voice and searching upward glance meant that she alone understood all his troubles. He started, turned for some rush of overwhelming speech, when a head popped through the window behind them. "Boot and saddle, Mrs. Forrester," announced Heywood. His lean young face was very droll and knowing. "We're leaving, bottom-side." "Thank you so much, Maurice," she answered, perhaps dryly. "You're a dear, to climb all those dreadful stairs." "Oh!" said Heywood, with his gray eyes fastened on Rudolph, "no trouble." All three went down the dark well together. When the company were mounted, and trooping downhill through the camphor shadow, Heywood's pony came sidling against Rudolph's, till legging chafed legging. "You blossomed, old boy," he whispered. "Quite the star, after your comedy turn." He reined aside, grinning. "What price sympathy on a pagoda?" For that moment, Rudolph could have struck down the one sure friend he had in China. CHAPTER VII IPHIGENIA "Don't chop off a hen's head with a battle-axe." Heywood, still with a malicious, friendly quirk at the corners of his mouth, held in his fretful pony. Rudolph stood bending a whip viciously. They two had fetched a compass about the town, and now in the twilight were parting before the nunnery gate. "A tiff's the last thing I'd want with you. The lady, in confidence, is not worth--" "I do not wish," declared Rudolph, trembling,--"I do not wish you to say those things, so!" "Right!" laughed the other, and his pony wheeled at the word. "I'll give you one month--no: you're such a good, thorough little chap, it will take longer--two months, to change your mind. Only"--he looked down at Rudolph with a comic, elderly air--"let me observe, our yellow people have that rather neat proverb. A hen's head, dear chap,--not with a battle-axe! No. Hot weather's coming, too. No sorrows of Werther, now, over such"--He laughed again. "Don't scowl, I'll be good. I won't say it. You'll supply the word, in two months!" He let the pony have his way, and was off in a clatter. Lonely, fuming with resentment, Rudolph stared after him. What could he know, this airy, unfeeling meddler, so free with his advice and innuendo? Let him go, then, let him canter away. He had seen quickly, guessed with a diabolic shrewdness, yet would remain on the surface, always, of a mystery so violent and so profound. The young man stalked into his vacant nunnery in a rage, a dismal pomp of emotion: reason telling him that a friend had spoken sense, imagination clothing him in the sceptred pall of tragedy. Yet one of these unwelcome words had stuck: he was Werther, it was true--a man who came too late. Another word was soon fulfilled; for the hot weather came, sudden, tropical, ferocious. Without gradation, the vernal days and languid noons were gone in a twinkling. The change came like another act of a play. One morning--though the dawn stirred cool and fragrant as all dawns before--the "boy" laid out Rudolph's white tunic, slipped in the shining buttons, smeared pipe-clay on his heaviest helmet; and Rudolph, looking from his window, saw that on the river, by the same instinct, boatmen were stretching up their bamboo awnings. Breakfast was hardly ended, before river, and convex field, and huddling red tiles of the town, lay under a blurred, quivering distortion. The day flamed. At night, against a glow of fiery umber, the western hills broke sharp and thin as sheet-iron, while below them rose in flooding mirage a bright strip of magical water. Thus, in these days, he rode for his exercise while the sun still lay behind the ocean; and thus her lively, pointed face and wide blue eyes, wondering or downcast or merry, were mingled in his thoughts with the first rousing of the world, the beat of hoofs in cool silences, the wide lights of creation over an aged, weary, alien empire. Their ponies whinnying like old friends, they met, by chance or appointment, before the power of sleep had lifted from eyes still new and strange against the morning. Sometimes Chantel the handsome rode glowering beside them, sometimes Gilly, erect and solid in the saddle, laid upon their talk all the weight of his honest, tired commonplaces. But one morning she cantered up alone, laughing at her escape. His pony bolted, and they raced along together as comrades happily join forces in a headlong dream. Quivering bamboo swept behind them; the river, on their other hand, met and passed in hurrying panorama. They had no time for words, but only laughter. Words, indeed, had never yet advanced them beyond that moment on the pagoda. And now, when their ponies fell into a shambling trot, came the first impulse of speech. "How lucky!" she cried. "How lucky we came this way! Now I can really test you!" He turned. Her glowing face was now averted, her gesture was not for him, but for the scene. He studied that, to understand her. The river, up which they had fled, now rested broad and quiet as a shallow lake, burnished faintly, brooded over by a floating, increasing light, not yet compounded into day. Tussocks, innumerable clods and crumbs of vivid green, speckled all the nearer water. On some of these storks meditated,--sage, pondering heads and urbane bodies perched high on the frailest penciling of legs. In the whole expanse, no movement came but when a distant bird, leaving his philosophic pose, plunged downward after a fish. Beyond them rose a shapeless mound or isle, like some half-organic monster grounded in his native ooze. "There!" said the woman, pointing. "Are you all excuses, like the others? Or do you dare?" "I am not afraid of anything--now," retorted Rudolph, and with truth, after the dash of their twilight encounter. "Dare what?" "Go see what's on that island," she answered. "I dared them all. Twice I've seen natives land there and hurry away. Mr. Nesbit was too lazy to try; Dr. Chantel wearing his best clothes. Maurice Heywood refused to mire his horse for a whim. Whim? It's a mystery! Come, now. Do you dare?" In a rare flush of pride, Rudolph wheeled his stubborn mount and bullied him down the bank. A poor horseman, he would have outstripped Curtius to the gulf. But no sooner had his dancing pony consented to make the first rebellious, sidelong plunge, than he had small joy of his boast. Fore-legs sank floundering, were hoisted with a terrified wrench of the shoulders, in the same moment that hind-legs went down as by suction. The pony squirmed, heaved, wrestled in a frenzy, and churning the red water about his master's thighs, went deeper and fared worse. With a clangor of wings, the storks rose, a streaming rout against the sky, trailed their tilted legs, filed away in straggling flight, like figures interlacing on a panel. At the height of his distress, Rudolph caught a whirling glimpse of the woman above him, safe on firm earth, easy in her saddle, and laughing. Quicksand, then, was a joke,--but he could not pause for this added bewilderment. The pony, using a skill born of agony, had found somewhere a solid verge and scrambled up, knee-deep, well out from the bank. With a splash, Rudolph stood beside him among the tufts of salad green. As he patted the trembling flanks, he heard a cry from the shore. "Oh, well done!" she mocked them. "Well done!" A gust of wholesome anger refreshed him. She might laugh, but now he would see this folly through. He tore off his coat, flung it across the saddle, waded out alone through the tussocks, and shooting forward full length in the turbid water, swam resolutely for the island. Sky and water brightened while he swam; and as he rose, wrapped in the leaden weight of dripping clothes, the sun, before and above him, touched wonderfully the quaggy bank and parched grasses. He lurched ashore, his feet caked with enormous clods as of melting chocolate. A filthy scramble left him smeared and disheveled on the summit. He had come for nothing. The mound lay vacant, a tangled patch, a fragment of wilderness. Yet as he stood panting, there rose a puny, miserable sound. What presence could lurk there? The distress, it might be, of some small animal--a rabbit dying in a forgotten trap. Faint as illusion, a wail, a thin-spun thread of sorrow, broke into lonely whimpering, and ceased. He moved forward, doubtfully, and of a sudden, in the scrubby level of the isle, stumbled on the rim of a shallow circular depression. At first, he could not believe the discovery; but next instant--as at the temple pond, though now without need of placard or interpreter--he understood. This bowl, a tiny crater among the weeds, showed like some paltry valley of Ezekiel, a charnel place of Herod's innocents, the battlefield of some babes' crusade. A chill struck him, not from the water or the early mists. In stupor, he viewed that savage fact. Through the stillness of death sounded again the note of living discontent. He was aware also of some stir, even before he spied, under a withered clump, the saffron body of an infant girl, feebly squirming. By a loathsome irony, there lay beside her an earthen bowl of rice, as an earnest or symbol of regret. Blind pity urged him into the atrocious hollow. Seeing no further than the present rescue, he caught up the small unclean sufferer, who moaned the louder as he carried her down the bank, and waded out through the sludge. To hold the squalling mouth above water, and swim, was no simple feat; yet at last he came floundering among the tussocks, wrapped the naked body in his jacket, and with infinite pains tugged his terrified pony along a tortuous bar to the land. Once in the river-path, he stood gloomily, and let Mrs. Forrester canter up to join him. Indeed, he had almost forgotten her. "Splendid!" she laughed. "What a figure of fun! But what can you have brought back? Oh, please! I can't wait!" He turned on her a muddy, haggard face, without enthusiasm, and gently unfolded the coat. The man and the woman looked down together, in silence, at the child. He had some foolish hope that she would take it, that his part was ended. Like an outlandish doll, with face contorted and thick-lidded eyes shut tightly against the sunshine, the outcast whimpered, too near the point of death for even the rebellion of arms and legs. The woman in the saddle gave a short, incredulous cry. Her face, all gay curiosity, had darkened in a shock of disgust. "What in the world!" she scolded. "Oh! Such a nasty little--Why did--What do you propose doing with it?" Rudolph shook his head, like a man caught in some stupid blunder. "I never thought of that," he explained heavily. "She has no--no friends." "Cover it," his companion ordered. "Cover it up. I can't bear to see it." With a sombre, disappointed air, he obeyed; then looked up, as if in her face he read strange matter. "I can't bear," she added quickly, "to see any kind of suffering. Why did--It's all my fault for sending you! We were having such a good ride together, and now I've spoiled it all, with this.--Poor little filthy object!" She turned her hands outward, with a helpless, dainty gesture. "But what can we do? These things happen every day." Rudolph was studying the ground again. His thoughts, then, had wronged her. Drenched and downhearted, holding this strange burden in his jacket, he felt that he had foolishly meddled in things inevitable, beyond repair. She was right. Yet some vague, insurgent instinct, which would not down, told him that there had been a disappointment. Still, what had he expected? No woman could help; no woman. Then suddenly he mounted, bundle and all, and turned his willing pony homeward. "Come," he said; and for the first time, unwittingly, had taken charge. "What is it?" she called. "You foolish boy! What's your plan?" "We shall see," he answered. Without waiting, he beckoned her to follow. She came. They rode stirrup to stirrup, silent as in their escape at dawn, and as close bodily, but in spirit traveling distant parallels. He gave no thought to that, riding toward his experiment. Near the town, at last, he reined aside to a cluster of buildings,--white walls and rosy tiles under a great willow. "You may save your steps," she declared, with sudden petulance. "The hospital's more out of funds than ever, and more crowded. They'll not thank you." Rudolph nodded back at her, with a queer smile, half reckless and half confident. "Then," he replied, dismounting, "I will replenish my nunnery." Squatting coolies sprang up and raced to hold his pony. Others, in the shade of the wall, cackled when they saw a Son of the Red-Haired so beplastered and sopping. A few pointed at his bundle, with grunts of sudden interest; and a leper, bearing the visage as of a stone lion defaced by time, cried something harshly. At his words, the whole band of idlers began to chatter. Rudolph turned to aid his companion. She sat watching them sharply. An uneasy light troubled the innocent blue eyes, which had not even a glance for him. "No, I shan't get down," she said angrily. "It's just what might be--Your little brat will bring no good to any of us." He flung away defiantly, strode through the gate, and calling aloud, traversed an empty compound, already heated by the new-risen sun. A cooler fringe of veranda, or shallow cloister, lined a second court. Two figures met him,--the dark-eyed Miss Drake, all in white, and behind her a shuffling, grinning native woman, who carried a basin, in which permanganate of potash swam gleaming like diluted blood. "Good-morning." With one droll look of amusement, the girl had understood, and regained that grave yet happy, friendly composure which had the virtue, he discovered, of being easily forgotten, to be met each time like something new. "What have you there for us?" Again he unfolded the jacket. "A child." The naked mite lay very still, the breath weakly fluttered. A somewhat nauseous gift, the girl raised her arms and received it gently, without haste,--the saffron body appearing yet more squalid against the Palladian whiteness of her tunic, plain and cool as drapery in marble. "It may live," she said. "We'll do what we can." And followed by the black-trousered woman, she moved quickly away to offer battle with death. A plain, usual fact, it seemed, involving no more surprise than repugnance. Her face had hardly altered; and yet Rudolph, for the first time in many days, had caught the fleeting brightness of compassion. Mere light of the eyes, a half-imagined glory, incongruous in the sharp smell of antiseptics, it left him wondering in the cloister. He knew now what had been missing by the river. "I was naked, and"--how ran the lines? He turned to go, recalling in a whirl snatches of truth he had never known since boyhood, never seen away from home. Across a court the padre hailed him,--a tall, ungainly patriarch under an enormous mushroom helmet of solar pith,--and walking along beside, listened shrewdly to his narrative. They paused at the outer gate. The padre, nodding, frowning slightly, stood at ease, all angles and loose joints, as if relaxed by the growing heat. Suddenly he stood erect as a grenadier. "That lie again!" he cried. "Listen!" The leper, without, harangued from his place apart, in a raucous voice filled with the solitary pride of intellect. "Well, men shall revile you," growled Dr. Earle. "He says we steal children, to puncture their eyes for magic medicine!" Then, heaving his wide shoulders,-- "Oh, well!" he said wearily, "thanks, anyhow. Come see us, when we're not so busy? Good!--Look out these fellows don't fly at you." Tired and befouled, Rudolph passed through into the torrid glare. The leper cut short his snarling oration. But without looking at him, the young man took the bridle from the coolie. There had been a test. He had seen a child, and two women. And yet it was with a pang he found that Mrs. Forrester had not waited. CHAPTER VIII THE HOT NIGHT Rudolph paced his long chamber like a wolf,--a wolf in summer, with too thick a coat. In sweat of body and heat of mind, he crossed from window to window, unable to halt. A faintly sour smell of parched things, oppressing the night without breath or motion, was like an interminable presence, irritating, poisonous. The punkah, too, flapped incessant, and only made the lamp gutter. Broad leaves outside shone in mockery of snow; and like snow the stifled river lay in the moonlight, where the wet muzzles of buffaloes glistened, floating like knots on sunken logs, or the snouts of crocodiles. Birds fluttered, sleepless and wretched. Coolies, flung asleep on the burnt grass, might have been corpses, but for the sound of their troubled breathing. "If I could believe," he groaned, sitting with hands thrust through his hair. "If I believe in her--But I came too late." The lamp was an added torment. He sprang up from it, wiped the drops off his forehead, and paced again. He came too late. All alone. The collar of his tunic strangled him. He stuffed his fingers underneath, and wrenched; then as he came and went, catching sight in a mirror, was shocked to see that, in Biblical fashion, he had rent his garments. "This is bad," he thought, staring. "It is the heat. I must not stay alone." He shouted, clapped his hands for a servant, and at last, snatching a coat from his unruffled boy, hurried away through stillness and moonlight to the detested club. On the stairs a song greeted him,--a fragment with more breath than melody, in a raw bass:-- "Jolly boating weather, And a hay harvest breeze!" "Shut up!" snarled another voice. "Good God, man!" The loft was like a cave heated by subterranean fires. Two long punkahs flapped languidly in the darkness, with a whine of pulleys. Under a swinging lamp, in a pool of light and heat, four men sat playing cards, their tousled heads, bare arms, and cinglets torn open across the chest, giving them the air of desperadoes. "Jolly boating weather," wheezed the fat Sturgeon. He stood apart in shadow, swaying on his feet. "What would you give," he propounded thickly, "for a hay harvest breeze?" He climbed, or rolled, upon the billiard-table, turned head toward punkah, and suddenly lay still,--a gross white figure, collapsed and sprawling. "How much does he think a man can stand?" snapped Nesbit, his lean Cockney face pulled in savage lines. "Beast of a song! He'll die to-night, drinking." "Die yourself," mumbled the singer, "'m goin' sleep. More 'n you can do." A groan from the players, and the vicious flip of a card, acknowledged the hit. Rudolph joined them, ungreeting and ungreeted. The game went on grimly, with now and then the tinkle of ice, or the popping of soda bottles. Sharp cords and flaccid folds in Wutzler's neck, Chantel's brown cheeks, the point of Heywood's resolute chin, shone wet and polished in the lamplight. All four men scowled pugnaciously, even the pale Nesbit, who was winning. Bad temper filled the air, as palpable as the heat and stink of the burning oil. Only Heywood maintained a febrile gayety, interrupting the game perversely, stirring old Wutzler to incoherent speech. "What's that about Rome?" he asked. "You were saying?" "Rome is safed!" cried the outcast, with sudden enthusiasm. "In your paper _Tit-bit_, I read. How dey climb der walls op, yes, but Rome is safed by a flook of geeze. Gracious me, der History iss great sopjeck! I lern moch.--But iss Rome yet a fortify town?" Chantel rapped out a Parisian oath. "Do we play cards," he cried sourly, "or listen to the chatter of senility?" Heywood held to the previous question. "No, Wutz, that town's no longer fortified," he answered slowly. "Geese live there, still, as in--many other places." Dr. Chantel examined his finger-tips as though for some defect; then, snatching up the cards, shuffled and dealt with intense precision. The game went on as before. "I read alzo," stammered Wutzler, like a timid scholar encouraged to lecture, "I read zo how your Englishman, Rawf Ralli, he spreadt der fine clock for your Queen, and lern your Queen smoking, no?" He mopped his lean throat with the back of his hand. "In Bengal are dere Rallis. Dey handle jute." "Yes?" Heywood smiled a weary indulgence. Next instant he whirled on Rudolph in fury.--"Is this a game, or Idiot's Joy?" "I'm playing my best," explained Rudolph, sulkily. "Then your best is the worst I ever saw! Better learn, before sitting in!" Chantel laughed, without merriment; Rudolph flung down his cards, stalked to the window, and stood looking out, in lonely, impotent rage. A long time passed, marked by alarming snores from the billiard-table. The half-naked watchers played on, in ferocious silence. The night wore along without relief. Hours might have lapsed, when Dr. Chantel broke out as though the talk had but paused a moment. "So it goes!" he sneered. "Fools will always sit in, when they do not know. They rush into the water, also, and play the hero!" Again his laughter was brief but malignant. Heywood had left his cards, risen, and crossing the room, stood looking over Rudolph's shoulder into the snowy moonlight. On the shoulder his hand rested, as by accident. "It's the heat, old chap," he said wearily. "Don't mind what we say to-night." Rudolph made no sign, except to move from under his hand, so that, with their quarrel between them, the two men stared out across the blanched roofs and drooping trees, where long black shadows at last crept toward the dawn. "These heroes!" continued the mocker. "What is danger? Pouf--nothing! They make it for the rest of us, so easily! Do you know," his voice rose and quickened, "do you know, the other end of town is in an uproar? We murder children, it appears, for medicine!" Rudolph started, turned, but now sat quiet under Heywood's grasp. Chantel, in the lamplight, watched the punkahs with a hateful smile. "The Gascons are not all dead," he murmured. "They plunge us all into a turmoil, for the sake of a woman." He made a sudden startling gesture, like a man who has lost control. "For the sake," he cried angrily, "of a person we all know! Oh! we all know her! She is nothing more--" There was a light scuffle at the window. "Dr. Chantel," began Heywood, with a sharp and dangerous courtesy, "we are all unlike ourselves to-night. I am hardly the person to remind you, but this club is hardly the place--" "Oh, la la!" The other snapped his fingers, and reverting to his native tongue, finished his sentence wildly. "You cad!" Heywood advanced in long strides deliberately, as if gathering momentum for a collision. Before his blow could fall, he was sent spinning. Rudolph, his cheeks on fire, darted past and dealt, full force, a clumsy backhand sweep of the arm. Light and quick as a leopard, Chantel was on foot, erect, and even while his chair crashed on the floor, had whipped out a handkerchief. "You are right, Mr. Heywood," he said, stanching his lips, in icy composure. His eyes held an odd gleam of satisfaction. "You are right. We are not like ourselves, at present. I will better ask Mr. Sturgeon to see your friend to-morrow morning. This morning, rather." Not without dignity, he turned, stepped quickly to the stairs, saluted gravely, and went down. "No, no!" panted Nesbit, wrestling with Rudolph. "Easy on, now! Let you go? No fear!" Heywood wrenched the captive loose, but only to shake him violently, and thrust him into a chair. "Be quiet, you little ass!" he scolded. "I've a great mind, myself, to run after the bounder and kick him. But that sort of thing--you did enough. Who'd have thought? You young spitfire! Chantel took you on, exactly as he wanted." The fat sleeper continued to snore. Wutzler came slinking back from his refuge in the shadows. "It iss zo badt!" he whined, gulping nervously. "It iss zo badt!" "Right you are," said Heywood. With arms folded, he eyed them sternly. "It's bad. We might have known. If only I'd reached him first! By Jove, you must let me fight that beast. Duels? The idiot, nobody fights duels any more. I've always--His cuffs are always dirty, too, on the inside!" Rudolph leaned back, like a man refreshed and comforted, but his laugh was unsteady, and too boisterous. "It is well," he bragged. "Pistol-bullets--they fly on the wings of chance! No?--All is well." "Pistols? My dear young gentleman," scoffed his friend, "there's not a pair of matched pistols in the settlement. And if there were, Chantel has the choice. He'll take swords." He paused, in a silence that grew somewhat menacing. From a slit in the wall the wheel of the punkah-thong whined insistently,--rise and fall, rise and fall of peevish complaint, distressing as a brain-fever bird. "Swords, of course," continued Heywood. "If only out of vanity. Fencing,--oh, I hate the man, and the art's by-gone, if you like, but he's a beautiful swordsman! Wonderful!" Rudolph still lay back, but now with a singular calm. "It's just as well," he declared quietly. Heywood loosed a great breath, a sigh of vast relief. "My word!" he cried, grinning. "So you're there, too, eh? You young Sly-boots! If you're another expert--Bravo! We'll beat him at his own game! Hoist with his own what-d'-ye-call-it! I'd give anything"--He thumped the table, and pitched the cards broadcast, like an explosion of confetti, in a little carnival of glee. "You old Sly-boots!--But are you sure? He's quick as lightning." "I am not afraid," replied Rudolph, modestly. He trained his young moustache upward with steady fingers, and sat very quiet, thinking long thoughts. A quaint smile played about his eyes. "Good for you!" said Heywood. "Now let him come, as the Lord Mayor said of the hare. What sport! With an even chance--And what a load off one's mind!" He moved away to the window, as though searching for air. Instead of moonlight, without, there swam the blue mist of dawn. "Not a word must ever reach old Gilly," he mused. "Do you hear, Nesbit?" "If you think," retorted the clerk, stiffly, "I don't know the proper course of be'aviour! Not likely!" The tall silhouette in the window made no reply, but stood grumbling privately: "A club! Yes, where we drink out of jam-pots--dead cushions, dead balls--no veranda--fellow that soils the inside of his cuffs first! We're a pack of beach-combers." He propped his elbows on the long sill, and leaned out, venting fragments of disgust. Then of a sudden he turned, and beckoned eagerly. "Come here, you chaps. Look-see." The others joined him. Gray vapors from river and paddy-field, lingering like steam in a slow breeze, paled and dispersed in the growing light, as the new day, worse than the old, came sullenly without breath or respite. A few twilight shapes were pattering through the narrow street--a squad of Yamên runners haling a prisoner. "The Sword-Pen remains active," said Heywood, thoughtfully. "That dingy little procession, do you know, it's quite theatrical? The Cross and the Dragon. Eh? Another act's coming." Even Rudolph could spare a misgiving from his own difficulty while he watched the prisoner. It was Chok Chung, the plump Christian merchant, slowly trudging toward the darkest of human courts, to answer for the death of the cormorant-fisher. The squad passed by. Rudolph saw again the lighted shop, the tumbled figure retching on the floor; and with these came a memory of that cold and scornful face, thinking so cruelly among the unthinking rabble. The Sword-Pen had written something in the dark. "I go find out"; and Wutzler was away, as keen as a village gossip. "Trouble's comin'," Nesbit asserted glibly. "There's politics afloat. But I don't care." He stretched his arms, with a weary howl. "That's the first yawn I've done to-night. Trouble keeps, worse luck. I'm off--seek my downy." Alone with the grunting sleeper, the two friends sat for a long time and watched the flooding daylight. "What," began Rudolph, suddenly, and his voice trembled, "what is your true opinion? You are so kind, and I was just a fool. That other day, I would not listen. You laughed. Now tell me, so--as you were to die next. You were joking? Can I truly be proud of--of her?" He leaned forward, white and eager, waiting for the truth like a dicer for the final throw. "Of yourself, dear old chap. Not of the lady. She's the fool, not you. Poor old Gilly Forrester slaves here to send her junketing in Japan, Kashmir, Ceylon, Home. What Chantel said--well, between the two of us, I'm afraid he's right. It's a pity." Heywood paused, frowning. "A pity, too, this quarrel. So precious few of us, and trouble ahead. The natives lashing themselves into a state of mind, or being lashed. The least spark--Rough work ahead, and here we are at swords' points." "And the joke is," Rudolph added quietly, "I do not know a sword's point from a handle." Heywood turned, glowered, and twice failed to speak. "Rudie--old boy," he stammered, "that man--Preposterous! Why, it's plain murder!" Rudolph stared straight ahead, without hope, without illusions, facing the haggard light of morning. A few weeks ago he might have wept; but now his laugh, short and humorous, was worthy of his companion. "I do not care, more," he answered. "Luck, so called I it, when I escaped the militar' service. Ho ho! Luck, to pass into the _Ersatz!_--I do not care, now. I cannot believe, even cannot I fight. Worthless--dreamer! My deserts. It's a good way out." CHAPTER IX PASSAGE AT ARMS "Boy." "Sai." "S'pose Mr. Forrester bym-by come, you talkee he, master no got, you chin-chin he come-back." "Can do." The long-coated boy scuffed away, across the chunam floor, and disappeared in the darkness. Heywood submitted his head once more to the nimble hands of his groom, who, with horse-clippers and a pair of enormous iron shears, was trimming the stubborn chestnut locks still closer. The afternoon glow, reflected from the burnt grass and white walls of the compound, struck upward in the vault-spaces of the ground floor, and lighted oddly the keen-eyed yellow mafoo and his serious young master. Nesbit, pert as a jockey, sat on the table swinging his feet furiously. "Sturgeon would take it all right, of course," he said, with airy wisdom. "Quite the gentleman, he is. Netch'rally. No fault of his." "Not the least," Heywood assented gloomily. "Did everything he could. If I were commissioned to tell 'em outright--'The youngster can't fence'--why, we might save the day. But our man won't even listen to that. Fight's the word. Chantel will see, on the spot, directly they face. But will that stop him? No fear: he's worked up to the pitch of killing. He'll lunge first, and be surprised afterward.--So regrettable! Such remorse!--Oh, I know _him!_" The Cockney fidgeted for a time. His face--the face of a street-bred urchin--slowly worked into lines of abnormal cunning. "I say! I was thinking," he ventured at last. "Two swords, that's all? Just so. Now--my boy used to be learn-pidgin at Chantel's. Knows that 'ouse inside out--loafs there now, the beggar, with Chantel's cook. Why not send him over--prowling, ye know--fingers the bric-a-brac, bloomin' ass, and breaks a sword-blade. Perfectly netch'ral. 'Can secure, all plopah,' Accident, ye know. All off with their little duel. What?" Heywood chuckled, and bowed his head to the horse-clippers. "Last week," he replied. "Not to-day. This afternoon's rather late for accidents. You make me feel like Pompey on his galley: 'This thou shouldst have done, and not have spoken on't,'--Besides, those swords belonged to Chantel's father. He began as a gentleman.--But you're a good sort, Nesbit, to take the affair this fashion." Lost in smoke, the clerk grumbled that the gory affair was unmentionable nonsense. "Quite," said Heywood. "We've tried reasoning. No go. As you say, an accident. That's all can save the youngster now. Impossible, of course." He sighed. Then suddenly the gray eyes lighted, became both shrewd and distant; a malicious little smile stole about the corners of his mouth. "Have-got! The credit's yours, Nesbit. Accident: can do. And this one--by Jove, it won't leave either of 'em a leg to stand on!--Here, mafoo, makee finish!" He sprang up, clapped a helmet on the shorn head, and stalked out into the sunlight. "Come on," he called. "It's nearly time. We must pick up our young Hotspur." The clerk followed, through the glowing compound and the road. In the shade of the nunnery gate they found Rudolph, who, raising his rattan, saluted them with a pale and stoic gravity. "Are we ready?" he asked; and turning, took a slow, cool survey of the nunnery, as though looking his last--from the ditch at their feet to the red tiles, patched with bronze mould, that capped the walls and the roof. "I never left any place with less regret. Come, let's go." The three men had covered some ground before Rudolph broke the silence. "You'll find a few little things up there in my strong-box, Maurice. Some are marked for you, and the rest--will you send them Home, please?" He hesitated. "I hope neither of you will misunderstand me. I'm horribly afraid, but not--but only because this fellow will make me look absurd. If I knew the first motion!" He broke out angrily. "I cannot bear to have him laugh, also! I cannot bear!" Heywood clapped him on the shoulder, and gave a queer cough. "If that's all, never you fear! I'll teach you your guard. 'Once in a while we can finish in style.' Eh?--Rudie, you blooming German, I--I think we must have been brothers! We'll pull it off yet." Heywood spoke with a strange alacrity, and tried again to cough. This time, however, there was no mistake--he was laughing. Rudolph shot at him one glance of startled unbelief, and then, tossing his head, marched on without a word. Pride and loneliness overwhelmed him. The two at his side were no companions--not even presences. He went alone, conscious only of the long flood of sunset, and the black interlacing pattern of bamboos. The one friendly spirit had deserted, laughing; yet even this last and worst of earthly puzzles did not matter. It was true, what he had read; this, which they called death, was a lonely thing. On a broken stone bench, Sturgeon, sober and dejected, with puffy circles under his eyes, sat waiting. A long parcel, wrapped in green baize, lay across his knees. He nodded gloomily, without rising. At his feet wandered a path, rankly matted with burnt weeds, and bordered with green bottle-ends, the "dimples" choked with discs of mud. The place was a deserted garden, where the ruins of a European house--burnt by natives in some obscure madness, years ago--sprawled in desolation among wild shrubs. A little way down the path stood Teppich and Chantel, each with his back turned and his hands clasped, like a pair of sulky Napoleons, one fat, one slender. The wooden pretense of their attitude set Rudolph, for an instant, to laughing silently and bitterly. This final scene,--what justice, that it should be a mean waste, the wreck of silly pleasure-grounds, long forgotten, and now used only by grotesque play-actors. He must die, in both action and setting, without dignity. It was some comfort, he became aware, to find that the place was fairly private. Except for the breach by which they had entered, the blotched and spotted compound walls stood ruinous yet high, shutting out all but a rising slant of sunlight, and from some outpost line of shops, near by, the rattle of an abacus and the broken singsong of argument, now harsh, now drowsy. Heywood had been speaking earnestly to Sturgeon:-- "A little practice--try the balance of the swords. No more than fair." "Fair? Most certainly," croaked that battered convivialist. "Chantel can't object." He rose, and waddled down the path. Rudolph saw Chantel turn, frowning, then nod and smile. The nod was courteous, the smile full of satire. The fat ambassador returned. "Right-oh," he puffed, tugging from the baize cover a shining pair of bell-hilted swords. "Here, try 'em out." His puffy eyes turned furtively toward Rudolph. "May be bad form, Hackh, but--we all wish you luck, I fancy." Then, in a burst of candor, "Wish that unspeakable ass felt as seedy as I do--heat-stroke--drop dead--that sort of thing." Still grumbling treason, this strange second rejoined his principal. "Jackets off," commanded Heywood; and in their cinglets, each with sword under arm, the two friends took shelter behind a ragged clump of plantains. The yellow leaves, half dead with drought and blight, hung ponderous as torn strips of sheet metal in the lifeless air. Behind this tattered screen, Rudolph studied, for a moment, the lethal object in his hand. It was very graceful,--the tapering, three-cornered blade, with shallow grooves in which blood was soon to run, the silver hilt where his enemy's father had set, in florid letters, the name of "H.B. St. A. Chantel," and a date. How long ago, he thought, the steel was forged for this day. "It is Fate." He looked up sadly. "Come, show me how to begin; so that I can stand up to him." "Here, then." Slowly, easily, his long limbs transformed with a sudden youthful grace, Heywood moved through the seven positions of On Guard. "Try it." Rudolph learned only that his own clumsy imitation was hopeless. "Once more.--He can't see us." Again and again, more and more rapidly, they performed the motions of this odd rehearsal. Suddenly Heywood stepped back, and lowering his point, looked into his pupil's face, long and earnestly. "For the last time," he said: "won't you let me tell him? This is extremely silly." Rudolph hung his head, like a stubborn child. "Do you still think," he answered coldly, "that I would beg off?" With a hopeless gesture of impatience, Heywood stepped forward briskly. "Very well, then. Once more." And as their blades clashed softly together, a quick light danced in his eyes. "Here's how our friend will stick you!" His point cut a swift little circle, and sped home. By a wild instinct, the novice beat it awkwardly aside. His friend laughed, poised again, disengaged again, but in mid-career of this heartless play, stumbled and came pitching forward. Rudolph darted back, swept his arm blindly, and cried out; for with the full impetus of the mishap, a shock had run from wrist to elbow. He dropped his sword, and in stupefaction watched the red blood coursing down his forearm, and his third finger twitching convulsively, beyond control. "Dear fellow!" cried his opponent, scrambling upright. "So sorry! I say, that's a bad one." With a stick and a handkerchief, he twisted on a tourniquet, muttering condolence: "Pain much? Lost my balance, you know. That better?--What a clumsy accident!" Then, dodging out from the plantain screen, and beckoning,--"All you chaps! Come over here!" Nesbit came running, but at sight of the bloody victim, pulled up short. "What ho!" he whispered, first with a stare, then a grin of mysterious joy. Sturgeon gave a sympathetic whistle, and stolidly unwound bandages. At first the two Napoleons remained aloof, but at last, yielding to indignant shouts, haughtily approached. The little group stood at fault. Heywood wiped his sword-blade very carefully on a plantain leaf; then stood erect, to address them with a kind of cool severity. "I regret this more than anybody," he declared, pausing, and picking his words. "We were at practice, and my friend had the misfortune to be run through the arm." Chantel flung out his hands, in a motion at once furious and impudent. "Zut! What a farce!--Will you tell me, please, since your friend has disabled himself"-- Heywood wheeled upon him, scornfully. "You have no right to such an expression," he stated, with a coldness which conveyed more rage than the other man's heat. "This was entirely my fault. It's I who have spoiled your--arrangement, and therefore I am quite ready to take up my friend's quarrel." "I have no quarrel with you," replied Chantel, contemptuously. "You saw last night how he--" "He was quicker than I, that's all. By every circumstance, I'm the natural proxy. Besides"--the young man appealed to the company, smiling--"besides, what a pity to postpone matters, and spoil the occasion, when Doctor Chantel has gone to the trouble of a clean shirt." The doctor recoiled, flung up a trembling arm, and as quickly dropped it. His handsome face burned darker, then faded with a mortal pallor, and for one rigid moment, took on such a strange beauty as though it were about to be translated into bronze. His brown fingers twitched, became all nerves and sinews and white knuckles. Then, stepping backward, he withdrew from the circle. "Very well," he said lightly. "Since we are all so--irregular. I will take the substitute." Rudolph gave a choking cry, and would have come forward; but Sturgeon clung to the wounded arm, and bound on his bandage. "Hold still, there!" he scolded, as though addressing a horse; then growled in Heywood's ear, "Why did _you_ go lose your temper?" "Didn't. We can't let him walk over us, though." The young man held the sword across his throat, and whispered, "Only angry up to here!" And indeed, through the anxious preliminary silence, he stood waiting as cool and ready as a young centurion. His adversary, turning back the sleeves of the unfortunate white linen, picked up the other sword, and practiced his fingering on the silver hilt, while the blade answered as delicately as the bow to a violinist. At last he came forward, with thin lips and hard, thoughtful eyes, like a man bent upon dispatch. Both men saluted formally, and sprang on guard. From the first twitter of the blades, even Rudolph knew the outcome. Heywood, his face white and anxious in the failing light, fought at full stretch, at the last wrench of skill. Chantel, for the moment, was fencing; and though his attacks came ceaseless and quick as flame, he was plainly prolonging them, discarding them, repeating, varying, whether for black-hearted merriment, or the vanity of perfect form, or love of his art. Graceful, safe, easy, as though performing the grand salute, he teased and frolicked, his bright blade puzzling the sight, scattering like quicksilver in the endless whirl and clash. Teppich was gaping foolishly, Sturgeon shaking his head, the Cockney, with narrow body drawn together, watching, shivering, squatting on toes and finger-tips, like a runner about to spring from a mark. Rudolph, dizzy with pain and suspense, nursed his forearm mechanically. The hurried, silver ring of the hilts dismayed him, the dust from the garden path choked him like an acrid smoke. Suddenly Chantel, dropping low like a deflected arrow, swooped in with fingers touching the ground. On "three feet," he had delivered the blow so long withheld. The watchers shouted. Nesbit sprang up, released. But Heywood, by some desperate sleight, had parried the certainty, and even tried a riposte. Still afoot and fighting, he complained testily above the sword-play:-- "Don't shout like that! Fair field, you chaps!" Above the sword-play, too, came gradually a murmur of voices. Through the dust, beyond the lunging figures, Rudolph was distantly aware of crowded bodies, of yellow faces grinning or agape, in the breach of the compound wall. Men of the neighboring hamlet had gathered, to watch the foreign monsters play at this new, fantastic game. Shaven heads bobbed, saffron arms pointed, voices, sharp and guttural, argued scornfully. The hilts rang, the blades grated faster. But now it was plain that Heywood could do no more, by luck or inspiration. Fretted by his clumsy yet strong and close defense, Chantel was forcing on the end. He gave a panting laugh. Instantly, all saw the weaker blade fly wide, the stronger swerve, to dart in victorious,--and then saw Doctor Chantel staggering backward, struck full in the face by something round and heavy. The brown missile skipped along the garden path. Another struck a bottle-end, and burst into milk-white fragments, like a bomb. A third, rebounding from Teppich's girdle, left him bent and gasping. Strange yells broke out, as from a tribe of apes. The air was thick with hurtling globes. Cocoanuts rained upon the company, tempestuously, as though an invisible palm were shaken by a hurricane. Among them flew sticks, jagged lumps of sun-dried clay, thick scales of plaster. "Aow!" cried Nesbit, "the bloomin' coolies!" First to recover, he skipped about, fielding and hurling back cocoanuts. A small but raging phalanx crowded the gap in the wall, throwing continually, howling, and exhorting one another to rush in. "A riot!" cried Heywood, and started, sword in hand. "Come on, stop 'em!" But it was Nesbit who, wrenching a pair of loose bottles from the path, brandishing them aloft like clubs, and shouting the unseemly battle-cries of a street-fighter, led the white men into this deadly breach. At the first shock, the rioters broke and scattered, fled round corners of the wall, crashed through bamboos, went leaping across paddy-fields toward the river. The tumult--except for lonely howls in the distance--ended as quickly as it had risen. The little band of Europeans returned from the pursuit, drenched with sweat, panting, like a squad of triumphant football players; but no one smiled. "That explains it," grumbled Heywood. He pointed along the path to where, far off, a tall, stooping figure paced slowly toward the town, his long robe a moving strip of color, faint in the twilight. "The Sword-Pen dropped some remarks in passing." The others nodded moodily, too breathless for reply. Nesbit's forehead bore an ugly cut, Rudolph's bandage was red and sopping. Chantel, more rueful than either, stared down at a bleeding hand, which held two shards of steel. He had fallen, and snapped his sword in the rubble of old masonry. "No more blades," he said, like a child with a broken toy; "there are no more blades this side of Saigon." "Then we must postpone." Heywood mopped his dripping and fiery cheeks. He tossed a piece of silver to one who wailed in the ditch,--a forlorn stranger from Hai-nan, lamenting the broken shells and empty baskets of his small venture.--"Contribution, you chaps. A bad day for imported cocoanuts. Wish I carried some money: this chit system is damnable.--Meanwhile, doctor, won't you forget anything I was rude enough to say? And come join me in a peg at the club? The heat is excessive." CHAPTER X THREE PORTALS Not till after dinner, that evening, did Rudolph rouse from his stupor. With the clerk, he lay wearily in the upper chamber of Heywood's house. The host, with both his long legs out at window, sat watching the smoky lights along the river, and now and then cursing the heat. "After all," he broke silence, "those cocoanuts came time enough." "Didn't they just?" said Nesbit, jauntily; and fingering the plaster cross on his wounded forehead, drawled: "You might think I'd done a bit o' dueling myself, by the looks.--But I had _some_ part. Now, that accident trick. Rather neat, what? But for me, you might never have thought o' that--" "Idiot!" snapped Heywood, and pulling in his legs, rose and stamped across the room. A glass of ice and tansan smashed on the floor. Rudolph was on foot, clutching his bandaged arm as though the hurt were new. "You!" he stammered. "You did that!" He stood gaping, thunderstruck. Felt soles scuffed in the darkness, and through the door, his yellow face wearing a placid and lofty grin, entered Ah Pat, the compradore. "One coolie-man hab-got chit." He handed a note to his master, who snatched it as though glad of the interruption, bent under the lamp, and scowled. The writing was in a crabbed, antique German character:-- "Please to see bearer, in bad clothes but urgent. We are all in danger. _Um Gottes willen_--" It straggled off, illegible. The signature, "Otto Wutzler," ran frantically into a blot. "Can do," said Heywood. "You talkee he, come topside." The messenger must have been waiting, however, at the stairhead; for no sooner had the compradore withdrawn, than a singular little coolie shuffled into the room. Lean and shriveled as an opium-smoker, he wore loose clothes of dirty blue,--one trousers-leg rolled up. The brown face, thin and comically small, wore a mask of inky shadow under a wicker bowl hat. His eyes were cast down in a strange fashion, unlike the bold, inquisitive peering of his countrymen,--the more strange, in that he spoke harshly and abruptly, like a racer catching breath. "I bring news." His dialect was the vilest and surliest form of the colloquial "Clear Speech."--"One pair of ears, enough." "You can speak and act more civilly," retorted Heywood, "or taste the bamboo." The man did not answer, or look up, or remove his varnished hat. Still downcast and hang-dog, he sidled along the verge of the shadow, snatched from the table the paper and a pencil, and choosing the darkest part of the wall, began to write. The lamp stood between him and the company: Heywood alone saw--and with a shock of amazement--that he did not print vertically as with a brush, but scrawled horizontally. He tossed back the paper, and dodged once more into the gloom. The postscript ran in the same shaky hand:-- "Send way the others both." "What!" cried the young master of the house; and then over his shoulder, "Excuse us a moment--me, I should say." He led the dwarfish coolie across the landing, to the deserted dinner-table. The creature darted past him, blew out one candle, and thrust the other behind a bottle, so that he stood in a wedge of shadow. "Eng-lish speak I ver' badt," he whispered; and then with something between gasp and chuckle, "but der _pak-wa_ goot, no? When der live dependt, zo can mann--" He caught his breath, and trembled in a strong seizure. "Good?" whispered Heywood, staring. "Why, man, it's wonderful! You _are_ a coolie"--Wutzler's conical wicker-hat ducked as from a blow. "I beg your pardon. I mean, you're--" The shrunken figure pulled itself together. "You are right," he whispered, in the vernacular. "To-night I am a coolie--all but the eyes. Therefore this hat." Heywood stepped back to the door, and popped his head out. The dim hall was empty. "Go on," he said, returning. "What is your news?" "Riots. They are coming. We are all marked for massacre. All day I ran about the town, finding out. The trial of Chok Chung, your--_our_ Christian merchant--I saw him 'cross the hall.' They kept asking, 'Do you follow the foreign dogs and goats?' But he would only answer, 'I follow the Lord Jesus.' So then they beat out his teeth with a heavy shoe, and cast him into prison. Now they wait, to see if his padre will interfere with the law. It is a trap. The suit is certainly brought by Fang the scholar, whom they call the Sword-Pen." "That much," said Heywood, "I could have told you." Wutzler glanced behind him fearfully, as though the flickering shadows might hear. "But there is more. Since dark I ran everywhere, watching, listening to gossip. I painted my skin with mangrove-bark water. You know this sign?" He patted his right leg, where the roll of trousers bound his thigh. "It is for protection in the streets. It says, 'I am a Heaven-and-Earth man.'" "The Triad!" Heywood whistled. "You?" The other faltered, and hung his head. "Yes," he whispered at last. "My--my wife's cousin, he is a Grass Sandal. He taught her the verses at home, for safety.--We mean no harm, now, we of the Triad. But there is another secret band, having many of our signs. It is said they ape our ritual. Fang the scholar heads their lodge. They are the White Lotus." "White Lotus?" Heywood snapped his fingers. "Nonsense. Extinct, this hundred years." "Extinct? They meet to-night," said the outcast, in sudden grief and passion. "They drink blood--plan blood. Extinct? Are _you_ married to these people? Does the knowledge come so cheap, or at a price? All these years--darkness--sunken--alone"--He trembled violently, but regained his voice. "O my friend! This very night they swear in recruits, and set the day. I know their lodge-room. For any sake, believe me! I know!" "Right," said Heywood, curtly. "I believe you. But why come here? Why not stay, and learn more?" Wutzler's head dropped on his breast again. The varnished hat gleamed softly in the darkness. "I--I dare not stay," he sobbed. "Oh, exactly!" Heywood flung out an impatient arm. "The date, man! The day they set. You came away without it!--We sit tight, then, and wait in ignorance." The droll, withered face, suddenly raised, shone with great tears that streaked the mangrove stain. "My head sits loosely already, with what I have done to-night. I found a listening place--next door: a long roof. You can hear and see them--But I could not stay. Yes, I am a coward." "There, there!" Heywood patted his shoulder. "I didn't mean--Here, have a drink." The man drained the tumbler at a gulp; stood without a word, sniffing miserably; then of a sudden, as though the draught had worked, looked up bold and shrewd. "Do you?" he whispered. "Do _you_ dare go to the place I show you, and hide? You would learn." Heywood started visibly, paused, then laughed. "Excellent," he said. "_Tu quoque_ is good argument. Can you smuggle me?--Then come on." He stepped lightly across the landing, and called out, "You chaps make yourselves at home, will you? Business, you know. What a bore! I'll not be back till late." And as he followed the slinking form downstairs, he grumbled, "If at all, perhaps." The moon still lurked behind the ocean, making an aqueous pallor above the crouching roofs. The two men hurried along a "goat" path, skirted the town wall, and stole through a dark gate into a darker maze of lonely streets. Drawing nearer to a faint clash of cymbals in some joss-house, they halted before a blind wall. "In the first room," whispered the guide, "a circle is drawn on the floor. Put your right foot there, and say, 'We are all in-the-circle men,' If they ask, remember: you go to pluck the White Lotus. These men hate it, they are Triad brothers, they will let you pass. You come from the East, where the Fusang cocks spit orient pearls; you studied in the Red Flower Pavilion; your eyes are bloodshot because"--He lectured earnestly, repeating desperate nonsense, over and over. "No: not so. Say it exactly, after me." They held a hurried catechism in the dark. "There," sighed Wutzler, at last, "that is as much as we can hope. Do not forget. They will pass you through hidden ways.--But you are very rash. It is not too late to go home." Receiving no answer, he sighed more heavily, and gave a complicated knock. Bars clattered within, and a strip of dim light widened. "Who comes?" said a harsh but guarded voice, with a strong Hakka brogue. "A brother," answered the outcast, "to pluck the White Lotus. Aid, brothers.--Go in, I can help no further. If you are caught, slide down, and run westward to the gate which is called the Meeting of the Dragons." Heywood nodded, and slipped in. Beside a leaf-point flame of peanut-oil, a broad, squat giant sat stiff and still against the opposite wall, and stared with cruel, unblinking eyes. If the stranger were the first white man to enter, this motionless grim janitor gave no sign. On the earthen floor lay a small circle of white lime. Heywood placed his right foot inside it. "We are all in-the-circle men." "Pass," said the guard. Out from shadow glided a tall native with a halberd, who opened a door in the far corner. In the second room, dim as the first, burned the same smoky orange light on the same table. But here a twisted cripple, his nose long and pendulous with elephantiasis, presided over three cups of tea set in a row. Heywood lifted the central cup, and drank. "Will you bite the clouds?" asked the second guard, in a soft and husky bass. As he spoke, the great nose trembled slightly. "No, I will bite ginger," replied the white man. "Why is your face so green?" "It is a melon-face--a green face with a red heart." "Pass," said the cripple, gently. He pulled a cord--the nose quaking with this exertion--and opened the third door. Again the chamber was dim. A venerable man in gleaming silks--a grandfather, by his drooping rat-tail moustaches--sat fanning himself. In the breath of his black fan, the lamplight tossed queer shadows leaping, and danced on the table of polished camagon. Except for this unrest, the aged face might have been carved from yellow soapstone. But his slant eyes were the sharpest yet. "You have come far," he said, with sinister and warning courtesy. Too far, thought Heywood, in a sinking heart; but answered:-- "From the East, where the Fusang cocks spit orient pearls." "And where did you study?" The black fan stopped fluttering. "In the Red Flower Pavilion." "What book did you read?" "The book," said Heywood, holding his wits by his will, "the book was Ten Thousand Thousand Pages." "And the theme?" "The waters of the deluge crosswise flow." "And what"--the aged voice rose briskly--"what saw you on the waters?" "The Eight Abbots, floating," answered Heywood, negligently.--"But," ran his thought, "he'll pump me dry." "Why," continued the examiner, "do you look so happy?" "Because Heaven has sent the Unicorn." The black fan began fluttering once more. It seemed a hopeful sign; but the keen old eyes were far from satisfied. "Why have you such a sensual face?" "I was born under a peach tree." "Pass," said the old man, regretfully. And Heywood, glancing back from the mouth of a dark corridor, saw him, beside the table of camagon, wagging his head like a judge doubtful of his judgment. The narrow passage, hot, fetid, and blacker than the wholesome night without, crooked about sharp corners, that bruised the wanderer's hands and arms. Suddenly he fell down a short flight of slimy steps, landing in noisome mud at the bottom of some crypt. A trap, a suffocating well, he thought; and rose filthy, choked with bitterness and disgust. Only the taunting justice of Wutzler's argument, the retort _ad hominem_, had sent him headlong into this dangerous folly. He had scolded a coward with hasty words, and been forced to follow where they led. To this loathsome hole. Behind him, a door closed, a bar scraped softly into place. Before him, as he groped in rage and self-reproach, rose a vault of solid plaster, narrow as a chimney. But presently, glancing upward, he saw a small cluster of stars blinking, voluptuous, immeasurably overhead. Their pittance of light, as his eyesight cleared, showed a ladder rising flat against the wall. He reached up, grasped the bamboo rungs, hoisted with an acrobatic wrench, and began to climb cautiously. Above, faint and muffled, sounded a murmur of voices. CHAPTER XI WHITE LOTUS He was swarming up, quiet as a thief, when his fingers clawed the bare plaster. The ladder hung from the square end of a protruding beam, above which there were no more rungs. He hung in doubt. Then, to his great relief, something blacker than the starlight gathered into form over his head,--a slanting bulk, which gradually took on a familiar meaning. He chuckled, reached for it, and fingering the rough edge to avoid loose tiles, hauled himself up to a foothold on the beam, and so, flinging out his arms and hooking one knee, scrambled over and lay on a ribbed and mossy surface, under the friendly stars. The outcast and his strange brethren had played fair: this was the long roof, and close ahead rose the wall of some higher building, an upright blackness from which escaped two bits of light,--a right angle of hairbreadth lines, and below this a brighter patch, small and ragged. Here, louder, but confused with a gentle scuffing of feet, sounded the voices of the rival lodge. Toward these he crawled, stopping at every creak of the tiles. Once a broken roll snapped off, and slid rattling down the roof. He sat up, every muscle ready for the sudden leap and shove that would send him sliding after it into the lower darkness. It fell but a short distance, into something soft. Gradually he relaxed, but lay very still. Nothing followed; no one had heard. He tried again, crawled forward his own length, and brought up snug and safe in the angle where roof met wall. The voices and shuffling feet were dangerously close. He sat up, caught a shaft of light full in his face, and peered in through the ragged chink. Two legs in bright, wrinkled hose, and a pair of black shoes with thick white soles, blocked the view. For a long time they shifted, uneasy and tantalizing. He could hear only a hubbub of talk,--random phrases without meaning. The legs moved away, and left a clear space. But at the same instant, a grating noise startled him, directly overhead, out of doors. The thin right angle of light spread instantly into a brilliant square. With a bang, a wooden shutter slid open. Heywood lay back swiftly, just as a long, fat bamboo pipe, two sleeves, and the head of a man in a red silk cap were thrust out into the night air. "_Ai-yah!"_ sighed the man, and puffed at his bamboo. "It is hot." Heywood tried to blot himself against the wall. The lounger, propped on elbows, finished his smoke, spat upon the tiles, and remained, a pensive silhouette. "_Ai-yah!"_ he sighed again; then knocking out the bamboo, drew in his head. Not until the shutter slammed, did Heywood shake the burning sparks from his wrist. In the same movement, however, he raised head and shoulders to spy through the chink. This time the bright-hosed legs were gone. He saw clear down a brilliant lane of robes and banners, multicolored, and shining with embroidery and tinsel,--a lane between two ranks of crowded men, who, splendid with green and blue and yellow robes of ceremony, faced each other in a strong lamplight, that glistened on their oily cheeks. The chatter had ceased. Under the crowded rows of shaven foreheads, their eyes blinked, deep-set and expectant. At the far end of the loft, through two circular arches or giant hoops of rattan, Heywood at last descried a third arch, of swords; beyond this, a tall incense jar smouldering gray wisps of smoke, beside a transverse table twinkling with candles like an altar; and over these, a black image with a pale, carved face, seated bolt upright before a lofty, intricate, gilded shrine of the Patriot War-God. A tall man in dove-gray silk with a high scarlet turban moved athwart the altar, chanting as he solemnly lifted one by one a row of symbols: a round wooden measure, heaped with something white, like rice, in which stuck a gay cluster of paper flags; a brown, polished abacus; a mace carved with a dragon, another carved with a phoenix; a rainbow robe, gleaming with the plumage of Siamese kingfishers. All these, and more, he displayed aloft and replaced among the candles. When his chant ended, a brisk little man in yellow stepped forward into the lane. "O Fragrant Ones," he shrilled, "I bring ten thousand recruits, to join our army and swear brotherhood. Attend, O Master of Incense." Behind him, a squad of some dozen barefoot wretches, in coolie clothes, with queues un-plaited, crawled on all fours through the first arch. They crouched abject, while the tall Master of Incense in the dove-gray silk sternly examined their sponsor. In the outer darkness, Heywood craned and listened till neck and shoulders ached. He could make nothing of the florid verbiage. With endless ritual, the crawling novices reached the arch of swords. They knelt, each holding above his head a lighted bundle of incense-sticks,--red sparks that quivered like angry fireflies. Above them the tall Master of Incense thundered:-- "O Spirits of the Hills and Brooks, the Land, the swollen seeds of the ground, and all the Veins of Earth; O Thou, young Bearer of the Axe that cleared the Hills; O Imperial Heaven, and ye, Five Dragons of the Five Regions, with all the Holy Influences who pass and instantly re-pass through unutterable space:--draw near, record our oath, accept the draught of blood." He raised at arm's length a heavy baton, which, with a flowing movement, unrolled to the floor a bright yellow scroll thickly inscribed. From this he read, slowly, an interminable catalogue of oaths. Heywood could catch only the scolding sing-song of the responses:-- "If any brother shall break this, let him die beneath ten thousand knives." "--Who violates this, shall be hurled down into the great sky." "--Let thunder from the Five Regions annihilate him." Silence followed, broken suddenly by the frenzied squawking of a fowl, as suddenly cut short. Near the chink, Heywood heard a quick struggling and beating. Next instant he lay flattened against the wall. The shutter grated open, a flood of light poured out. Within reach, in that radiance, a pair of sinewy yellow hands gripped the neck of a white cock. The wretched bird squawked once more, feebly, flapped its wings, and clawed the air, just as a second pair of arms reached out and sliced with a knife. The cock's head flew off upon the tiles. Hot blood spattered on Heywood's cheek. Half blinded, but not daring to move, he saw the knife withdrawn, and a huge goblet held out to catch the flow. Then arms, goblet, and convulsive wings jerked out of sight, and the shutter slid home. "Twice they've not seen me," thought Heywood. It was darker, here, than he had hoped. He rose more boldly to the peep-hole. Under the arch of swords, the new recruits, now standing upright, stretched one by one their wrists over the goblet. The Incense Master pricked each yellow arm, to mingle human blood with the blood of the white cock; then, from a brazen vessel, filled the goblet to the brim. It passed from hand to hand, like a loving-cup. Each novice raised it, chanted some formula, and drank. Then all dispersed. There fell a silence. Suddenly, in the pale face of the black image seated before the shrine, the eyes turned, scanning the company with a cold contempt. The lips moved. The voice, level and ironic, was that of Fang, the Sword-Pen:-- "O Fragrant Ones, when shall the foreign monsters perish like this cock?" A man in black, with a red wand, bowed and answered harshly:-- "The time, Great Elder Brother, draws at hand." "How shall we know the hour?" "The hour," replied the Red Wand, "shall be when the Black Dog barks." "And the day?" Heywood pressed his ear against the chink, and listened, his five senses fused into one. No answer came, but presently a rapid, steady clicking, strangely familiar and commonplace. He peered in again. The Red Wand stood by the abacus, rattling the brown beads with flying fingers, like a shroff. Plainly, it was no real calculation, but a ceremony before the answer. The listener clapped his ear to the crevice. Would that answer, he wondered, be a month, a week, to-morrow? The shutter banged, the light streamed, down went Heywood against the plaster. Thick dregs from the goblet splashed on the tiles. A head, the flattened profile of the brisk man in yellow, leaned far out from the little port-hole. Grunting, he shook the inverted cup, let it dangle from his hands, stared up aimlessly at the stars, and then--to Heywood's consternation--dropped his head to meditate, looking straight down. "He sees me," thought Heywood, and held himself ready, trembling. But the fellow made no sign, the broad squat features no change. The pose was that of vague, comfortable thought. Yet his vision seemed to rest, true as a plumb-line, on the hiding-place. Was he in doubt?--he could reach down lazily, and feel. Worst of all, the greenish pallor in the eastern sky had imperceptibly turned brighter; and now the ribbed edge of a roof, across the way, began to glow like incandescent silver. The moon was crawling up. The head and the dangling goblet were slowly pulled in, just before the moonlight, soft and sullen through the brown haze of the heat, stole down the wall and spread upon the tiles. The shutter remained open. But Heywood drew a free breath: those eyes had been staring into vacancy. "Now, then," he thought, and sat up to the cranny; for the rattle of the abacus had stopped. "The counting is complete," announced the Red Wand slowly, "the hours are numbered. The day--" Movement, shadow, or nameless instinct, made the listener glance upward swiftly. He caught the gleam of yellow silk, the poise and downward jab, and with a great heave of muscles went shooting down the slippery channel of the cock's blood. A spearhead grazed his scalp, and smashed a tile behind him. As he rolled over the edge, the spear itself whizzed by him into the dark. "The chap saw," he thought, in mid-air; "beastly clever--all the time--" He landed on the spear-shaft, in a pile of dry rubbish, snatched up the weapon, and ran, dimly conscious of a quiet scurrying behind and above him, of silent men tumbling after, and doors flung violently open. He raced blindly, but whipped about the next corner, leaving the moon at his back. Westward, somebody had told him, to the gate where dragons met. There had been no uproar; but running his hardest down the empty corridors of the streets, he felt that the pack was gaining. Ahead loomed something gray, a wall, the end of a blind alley. Scale it, or make a stand at the foot,--he debated, racing. Before the decision came, a man popped out of the darkness. Heywood shifted his grip, drew back the spear, but found the stranger bounding lightly alongside, and muttering,-- "To the west-south, quick! A brother waits. I fool those who follow--" Obeying, Heywood dove to the left into the black slit of an alley, while the other fugitive pattered straight on into the seeming trap, with a yelp of encouragement to the band who swept after. The alley was too dark for speed. Heywood ran on, fell, rose and ran, fell again, losing his spear. A pair of trembling hands eagerly helped him to his feet. "My cozin's boy, he ron quick," said Wutzler. "Dose fellows, dey not catch him! Kom." They threaded the gloom swiftly. Wutzler, ready and certain of his ground, led the tortuous way through narrow and greasy galleries, along the side of a wall, and at last through an unlighted gate, free of the town. In the moonlight he stared at his companion, cackled, clapped his thighs, and bent double in unholy convulsions. "My gracious me!" He laughed immoderately. "Oh, I wait zo fearful, you kom zo fonny!" For a while he clung, shaking, to the young man's arm. "My friendt, zo fonny you look! My gootness me!" At last he regained himself, stood quiet, and added very pointedly, "What did _yow_ lern?" "Nothing," replied Heywood, angrily. "Nothing. Fragrant Ones! Not a bad name. Phew!--Oh, I say, what did they mean? What Black Dog is to bark?" "Black Dog? Black Dog iss cannon." The man became, once more, as keen as a gossip. "What cannon? When dey shoot him off?" "Can't tell," said his friend. "That's to be their signal." "I do not know," The conical hat wagged sagely. "I go find out." He pointed across the moonlit spaces. "Ofer dere iss your house. You can no more. _Schlafen Sie wohl_." The two men wrung each other's hands. "Shan't forget this, Wutz." "Oh, for me--all you haf done--" The outcast turned away, shaking his head sadly. Never did Heywood's fat water-jar glisten more welcome than when he gained the vaulted bath-room. He ripped off his blood-stained clothes, scrubbed the sacrificial clots from his hair, and splashed the cool water luxuriously over his exhausted body. When at last he had thrown a kimono about him, and wearily climbed the stairs, he was surprised to see Rudolph, in the white-washed room ahead, pacing the floor and ardently twisting his little moustache. As Heywood entered, he wheeled, stared long and solemnly. "I must wait to tell you." He stalked forward, and with his sound left hand grasped Heywood's right. "This afternoon, you--" "My dear boy, it's too hot. No speeches." But Rudolph's emotion would not be hindered. "This afternoon," he persisted, with tragic voice and eyes, "this afternoon I nearly was killed." "So was I.--Which seems to meet that." And Heywood pulled free. "Oh," cried Rudolph, fervently. "I know! I feel--If you knew what I--My life--" The weary stoic in the blue kimono eyed him very coldly, then plucked him by the sleeve.--"Come here, for a bit." Both men leaned from the window into the hot, airless night. A Chinese rebeck wailed, monotonous and nasal. Heywood pointed at the moon, which now hung clearly above the copper haze. "What do you see there?" he asked dryly. "The moon," replied his friend, wondering. "Good.--You know, I was afraid you might just see Rudie Hackh." The rebeck wailed a long complaint before he added:-- "If I didn't like you fairly well--The point is--Good old Cynthia! That bally orb may not see one of us to-morrow night, next week, next quarter. 'Through this same Garden, and for us in vain.' Every man Jack. Let me explain. It will make you better company." CHAPTER XII THE WAR BOARD "Rigmarole?" drawled Heywood, and abstained from glancing at Chantel. "Dare say. However, Gilly, their rigmarole _may_ mean business. On that supposition, I made my notes urgent to you chaps." "Quite right," said Mr. Forrester, tugging his gray moustache, and studying the floor. "Obviously. Rigmarole or not, your plan is thoroughly sound: stock one house, and if the pinch comes, fortify." Chantel drummed on Heywood's long table, and smiled quaintly, with eyes which roved out at window, and from mast to bare mast of the few small junks that lay moored against the distant bank. He bore himself, to-day, like a lazy cock of the walk. The rest of the council, Nesbit, Teppich, Sturgeon, Kempner, and the great snow-headed padre, surrounded the table with heat-worn, thoughtful faces. When they looked up, their eyes went straight to Heywood at the head; so that, though deferring to his elders, the youngest man plainly presided. Chantel turned suddenly, merrily, his teeth flashing in a laugh. "If we are then afraid, let us all take a jonc down the river," he scoffed, "or the next vessel for Hongkong!" Gilly's tired, honest eyes saw only the plain statement. "Impossible." He shook his bullet head. "We can't run away from a rumor, you know. Can we, now? The women, perhaps. But we should lose face no end--horribly." "Let's come to facts," urged Heywood. "Arms, for example. What have we? To my knowledge, one pair of good rifles, mine and Sturgeon's. Ammunition--uncertain, but limited. Two revolvers: my Webley.450, and that little thing of Nesbit's, which is not man-stopping. Shot-guns? Every one but you, padre: fit only for spring snipe, anyway, or bamboo partridge. Hackh has just taken over, from this house, the only real weapons in the settlement--one dozen old Mausers, Argentine, calibre.765. My predecessor left 'em, and three cases of cartridges. I've kept the guns oiled, and will warrant the lot sound.--Now, who'll lend me spare coolies, and stuff for sand-bags?" "Over where?" puffed Sturgeon. "Where's he taking your Mausers?" "Nunnery, of course." "Oh, I say!" Mr. Forrester looked up, with an injured air. "As the senior here, except Dr. Earle, I naturally thought the choice would be my house." "Right!" cried two or three voices from the foot of the table. "It should be--Farthest off--" All talked at once, except Chantel, who eyed them leniently, and smiled as at so many absurd children. Kempner--a pale, dogged man, with a pompous white moustache which pouted and bristled while he spoke--rose and delivered a pointless oration. "Ignoring race and creed," he droned, "we must stand together--" Heywood balanced a pencil, twirled it, and at last took to drawing. On the polished wood he scratched, with great pains, the effigy of a pig, whose snout blared forth a gale of quarter-notes. "Whistle away!" he muttered; then resumed, as if no one had interrupted: "Very good of you, Gilly. But with your permission, I see five points.--Here's a rough sketch, made some time ago." He tossed on the table a sheet of paper. Forrester spread it, frowning, while the others leaned across or craned over his chair. "All out of whack, you see," explained the draughtsman; "but here are my points, Gilly. One: your house lies quite inland, with four sides to defend: the river and marsh give Rudie's but two and a fraction. Boats? Not hardly: we'd soon stop that, as you'll see, if they dare. Anyhow,--point two,--your house is all hillocks behind, and shops roundabout: here's just one low ridge, and the rest clear field. Third: the Portuguese built a well of sorts in the courtyard; water's deadly, I dare say, but your place has no well whatever. And as to four, suppose--in a sudden alarm, say, those cut off by land could run another half-chance to reach the place by river.--By the way, the nunnery has a bell to ring." Gilbert Forrester shoved the map along to his neighbor, and cleared his throat. "Gentlemen," he declared slowly, "you once did me the honor to say that in--in a certain event, you would consider me as acting head. Frankly, I confess, my plans were quite--ah!--vague. I wish to--briefly, to resign, in favor of this young--ah--bachelor." "Don't go rotting me," complained Heywood, and his sallow cheeks turned ruddy. "I merely bring up these points. And five is this: your compound's very cramped, where the nunnery could shelter the goodly blooming fellowship of native converts." Chantel laughed heartily, and stretched his legs at ease under the table. [Illustration: Portuguese Nunnery:--Sketch Map.] "What strategy!" he chuckled, preening his moustache. "Your mythical siege--it will be brief! For me, I vote no to that: no rice-Christians filling their bellies--eating us into a surrender!" He made a pantomime of chop-sticks. "A compound full, eating, eating!" One or two nodded, approving the retort. Heywood, slightly lifting his chin, stared at the speaker coldly, down the length of their council-board. The red in his cheeks burned darker. "Our everlasting shame, then," he replied quietly. "It will be everlasting, if we leave these poor devils in the lurch, after cutting them loose from their people. Excuse me, padre, but it's no time to mince our words. We made them strangers in their own land. Desert 'em? Damned if we do!" No one made reply. The padre, who had looked up, looked down quickly, musing, and smoothed his white hair with big fingers that somewhat trembled. "Besides," continued the speaker, in a tone of apology, "we'll need 'em to man the works. Meantime, you chaps must lend coolies, eh? Look here." With rising spirits, he traced an eager finger along the map. "I must run a good strong bamboo scaffold along the inside wall, with plenty of sand-bags ready for loopholing--specially atop the servants' quarters and pony-shed, and in that northeast angle, where we'll throw up a mound or platform.--What do you say? Suggestions, please!" Chantel, humming a tune, reached for his helmet, and rose. He paused, struck a match, and in an empty glass, shielding the flame against the breeze of the punkah, lighted a cigarette. "Since we have appointed our dictator," he began amiably, "we may repose--" From the landing, without, a coolie bawled impudently for the master of the house. "Wutzler!" said Heywood, jumping up. "I mean--his messenger." He was gone a noticeable time, but came back smiling. "Good news, Gilly." He held aloft a scrap of Chinese paper, scrawled on with pencil. "We need expect nothing these ten days. They wait for more ammunition--'more shoots,' the text has it. The Hak Kaú--their Black Dog--is a bronze cannon, nine feet long, cast at Rotterdam in 1607. He writes, 'I saw it in shed last night, but is gone to-day. O.W.' Gentlemen, for a timid man, our friend does not scamp his reports. Thorough, rather? Little O.W. is O.K." Chantel, still humming, had moved toward the door. All at once he halted, and stared from the landward window. Cymbals clashed somewhere below. "What's this?" he cried sharply. The noise drew nearer, more brazen, and with it a clatter of hoofs. "Here come swordsmen!" "To play with you, I suppose. Your fame has spread." Heywood spoke with a slow, mischievous drawl; but he crossed the room quickly. "What's up?" Below, by the open gate, a gay grotesque rider reined in a piebald pony, and leaning down, handed to the house-boy a ribbon of scarlet paper. Behind him, to the clash of cymbals, a file of men in motley robes swaggered into position, wheeled, and formed the ragged front of a Falstaff regiment. Overcome by the scarlet ribbon, the long-coated "boy" bowed, just as through the gate, like a top-heavy boat swept under an arch, came heaving an unwieldy screened chair, borne by four broad men: not naked and glistening coolies, but "Tail-less Horses" in proud livery. Before they could lower their shafts, Heywood ran clattering down the stairs. Slowly, cautiously, like a little fat old woman, there clambered out from the broadcloth box a rotund man, in flowing silks, and a conical, tasseled hat of fine straw. He waddled down the compound path, shading with his fan a shrewd, bland face, thoughtful, yet smooth as a babe's. The watchers in the upper room saw Heywood greet him with extreme ceremony, and heard the murmur of "Pray you, I pray you," as with endless bows and deprecations the two men passed from sight, within the house. A long time dragged by. The visitor did not join the company, but from another room, now and then, sounded his clear-pitched voice, full of odd and courteous modulations. When at last the conference ended, and their unmated footsteps crossed the landing, a few sentences echoed from the stairway. "That is all," declared the voice, pleasantly. "The Chow Ceremonial says, 'That man is unwise who knowingly throws away precious things.' And in the Analects we read, 'There is merit in dispatch.'" Heywood's reply was lost, except the words, "stupid people." "In every nation," agreed the placid voice. "It is true. What says the Viceroy of Hupeh: 'They see a charge of bird-shot, and think they are tasting broiled owl.'--Walk slowly!" "A safe walk, Your Excellency." The cymbals struck up, the cavalcade, headed by ragamuffin lictors with whips, went swaying past the gate. Heywood, when he returned, was grinning. "Wonderful old chap!" he exclaimed. "Hates this station, I fancy, much as we hate it." "Anything to concern us?" asked Gilly. "Intimated he could beat me at chess," laughed the young man, "and will bet me a jar of peach wine to a box of Manila cigars!" Chantel, from a derisive dumb-show near the window, had turned to waddle solemnly down the room. At sight of Heywood's face he stopped guiltily. "Chantel!" All the laughter was gone from the voice and the hard gray eyes. "Yesterday we humored you tin-soldier fashion, but to-day let's put away childish things.--I like that magistrate, plainly, a damned deal better than I like you. When you or I show one half his ability, we're free to mock him--in my house." For the first time within the memory of any man present, the mimic wilted. "I--I did not know," he stammered, "that old man was your friend." Very quiet, and a little flushed, he took his seat among the others. "I like him no end." Still more quiet, Heywood appealed to the company. "Part for his hard luck--stuck down, a three-year term, in this neglected hole. Enemies in power, higher up. Fang, the Sword-Pen, in great favor up there.--What? Oh, said nothing directly, of course. Friendly call, and all that. But his indirections speak straight enough. We understood each other. The dregs of the town are all stirred up--bottomside topside--danger point. He, in case--you know--can't give us any help. No means, no recourse. His chief's fairly itching to cashier him.--Spoke highly of your hospital work, padre, but said, 'Even good deeds may be misconstrued.'--In short, gentlemen, without saying a word, he tells us honestly in plain terms, 'Sorry, but look out for yourselves.'" A beggar rattled his bowl of cash in the road, below; from up the river sounded wailing cries. "Did he mention," said the big padre, presently, "the case against my man, Chok Chung?" Heywood's eyes became evasive, his words reluctant. "The magistrate dodged that--that unpleasant subject. The case was forced on him. Some understrapper tried it. Let's be fair." Dr. Earle's great elbows left the board. Without rising, he seemed to grow in bulk and stature, and send his vision past the company, into those things which are not, to confound the things which are. "For myself, it does not matter. 'He buries His workmen, but carries on His work.'" The man spoke in a heavy, broken voice, as though it were his body that suffered. "But it comes hard to hear, from a young man, so good a friend, after many years"--The deep-set eyes returned, and with a sudden lustre, made a sharp survey from face to face. "If I have made my flock a remnant--aliens--rejected--tell me, what shall I do? Tell me. I have shut eyes and conscience, and never meddled, never!--not even when money was levied for the village idols. And here's a man beaten, cast into prison--" He shoved both fists out on the table, and bowed his white head. "My safety is nothing. But yours--and his.--To keep one, I desert the other. Either way." The padre groaned. "What must I choose?" "We're all quite helpless," said Heywood, gently. "Quite. It's a long way to the nearest gunboat." "Tell me," repeated the other, stubbornly. At the same moment it happened that the cries came louder along the river-bank, and that some one bounded up the stairs. The runner was Rudolph. All morning he had gone about his errands very calmly, playing the man of action, in a new philosophy learned overnight. But now he forgot to imitate his teacher, and darted in, so headlong that all the dogs came with him, bouncing and barking. "Look," he called, stumbling toward the farther window, while Flounce the terrier and a wonk puppy ran nipping at his heels. "Come, look at them! Out on the river!" CHAPTER XIII THE SPARE MAN Beyond the scant greenery of Heywood's garden--a ropy little banyan, a low rank of glossy whampee leaves, and the dusty sage-green tops of stunted olives--glared the river. Wide, savage sunlight lay so hot upon it, that to aching eyes the water shone solid, like a broad road of yellow clay. Only close at hand and by an effort of vision, appeared the tiny, quiet lines of the irresistible flood pouring toward the sea; there whipped into the pool of banyan shade black snippets and tails of reflection, darting ceaselessly after each other like a shoal of frightened minnows. But elsewhere the river lay golden, solid, and painfully bright. Things afloat, in the slumberous procession of all Eastern rivers, swam downward imperceptibly, now blurred, now outlined in corrosive sharpness. The white men stood crowding along the spacious window. The dogs barked outrageously; but at last above their din floated, as before, the high wailing cries. A heaping cairn of round-bellied, rosy-pink earthen jars came steering past, poled by a naked statue of new copper, who balanced precariously on the edge of his hidden raft. No sound came from him; nor from the funeral barge which floated next, where still figures in white robes guarded the vermilion drapery of a bier, decked with vivid green boughs. All these were silent. "No, above!" cried Rudolph, pointing. After the mourners' barge, at some distance, came hurrying a boat crowded with shining yellow bodies and dull blue jackets. Long bamboo poles plied bumping along her gunwale, sticking into the air all about her, many and loose and incoordinate, like the ribs of an unfinished basket. From the bow spurted a white puff of smoke. The dull report of a musket lagged across the water. The bullet skipped like a schoolboy's pebble, ripping out little rags of white along that surface of liquid clay. The line of fire thus revealed, revealed the mark. Untouched, a black head bobbed vigorously in the water, some few yards before the boat. The saffron crew, poling faster, yelled and cackled at so clean a miss, while a coolie in the bow reloaded his matchlock. The fugitive head labored like that of a man not used to swimming, and desperately spent. It now gave a quick twist, and showed a distorted face, almost of the same color with the water. The mouth gaped black in a sputtering cry, then closed choking, squirted out water, and gaped once more, to wail clearly:-- "I am Jesus Christ!" In the broad, bare daylight of the river, this lonely and sudden blasphemy came as though a person in a dream might declare himself to a waking audience of skeptics. The cry, sharp with forlorn hope, rang like an appeal. "Why--look," stammered Heywood. "He sees us--heading here. Look, it's--Quick! let me out!" Just as he turned to elbow through his companions, and just as the cry sounded again, the matchlock blazed from the bow. No bullet skipped. The swimmer, who had reached the shallows, suddenly rose with an incredible heave, like a leaping salmon, flung one bent arm up and back in the gesture of the Laocoön, and pitched forward with a turbid splash. The quivering darkness under the banyan blotted everything: death had dispersed the black minnows there, in oozy wriggles of shadow; but next moment the fish-tail stripes chased in a more lively shoal. The gleaming potter, below his rosy cairn, stared. The mourners forgot their grief. Heywood, after his impulse of rescue, stood very quiet. "You saw," he repeated dully. "You all saw." The clutching figure, bolt upright in the soaked remnant of prison rags, had in that leap and fall shown himself for Chok Chung, the Christian. He had sunk in mystery, to become at one forever with the drunken cormorant-fisher. Obscene delight raged in the crowded boat, with yells and laughter, and flourish of bamboo poles. "Come away from the window," said Heywood; and then to the white-haired doctor: "Your question's answered, padre. Strange, to come so quick." He jerked his thumb back toward the river. "And that's only first blood." The others had broken into wrangling. "Escaped? Nonsense--Cat--and--mouse game, I tell you; those devils let him go merely to--We'll never know--Of course! Plain as your nose--To stand by, and never lift a hand! Oh, it's--Rot! Look here, why--Acquitted, then set on him--But we'll _never_ know!--Fang watching on the spot. Trust him!" A calm "boy," in sky-blue gown, stood beside them, ready to speak. The dispute paused, while they turned for his message. It was a disappointing trifle: Mrs. Forrester waited below for her husband, to walk home. "Can't leave now," snapped Gilly. "I'll be along, tell her--" "Had she better go alone?" suggested Heywood. "No; right you are." The other swept a fretful eye about the company. "But this business begins to look urgent.--Here, somebody we can spare. You go, Hackh, there's a good chap." Chantel dropped the helmet he had caught up. Bowing stiffly, Rudolph marched across the room and down the stairs. His face, pale at the late spectacle, had grown red and sulky, "Can spare me, can you?--I'm the one." He descended, muttering. Viewing himself thus, morosely, as rejected of men, he reached the compound gate to fare no better with the woman. She stood waiting in the shadow of the wall; and as he drew unwillingly near, the sight of her--to his shame and quick dismay--made his heart leap in welcome. She wore the coolest and severest white, but at her throat the same small furbelow, every line of which he had known aboard ship, in the days of his first exile and of his recent youth. It was now as though that youth came flooding back to greet her. "Good-morning." He forgot everything, except that for a few priceless moments they would be walking side by side. She faced him with a start, never so young and beautiful as now--her blue eyes wide, scornful, and blazing, her cheeks red and lips trembling, like a child ready to cry. "I did not want _you_" she said curtly. "Nor did they." Pride forged the retort for him, at a blow. He explained in the barest of terms, while she eyed him steadily, with every sign of rising temper. "I can spare you, too," she whipped out; then turned to walk away, holding her helmet erect, in the poise of a young goddess, pert but warlike. This double injustice left Rudolph chafing. In two strides, however, he had overtaken her. "I am under orders," he stated grimly. Her pace gradually slackened in the growing heat; but she went forward with her eyes fixed on the littered, sunken flags of their path. This rankling silence seemed to him more unaccountable and deadly than all former mischances, and left him far more alone. From the sultry tops of bamboos, drooping like plants in an oven, an amorous multitude of cicadas maintained the buzzing torment of steel on emery wheels, as though the universal heat had chafed and fretted itself into a dry, feverish utterance. Once Mrs. Forrester looked about, quick and angry, like one ready to choke that endless voice. But for the rest, the two strange companions moved steadily onward. In an alley of checkered light a buffalo with a wicker nose-ring, and heavy, sagging horns that seemed to jerk his head back in agony, heaved toward them, ridden by a naked yellow infant in a nest-like saddle of green fodder. Scenting with fright the disgusting presence of white aliens, the sleep-walking monster shied, opened his eyes, and lowered his blue muzzle as if to charge. There was a pause, full of menace. "Don't run!" said Rudolph, and catching the woman roughly about the shoulders, thrust her behind him. She clutched him tightly by the wounded arm. The buffalo stared irresolute, with evil eyes. The naked boy in the green nest brushed a swarm of flies from his handful of sticky sweetmeats, looked up, pounded the clumsy shoulders, and shrilled a command. Staring doubtfully, and trembling, the buffalo swayed past, the wrinkled armor of his gray hide plastered with dry mud as with yellow ochre. To the slow click of hoofs, the surly monster, guided by a little child, went swinging down the pastoral shade,--ancient yet living shapes from a picture immemorial in art and poetry. "Please," begged Rudolph, trying with his left hand to loosen her grip. "Please, that hurts." For a second they stood close, their fingers interlacing. With a touch of contempt, he found that she still trembled, and drew short breath. Her eyes slowly gathered his meaning. "Oh, that!" She tore her hand loose, as though burned. "That! It _was_ all true, then. I forgot." She caught aside her skirts angrily, and started forward in all her former disdain. But this, after their brief alliance, was not to be tolerated. "What was all true?" he insisted. "You shall not treat me so. If anybody has a right--" After several paces, she flashed about at him in a whirl of words:-- "All alike, every one of you! And I was fool enough to think you were different!" The conflict in her eyes showed real, beyond suspicion. "He told me all about it. Last evening. And you dare talk of rights, and come following me here--" "Lucky I did," retorted Rudolph, with sudden spirit; and holding out his wounded arm, indignantly: "That scratch, if you know how it came--" "I know, perfectly." She stared as at some crowning impudence. "He was chicken-hearted. You came off cheaply.--I know all you said. But the one thing I'll never understand, is where you found the courage, after he struck you, at the club. You'll always have _that_ to admire!" "After he struck"--A light broke in on Rudolph, somehow. "Chantel? Oh, that liar!" He wheeled and started to go back. "Wait, stop!" she called, in a strangely altered voice, which brought him up short. "They're all with him now. You can't--What did you mean?" He explained, sulkily at first, but ending in a kind of generous rage. "So I couldn't even stand up to him. And except for Maurice Heywood--Oh, you need not frown; he's the best friend I ever had." Mrs. Forrester had walked on, with the same cloudy aspect, the same light, impatient step. He felt the greater surprise when, suddenly turning, she raised toward him her odd, enticing, pointed face, and the friendly mischief of her eyes. "The best?" she echoed, in the same half-whisper as when she had flattered him, that afternoon in the dusky well of the pagoda stairway. "The very best friend? Don't you think you have a better?" Rudolph stared. "Oh, you funny, funny boy!" she cried, with a bewildering laugh, of delight and pride. "I hate people all prim and circumspect, and you--You'd have flown back there straight at him, before my--before all the others. That's why I like you so!--But you must leave that horrid, lying fellow to me." All unaware, she had led him along the blinding white wall of the Forrester compound, and halted in the hot shadow that lay under the tiled gateway. As though timidly, her hand stole up and rested on his forearm. "So sorry." The confined space, narrow and covered, gave to her voice a plaintive ring. "That's twice you protected me, and I hurt you.--You _are_ different. This doesn't happen between people, often. When you did--that, for me, yesterday, didn't it seem different and rather splendid, and--like a book?" "It seemed nonsense," replied Rudolph, sturdily. "The heat. We were fools." She laughed again, and at close range watched him from under consciously drooping lashes that almost veiled a liquid brilliancy. Everywhere the cicadas kept the heat vibrating with their strident buzz. It recalled some other widespread mist of treble music, long ago. The trilling of frogs, that had been, before. "You dear, brave boy," she said slowly. "You're so honest, too. I'm not ungrateful. Do you know what I'd like--Oh, there's the _amah!"_ She drew back, with an impatient gesture. "That stupid, fat Mrs. Earle's waiting for me.--I hate to leave you." The stealthy brightness of her admiration changed to a slow, inscrutable appeal. "Don't forget. Haven't you--a better friend?" And with an instant, bold, and tantalizing grimace, she had vanished within. * * * * * To his homeward march, her cicadas shrilled the music of fifes. He, the despised, the man to spare, now cocked up his helmet like fortune's minion, dizzy with new honors. Nobody had ever praised him to his face. And now she, she of all the world, had spoken words which he feared and longed to believe, and which even said still less than her searching and mysterious look. On the top of his exultation, he reached the nunnery, and entered his big, bare living-room, to find Heywood stretched in a wicker chair. "Hallo, Rudie! I've asked myself to tiffin," drawled the lounger, from a little tempest of blue smoke, tossed by the punkah. "How's the fair Bertha?--Mausers all right? And by the way, did you make that inventory of provisions?" Rudolph faced him with a sudden conviction of guilt, of treachery to a leader. "Yes," he stammered; "I--I'll get it for you." He passed into his bedroom, caught up the written list from a table, and for a moment stood as if dreaming. Before him the Mausers, polished and orderly, shone in their new rack against the lime-coated wall. Though appearing to scan them, Rudolph saw nothing but his inward confusion. "After all this man did for me," he mused. What had loosed the bond, swept away all the effects? A sound near the window made him turn. An imp in white and red livery, Pêng, the little billiard-marker from the club, stood hurling things violently into the outer glare. "What thing you do?" called Rudolph, sharply. Some small but heavy object clattered on the floor. The urchin stooped, snatched it up, and flung it hurtling clean over the garden to the river. He turned, grinning amiably. "Goo-moh? ning-seh. How too you too," he chanted. "I am welly? glat to-see you." A boat-coolie, he explained, had called this house bad names. He, Pêng, threw stones. Bad man. "Out of here, you rascal!" Rudolph flicked a riding-whip at the scampering legs, as the small defender of his honor bolted for the stairs. "What's wrong?" Heywood appeared promptly at the door. From the road, below, a gleeful voice piped:-- "Goat-men! Baby-killers!" In the noon blaze, Pêng skipped derisively, jeered at them, performed a brief but indecorous pantomime, and then, kicking up his heels with joy, scurried for his life. "Chucked his billet," said Heywood, without surprise. "Little devil, I always thought--What's missing?" Rudolph scanned his meagre belongings, rummaged his dressing-table, opened a wardrobe. "Nothing," he answered. "A boat-coolie--" But Heywood had darted to the rack of Mausers, knelt, and sprung up, raging. "Side-bolts! Man," he cried, in a voice that made Rudolph jump,--"man, why didn't you stop him? The side-bolts, all but two.--Young heathen, he's crippled us: one pair of rifles left." CHAPTER XIV OFF DUTY The last of the sunlight streamed level through a gap in the western ridges. It melted, with sinuous, tender shadows, the dry contour of field and knoll, and poured over all the parching land a liquid, undulating grace. Like the shadow of clouds on ripe corn, the red tiles of the village roofs patched the countryside. From the distant sea had come a breath of air, cool enough to be felt with gratitude, yet so faint as neither to disturb the dry pulsation of myriad insect-voices, nor to blur the square mirrors of distant rice-fields, still tropically blue or icy with reflected clouds. Miss Drake paused on the knoll, and looked about her. "This remains the same, doesn't it, for all our troubles?" she said; then to herself, slowly, "'It is a beauteous evening, calm and free.'" Heywood made no pretense of following her look. "'Dear Nun,'" he blurted; "no, how does it go again?--'dear child, that walkest with me here--'" The girl started down the slope, with the impatience of one whose mood is frustrated. The climate had robbed her cheeks of much color, but not, it seemed, of all. "Your fault," said Heywood, impenitent. "Merely to show you. I could quote, once." "Aged Man!" She laughed, as though glad of this turn. "I like you better in prose. Go on, please, where we left off. What did you do then?" Heywood's smile, half earnest, half mischievous, obediently faded. "Oh, that! Why, then, of course, I discharged Rudolph's gatekeeper, put a trusty of my own in his place, sent out to hire a diver, and turned all hands to hunting. 'Obviously,' as Gilly would say.--We picked up two side-bolts in the garden, by the wall, one in the mud outside, and three the diver got in shallow water. Total recovered, six; plus two Pêng had no time for, eight. We can ill spare four guns, though; and the affair shows they keep a beastly close watch." "Yes," said Miss Drake, absently; then drew a slow breath. "Pêng was the most promising pupil we had." "He was," stated her companion, "a little, unmitigated, skipping, orange-tawny goblin!" She made no reply. As they footed slowly along the winding path, Flounce, the fox-terrier, who had scouted among strange clumps of bamboo, now rejoined them briskly, cantering with her fore-legs delicately stiff and joyful. Miss Drake stooped to pat her, saying:-- "Poor little dog. Little Foreign Dog!" She rose with a sigh, to add incongruously, "Oh, the things we dream beforehand, and then the things that happen!" "I don't know." Heywood looked at her keenly. "Sometimes they're the same." The jealous terrier scored her dusty paws down his white drill, from knee to ankle, before he added:-- "You know how the Queen of Heaven won her divinity." "Another," said the girl, "of your heathen stories?" "Rather a pretty one," he retorted. "It happened in a seaport, a good many hundred miles up the coast. A poor girl lived there, with her mother, in a hut. One night a great gale blew, so that everybody was anxious. Three junks were out somewhere at sea, in that storm. The girl lay there in the dark. Her sweetheart on board, it would be in a Western story; but these were only her friends, and kin, and townsmen, that were at stake. So she lay there in the hut, you see, and couldn't rest. And then it seemed to her, in the dark, that she was swimming out through the storm, out and out, and not in the least afraid. She had become larger, and more powerful, somehow, than the rain, or the dark, or the whole ocean; for when she came upon the junks tossing there, she took one in each hand, the third in her mouth, and began to swim for home. Just retrieved 'em, you know. But then across the storm she heard her mother calling in the dark, and had to open her mouth to answer. So she lost that junk." "Well, then her spirit was back in the hut. But next day the two junks came in; the third one, never. And for that dream, she was made, after her death, the great and merciful Queen of Heaven." As Heywood ended, they were entering a pastoral village, near the town, but hidden low under great trees, ancient and widely gnarled. "You told that," said Miss Drake, "as though it had really happened." "If you believe, these things have reality; if not, they have none." His gesture, as he repeated the native maxim, committed him to neither side. Miss Drake looked back toward the hills. "Her dream was play, compared to--some." "That," he answered, "is abominably true." The curt, significant tone made her glance at him quickly. In her dark eyes there was no impatience, but only trouble. "We do better," she said, "when we are both busy." He nodded, as though reluctantly agreeing, not so much to the words as to the silence which followed. The evening peace, which lay on the fields and hills, had flooded even the village streets. Without pause, without haste, the endless labor of the day went on as quiet as a summer cloud. Meeting or overtaking, coolies passed in single file, their bare feet slapping the enormous flags of antique, sunken granite, their twin baskets bobbing and creaking to the rhythm of their wincing trot. The yellow muscles rippled strongly over straining ribs, as with serious faces, and slant eyes intent on their path, they chanted in pairs the ageless refrain, the call and answer which make burdens lighter:-- "O heh!--O ha? O ho ho! O heh!--O ha? O ho ho!" From hidden places sounded the whir of a jade-cutter's wheel, a cobbler's rattle, or the clanging music of a forge. Yet everywhere the slow movements, the faded, tranquil colors,--dull blue garments, dusky red tiles, deep bronze-green foliage overhanging a vista of subdued white and gray,--consorted with the spindling shadows and low-streaming vesper light. Keepers of humble shops lounged in the open air with their gossips, smoking bright pipes of the Yunnan white copper, nodding and blinking gravely. Above them, no less courteous and placid, little doorway shrines besought the Earth-God to lead the Giver of Wealth within. Sometimes, where a narrow lane gaped opposite a door, small stone lions sat grinning upon pillars, to scare away the Secret Arrow of misfortune. But these rarely: the village seemed a happy place, favored of the Influences. In the grateful coolness men came and went, buying, joking, offering neighborly advice to chance-met people. A plump woman, who carried two tiny silver fish in an immense flat basket, grinned at Miss Drake, and pointed roguishly. "See the two boats going by!" she called. "Her feet are bigger than my Golden Lilies!" And laughing, she wriggled her own dusty toes, strong, free, and perfect in modeling. An old, withered barber looked up from shaving a blue forehead, under a tree. "Their women," he growled, "are shameless, and walk everywhere!" But a stern man, bearing a palm-leaf fan and a lark in a cage, frowned him down. "She brought my son safe out of the Three Sicknesses," he declared. "Mind your trade, Catcher of Lively Ones!" Then bending over the cage, with solicitude, he began gently to fan the lark. As Heywood and the girl paused beside him, he glanced up, and smiled gravely. "I give my pet his airing," he said; and then, quickly but quietly, "When you reach the town, do not pass through the West Quarter. It is full of evil-minded persons. Their placards are posted." A shrill trio of naked boys came racing and squabbling, to offer grasshoppers for sale. "We have seen no placards," replied Heywood. "You will to-morrow," said the owner of the lark, calmly; and squatting, became engrossed in poking a grasshopper between the brown, varnished splints of the cage. "Maker of Music, here is your evening rice." The two companions passed on, with Flounce timidly at heel. "You see," Heywood broke out. "Warnings everywhere. Now please, won't you listen to my advice? No telling when the next ship _will_ call, but when it does--" "I can't run away." She spoke as one clinging to a former answer. "I must stand by my dream, such as it used to be--and even such as it is." He eyed her sadly, shook his head, and said no more. For a moment they halted, where the path broadened on a market-place, part shade, part luminous with golden dust. A squad of lank boys, kicking miraculously with flat upturned soles, kept a wicker ball shining in the air, as true and lively as a plaything on a fountain-jet. Beyond, their tiny juniors, girls and boys knee-high, and fat tumbling babies in rainbow finery, all hand-locked and singing, turned their circle inside out and back again, in the dizzy graces of the "Water Wheel." Other boys, and girls still trousered and queued like boys, played at hopscotch, in and out among shoes that lay across the road. All traffic, even the steady trotting coolies, fetched a lenient compass roundabout. "Lucky Hand, Lucky Hand! Allow me to pass," begged a coffin-maker's man, bent under a plank. "These Long-Life boards are heavy." "Ho, Lame Chicken!" called another, blocked by the hop-scotch. He was a brown grass-cutter, who grinned, and fondled a smoky cloth that buzzed--some tribe of wild bees, captured far afield. "Ho, Lame Chicken! Do not bump me. They will sting." He came through safely; for at the same moment the musical "Cling-clank" of a sweetmeat-seller's bell turned the game into a race. The way was clear, also, for a tiny, aged collector of paper, flying the gay flag of an "Exalted Literary Society," and plodding, between two great baskets, on his pious rounds. "Revere and spare," he piped, at intervals,-- "revere and spare the Written Word!" All the bright picture lingered with the two alien wayfarers, long after they had passed and the sun had withdrawn from their path. In the hoary peace of twilight,-- "What can _we_ do here?" the girl cried abruptly. "There--I never meant to say it. But it runs in my head all the time. I work and work, to keep it down. What can we do here?" Heywood watched her face, set straight before them, and now more clearly cut in the failing light. Were there only pride in those fine and resolute lines, it might have been a face from some splendid coin, or medal of victory. "You work too hard," he said. "Think, instead, of all the good--" But at that she seemed to wince. "The good? As if there weren't dark streets and crooked children at home! Oh, the pride and ignorance that sent me here!" She spoke quietly, with a kind of wonder. "Just blind, ignorant feelings, I took them for--for something too great and mysterious. It's all very strange to look back on, and try to put into words. I remember painted glass, and solemn music--and thinking--then!--that I knew this lovely and terrible world--and its Maker and Master." She looked down the dusky lanes, where glowworm lanterns began to bob and wink. "Oh, this land! where you see the days running into years!" "The Dragon's a wise old beast," he ventured. "He teaches--something." She assented gravely:-- "And in those days I thought it was a dark continent--of lost souls." "There are no dark continents," declared Heywood suddenly, in a broken voice. "The heart of one man--can hold more darkness--You would never see into it--" "Don't!" she cried sharply. "What did we promise?" They stood close in the dusk, and a tremor, a wave, passed through them both. "I forgot--I couldn't help"--he stammered; then, as they stumbled forward, he regained his former tone, keen and ready. "Mustn't get to fussing about our work, must we?--Curious thing: speaking of dreams, you know. The other night I thought you were somewhere out on board a junk, and Flounce with you. I swam like anything, miles and miles, but couldn't get out to you. Worked like steam, and no headway. Flounce knew I was coming, but you didn't. Deuced odd, how real it seemed." She laughed, as though they had walked past some danger. "And speaking of dragons," she rejoined. "They _do_ help. The man in the story, that dipped in dragon's blood, was made invulnerable." "Oh?" He stood plainly at a loss. "Oh, I see. German, wasn't he?--Pity they didn't pop Rudie Hackh in!" Her swift upward glance might have been admiration, if she had not said:-- "Your mind works very slowly." "Oh?" Again he paused, as though somewhat hurt; then answered cheerfully: "Dare say. Always did. Thought at first you meant the rattan-juice kind, from Sumatra." The gate of the town yawned black. From the streets glimmered a few lanterns, like candles in a long cave. But shunning these unfriendly corridors, he led her roundabout, now along the walls, now through the dim ways of an outlying hamlet. A prolonged shriek of growing fright and anguish came slowly toward them--the cry of a wheelbarrow carrying the great carcass of a pig, waxy white and waxy red, like an image from a chamber of horrors. In the blue twilight, fast deepening, the most familiar things became grotesque. A woman's voice telling stories behind shadow pictures, and the capricious play of the black puppets on her lighted screen, had the effect of incantation. Before the booth of a dentist, the long strings of black teeth swayed in the lantern-glow, rattling, like horrid necklaces of cannibals. And from a squat den--where on a translucent placard in the dull window flickered the words "Foreign Earth," and the guttering door-lantern hinted "As You Like It"--there came a sweet, insidious, potent smell that seemed more poisonous than mere opium. "Let's go faster," said the girl. "Somehow, the dark makes me uneasy to-night." Skirting the town, they struck at last the open road beyond, and saw against a fading sky the low black bulk of the nunnery, pierced with orange squares. Past its landward wall, lanterns moved slowly, clustered here and there by twos and threes, and dispersed. Cackling argument came from the ditch, wherever the lantern-bearers halted; and on the face of the wall, among elbowing shadows, shone dim strips of scarlet. Both pillars of the gate were plastered with them. "Placards," said Heywood. "Things are ripening fast." Lighting match from match, he studied the long red scrolls, crowded with neat rows of symbols. He read them off slowly. 'The Garden of the Three Exquisites.'--Pshaw! that's a theatre notice: enterprising manager.--Ah, more like it. Long preamble, regular trimetrical platitudes--here we are:-- "'These Red-Bristled Ghosts teach their dupes to break the ancestral tablets, and to worship the picture of a naked infant, which points one finger toward heaven, another toward earth.--To each man entering the False Religion, a pill is given which confuses and darkens the mind.--Why they dig out babies' eyes: from one hundred pounds of Chinese lead can be extracted seven pounds of silver, and the remaining ninety-three pounds can be sold at the original cost. This silver can be extracted only by the elixir of black eyes. The green eyes of barbarians are of no use.'--Really, what follows is too--er--obscure. But here's the close: 'Tao-tais of the villages, assemble your population. Patriots, join! Let us hurl back these wizard-beasts beyond the oceans, to take their place among the strange things of creation!'" "And the big characters," she added, "the big characters you tried to hide, are 'Kill' and 'Burn'?" Gray eyes and dark eyes met steadily, while the last match, reddening the blood in his fingers, slowly burned out. CHAPTER XV KAÚ FAI At the top of the nunnery stairs, Rudolph met them with awkward ceremony, and with that smiling air of encouragement which a nurse might use in trying cheerfully to deceive a sick man. Heywood laughed, without mercy, at this pious fraud. "Hallo, you Red-Bristled Ghost!" he cried. "We came early--straight from our walk. Are the rest coming? And did my cook arrive to help yours?" Their host, carried by assault, at once became less mournful. "The cook is here," he replied, "by the kitchen-sounds. They disagree, I think. I have asked everybody. We should have a full dinner-table." "Good," said his friend; and then whispering, as they followed Miss Drake to the living-room, "I say, don't act as though you expected the ghost of Banquo." In the bare, white loft, by candle-light, Sturgeon sat midway in some long and wheezy tale, to which the padre and his wife listened with true forbearance. Greetings over, the stodgy annalist continued. The story was forgotten as soon as ended; talk languished; and even by the quaking light of the candles, it was plain that the silence was no mere waiting solemnity before meat, but a period of tension. The relief came oddly. Up from the road sounded a hubbub of voices, the tramp of feet, and loud halloos. "By Jove!" cried Sturgeon, like a man who fears the worst; and for all his bulk, he was first at the window. A straggling file of lanterns, borne by some small army, came jogging and crowding to a halt under the walls. Yellow faces gleamed faintly, bare heads bobbed, and men set down burdens, grunting. Among the vanguard an angry voice scolded in a strange tongue. "_Burra suar!_" it raged; then hailed imperiously, "_Ko hai?_" Where the lanterns clustered brightest, an active little figure in white waved a helmet, crying,-- "On deck! Where the devil does Maurice Heywood live?" "I'm up here," called that young man. For reply, the stranger began to skip among his cohorts, jerking out his white legs like a dancing marionette. Then, with a sudden drop-kick, he sent the helmet flickering high into the darkness over the wall. "Here we come!" he shouted, in hilarious warning. The squabbling retinue surged after him through the gate, and one by one the lanterns disappeared under the covered way. "It's the captain!" laughed Heywood, in amazement. "Kneebone--ashore! He can't be sober!" All stared; for Captain Kneebone, after one historically brief and outspoken visit, had never in all these years set foot in the port. The two young men hurried to the stairs. Chinamen and lanterns crowded the courtyard, stuffed the passage, and still came straggling in at the gate. By the noise and clatter, it might have been a caravan, or a band of half-naked robbers bringing plunder. Everywhere, on the stone flags, coolies were dumping down bundles, boxes, jute-bags crammed with heavy objects. Among them, still brawling in bad Hindustani, the little captain gave his orders. At sight of Heywood, however, he began once more to caper, with extravagant grimaces. By his smooth, ruddy face, and tunic of purest white, he seemed a runaway parson gone farther wrong than ever. "I've come to stay a month!" he cried; and dancing up, caught Heywood's hands and whirled him about. "I was fair bursting to see ye, my boy! And here we are, at last!" Though his cheeks were flushed, and eyes alarmingly bright, he was beyond question sober. Over his head, Heywood and Rudolph exchanged an anxious glance. "Good! but this is Hackh's house--the nunnery," said the one; and the other added, "You're just in time for dinner." The captain found these facts to be excruciating. He clapped Rudolph on the arm, and crowed:-- "Nunnery? We'll make it a bloomin' chummery!--Dinner be 'anged! A banquet. What's more, I've brought the chow"--he swept the huddled boxes with a prodigal gesture,--"lashin's o' food and drink! That's what it is: a banquet!" He turned again to his sweating followers, and flung the head coolie a handful of silver, crying, "_Sub-log kiswasti!_ Divide, and be off with ye! _Jao_, ye beggars! Not a pice more. Finish! I'll not spend it all on _you_!" Then, pouncing on the nearest crate, he burst it open with a ferocious kick. "Stores? The choicest to be 'ad in all Saigong! Look here"--He held up a tin and scanned the label triumphantly: "Chow de Bruxelles, what? Never saw chow spelt with an 'x' before, did ye? French, my boy. Bad spellers, but good cooks, are the French." Heywood lost his worried frown. Something had happened,--evidently at Calcutta, for the captain always picked up his vernacular where he dropped his latest cargo; but at all events these vagaries were not the effect of heat or loneliness. "What's up, Captain?" he laughed. But now that the coolies had gone, Captain Kneebone's heels were busy, staving open boxes right and left. A bottle rolled out, and smashed in a hissing froth of champagne. "Plenty more," he cried, rejoicing. "That shows ye how much _I_ care! Oho!" Suddenly he turned from this destruction, and facing Heywood, began mysteriously to exult over him. "Old fool and his earnings, eh? Fixed ideas, eh? 'No good,' says you. 'That cock won't fight,' says you. 'Let it alone.'--Ho-ho! What price fixed ideas now?" The eyes of his young friend widened in unbelief. "No," he cried, with a start: "you haven't?" The captain seized both hands again, and took on--for his height--a Roman stateliness. "I have." He nodded solemnly. "Bar sells, I have. No more, now. We'll--be-George, we'll announce it, at the banquet! Announce, that's the word. First time in _my_ life: announce!" Heywood suddenly collapsed on a sack, and laughed himself into abject silence. "Awfully glad, old chap," he at last contrived to say, and again choked. The captain looked down at the shaking body with a singular, benign, and fatherly smile. "A funny world, ain't it?" he declared sagely. "I've known this boy a long time," he explained to Rudolph. "This matter's--We'll let you in, presently. Lend me some coolies here, while we turn your dinner into my banquet. Eh? You don't care? Once in a bloomin' lifetime." With a seafaring bellow, he helped Rudolph to hail the servants' quarters. A pair of cooks, a pair of Number Twos, and all the "learn-pidgin" youngsters of two households came shuffling into the court; and arriving guests found all hands broaching cargo, in a loud confusion of orders and miscomprehension. The captain's dinner was the more brilliant. Throughout the long, white room, in the slow breeze of the punkah, scores of candles burned soft and tremulous, as though the old days had returned when the brown sisters lighted their refectory; but never had their table seen such profusion of viands, or of talk and laughter. The Saigon stores--after daily fare--seemed of a strange and Corinthian luxury. The captain's wine proved excellent. And his ruddy little face, beaming at the head of the table, wore an extravagant, infectious grin. His quick blue eyes danced with the light of some ineffable joke. He seemed a conjurer, creating banquets for sheer mischief in the wilderness. "There's a soup!" he had proclaimed. "Patent, mind ye! Stick a knife into the tin, and she 'eats 'erself!" Among all the revelers, one face alone showed melancholy. Chantel, at the foot of the table, sat unregarded by all save Rudolph, who now and then caught from him a look filled with gloom and suspicion. It was beside Rudolph that Mrs. Forrester laughed and chattered, calling all eyes toward her, and yet finding private intervals in which to dart a sidelong shaft at her neighbor. Rudolph's ears shone coral pink; for now again he was aboard ship, hiding a secret at once dizzy, dangerous, and entrancing. Across the talk, the wine, the many lights, came the triumph of seeing that other hostile face, glowering in defeat. Never before had Chantel, and all the others, dwindled so far into such nonentity, or her presence vibrated so near. Soon he became aware that Captain Kneebone had risen, with a face glowing red above the candles. Even Sturgeon forgot the flood of bounties, and looked expectantly toward their source. The captain cleared his throat, faltered, then turning sheepish all at once, hung his head. "Be 'anged, I can't make a speech, after all," he grumbled; and wheeling suddenly on Heywood, with a peevish air of having been defrauded: "Aboard ship I could sit and think up no end o' flowery talk, and now it's all gone!" He stared at his plate miserably. It was Miss Drake who came to his rescue. "Tell us the secret," she begged. "How do you manage all these nice things?" The captain's eyes surveyed the motley collection down the length of the bright table, then returned to her, gratefully:-- "This ain't anything. Only a little--bloomin'--" "Impromptu," suggested Heywood. "That's the word!" Captain Kneebone eyed them both with uncommon favor. "That's it, ye know. I just 'opped about Saigong like a--jackdaw, picking up these impromptus. But I came here all the way to break the news proper, by word o' mouth." He faced the company, and gathering himself for the effort,-- "I'm rich," he declared. "I'm da--I'm remarkable rich." Pausing for the effect, he warmed to his oratory. "It ain't for me to boast. Sailormen as a rule are bad hands to save money. But I've won first prize in the Derby Sweepstake Lott'ry, and the money's safe to my credit at the H.K. and S. in Calcutta, and I'm retired and going Home! More money than the old Kut Sing earned since her launching--so much I was frightened, first, and lost my sleep! And me without chick nor child, as the saying is--to go Home and live luxurious ever after!" "Ow!" cried Nesbit, "lucky beggar!"--"Sincerely glad," said Mr. Forrester. And a volley of compliments went round the board. The captain plainly took heart, and flushing still redder at so much praise and good will, stood now at ease, chuckling. "Most men," he began, when there came a lull, "most men makes a will after they're dead. That's a shore way o' doing things! Now _I_ want to see the effects, living. So be 'anged, here goes, right and proper. To Miss Drake, for her hospital and kiddies, two thousand rupees." In the laughter and friendly uproar, the girl sat dazed. "What shall I say?" she whispered, wavering between amusement and distress. "I can't accept it--" "Nonsense!" grumbled Heywood, with an angry glance. "Don't spoil the happiest evening of an old man's life." "You're right," she answered quickly; and when the plaudits ended, she thanked the captain in a very simple, pretty speech, which made him duck and grin,--a proud little benefactor. "That ain't all," he cried gayly; then leveled a threatening finger, like a pistol, at her neighbor. "Who poked fun at me, first and last? Who always came out aboard to tell me what an old ass I was? Fixed ideas, eh? No go?--Look you here. What did I come so many hundred miles for? To say what I always said: half-shares." The light-blue eyes, keen with sea-cunning and the lonely sight of many far horizons, suffered an indescribable change. "My boy, the half's yours. There's two rich men here to-night. I've come to take you Home." It was Heywood's turn to be struck dumb. He grew very pale. "Oh, I say," he stammered at last, "it's not fair--" "Don't spoil the happiest evening--" whispered the girl beside him. He eyed her ruefully, groaned, then springing up, went swiftly to the head of the table and wrung the captain's brown paw, without a word to say. "Can do, can do," said Captain Kneebone, curtly. "I was afraid ye might not want to come." Then followed a whirlwind; and Teppich rose with his moustache bristling, and the ready Nesbit jerked him down again in the opening sentence; and everybody laughed at Heywood, who sat there so white, with such large eyes; and the dinner going by on the wings of night, the melancholy "boy" circled the table, all too soon, with a new silver casket full of noble cigars from Paiacombo, Manila, and Dindigul. As the three ladies passed the foot of the table, Rudolph saw Mrs. Forrester make an angry signal. And presently, like a prisoner going to his judge, Chantel slipped out of the room. He was not missed; for already the streaming candle-flames stood wreathed in blue layers, nor was it long before the captain, mounting his chair, held a full glass aloft. "Here," he cried in triumph, "here's to every nail in the hoof--" The glass crashed into splinters and froth. A flying stone struck the boom of the punkah, and thumped on the table. Through the open windows, from the road, came a wild chorus of yells, caught up and echoed by many voices in the distance. "Shutters!" called Heywood. "Quick!" As they slammed them home, more stones drummed on the boards and clattered against the wall. Conches brayed somewhere, followed by an unaccountable, sputtering fusillade as of tiny muskets, and then by a formidable silence. While the banqueters listened in the smoky room, there came a sullen, heavy sound, like a single stroke on a large and very slack bass-drum. "_Kaú fai!_" shrilled the voices below; and then in a fainter gabble, as though hurrying off toward the sound,--"_kaú fai!_" "The Black Dog," said Heywood, quietly. "He has barked. Earlier than we figured, Gilly. Lucky the scaffolding's up. Gentlemen, we all know our posts. Guns are in the first bedroom. Quietly, now. Rudie, go call Chantel. Don't frighten the women. If they ask about that noise, tell 'em anything--Dragon Boat Festival beginning. Anything.--We can easily hold this place, while the captain gets 'em out to his ship." The captain wheeled, with an injured air. "What ship?" he inquired testily. "Told ye, plain, I was retired. Came the last bit in a stinking native boat, and _she's_ cleared by now. Think I carry ships in my pocket?" Outside, the swollen discord of shouts, thunder of gongs, and hoarse calling of the conches came slowly nearer, extending through the darkness. CHAPTER XVI THE GUNWALE Rudolph's mission began quietly, with a glimpse which he afterward recalled as incredibly peaceful. Two of the women, at least, showed no fear. In the living-room sat Mrs. Earle, her chin cramped on her high bosom, while she mournfully studied his colored picture-book of the Rhine. Miss Drake, who leaned in one of the river windows, answered him, saying rather coldly that Chantel and Mrs. Forrester had gone down to the garden. In the court, however, he ran across Ah Pat, loitering beside a lantern. The compradore grinned, and in a tone of great unconcern called out that the pair were not in the garden. "Walkee so." He pointed down the passage to the main gate, and hooked his thumb toward the right, to indicate their course. "Makee finish, makee die now," he added calmly; "too muchee, no can." Rudolph experienced his first shock of terror, like an icy blow on the scalp. They had gone outside before the alarm; she, Bertha, was swept away in that tumult which came raging through the darkness.--He stood transfixed, but only for an instant, rather by the stroke of helplessness than by fear; and then, blindly, without plan or foresight, darted down the covered way. The tiny flame of a pith wick, floating in a saucer of oil, showed Heywood's gatekeeper sitting at his post, like a gnome in the gallery of a mine. Rudolph tore away the bar, heard the heavy gate slam shut, and found himself running down the starlit road. Not all starlight, however; a dim red glow began to flicker on the shapes which rushed behind him in his flight. Wheeling once, he saw two broad flames leaping high in wild and splendid rivalry,--one from Heywood's house, one from the club. He caught also a whirling impression of many heads and arms, far off, tiny, black, and crowded in rushing disorder; of pale torches in the road; and of a hissing, snarling shout, a single word, like "_Sha, sha_!" repeated incessantly in a high key. The flame at the club shot up threefold, with a crash; and a glorious criss-cross multitude of sparks flew hissing through the treetops, like fiery tadpoles through a net. He turned and ran on, dazzled; fell over some one who lay groaning; rose on hands and knees, groped in the dust, and suddenly fingered thin, rough cloth, warm and sopping. In a nausea of relief, he felt that this was a native,--some unknown dying man, who coughed like a drunkard. Rudolph sprang up and raced again, following by habit the path which he and she had traversed at noon. Once, with a heavy collision, he stopped short violently in the midst of crowded men, who shouted, clung to him, wrestling, and struck out with something sharp that ripped his tunic. He kicked, shook them off, hammered his fists right and left, and ran free, with a strange conviction that to-night he was invincible. Stranger still, as the bamboo leaves now and then brushed his bare forehead, he missed the sharp music of her cicadas. The looming of a wall checked him. Here stood her house; she had the briefest possible start of him, and he had run headlong the whole way; by all the certainty of instinct, he knew that he had chosen the right path: why, then, had he not overtaken her? If she met that band which he had just broken through--He wavered in the darkness, and was turning wildly to race back, when a sudden light sprang up before him in her window. He plunged forward, in at the gate, across a plot of turf, stumbled through the Goddess of Mercy bamboo that hedged the door, and went falling up the dark stairs, crying aloud,--for the first time in his life,--"Bertha! Bertha!" Empty rooms rang with the name, but no one answered. At last, however, reaching the upper level, he saw by lamplight, through the open door, two figures struggling. Just before he entered, she tore herself free and went unsteadily across the room. Chantel, white and abject, turned as in panic. "Oh!" Plainly he had not expected to see another face as white as his own. Breathless and trembling, he spoke in a strangely little voice; but his staring eyes lighted with a sudden and desperate resolution. "Help me with her," he begged. "She won't listen. The woman's out of her wits." He caught Rudolph by the arm; and standing for a moment like close friends, the two panting rivals watched her in stupefaction. She ransacked a great cedar chest, a table, shelves, boxes, and strewed the contents on the floor,--silk scarfs, shining Benares brass, Chinese silver, vivid sarongs from the Preanger regency, Kyoto cloisonné, a wild heap of plunder from the bazaars of all the nations where Gilly's meagre earnings had been squandered. A Cingalese box dropped and burst open, scattering bright stones, false or precious, broadcast. She trampled them in her blind and furious search. "Come," said Chantel, and snatched at her. "Leave those. Come to the boat. Every minute--" She pushed him aside like a thing without weight or meaning, stooped again among the gay rubbish, caught up a necklace, flung it down for the sake of a brooch, then dropped everything and turned with blank, dilated eyes, and the face of a child lost in a crowd. "Rudolph," she whimpered, "help me. What shall I do?" Without waiting for answer, she bent once more to sort and discard her pitiful treasures, to pause vaguely, consider, and wring her hands. Rudolph, in his turn, caught her by the arm, but fared no better. "We must humor her," whispered Chantel, and, kneeling like a peddler among the bazaar-stuffs, spread on the floor a Java sarong, blue and brown, painted with men and buffaloes. On this he began to heap things pell-mell. The woman surrendered, and all at once flung her arms about Rudolph, hiding her face, and clinging to him as if with the last of her strength. "Come, he'll bring them," she sobbed. "Let's go--to the boat. He must find his own way. Take me." Hurry and fright choked her. "Take me--leave him, if he won't come--I scolded him--then the noises came, and we ran--" "What boat?" said Rudolph. Chantel did not look up. "I have one ready and stocked," he mumbled, tugging with his teeth at the knot in the sarong corners. "You can come. We'll drop down the river, and try it along the coast. Only chance. Come on." He rose, and started for the door, slinging the bright-colored bundle over his shoulder. "Come on," he snarled. Against the gay pattern, his handsome pirate face shone brown and evil in the lamplight. "Damn you, I've waited long enough for your whims. Stay there and be killed, then." He ran to the stairs, and down. The woman's arms began to drag loosely, as if she were slipping to the floor; then suddenly, with a cry, she turned and bolted. Run as he might, Rudolph did not overtake her till she had caught Chantel at the gate. All three, silent, sped across fields toward the river, through the startling shadows and dim orange glow from distant flames. The rough ground sloped, at last, and sent them stumbling down into mud. Behind them the bank ran black and ragged against the glow; before them, still more black, lay the river, placid, mysterious, and safe. Through the mud they labored heavily toward a little, smoky light--a lantern gleaming faintly on a polished gunwale, the shoulders of a man, and the thin, slant line that was his pole. "Lowdah?" called Chantel; and the shoulders moved, the line shifted, as the boatman answered. Chantel pitched the bundle over the lantern, and leapt on board. Rudolph came slowly, carrying in his arms the woman, who lay quiet and limp, clasping him in a kind of drowsy oblivion. He felt the flutter of her lips, while she whispered in his ear strange, breathless entreaties, a broken murmur of endearments, unheard-of, which tempted him more than the wide, alluring darkness of the river. He lowered her slowly; and leaning against the gunwale, she still clung to his hands. "Aboard! Quickly!" snapped their leader, from the dusk behind the lantern. Obeying by impulse, Rudolph moved nearer the gunwale. The slippery edge, polished by bare feet through many years, seemed the one bit of reality in this dream, except the warmth of her hands. "To the nunnery?" he asked, trying dully to rouse from a fascination. "No, no," she wailed. "Down--away--safe." "No, back to them," he answered stupidly. "They are all there. Your--he is there. We can't leave--" "You fool!" Chantel swore in one tongue, and in another cried to the boatman--"Shove off, if they won't come!" He seized the woman roughly and pulled her on board; but she reached out and caught Rudolph's hand again. "Come, hurry," she whispered, tugging at him. "Come, dear boy. I won't leave you. Quickly. You saw it burning. They're all dead. It's no use. We must live. We must live, darling." She was right, somehow; there was no power to confute her. He must come with her, or run back, useless, into the ring of swords and flames. She and life were in the boat; ashore, a friend cut off beyond reach, an impossible duty, and death. His eyes, dull and fixed in the smoky lantern-light, rested for an age on the knotted sarong. It meant nothing; then in a flash, as though for him all light of the eyes had concentrated in a single vision, it meant everything. The colored cloth--rudely painted in the hut of some forgotten mountaineer--held all her treasure and her heart, the things of this world. She must go with those. It was fitting. She was beautiful--in all her fear and disorder, still more beautiful. She went with life, departing into a dream. This glossy gunwale, polished by bare feet, was after all the sole reality, a shining line between life and death. "Then I must die," he groaned, and wrenched his hands away from that perilous boundary. He vaguely heard her cry out, vaguely saw Chantel rise above the lantern and slash down at him with the lowdah's pole. The bamboo struck him, heavy but glancing, on the head. He staggered, lost his footing, and fell into the mud, where, as though his choice had already overtaken him, he lay without thought or emotion, watching the dim light float off into the darkness. By and by it was gone. From somewhere in another direction came a sharp, continual, crackling fusillade, like the snapping of dry bamboo-joints in a fire. The unstirring night grew heavier with the smell of burnt gunpowder. But Rudolph, sitting in the mud, felt only that his eyes were dry and leaden in their sockets, that there was a drumming in his ears, and that if heat and weariness thus made an end of him, he need no longer watch the oppressive multitude of stars, or hear the monotony of flowing water. Something stirred in the dry grass above him. Without turning, he heard a man scramble down the bank; without looking up, he felt some one pause and stoop close. When at last, in profound apathy, he raised his eyes, he saw against the starlight the hat, head, and shoulders of a coolie. Quite natural, he thought, that the fellow should be muttering in German. It was only the halting, rusty fashion of the speech that finally fretted him into listening. The words did not concern him. "Are you dead, then?" grumbled the coolie. "Did she kill you?" Rudolph dismissed him with a vague but angry motion. Some time afterward the same voice came louder. The coolie was still there. "You cannot sit here all night," he said. "By daylight they will catch you. Come. Perhaps I can take you to your friends. Come." Rudolph felt sharp knuckles working at his lips, and before he could rebel, found his mouth full of sweet fiery liquid. He choked, swallowed, and presently heard the empty bottle splash in the river. "_Stösst an_!" said the rescuer, and chuckled something in dispraise of women. "Is that not better?" The rice-brandy was hot and potent; for of a sudden Rudolph found himself afoot and awake. A dizzy warmth cleared his spirit. He understood perfectly. This man, for some strange reason, was Wutzler, a coolie and yet a brother from the fatherland. He and his nauseous alien brandy had restored the future. There was more to do. "Come on." The forsaken lover was first man up the bank. "See!" he cried, pointing to a new flare in the distance. The whole region was now aglow like a furnace, and filled with smoke, with prolonged yells, and a continuity of explosions that ripped the night air like tearing silk. "Her house is burning now." "You left in time." Wutzler shuffled before him, with the trot of a lean and exhausted laborer. "I was with the men you fought, when you ran. I followed to the house, and then here, to the river. I was glad you did not jump on board." He glanced back, timidly, for approbation. "I am a great coward, Herr Heywood told me so,--but I also stay and help." He steered craftily among the longest and blackest shadows, now jogging in a path, now threading the boundary of a rice-field, or waiting behind trees; and all the time, though devious and artful as a deer-stalker, crept toward the centre of the noise and the leaping flames. When the quaking shadows grew thin and spare, and the lighted clearings dangerously wide, he swerved to the right through a rolling bank of smoke. They coughed as they ran. Once Rudolph paused, with the heat of the fire on his cheeks. "The nunnery is burning," he said hopelessly. His guide halted, peered shrewdly, and listened. "No, they are still shooting," he answered, and limped onward, skirting the uproar. At last, when by pale stars above the smoke and flame and sparks, Rudolph judged that they were somewhere north of the nunnery, they came stumbling down into a hollow encumbered with round, swollen obstacles. Like a patch of enormous melons, oil-jars lay scattered. "Hide here, and wait," commanded Wutzler. "I will go see." And he flitted off through the smoke. Smuggled among the oil-jars, Rudolph lay panting. Shapes of men ran past, another empty jar rolled down beside him, and a stray bullet sang overhead like a vibrating wire. Soon afterward, Wutzler came crawling through the huddled pottery. "Lie still," he whispered. "Your friends are hemmed in. You cannot get through." The smell of rancid oil choked them, yet they could breathe without coughing, and could rest their smarting eyes. In the midst of tumult and combustion, the hollow lay dark as a pool. Along its rim bristled a scrubby fringe of weeds, black against a rosy cloud. After a time, something still blacker parted the weeds. In silhouette, a man's head, his hand grasping a staff or the muzzle of a gun, remained there as still as though, crawling to the verge, he lay petrified in the act of spying. CHAPTER XVII LAMP OF HEAVEN The white men peered from among the oil-jars, like two of the Forty Thieves. They could detect no movement, friendly or hostile: the black head lodged there without stirring. The watcher, whether he had seen them or not, was in no hurry; for with chin propped among the weeds, he held a pose at once alert and peaceful, mischievous and leisurely, as though he were master of that hollow, and might lie all night drowsing or waking, as the humor prompted. Wutzler pressed his face against the earth, and shivered in the stifling heat. The uncertainty grew, with Rudolph, into an acute distress. His legs ached and twitched, the bones of his neck were stretched as if to break, and a corner of broken clay bored sharply between his ribs. He felt no fear, however: only a great impatience to have the spy begin,--rise, beckon, call to his fellows, fire his gun, hit or miss. This longing, or a flash of anger, or the rice-brandy working so nimbly in his wits, gave him both impulse and plan. "Don't move," he whispered; "wait here." And wriggling backward, inch by inch, feet foremost among the crowded bellies of the jars, he gained the further darkness. So far as sight would carry, the head stirred no more than if it had been a cannon-ball planted there on the verge, against the rosy cloud. From crawling, Rudolph rose to hands and knees, and silently in the dust began to creep on a long circuit. Once, through a rift in smoke, he saw a band of yellow musketeers, who crouched behind some ragged earthwork or broken wall, loading and firing without pause or care, chattering like outraged monkeys, and all too busy to spare a glance behind. Their heads bobbed up and down in queer scarlet turbans or scarfs, like the flannel nightcaps of so many diabolic invalids. Passing them unseen, he crept back toward his hollow. In spite of smoke, he had gauged and held his circle nicely, for straight ahead lay the man's legs. Taken thus in the rear, he still lay prone, staring down the slope, inactive; yet legs, body, and the bent arm that clutched a musket beside him in the grass, were stiff with some curious excitement. He seemed ready to spring up and fire. No time to lose, thought Rudolph; and rising, measured his distance with a painful, giddy exactness. He would have counted to himself before leaping, but his throat was too dry. He flinched a little, then shot through the air, and landed heavily, one knee on each side, pinning the fellow down as he grappled underneath for the throat. Almost in the same movement he had bounded on foot again, holding both hands above his head, as high as he could withdraw them. The body among the weeds lay cold, revoltingly indifferent to stratagem or violence, in the same tense attitude, which had nothing to do with life. Rudolph dropped his hands, and stood confounded by his own brutal discourtesy. Wutzler, crawling out from the jars, scrambled joyfully up the bank. "You have killed him?" quavered the dry little voice. "You are very brave!" "No, no," cried Rudolph, earnestly. "He was, already." By the scarlet headgear, and a white symbol on the back of his jacket, the man at their feet was one of the musketeers. He had left the firing-line, crawled away in the dark, and found a quiet spot to die in. "So! This is good luck!" Wutzler doffed his coolie hat, slid out of his jacket, tossed both down among the oil-jars, and stooping over the dead man, began to untwist the scarlet turban. In the dim light his lean arms and frail body, coated with black hair, gave him the look of a puny ape robbing a sleeper. He wriggled into the dead man's jacket, wound the blood-red cloth about his own temples, and caught up musket, ramrod, powder-horn, and bag of bullets.--"Now I am all safe," he chuckled. "Now I can go anywhere, to-night." He shouldered arms and stood grinning as though all their troubles were ended. "So! I am rebel soldier. We try again; come.--Not too close behind me; and if I speak, run back." In this order they began once more to scout through the smoke. No one met them, though distant shapes rushed athwart the gloom, yelping to each other, and near by, legs of runners moved under a rolling cloud of smoke as if their bodies were embedded and swept along in the wrack:--all confused, hurried, and meaningless, like the uproar of gongs, horns, conches, whistling bullets, crackers, and squibs that sputtering, string upon string, flower upon rising flower of misty red gold explosion, ripped all other noise to tatters. Where and how he followed, Rudolph never could have told; but once, as they ran slinking through the heaviest smoke and, as it seemed, the heart of the turmoil, he recognized the yawning rim of a clay-pit, not a stone's throw from his own gate. It was amazing to feel that safety lay so close; still more amazing to catch a glimpse of many coolies digging in the pit by torchlight, peacefully, as though they had heard of no disturbance that evening. Hardly had the picture flashed past, than he wondered whether he had seen or imagined it, whose men they were, and why, even at any time, they should swarm so busy, thick as ants, merely to dig clay. He had worry enough, however, to keep in view the white cross-barred hieroglyphic on his guide's jacket. Suddenly it vanished, and next instant the muzzle of the gun jolted against his ribs. "Run, quick," panted Wutzler, pushing him aside. "To the left, into the go-down. Here they are!--To your left!" And with the words, he bounded off to the right, firing his gun to confuse the chase. Rudolph obeyed, and, running at top speed, dimly understood that he had doubled round a squad of grunting runners, whose bare feet pattered close by him in the smoke. Before him gaped a black square, through which he darted, to pitch head first over some fat, padded bulk. As he rose, the rasping of rough jute against his cheek told him that he had fallen among bales; and a familiar, musty smell, that the bales were his own, in his own go-down, across a narrow lane from the nunnery. With high hopes, he stumbled farther into the darkness. Once, among the bales, he trod on a man's hand, which was silently pulled away. With no time to think of that, he crawled and climbed over the disordered heaps, groping toward the other door. He had nearly reached it, when torchlight flared behind him, rushing in, and savage cries, both shrill and guttural, rang through the stuffy warehouse. He had barely time, in the reeling shadows, to fall on the earthen floor, and crawl under a thin curtain of reeds to a new refuge. Into this--a cubby-hole where the compradore kept his tally-slips, umbrella, odds and ends--the torchlight shone faintly through the reeds. Lying flat behind a roll of matting, Rudolph could see, as through the gauze twilight of a stage scene, the tossing lights and the skipping men who shouted back and forth, jabbing their spears or pikes down among the bales, to probe the darkness. Their search was wild but thorough. Before it, in swift retreat, some one crawled past the compradore's room, brushing the splint partition like a snake. This, as Rudolph guessed, might be the man whose hand he had stepped on. The stitches in the curtain became beads of light. A shadowy arm heaved up, fell with a dry, ripping sound and a vertical flash. A sword had cut the reeds from top to bottom. Through the rent a smoking flame plunged after the sword, and after both, a bony yellow face that gleamed with sweat. Rudolph, half wrapped in his matting, could see the hard, glassy eyes shine cruelly in their narrow slits; but before they lowered to meet his own, a jubilant yell resounded in the go-down, and with a grunt, the yellow face, the flambeau, and the sword were snatched away. He lay safe, but at the price of another man's peril. They had caught the crawling fugitive, and now came dragging him back to the lights. Through the tattered curtain Rudolph saw him flung on the ground like an empty sack, while his captors crowded about in a broken ring, cackling, and prodding him with their pikes. Some jeered, some snarled, others called him by name, with laughing epithets that rang more friendly, or at least more jocular; but all bent toward him eagerly, and flung down question after question, like a little band of kobolds holding an inquisition. At some sharper cry than the rest, the fellow rose to his knees and faced them boldly. A haggard Christian, he was being fairly given his last chance to recant. "Open your mouth! Open your mouth!" they cried, in rage or entreaty. The kneeling captive shook his head, and made some reply, very distinct and simple. "Open your mouth!" They struck at him with the torches. The same sword that had slashed the curtain now pricked his naked chest. Rudolph, clenching his fists in a helpless longing to rush out and scatter all these men-at-arms, had a strange sense of being transported into the past, to watch with ghostly impotence a mediaeval tragedy. The kneeling man repeated his unknown declaration. His round, honest, oily face was anything but heroic, and wore no legendary, transfiguring light. He seemed rather stupid than calm; yet as he mechanically wound his queue into place once more above the shaven forehead, his fingers moved surely and deftly. Not once did they slip or tremble. "Open your mouth!" snarled the pikemen and the torch-bearers, with the fierce gestures of men who have wasted time and patience. "The Lamp of Heaven!" bawled the swordsman, beside himself. "Give him the Lamp of Heaven!" To the others, this phrase acted as a spark to powder. "Good! good!" they shrilled, nodding furiously. "The Lamp of Heaven!" And several men began to rummage and overhaul the chaos of the go-down. Rudolph had given orders, that afternoon, to remove all necessary stores to the nunnery. But from somewhere in the darkness, one rioter brought a sack of flour, while another flung down a tin case of petroleum. The sword had no sooner cut the sack across and punctured the tin, than a fat villain in a loin cloth, squatting on the earthen floor, kneaded flour and oil into a grimy batch of dough. "Will you speak out and live," cried the swordsman, "or will you die?" For a second the Christian did not stir. Then, as though the option were not in his power,-- "Die," he answered. The fat baker sprang up, and clapped on the obstinate head a shapeless gray turban of dough. Half a dozen torches jostled for the honor of lighting it. The Christian, crowned with sooty flames, gave a single cry, clear above all the others. He was calling--as even Rudolph knew--on the strange god across the sea, Saviour of the Children of the West, not to forget his nameless and lonely servant. Rudolph groaned aloud, rose, and had parted the curtain to run out and fall upon them all, when suddenly, close at hand and sharp in the general din, there burst a quick volley of rifleshots. Splinters flew from the attap walls. A torch-bearer and the man with the sword spun half round, collided, and fell, the one across the other, like drunken wrestlers. The survivors flung down their torches and ran, leaping and diving over bales. On the ground, the smouldering Lamp of Heaven showed that its wearer, rescued by a lucky bullet, lay still in a posture of humility. Strange humility, it seemed, for one so suddenly given the complete and profound wisdom that confirms all faith, foreign or domestic, new or old. With a sense of all this, but no clear sense of action, Rudolph found the side-door, opened it, closed it, and started across the lane. He knew only that he should reach the mafoo's little gate by the pony-shed, and step out of these dark ages into the friendly present; so that when something from the wall blazed point-blank, and he fell flat on the ground, he lay in utter defeat, bitterly surprised and offended. His own friends: they might miss him once, but not twice. Let it come quickly. Instead, from the darkness above came the most welcome sound he had ever known,--a keen, high voice, scolding. "What the devil are you firing at?" It was Heywood, somewhere on the roof of the pony-shed. He put the question sharply, yet sounded cool and cheerful. "A shadow? Rot! You waste another cartridge so, and I'll take your gun away. Remember that!" Nesbit's voice clipped out some pert objection. "Potted the beggar, any'ow--see for yourself--go-down 's afire." "Saves us the trouble of burning it." The other voice moved away, with a parting rebuke. "No more of that, sniping and squandering. Wait till they rush you." Rudolph lifted his head from the dust. "Maurice!" he called feebly. "Maurice, let me in!" "Hallo!" answered his captain on the wall, blithely. "Steady on, we'll get you." Of all hardships, this brief delay was least bearable. Then a bight of rope fell across Rudolph's back. He seized it, hauled taut, and planting his feet against the wall, went up like a fish, to land gasping on a row of sand-bags. "Ho, you wandering German!" His invisible friend clapped him on the shoulder. "By Jove, I'm glad. No time to burble now, though. Off with you. Compradore has a gun for you, in the court. Collect a drink as you go by. Report to Kneebone at the northeast corner. Danger point there: we need a good man, so hurry. Devilish glad. Cut along." Rudolph, scrambling down from the pony-shed, ran across the compound with his head in a whirl. Yet through all the scudding darkness and confusion, one fact had pierced as bright as a star. On this night of alarms, he had turned the great corner in his life. Like the pale stranger with his crown of fire, he could finish the course. He caught his rifle from the compradore's hand, but needed no draught from any earthly cup. Brushing through the orange trees, he made for the northeast angle, free of all longing perplexities, purged of all vile admiration, and fit to join his friends in clean and wholesome danger. CHAPTER XVIII SIEGE He never believed that they could hold the northeast corner for a minute, so loud and unceasing was the uproar. Bullets spattered sharply along the wall and sang overhead, mixed now and then with an indescribable whistling and jingling. The angle was like the prow of a ship cutting forward into a gale. Yet Rudolph climbed, rejoicing, up the short bamboo ladder, to the platform which his coolies had built in such haste, so long ago, that afternoon. His high spirits went before a fall. As he stood up, in the full glow from the burning go-down, somebody tackled him about the knees and threw him head first on the sand-bags. "How many times must I give me orders?" barked the little sea-captain. "Under cover, under cover, and stay under cover, or I'll send ye below, ye gallivanting--Oh! it's you, is it? Well, there's your port-hole." A stubby finger pointed in the obscurity. "There! and don't ye fire till I say so!" Thus made welcome, Rudolph crawled toward a chink among the bags, ran the muzzle of his gun into place, and lay ready for whatever might come out of the quaking lights and darknesses beyond. Nothing came, however, except a swollen continuity of sound, a rolling cloud of noises, thick and sullen as the smell of burnt gunpowder. It was strange, thought Rudolph, how nothing happened from moment to moment. No yellow bodies came charging out of the hubbub. He himself lay there unhurt; his fellows joked, grumbled, shifted their legs on the platform. At times the heavier, duller sound, which had been the signal for the whole disorder,--one ponderous beat, as on a huge and very slack bass-drum,--told that the Black Dog from Rotterdam was not far off. Yet even then there followed no shock of round-shot battering at masonry, but only an access of the stormy whistling and jingling. "Copper cash," declared the voice of Heywood, in a lull. By the sound, he was standing on the rungs of the ladder, with his head at the level of the platform; also by the sound, he was enjoying himself inordinately. "What a jolly good piece of luck! Scrap metal and copper cash. Firing money at us--like you, Captain. Just what we thought, too. Some unruly gang among them wouldn't wait, and forced matters. Tonight was premature. The beggars have plenty of powder, and little else. So far." Rudolph listened in wonder. Here, in the thick of the fight, was a light-hearted, busy commander, drawing conclusions and extracting news from chaos. "Look out for arrows," continued the speaker, as he crawled to a loophole between Rudolph's and the captain's. "They're shooting arrows up over. Killed one convert and wounded two, there by the water gate. They can't get the elevation for you chaps here, though." And again he added, cheerfully, "So far, at least." The little band behind the loopholes lay watching through the smoke, listening through the noise. The Black Dog barked again, and sent a shower of money clinking along the wall. "How do you like it, Rudie?" chuckled his friend. "It is terrible," answered Rudolph, honestly. "Terrible racket, yes. Fireworks, to frighten us. Wait till their ammunition comes; then you'll see fun. Fireworks, all this." Heywood turned to his other companion. "I say, Kneebone, what's your idea? Sniping all night, will it be?--or shall we get a fair chance at 'em?" The captain, a small, white, recumbent spectre, lifted his head and appeared to sniff the smoke judicially. "They get a chance at us, more like!" he grumbled. "My opinion, the blighters have shot and burnt themselves into a state o' mind; bloomin' delusion o' grandeur, that's what. Wildest of 'em will rush us to-night, once--maybe twice. We stave 'em off, say: that case, they'll settle down to starve us, right and proper." "Siege," assented Heywood. "Siege, like you read about." The captain lay flat again. "Wish a man could smoke up here." Heywood laughed, and turned his head:-- "How much do you know about sieges, old chap?" "Nothing," Rudolph confessed. "Nor I, worse luck. Outside of school--_testudine facia,_ that sort of thing. However," he went on cheerfully, "we shall before long"--He broke off with a start. "Rudie! By Jove, I forgot! Did you find them? Where's Bertha Forrester?" "Gone," said Rudolph, and struggling to explain, found his late adventure shrunk into the compass of a few words, far too small and bare to suggest the magnitude of his decision. "They went," he began, "in a boat--" He was saved the trouble; for suddenly Captain Kneebone cried in a voice of keen satisfaction, "Here they come! I told ye!"--and fired his rifle. Through a patch of firelight, down the gentle slope of the field, swept a ragged cohort of men, some bare-headed, some in their scarlet nightcaps, as though they had escaped from bed, and all yelling. One of the foremost, who met the captain's bullet, was carried stumbling his own length before he sank underfoot; as the Mausers flashed from between the sand-bags, another and another man fell to his knees or toppled sidelong, tripping his fellows into a little knot or windrow of kicking arms and legs; but the main wave poured on, all the faster. Among and above them, like wreckage in that surf, tossed the shapes of scaling-ladders and notched bamboos. Two naked men, swinging between them a long cylinder or log, flashed through the bonfire space and on into the dark below the wall. "Pung-dongs!" bawled the captain. "Look out for the pung-dong!" His friends were too busy firing into the crowded gloom below. Rudolph, fumbling at side-bolt and pulling trigger, felt the end of a ladder bump his forehead, saw turban and mediaeval halberd heave above him, and without time to think of firing, dashed the muzzle of his gun at the climber's face. The shock was solid, the halberd rang on the platform, but the man vanished like a shade. "Very neat," growled Heywood, who in the same instant, with a great shove, managed to fling down the ladder. "Perfectly silly attack. We'll hold 'em." While he spoke, however, something hurtled over their heads and thumped the platform. The queer log, or cylinder, lay there with a red coal sputtering at one end, a burning fuse. Heywood snatched at it and missed. Some one else caught up the long bulk, and springing to his feet, swung it aloft. Firelight showed the bristling moustache of Kempner, his long, thin arms poising a great bamboo case bound with rings of leather or metal. He threw it out with his utmost force, staggered as though to follow it; then, leaping back, straightened his tall body with a jerk, flung out one arm in a gesture of surprise, no sooner rigid than drooping; and even while he seemed inflated for another of his speeches, turned half-round and dove into the garden and the night. By the ending of it, he had redeemed a somewhat rancid life. Before, the angle was alive with swarming heads. As he fell, it was empty, and the assault finished; for below, the bamboo tube burst with a sound that shook the wall; liquid flame, the Greek fire of stink-pot chemicals, squirted in jets that revealed a crowd torn asunder, saffron faces contorted in shouting, and men who leapt away with clothes afire and powder-horns bursting at their sides. Dim figures scampered off, up the rising ground. "That's over," panted Heywood. "Thundering good lesson,--Here, count noses. Rudie? Right-oh. Sturgeon, Teppich, Padre, Captain? Good! but look sharp, while I go inspect." He whispered to Rudolph. "Come down, won't you, and help me with--you know." At the foot of the ladder, they met a man in white, with a white face in what might be the dawn, or the pallor of the late-risen moon. "Is Hackh there?" He hailed them in a dry voice, and cleared his throat, "Where is she? Where's my wife?" It was here, accordingly, while Heywood stooped over a tumbled object on the ground, that Rudolph told her husband what Bertha Forrester had chosen. The words came harder than before, but at last he got rid of them. His questioner stood very still. It was like telling the news of an absent ghost to another present. "This town was never a place," said Gilly, with all his former steadiness,--"never a place to bring a woman. And--and of her age." All three men listened to the conflict of gongs and crackers, and to the shouting, now muffled and distant behind the knoll. All three, as it seemed to Rudolph, had consented to ignore something vile. "That's all I wanted to know," said the older man, slowly. "I must get back to my post. You didn't say, but--She made no attempt to come here? Well, that's--that's lucky. I'll go back." For some time again they stood as though listening, till Heywood spoke:-- "Holding your own, are you, by the water gate?" "Oh, yes," replied Forrester, rousing slightly. "All quiet there. No more arrows. Converts behaving splendidly. Two or three have begged for guns." "Give 'em this." Heywood skipped up the ladder, to return with a rifle. "And this belt--Kempner's. Poor chap, he'll never ask you to return them.--Anything else?" "No," answered Gilly, taking the dead man's weapon, and moving off into the darkness. "No, except "--He halted. "Except if we come to a pinch, and need a man for some tight place, then give me first chance. Won't you? I could do better, now, than--than you younger men. Oh, and Hackh; your efforts to-night--Well, few men would have dared, and I feel immensely grateful." He disappeared among the orange trees, leaving Rudolph to think about such gratitude. "Now, then," called Heywood, and stooped to the white bundle at their feet. "Don't stand looking. Can't be helped. Trust old Gilly to take it like a man. Come bear a hand." And between them the two friends carried to the nunnery a tiresome theorist, who had acted once, and now, himself tired and limp, would offend no more by speaking. When the dawn filled the compound with a deep blue twilight, and this in turn grew pale, the night-long menace of noise gradually faded also, like an orgy of evil spirits dispersing before cockcrow. To ears long deafened, the wide stillness had the effect of another sound, never heard before. Even when disturbed by the flutter of birds darting from top to dense green top of the orange trees, the air seemed hushed by some unholy constraint. Through the cool morning vapors, hot smoke from smouldering wreckage mounted thin and straight, toward where the pale disk of the moon dissolved in light. The convex field stood bare, except for a few overthrown scarecrows in naked yellow or dusty blue, and for a jagged strip of earthwork torn from the crest, over which the Black Dog thrust his round muzzle. In a truce of empty silence, the defenders slept by turns among the sand-bags. The day came, and dragged by without incident. The sun blazed in the compound, swinging overhead, and slanting down through the afternoon. At the water gate, Rudolph, Heywood, and the padre, with a few forlorn Christians,--driven in like sheep, at the last moment,--were building a rough screen against the arrows that had flown in darkness, and that now lay scattered along the path. One of these a workman suddenly caught at, and with a grunt, held up before the padre. The head was blunt. About the shaft, wound tightly with silk thread, ran a thin roll of Chinese paper. Dr. Earle nodded, took the arrow, and slitting with a pocket-knife, freed and flattened out a painted scroll of complex characters. His keen old eyes ran down the columns. His face, always cloudy now, grew darker with perplexity. "A message," he declared slowly. "I think a serious message." He sat down on a pile of sacks, and spread the paper on his knee. "But the characters are so elaborate--I can't make head or tail." He beckoned Heywood, and together they scowled at the intricate and meaningless symbols. "All alike," complained the younger man. "Maddening." Then his face lighted. "No, see here--lower left hand." The last stroke of the brush, down in the corner, formed a loose "O. W." "From Wutzler. Must mean something." For all that, the painted lines remained a stubborn puzzle. "Something, yes. But what?" The padre pulled out a cigar, and smoking at top speed, spaced off each character with his thumb. "They are all alike, and yet"--He clutched his white hair with big knuckles, and tugged; replaced his mushroom helmet; held the paper at a new focus. "Ah!" he said doubtfully; and at last, "Yes." For some time he read to himself, nodding. "A Triad cipher." "Well?" resumed Heywood, patiently. The reader pointed with his cigar. "Take only the left half of that word, and what have you?" "'Lightning,'" read Heywood. "The right half?" "'Boat.'" "Take," the padre ordered, "this one; left half?" "'Lightning,'" repeated his pupil. "The right half--might be 'rice-scoop,' But that's nonsense." "No," said the padre. "You have the secret. It's good Triad writing. Subtract this twisted character 'Lightning' from each, and we've made the crooked straight. The writer was afraid of being caught. Here's the sense of his message, I take it." And he read off, slowly:-- "A Hakka boat on opposite shore; a green flag and a rice-scoop hoisted at her mast; light a fire on the water-gate steps, and she will come quickly, day or night.--O.W." Heywood took the news coldly. He shook his head, and stood thinking. "That won't help," he said curtly. "Never in the world." With the aid of a convert, he unbarred the ponderous gate, and ventured out on the highest slab of the landing-steps. Across the river, to be sure, there lay--between a local junk and a stray _papico_ from the north--the high-nosed Hakka boat, her deck roofed with tawny basket-work, and at her masthead a wooden rice-measure dangling below a green rag. Aft, by the great steering-paddle, perched a man, motionless, yet seeming to watch. Heywood turned, however, and pointed downstream to where, at the bend of the river, a little spit of mud ran out from the marsh. On the spit, from among tussocks, a man in a round hat sprang up like a thin black toadstool. He waved an arm, and gave a shrill cry, summoning help from further inland. Other hats presently came bobbing toward him, low down among the marsh. Puffs of white spurted out from the mud. And as Heywood dodged back through the gate, and Nesbit's rifle answered from his little fort on the pony-shed, the distant crack of the muskets joined with a spattering of ooze and a chipping of stone on the river-stairs. "Covered, you see," said Heywood, replacing the bar. "Last resort, perhaps, that way. Still, we may as well keep a bundle of firewood ready here." The shots from the marsh, though trivial and scattering, were like a signal; for all about the nunnery, from a ring of hiding-places, the noise of last night broke out afresh. The sun lowered through a brown, burnt haze, the night sped up from the ocean, covering the sky with sudden darkness, in which stars appeared, many and cool, above the torrid earth and the insensate turmoil. So, without change but from pause to outbreak, outbreak to pause, nights and days went by in the siege. Nothing happened. One morning, indeed, the fragments of another blunt arrow came to light, broken underfoot and trampled into the dust. The paper scroll, in tatters, held only a few marks legible through dirt and heel-prints: "Listen--work fast--many bags--watch closely." And still nothing happened to explain the warning. That night Heywood even made a sortie, and stealing from the main gate with four coolies, removed to the river certain relics that lay close under the wall, and would soon become intolerable. He had returned safely, with an ancient musket, a bag of bullets, a petroleum squirt, and a small bundle of pole-axes, and was making his tour of the defenses, when he stumbled over Rudolph, who knelt on the ground under what in old days had been the chapel, and near what now was Kempner's grave. He was not kneeling in devotion, for he took Heywood by the arm, and made him stoop. "I was coming," he said, "to find you. The first night, I saw coolies working in the clay-pit. Bend, a moment over. Put now the ear close." Heywood laid his cheek in the dust. "They're keeping such a racket outside," he muttered; and then, half to himself: "It certainly is. Rudie, it's--it's as if poor Kempner were--waking up." He listened again. "You're right. They are digging." The two friends sat up, and eyed each other in the starlight. CHAPTER XIX BROTHER MOLES This new danger, working below in the solid earth, had thrown Rudolph into a state of sullen resignation. What was the use now, he thought indignantly, of all their watching and fighting? The ground, at any moment, might heave, break, and spring up underfoot. He waited for his friend to speak out, and put the same thought roundly into words. Instead, to his surprise, he heard something quite contrary. "Now we know!" said Heywood, in lively satisfaction. "Now we know what the beasts have up their sleeve. That's a comfort. Rather!" He sat thinking, a white figure in the starlight, cross-legged like a Buddha. "That's why they've all been lying doggo," he continued. "And then their bad marksmanship, with all this sniping--they don't care, you see, whether they pot us or not. They'd rather make one clean sweep, and 'blow us at the moon.' Eh? Cheer up, Rudie: so long as they're digging, they're not blowing. Are they?" While he spoke, the din outside the walls wavered and sank, at last giving place to a shrill, tiny interlude of insect voices. In this diluted silence came now and then a tinkle of glass from the dark hospital room where Miss Drake was groping among her vials. Heywood listened. "If it weren't for that," he said quietly, "I shouldn't much care. Except for the women, this would really be great larks." Then, as a shadow flitted past the orange grove, he roused himself to hail: "Ah Pat! Go catchee four piecee coolie-man!" "Can do." The shadow passed, and after a time returned with four other shadows. They stood waiting, till Heywood raised his head from the dust. "Those noises have stopped, down there," he said to Rudolph; and rising, gave his orders briefly. The coolies were to dig, strike into the sappers' tunnel, and report at once: "Chop-chop.--Meantime, Rudie, let's take a holiday. We can smoke in the courtyard." A solitary candle burned in the far corner of the inclosure, and cast faint streamers of reflection along the wet flags, which, sluiced with water from the well, exhaled a slight but grateful coolness. Heywood stooped above the quivering flame, lighted a cigar, and sinking loosely into a chair, blew the smoke upward in slow content. "Luxury!" he yawned. "Nothing to do, nothing to fret about, till the compradore reports. Wonderful--too good to be true." For a long time, lying side by side, they might have been asleep. Through the dim light on the white walls dipped and swerved the drunken shadow of a bat, who now whirled as a flake of blackness across the stars, now swooped and set the humbler flame reeling. The flutter of his leathern wings, and the plash of water in the dark, where a coolie still drenched the flags, marked the sleepy, soothing measures in a nocturne, broken at strangely regular intervals by a shot, and the crack of a bullet somewhere above in the deserted chambers. "Queer," mused Heywood, drowsily studying his watch. "The beggar puts one shot every five minutes through the same window.--I wonder what he's thinking about? Lying out there, firing at the Red-Bristled Ghosts. Odd! Wonder what they're all"--He put back his cigar, mumbling. "Handful of poor blackguards, all upset in their minds, and sweating round. And all the rest tranquil as ever, eh?--the whole country jogging on the same old way, or asleep and dreaming dreams, perhaps, same kind of dreams they had in Marco Polo's day." The end of his cigar burned red again; and again, except for that, he might have been asleep. Rudolph made no answer, but lay thinking. This brief moment of rest in the cool, dim courtyard--merely to lie there and wait--seemed precious above all other gain or knowledge. Some quiet influence, a subtle and profound conviction, slowly was at work in him. It was patience, wonder, steady confidence,--all three, and more. He had felt it but this once, obscurely; might die without knowing it in clearer fashion; and yet could never lose it, or forget, or come to any later harm. With it the stars, above the dim vagaries of the bat, were brightly interwoven. For the present he had only to lie ready, and wait, a single comrade in a happy army. Through a dark little door came Miss Drake, all in white, and moving quietly, like a symbolic figure of evening, or the genius of the place. Her hair shone duskily as she bent beside the candle, and with steady fingers tilted a vial, from which amber drops fell slowly into a glass. With dark eyes watching closely, she had the air of a young, beneficent Medea, intent on some white magic. "Aren't you coming," called Heywood, "to sit with us awhile?" "Can't, thanks," she replied, without looking up. "I'm too busy." "That's no excuse. Rest a little." She moved away, carrying her medicines, but paused in the door, smiled back at him as from a crypt, and said:-- "Have _you_ been hurt?" "Only my feelings." "I've no time," she laughed, "for lazy able-bodied persons." And she was gone in the darkness, to sit by her wounded men. With her went the interval of peace; for past the well-curb came another figure, scuffing slowly toward the light. The compradore, his robes lost in their background, appeared as an oily face and a hand beckoning with downward sweep. The two friends rose, and followed him down the courtyard. In passing out, they discovered the padre's wife lying exhausted in a low chair, of which she filled half the length and all the width. Heywood paused beside her with some friendly question, to which Rudolph caught the answer. "Oh, quite composed." Her voice sounded fretful, her fan stirred weakly. "Yes, wonderfully composed. I feel quite ready to suffer for the faith." "Dear Mrs. Earle," said the young man, gently, "there ought to be no need. Nobody shall suffer, if we can prevent. I think we can." Under the orange trees, he laid an unsteady hand on Rudolph's arm, and halting, shook with quiet merriment. "Poor dear lady!" he whispered, and went forward chuckling. Loose earth underfoot warned them not to stumble over the new-raised mound beside the pit, which yawned slightly blacker than the night. Kempner's grave had not been quieter. The compradore stood whispering: they had found the tunnel empty, because, he thought, the sappers were gone out to eat their chow. "We'll see, anyway," said Heywood, stripping off his coat. He climbed over the mound, grasped the edges, and promptly disappeared. In the long moment which followed, the earth might have closed on him. Once, as Rudolph bent listening over the shaft, there seemed to come a faint momentary gleam; but no sound, and no further sign, until the head and shoulders burrowed up again. "Big enough hole down there," he reported, swinging clear, and sitting with his feet in the shaft. "Regular cave. Three sacks of powder stowed already, so we're none too soon.--One sack was leaky. I struck a match, and nearly blew myself to Casabianca." He paused, as if reflecting. "It gives us a plan, though. Rudie: are you game for something rather foolhardy? Be frank, now; for if you wouldn't really enjoy it, I'll give old Gilly Forrester his chance." "No!" said Rudolph, stung as by some perfidy. "You make me--ashamed! This is all ours, this part, so!" "Can do," laughed the other. "Get off your jacket. Give me half a moment start, so that you won't jump on my head." And he went wriggling down into the pit. An unwholesome smell of wet earth, a damp, subterranean coolness, enveloped Rudolph as he slid down a flue of greasy clay, and stooping, crawled into the horizontal bore of the tunnel. Large enough, perhaps, for two or three men to pass on all fours, it ran level, roughly cut, through earth wet with seepage from the river, but packed into a smooth floor by many hands and bare knees. It widened suddenly before him. In the small chamber of the mine, choked with the smell of stale betel, he bumped Heywood's elbow. "Some Fragrant Ones have been working here, I should say." The speaker patted the ground with quick palms, groping. "Phew! They've worked like steam. This explains old Wutz, and his broken arrow. I say, Rudie, feel about. I saw a coil of fuse lying somewhere.--At least, I thought it was. Ah, never mind: have-got!" He pulled something along the floor. "How's the old forearm I gave you? I forgot that. Equal to hauling a sack out? Good! Catch hold, here." Sweeping his hand in the darkness, he captured Rudolph's, and guided it to where a powder-bag lay. "Now, then, carry on," he commanded; and crawling into the tunnel, flung back fragments of explanation as he tugged at his own load. "Carry these out--far as we dare--touch 'em off, you see, and block the passage. Far out as possible, though. We can use this hole afterward, for listening in, if they try--" He cut the sentence short. Their tunnel had begun to slope gently downward, with niches gouged here and there for the passing of burden-bearers. Rudolph, toiling after, suddenly found his head entangled between his leader's boots. "Quiet," he heard him whisper. "Somebody coming." An instant later, the boots withdrew quickly. An odd little squeak of surprise followed, a strange gurgling, and a succession of rapid shocks, as though some one were pummeling the earthen walls. "Got the beggar," panted Heywood. "Only one of 'em. Roll clear, Rudie, and let us pass. Collar his legs, if you can, and shove." Squeezing past Rudolph in his niche, there struggled a convulsive bulk, like some monstrous worm, too large for the bore, yet writhing. Bare feet kicked him in violent rebellion, and a muscular knee jarred squarely under his chin. He caught a pair of naked legs, and hugged them dearly. "Not too hard," called Heywood, with a breathless laugh. "Poor devil--must think he ran foul of a genie." Indeed, their prisoner had already given up the conflict, and lay under them with limbs dissolved and quaking. "Pass him along," chuckled his captor. "Make him go ahead of us." Prodded into action, the man stirred limply, and crawled past them toward the mine, while Heywood, at his heels, growled orders in the vernacular with a voice of dismal ferocity. In this order they gained the shaft, and wriggled up like ferrets into the night air. Rudolph, standing as in a well, heard a volley of questions and a few timid answers, before the returning legs of his comrade warned him to dodge back into the tunnel. Again the two men crept forward on their expedition; and this time the leader talked without lowering his voice. "That chap," he declared, "was fairly chattering with fright. Coolie, it seems, who came back to find his betel-box. The rest are all outside eating their rice. We have a clear track." They stumbled on their powder-sacks, caught hold, and dragged them, at first easily down the incline, then over a short level, then arduously up a rising grade, till the work grew heavy and hot, and breath came hard in the stifled burrow. "Far enough," said Heywood, puffing. "Pile yours here." Rudolph, however, was not only drenched with sweat, but fired by a new spirit, a spirit of daring. He would try, down here in the bowels of the earth, to emulate his friend. "But let us reconnoitre," he objected. "It will bring us to the clay-pit where I saw them digging. Let us go out to the end, and look." "Well said, old mole!" Heywood snapped his fingers with delight. "I never thought of that." By his tone, he was proud of the amendment. "Come on, by all means. I say, I didn't really--I didn't _want_ poor old Gilly down here, you know." They crawled on, with more speed but no less caution, up the strait little gallery, which now rose between smooth, soft walls of clay. Suddenly, as the incline once more became a level, they saw a glimmering square of dusky red, like the fluttering of a weak flame through scarlet cloth. This, while they shuffled toward it, grew higher and broader, until they lay prone in the very door of the hill,--a large, square-cut portal, deeply overhung by the edge of the clay-pit, and flanked with what seemed a bulkhead of sand-bags piled in orderly tiers. Between shadowy mounds of loose earth flickered the light of a fire, small and distant, round which wavered the inky silhouettes of men, and beyond which dimly shone a yellow face or two, a yellow fist clutched full of boiled rice like a snowball. Beyond these, in turn, gleamed other little fires, where other coolies were squatting at their supper. "Rudie, look!" Heywood's voice trembled with joyful excitement. "Look, these bags; not sand-bags at all! It's powder, old chap, powder! Their whole supply. Wait a bit--oh, by Jove, wait a bit!" He scurried back into the hill like a great rat, returned as quickly and swiftly, and with eager hands began to uncoil something on the clay threshold. "Do you know enough to time a fuse?" he whispered. "Neither do I. Powder's bad, anyhow. We must guess at it. Here, quick, lend me a knife." He slashed open one of the lower sacks in the bulkhead by the door, stuffed in some kind of twisted cord, and, edging away, sat for an instant with his knife-blade gleaming in the ruddy twilight. "How long, Rudie, how long?" He smothered a groan. "Too long, or too short, spoils everything. Oh, well--here goes." The blade moved. "Now lie across," he ordered, "and shield the tandstickor." With a sudden fuff, the match blazed up to show his gray eyes bright and dancing, his face glossy with sweat; below, on the golden clay, the twisted, lumpy tail of the fuse, like the end of a dusty vine. Darkness followed, quick and blinding. A rosy, fitful coal sputtered, darting out short capillary lines and needles of fire. "Cut sticks--go like the devil! If it blows up, and caves the earth on us--" Heywood ran on hands and knees, as if that were his natural way of going. Rudolph scrambled after, now urged by an ecstasy of apprehension, now clogged as by the weight of all the hill above them. If it should fall now, he thought, or now; and thus measuring as he crawled, found the tunnel endless. When at last, however, they gained the bottom of the shaft, and were hoisted out among their coolies on the shelving mound, the evening stillness lay above and about them, undisturbed. The fuse could never have lasted all these minutes. Their whole enterprise was but labor lost. They listened, breathing short. No sound came. "Gone out," said Heywood, gloomily. "Or else they saw it." He climbed the bamboo scaffold, and stood looking over the wall. Rudolph perched beside him,--by the same anxious, futile instinct of curiosity, for they could see nothing but the night and the burning stars. "Gone out. Underground again, Rudie, and try our first plan." Heywood turned to leap down. "The Sword-Pen looks to set off his mine to-morrow morning." He clutched the wall in time to save himself, as the bamboo frame leapt underfoot. Outside, the crest of the slope ran black against a single burst of flame. The detonation came like the blow of a mallet on the ribs. "Let him look! Let him look!" Heywood jumped to the ground, and in a pelting shower of clods, exulted:-- "He looked again, and saw it was The middle of next week!" "Come on, brother mole. Spread the news!" He ran off, laughing, in the wide hush of astonishment. CHAPTER XX THE HAKKA BOAT "Pretty fair," Captain Kneebone said. "But that ain't the end." This grudging praise--in which, moreover, Heywood tamely acquiesced--was his only comment. On Rudolph it had singular effects: at first filling him with resentment, and almost making him suspect the little captain of jealousy; then amusing him, as chance words of no weight; but in the unreal days that followed, recurring to convince him with all the force of prompt and subtle fore-knowledge. It helped him to learn the cold, salutary lesson, that one exploit does not make a victory. The springing of their countermine, he found, was no deliverance. It had two plain results, and no more: the crest of the high field, without, had changed its contour next morning as though a monster had bitten it; and when the day had burnt itself out in sullen darkness, there burst on all sides an attack of prolonged and furious exasperation. The fusillade now came not only from the landward sides, but from a long flotilla of boats in the river; and although these vanished at dawn, the fire never slackened, either from above the field, or from a distant wall, newly spotted with loopholes, beyond the ashes of the go-down. On the night following, the boats crept closer, and suddenly both gates resounded with the blows of battering-rams. These and later assaults were beaten off. By daylight, the nunnery walls were pitted as with small-pox; yet the little company remained untouched, except for Teppich, whose shaven head was trimmed still closer and redder by a bullet, and for Gilbert Forrester, who showed--with the grave smile of a man when fates are playful--two shots through his loose jacket. He was the only man to smile; for the others, parched by days and sweltered by nights of battle, questioned each other with hollow eyes and sleepy voices. One at a time, in patches of hot shade, they lay tumbled for a moment of oblivion, their backs studded thickly with obstinate flies like the driven heads of nails. As thickly, in the dust, empty Mauser cartridges lay glistening. "And I bought food," mourned the captain, chafing the untidy stubble on his cheeks, and staring gloomily down at the worthless brass. "I bought chow, when all Saigong was full o' cartridges!" The sight of the spent ammunition at their feet gave them more trouble than the swarming flies, or the heat, or the noises tearing and splitting the heat. Even Heywood went about with a hang-dog air, speaking few words, and those more and more surly. Once he laughed, when at broad noonday a line of queer heads popped up from the earthwork on the knoll, and stuck there, tilted at odd angles, as though peering quizzically. Both his laugh, however, and his one stare of scrutiny were filled with a savage contempt,--contempt not only for the stratagem, but for himself, the situation, all things. "Dummies--lay figures, to draw our fire. What a childish trick! Maskee!" he added, wearily "we couldn't waste a shot at 'em now even if they were real." His grimy hearers nodded mechanically. They knew, without being told, that they should fire no more until at close quarters in some final rush. "Only a few more rounds apiece," he continued. "Our friends outside must have run nearly as short, according to the coolie we took prisoner in the tunnel. But they'll get more supplies, he says, in a day or two. What's worse, his Generalissimo Fang expects big reinforcement, any day, from up country. He told me that a moment ago." "Perhaps he's lying," said Captain Kneebone, drowsily. "Wish he were," snapped Heywood. "No such luck. Too stupid." "That case," grumbled the captain, "we'd better signal your Hakka boat, and clear out." Again their hollow eyes questioned each other in discouragement. It was plain that he had spoken their general thought; but they were all too hot and sleepy to debate even a point of safety. Thus, in stupor or doubt, they watched another afternoon burn low by invisible degrees, like a great fire dying. Another breathless evening settled over all--at first with a dusty, copper light, widespread, as though sky and land were seen through smoked glass; another dusk, of deep, sad blue; and when this had given place to night, another mysterious lull. Midnight drew on, and no further change had come. Prowlers, made bold by the long silence in the nunnery, came and went under the very walls of the compound. In the court, beside a candle, Ah Pat the compradore sat with a bundle of halberds and a whetstone, sharpening edge after edge, placidly, against the time when there should be no more cartridges. Heywood and Rudolph stood near the water gate, and argued with Gilbert Forrester, who would not quit his post for either of them. "But I'm not sleepy," he repeated, with perverse, irritating serenity. "I'm not, I assure you. And that river full of their boats?--Go away." While they reasoned and wrangled, something scraped the edge of the wall. They could barely detect a small, stealthy movement above them, as if a man, climbing, had lifted his head over the top. Suddenly, beside it, flared a surprising torch, rags burning greasily at the end of a long bamboo. The smoky, dripping flame showed no man there, but only another long bamboo, impaling what might be another ball of rags. The two poles swayed, inclined toward each other; for one incredible instant the ball, beside its glowing fellow, shone pale and took on human features. Black shadows filled the eye-sockets, and gave to the face an uncertain, cavernous look, as though it saw and pondered. How long the apparition stayed, the three men could not tell; for even after it vanished, and the torch fell hissing in the river, they stood below the wall, dumb and sick, knowing only that they had seen the head of Wutzler. Heywood was the first to make a sound--a broken, hypnotic sound, without emphasis or inflection, as though his lips were frozen, or the words torn from him by ventriloquy. "We must get the women--out of here." Afterward, when he was no longer with them, his two friends recalled that he never spoke again that night, but came and went in a kind of silent rage, ordering coolies by dumb-show, and carrying armful after armful of supplies to the water gate. He would neither pause nor answer. The word passed, or a listless, tacit understanding, that every one must hold himself ready to go aboard so soon after daylight as the hostile boats should leave the river. "If," said Gilly to Rudolph, while they stood thinking under the stars, "if his boat is still there, now that he--after what we saw." At dawn they could see the ragged flotilla of sampans stealing up-river on the early flood; but of the masts that huddled in vapors by the farther bank, they had no certainty until sunrise, when the green rag and the rice-measure appeared still dangling above the Hakka boat. Even then it was not certain--as Captain Kneebone sourly pointed out--that her sailors would keep their agreement. And when he had piled, on the river-steps, the dry wood for their signal fire, a new difficulty rose. One of the wounded converts was up, and hobbling with a stick; but the other would never be ferried down any stream known to man. He lay dying, and the padre could not leave him. All the others waited, ready and anxious; but no one grumbled because death, never punctual, now kept them waiting. The flutter of birds, among the orange trees, gradually ceased; the sun came slanting over the eastern wall; the gray floor of the compound turned white and blurred through the dancing heat. A torrid westerly breeze came fitfully, rose, died away, rose again, and made Captain Kneebone curse. "A fair wind lost," he muttered. "Next we'll lose the ebb, too, be 'anged." Noon passed, and mid-afternoon, before the padre came out from the courtyard, covering his white head with his ungainly helmet. "We may go now," he said gravely, "in a few minutes." No more were needed, for the loose clods in the old shaft of their counter-mine were quickly handled, and the necessary words soon uttered. Captain Kneebone had slipped out through the water gate, beforehand, and lighted the fire on the steps. But not one of the burial party turned his head, to watch the success or failure of their signal, so long as the padre's resonant bass continued. When it ceased, however, they returned quickly through the little grove. The captain opened the great gate, and looked out eagerly, craning to see through the smoke that poured into his face. "The wasters!" he cried bitterly. "She's gone." The Hakka boat had, indeed, vanished from her moorings. On the bronze current, nothing moved but three fishing-boats drifting down, with the smoke, toward the marsh and the bend of the river, and a small junk that toiled up against wind and tide, a cluster of naked sailors tugging and shoving at her heavy sweep, which chafed its rigging of dry rope, and gave out a high, complaining note like the cry of a sea-gull. "She's gone," repeated Captain Kneebone. "No boat for us." But the compradore, dragging his bundle of sharp halberds, poked an inquisitive head out past the captain's, and peered on all sides through the smoke, with comical thoroughness. He dodged back, grinning and ducking amiably. "Moh bettah look-see," he chuckled; "dat coolie come-back, he too muchee waitee, b'long one piecee foolo-man." He was wrong. Whoever handled the Hakka boat was no fool, but by working upstream on the opposite shore, crossing above, and dropping down with the ebb, had craftily brought her along the shallow, so close beneath the river-wall, that not till now did even the little captain spy her. The high prow, the mast, now bare, and her round midships roof, bright golden-thatched with leaves of the edible bamboo, came moving quiet as some enchanted boat in a calm. The fugitives by the gate still thought themselves abandoned, when her beak, six feet in air, stole past them, and her lean boatmen, prodding the river-bed with their poles, stopped her as easily as a gondola. The yellow steersman grinned, straining at the pivot of his gigantic paddle. "Good boy, lowdah!" called Kneebone. "Remember _you_ in my will, too!" And the grinning lowdah nodded, as though he understood. They had now only to pitch their supplies through the smoke, down on the loose boards of her deck. Then--Rudolph and the captain kicking the bonfire off the stairs--the whole company hurried down and safely over her gunwale: first the two women, then the few huddling converts, the white men next, the compradore still hugging his pole-axes, and last of all, Heywood, still in strange apathy, with haggard face and downcast eyes. He stumbled aboard as though drunk, his rifle askew under one arm, and in the crook of the other, Flounce, the fox-terrier, dangling, nervous and wide awake. He looked to neither right nor left, met nobody's eye. The rest of the company crowded into the house amidships, and flung themselves down wearily in the grateful dusk, where vivid paintings and mysteries of rude carving writhed on the fir bulkheads. But Heywood, with his dog and the captain and Rudolph, sat in the hot sun, staring down at the ramshackle deck, through the gaps in which rose all the stinks of the sweating hold. The boatmen climbed the high slant of the bow, planted their stout bamboos against their shoulders, and came slowly down, head first, like straining acrobats. As slowly, the boat began to glide past the stairs. Thus far, though the fire lay scattered in the mud, the smoke drifted still before them and obscured their silent, headlong transaction. Now, thinning as they dropped below the corner of the wall, it left them naked to their enemies on the knoll. At the same instant, from the marsh ahead, the sentinel in the round hat sprang up again, like an instantaneous mushroom. He shouted, and waved to his fellows inland. They had no time, however, to leave the high ground; for the whole chance of the adventure took a sudden and amazing turn. Heywood sprang out of his stupor, and stood pointing. "Look there!" he snarled. "Those--oh!" He ended with a groan. The face of his friend, by torchlight above the wall, had struck him dumb. Now that he spoke, his companions saw, exposed in the field to the view of the nunnery, a white body lying on a framework as on a bier. Near the foot stood a rough sort of windlass. Above, on the crest of the field, where a band of men had begun to scramble at the sentinel's halloo, there sat on a white pony the bright-robed figure of the tall fanatic, Fang the Sword-Pen. "He did it!" Heywood's hands opened and shut rapidly, like things out of control. "Oh, Wutz, how did they--Saint Somebody--the martyrdom-- Poussin's picture in the Vatican.--I can't stand this, you chaps!" He snatched blindly at his gun, caught instead one of the compradore's halberds, and without pause or warning, jumped out into the shallow water. He ran splashing toward the bank, turned, and seemed to waver, staring with wild eyes at the strange Tudor weapon in his hand. Then shaking it savagely,-- "This will do!" he cried. "Good-by, everybody. Good-by!" He wheeled again, staggered to his feet on dry ground, and ran swiftly along the eastern wall, up the rising field, straight toward his mark. Of the men on the knoll, a few fired and missed, the others, neutrals to their will, stood fixed in wonder. Four or five, as the runner neared, sprang out to intercept, but flew apart like ninepins. The watchers in the boat saw the halberd flash high in the late afternoon sun, the frightened pony swerve, and his rider go down with the one sweep of that Homeric blow. The last they saw of Heywood, he went leaping from sight over the crest, that swarmed with figures racing and stumbling after. The unheeded sentinel in the marsh fled, losing his great hat, as the boat drifted round the point into midstream. CHAPTER XXI THE DRAGON'S SHADOW The lowdah would have set his dirty sails without delay, for the fair wind was already drooping; but at the first motion he found himself deposed, and a usurper in command, at the big steering-paddle. Captain Kneebone, his cheeks white and suddenly old beneath the untidy stubble of his beard, had taken charge. In momentary danger of being cut off downstream, or overtaken from above, he kept the boat waiting along the oozy shore. Puckering his eyes, he watched now the land, and now the river, silent, furtive, and keenly perplexed, his head on a swivel, as though he steered by some nightmare chart, or expected some instant and transforming sight. Not until the sun touched the western hills, and long shadows from the bank stole out and turned the stream from bright copper to vague iron-gray, did he give over his watch. He left the tiller, with a hopeless fling of the arm. "Do as ye please," he growled, and cast himself down on deck by the thatched house. "Go on.--I'll never see _him_ again.--The heat, and all--By the head, he was--Go on. That's all. Finish." He sat looking straight before him, with dull eyes that never moved; nor did he stir at the dry rustle and scrape of the matting sail, slowly hoisted above him. The quaggy banks, now darkening, slid more rapidly astern; while the steersman and his mates in the high bow invoked the wind with alternate chant, plaintive, mysterious, and half musical:-- "Ay-ly-chy-ly Ah-ha-aah!" To the listeners, huddled in silence, the familiar cry became a long, monotonous accompaniment to sad thoughts. Through the rhythm, presently, broke a sound of small-arms,--a few shots, quick but softened by distance, from far inland. The stillness of evening followed. The captain stirred, listened, dropped his head, and sat like stone. To Rudolph, near him, the brief disturbance called up another evening--his first on this same river, when from the grassy brink, above, he had first heard of his friend. Now, at the same place, and by the same light, they had heard the last. It was intolerable: he turned his back on the captain. Inside, in the gloom of the painted cabin, the padre's wife began suddenly to cry. After a time, the deep voice of her husband, speaking very low, and to her alone, became dimly audible:-- "'All this is come upon us; yet have we not--Our heart is not turned back, neither have our steps declined--Though thou hast sore broken us in the place of dragons, and covered us with the shadow of death.'" The little captain groaned, and rolled aside from the doorway. "All very fine," he muttered, his head wrapped in his arms. "But that's no good to me. I can't stand it." Whether she heard him, or by chance, Miss Drake came quietly from within, and found a place between him and the gunwale. He did not rouse; she neither glanced nor spoke, but leaned against the ribs of smooth-worn fir, as though calmly waiting. When at last he looked up, to see her face and posture, he gave an angry start. "And I thought," he blurted, "be 'anged if sometimes I didn't think you liked him!" Her dark eyes met the captain's with a great and steadfast clearness. "No," she whispered; "it was more than that." The captain sat bolt upright, but no longer in condemnation. For a long time he watched her, marveling; and when finally he spoke, his sharp, domineering voice was lowered, almost gentle. "Always talked too much," he said. "Don't mind me, my dear. I never meant--Don't ye mind a rough old beggar, that don't know that hasn't one thing more between him and the grave. Not a thing--but money. And that, now--I wish't was at the bottom o' this bloomin' river!" They said no more, but rested side by side, like old friends joined closer by new grief. Flounce, the terrier, snuffing disconsolately about the deck, and scratching the boards in her zeal to explore the shallow hold, at last grew weary, and came to snuggle down between the two silent companions. Not till then did the girl turn aside her face, as though studying the shore, which now melted in a soft, half-liquid band as black as coal-tar, above the luminous indigo of the river. Suddenly Rudolph got upon his feet, and craning outboard from gunwale and thatched eaves, looked steadily forward into the dusk. A chatter of angry voices came stealing up, in the pauses of the wind. He watched and listened, then quickly drew in his head. "Sit quiet," he said. "A boat full of men. I do not like their looks." Two or three of the voices hailed together, raucously. The steersman, leaning on the loom of his paddle, made neither stir nor answer. They hailed again, this time close aboard, and as it seemed, in rage. Glancing contemptuously to starboard, the lowdah made some negligent reply, about a cargo of human hair. His indifference appeared so real, that for a moment Rudolph suspected him: perhaps he had been bought over, and this meeting arranged. The thought, however, was unjust. The voices began to drop astern, and to come in louder confusion with the breeze. But at this point Flounce, the terrier, spoiled all by whipping up beside the lowdah, and furiously barking. Hers was no pariah's yelp: she barked with spirit, in the King's English. For answer, there came a shout, a sharp report, and a bullet that ripped through the matting sail. The steersman ducked, but clung bravely to his paddle. Men tumbled out from the cabin, rifles in hand, to join Rudolph and the captain. Astern, dangerously near, they saw the hostile craft, small, but listed heavily with crowding ruffians, packed so close that their great wicker hats hung along the gunwale to save room, and shone dim in the obscurity like golden shields of vikings. A squat, burly fellow, shouting, jammed the yulow hard to bring her about. "Save your fire," called Captain Kneebone. "No shots to waste. Sit tight." As he spoke, however, an active form bounced up beside the squat man at the sweep,--a plump, muscular little barefoot woman in blue. She tore the fellow's hands away, and took command, keeping the boat's nose pointed up-river, and squalling ferocious orders to all on board. "The Pretty Lily!" cried Rudolph. This small, nimble, capable creature could be no one but Mrs. Wu, their friend and gossip of that morning, long ago.... The squat man gave an angry shout, and turned on her to wrest away the handle. He failed, at once and for all. With great violence, yet with a neat economy of motion, the Pretty Lily took one hand from her tiller, long enough to topple him overboard with a sounding splash. Her passengers, at so prompt and visual a joke, burst into shrill, cackling laughter. Yet more shrill, before their mood could alter, the Pretty Lily scourged them with the tongue of a humorous woman. She held her course, moreover; the two boats drifted so quickly apart that when she turned, to fling a comic farewell after the white men, they could no more than descry her face, alert and comely, and the whiteness of her teeth. Her laughing cry still rang, the overthrown leader still floundered in the water, when the picture blurred and vanished. Down the wind came her words, high, voluble, quelling all further mutiny aboard that craft of hers. "We owe this to you." The tall padre eyed Rudolph with sudden interest, and laid his big hand on the young man's shoulder. "Did you catch what she said? You made a good friend there." "No," answered Rudolph, and shook his head, sadly. "We owe that to--some one else." Later, while they drifted down to meet the sea and the night, he told the story, to which all listened with profound attention, wondering at the turns of fortune, and at this last service, rendered by a friend they should see no more. They murmured awhile, by twos and threes huddled in corners; then lay silent, exhausted in body and spirit. The river melted with the shore into a common blackness, faintly hovered over by the hot, brown, sullen evening. Unchallenged, the Hakka boat flitted past the lights of a war-junk, so close that the curved lantern-ribs flickered thin and sharp against a smoky gleam, and tawny faces wavered, thick of lip and stolid of eye, round the supper fire. A greasy, bitter smell of cooking floated after. Then no change or break in the darkness, except a dim lantern or two creeping low in a sampan, with a fragment of talk from unseen passers; until, as the stars multiplied overhead, the night of the land rolled heavily astern and away from another, wider night, the stink of the marshes failed, and by a blind sense of greater buoyancy and sea-room, the voyagers knew that they had gained the roadstead. Ahead, far off and lustrous, a new field of stars hung scarce higher than their gunwale, above the rim of the world. The lowdah showed no light; and presently none was needed, for--as the shallows gave place to deeps--the ocean boiled with the hoary, green-gold magic of phosphorus, that heaved alongside in soft explosions of witch-fire, and sent uncertain smoky tremors playing through the darkness on deck. Rudolph, watching this tropic miracle, could make out the white figure of the captain, asleep near by, under the faint semicircle of the deck-house; and across from him, Miss Drake, still sitting upright, as though waiting, with Flounce at her side. Landward, against the last sage-green vapor of daylight, ran the dim range of the hills, in long undulations broken by sharper crests, like the finny back of leviathan basking. Over there, thought Rudolph, beyond that black shape as beyond its guarding dragon, lay the whole mysterious and peaceful empire, with uncounted lives going on, ending, beginning, as though he, and his sore loss, and his heart vacant of all but grief, belonged to some unheard-of, alien process, to Nature's most unworthy trifling. This boatload of men and women--so huge a part of his own experience--was like the tiniest barnacle chafed from the side of that dark, serene monster. Rudolph stared long at the hills, and as they faded, hung his head. From that dragon he had learned much; yet now all learning was but loss. Of a sudden the girl spoke, in a clear yet guarded voice, too low to reach the sleepers. "What are you thinking of?" she said. "Come tell me. It will be good for both of us." Rudolph crossed silently, and stood leaning on the gunwale beside her. "I thought only," he answered, "how much the hills looked so--as a dragon." "How strange." The trembling phosphorus half-revealed her face, pale and still. "I was thinking of that, in a way. It reminded me of what he said, once--when we were walking together." To their great relief, they found themselves talking of Heywood, sadly, but freely, and as it were in a sudden calm. Their friendship seemed, for the moment, a thing as long established as the dragon hills. Years afterward, Rudolph recalled her words, plainer than the fiery wonder that spread and burst round their little vessel, or the long play of heat-lightning which now, from time to time, wavered instantly along the eastern sea-line. "You are right," she declared once. "To go on with life, even when we are alone--You will go on, I know. Bravely." And again she said: "Yes, such men as he are--a sort of Happy Warrior." And later, in her slow and level voice: "You learned something, you say. Isn't that--what I call--being invulnerable? When a man's greater than anything that happens to him--" So they talked, their speech bare and simple, but the pauses and longer silences filled with deep understanding, solemnized by the time and the place, as though their two lonely spirits caught wisdom from the night, scope from the silent ocean, light from the flickering East. The flashes, meanwhile, came faster and prolonged their glory, running behind a thin, dead screen of scalloped clouds, piercing the tropic sky with summer blue, and ripping out the lost horizon like a long black fibre from pulp. The two friends watched in silence, when Rudolph rose, and moved cautiously aft. "Good-night," he whispered. "You must sleep now." That was not, however, the reason. So long as the boiling witch-fire turned their wake to golden vapor, he could not be sure; but whenever the heat-lightning ran, and through the sere, phantasmal sail, the lookout in the bow flashed like a sharp silhouette through wire gauze,--then it seemed to Rudolph that another small black shape leapt out astern, and vanished. He stood by the lowdah, watching anxiously. Time and again the ocean flickered into view, like the floor of a measureless cavern; and still he could not tell. But at last the lowdah also turned his head, and murmured. Their boat creaked monotonously, drifting to leeward in a riot of golden mist; yet now another creaking disturbed the night, in a different cadence. Another boat followed them, rowing fast and gaining. In a brighter flash, her black sail fluttered, unmistakable. Rudolph reached for his gun, but waited silently. He would not call out. Some chance fisherman, it might be, or any small craft holding the same course along the coast. Still, he did not like the hurry of the sweeps, which presently groaned louder and threw up nebulous fire. The stranger's bow became an arrowhead of running gold. And here was Flounce, ready to misbehave once more. Before he could catch her, the small white body of the terrier whipped by him, and past the steersman. This time, however, as though cowed, she began to whimper, and then maintained a long, trembling whine. Beside Rudolph, the compradore's head bobbed up. "Allo same she mastah come." And in his native tongue, Ah Pat grumbled something about ghosts. A harsh voice hailed, from the boat astern; the lowdah answered; and so rapidly slid the deceptive glimmer of her bow, that before Rudolph knew whether to wake his friends, or could recover, next, from the shock and ecstasy of unbelief, a tall white figure jumped or swarmed over the side. "By Jove, my dream!" sounded the voice of Heywood, gravely. With fingers that dripped gold, he tried to pat the bounding terrier. She flew up at him, and tumbled back, in the liveliest danger of falling overboard. "Old girl,--my dream!" The figure rose. "Hallo, Rudie." In a daze, Rudolph gripped the wet and shining hands, and heard the same quiet voice: "Rest all asleep, I suppose? Don't wake 'em. To-morrow will do.--Have you any money on you? Toss that fisherman--whatever you think I'm worth. He really rowed like steam, you know." Rudolph flung his purse into the other boat. When he turned, this man restored from the sea had disappeared. But he had only stolen forward, dog in arms, to sit beside Miss Drake. So quietly had all happened, that none of the sleepers, not even the captain, was aware. Rudolph drew near the two murmuring voices. "--Couldn't help it, honestly," said Heywood. "Can't describe, or explain. Just something--went black inside my head, you know." He paused. "No: don't recall seeing a thing, really, until I pitched away the--what happened to be in my hands. A blank, all that. Losing your head, I suppose they call it. Most extraordinary." The girl's question recalled him from his puzzle. "Do? Oh!" He disposed of the subject easily. "I ran, that's all.--Oh, yes, but I ran faster.--Not half so many as you'd suppose. Most of 'em were away, burning your hospital. Saw the smoke, as I ran. All gone but a handful. Hence those stuffed hats, Rudie, in the trench.--Only three of the lot could run. I merely scuttled into the next bamboo, and kept on scuttling. No: they weren't half loaded. Oh, yes, arrow in the shoulder--scratch. Of course, when it came dark, I stopped running, and made for the nearest fisherman. That's all." "But," protested Rudolph, wondering, "we heard shots." "Yes, I had my Webley in my belt. Fortunately. I _told_ you: three of them could run." The speaker patted the terrier in his lap. "My dream, eh, little dog? You _were_ the only one to know." "No," said the girl: "I knew--all the time, that--" Whatever she meant, Rudolph could only guess; but it was true, he thought, that she had never once spoken as though the present meeting were not possible, here or somewhere. Recalling this, he suddenly but quietly stepped away aft, to sit beside the steersman, and smile in the darkness. The two voices flowed on. He did not listen, but watched the phosphorus welling soft and turbulent in the wake, and far off, in glimpses of the tropic light, the great Dragon weltering on the face of the waters. The shape glimmered forth, died away, like a prodigy. How ran the verse? "Ich lieg' und besitze. Lass mich schlafen." "And yet," thought the young man, "I have one pearl from his hoard." That girl was right: like Siegfried tempered in the grisly flood, the raw boy was turning into a man, seasoned and invulnerable. Heywood was calling to him:-- "You must go Home with us. Do you hear? I've made a wonderful plan--with the captain's fortune! Dear old Kneebone." A small white heap across the deck began to rise. "How often," complained a voice blurred with sleep, "how often must I tell ye--wake me, unless the ship--chart's all--Good God!" At the captain's cry, those who lay in darkness under the thatched roof began to mutter, to rise, and grope out into the trembling light, with sleepy cries of joy. 10056 ---- CHINESE LITERATURE COMPRISING THE ANALECTS OF CONFUCIUS, THE SAYINGS OF MENCIUS, THE SHI-KING, THE TRAVELS OF FÂ-HIEN, AND THE SORROWS OF HAN WITH CRITICAL AND BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES BY EPIPHANIUS WILSON, A.M. REVISED EDITION 1900 THE ANALECTS OF CONFUCIUS Introduction BOOK I. On Learning--Miscellaneous Sayings II. Good Government--Filial Piety--The Superior Man III. Abuse of Proprieties in Ceremonial and Music IV. Social Virtue--Superior and Inferior Man V. A Disciple and the Golden Rule--Miscellaneous VI. More Characteristics--Wisdom--Philanthropy VII. Characteristics of Confucius--An Incident VIII. Sayings of Tsang--Sentences of the Master IX. His Favorite Disciple's Opinion of Him X. Confucius in Private and Official Life XI. Comparative Worth of His Disciples XII. The Master's Answers--Philanthropy--Friendships XIII. Answers on the Art of Governing--Consistency XIV. Good and Bad Government--Miscellaneous Sayings XV. Practical Wisdom--Reciprocity the Rule of Life XVI. Against Intestine Strife--Good and Bad Friendships XVII. The Master Induced to Take Office--Nature and Habit XVIII. Good Men in Seclusion--Duke of Chow to His Son XIX. Teachings of Various Chief Disciples XX. Extracts from the Book of History THE SAYINGS OF MENCIUS Introduction Book I. King Hwuy of Lëang.-- Part I [_Books II., III., and IV. are omitted_] Book V. Wan Chang.-- Part I THE SHI-KING Introduction _Part I.--Lessons from the States_. BOOK I.--THE ODES OF CHOW AND THE SOUTH.-- Celebrating the Virtue of King Wan's Bride Celebrating the Industry of King Wan's Queen In Praise of a Bride Celebrating T'ae-Sze's Freedom from Jealousy The Fruitfulness of the Locust Lamenting the Absence of a Cherished Friend Celebrating the Goodness of the Descendants of King Wan The Virtuous Manners of the Young Women Praise of a Rabbit-Catcher The Song of the Plantain-Gatherers The Affection of the Wives on the Joo BOOK II.--THE ODES OF SHAOU AND THE SOUTH.-- The Marriage of a Princess The Industry and Reverence of a Prince's Wife The Wife of Some Great Officer Bewails his Absence The Diligence of the Young Wife of an Officer The Love of the People for the Duke of Shaou The Easy Dignity of the Officers at Some Court Anxiety of a Young Lady to Get Married BOOK III.--THE ODES OF P'EI.-- An Officer Bewails the Neglect with which He is Treated A Wife Deplores the Absence of Her Husband The Plaint of a Rejected Wife Soldiers of Wei Bewail Separation from their Families An Officer Tells of His Mean Employment An Officer Sets Forth His Hard Lot The Complaint of a Neglected Wife In Praise of a Maiden Discontent Chwang Keang Bemoans Her Husband's Cruelty [_Books IV., V., and VI. are omitted_] BOOK VII.--THE ODES OF CH'ING.--- The People's Admiration for Duke Woo A Wife Consoled by Her Husband's Arrival In Praise of Some Lady A Man's Praise of His Wife An Entreaty A Woman Scorning Her Lover A Lady Mourns the Absence of Her Student Lover--- BOOK VIII.--THE ODES OF TS'E.-- A Wife Urging Her Husband to Action The Folly of Useless Effort The Prince of Loo BOOK IX.--THE ODES OF WEI.-- On the Misgovernment of the State The Mean Husband A Young Soldier on Service BOOK X.--THE ODES OF T'ANG.-- The King Goes to War Lament of a Bereaved Person The Drawbacks of Poverty A Wife Mourns for Her Husband BOOK XI.--THE ODES OF TS'IN.-- Celebrating the Opulence of the Lords of Ts'in A Complaint A Wife's Grief Because of Her Husband's Absence Lament for Three Brothers In Praise of a Ruler of Ts'in The Generous Nephew BOOK XII.--THE ODES OF CH'IN.-- The Contentment of a Poor Recluse The Disappointed Lover A Love-Song The Lament of a Lover BOOK XIII.--THE ODES OF KWEI-- The Wish of an Unhappy Man BOOK XIV.--THE ODES OF TS'AOU.-- Against Frivolous Pursuits BOOK XV.--THE ODES OF PIN.-- The Duke of Chow Tells of His Soldiers There is a Proper Way for Doing Everything _Part II.--Minor Odes of the Kingdom_. BOOK I.--DECADE OF LUH MING.-- A Festal Ode A Festal Ode Complimenting an Officer The Value of Friendship The Response to a Festal Ode An Ode of Congratulation An Ode on the Return of the Troops BOOK II.--THE DECADE OF PIH HWA.-- An Ode Appropriate to a Festivity BOOK III.--THE DECADE OF T'UNG KUNG.-- Celebrating a Hunting Expedition The King's Anxiety for His Morning Levee Moral Lessons from Natural Facts BOOK IV.--THE DECADE OF K'E-FOO.-- On the Completion of a Royal Palace The Condition of King Seuen's Flocks BOOK V.--THE DECADE OF SEAOU MIN.-- A Eunuch Complains of His Fate An Officer Deplores the Misery of the Time On the Alienation of a Friend BOOK VI.--THE DECADE OF PIH SHAN.-- A Picture of Husbandry The Complaint of an Officer BOOK VII.--DECADE OF SANG HOO.-- The Rejoicings of a Bridegroom Against Listening to Slanderers BOOK VIII.--THE DECADE OF TOO JIN SZE.-- In Praise of By-gone Simplicity A Wife Bemoans Her Husband's Absence The Earl of Shaou's Work The Plaint of King Yew's Forsaken Wife Hospitality On the Misery of Soldiers _Part III.--Greater Odes of the Kingdom_. BOOK I.--DECADE OF KING WAN.-- Celebrating King Wan [_Book II. is omitted_] BOOK III.--DECADE OF TANG.-- King Seuen on the Occasion of a Great Drought _Part IV.--Odes of the Temple and Altar_. BOOK I.--SACRIFICIAL ODES OF CHOW.-- Appropriate to a Sacrifice to King Wan On Sacrificing to the Kings Woo, Ching, and K'ang THE TRAVELS OF FÂ-HIEN Translator's Introduction CHAPTER I. From Ch'ang-gan to the Sandy Desert II. On to Shen-shen and thence to Khoten III. Khoten--Processions of Images IV. Through the Ts'ung Mountains to K'eech-ch'a V. Great Quinquennial Assembly of Monks VI. North India--Image of Maitreya Bodhisattva VII. The Perilous Crossing of the Indus VIII. Woo-chang, or Udyana--Traces of Buddha IX. Soo ho-to--Legends of Buddha X. Gandhara--Legends of Buddha XI. Takshasila--Legends--The Four Great Topes XII. Buddha's Alms-bowl--Death of Hwuy-king XIII. Festival of Buddha's Skull-bone XIV. Crossing the Indus to the East XV. Sympathy of Monks with the Pilgrims XVI. Condition and Customs of Central India XVII. Legend of the Trayastrimsas Heaven XVIII. Buddha's Subjects of Discourse XIX. Legend of Buddha's Danta-kashtha XX. The Jetavana Vihara--Legends of Buddha XXI. The Three Predecessors of Sakyamuni XXII. Legends of Buddha's Birth XXIII. Legends of Rama and its Tope XXIV. Where Buddha Renounced the World XXV. The Kingdom of Vaisali XXVI. Remarkable Death of Ânanda XXVII. King Asoka's Spirit-built Palace and Halls XXVIII. Rajagriha, New and Old--Legends Connected with It XXIX. Fâ-Hien Passes a Night on Gridhra-kuta Hill XXX. Srataparna Cave, or Cave of the First Council XXXI. Sakyamuni's Attaining to the Buddhaship XXXII. Legend of King Asoka in a Former Birth XXXIII. Kasyapa Buddha's Skeleton on Mount Gurupada XXXIV. On the Way Returning to Patna XXXV. Dakshina, and the Pigeon Monastery XXXVI. Fâ-Hien's Indian Studies XXXVII. Fâ-Hien's Stay in Champa and Tamalipti XXXVIII. At Ceylon--Feats of Buddha--His Statue in Jade XXXIX. Cremation of an Arhat--Sermon of a Devotee XL. After Two Years Fâ-Hien Takes Ship for China Conclusion THE SORROWS OF HAN Introduction Translator's Preface Dramatis Personae Prologue Act First Act Second Act Third Act Fourth THE ANALECTS OF CONFUCIUS [_Translated into English by William Jennings_] PRONUNCIATION OF PROPER NAMES _j_, as in French. _ng_, commencing a word, like the same letters terminating one. _ai_ or _ei_, as in _aisle_ or _eider_. _au_, as in German, or like _ow_ in _cow_. _é_, as in _fête_. _i_ (not followed by a consonant), as _ee_ in _see_. _u_ (followed by a consonant), as in _bull_. _iu_, as _ew_ in _new_. _ui_, as _ooi_ in _cooing_. _h_ at the end of a name makes the preceding vowel short. _i_ in the middle of a word denotes an aspirate (_h_), as _K'ung_=Khung. INTRODUCTION The strangest figure that meets us in the annals of Oriental thought is that of Confucius. To the popular mind he is the founder of a religion, and yet he has nothing in common with the great religious teachers of the East. We think of Siddartha, the founder of Buddhism, as the very impersonation of romantic asceticism, enthusiastic self-sacrifice, and faith in the things that are invisible. Zoroaster is the friend of God, talking face to face with the Almighty, and drinking wisdom and knowledge from the lips of Omniscience. Mohammed is represented as snatched up into heaven, where he receives the Divine communication which he is bidden to propagate with fire and sword throughout the world. These great teachers lived in an atmosphere of the supernatural. They spoke with the authority of inspired prophets. They brought the unseen world close to the minds of their disciples. They spoke positively of immortality, of reward or punishment beyond the grave. The present life they despised, the future was to them everything in its promised satisfaction. The teachings of Confucius were of a very different sort. Throughout his whole writings he has not even mentioned the name of God. He declined to discuss the question of immortality. When he was asked about spiritual beings, he remarked, "If we cannot even know men, how can we know spirits?" Yet this was the man the impress of whose teaching has formed the national character of five hundred millions of people. A temple to Confucius stands to this day in every town and village of China. His precepts are committed to memory by every child from the tenderest age, and each year at the royal university at Pekin the Emperor holds a festival in honor of the illustrious teacher. The influence of Confucius springs, first of all, from the narrowness and definiteness of his doctrine. He was no transcendentalist, and never meddled with supramundane things. His teaching was of the earth, earthy; it dealt entirely with the common relations of life, and the Golden Rule he must necessarily have stumbled upon, as the most obvious canon of his system. He strikes us as being the great Stoic of the East, for he believed that virtue was based on knowledge, knowledge of a man's own heart, and knowledge of human-kind. There is a pathetic resemblance between the accounts given of the death of Confucius and the death of Zeno. Both died almost without warning in dreary hopelessness, without the ministrations of either love or religion. This may be a mere coincidence, but the lives and teachings of both men must have led them to look with indifference upon such an end. For Confucius in his teaching treated only of man's life on earth, and seems to have had no ideas with regard to the human lot after death; if he had any ideas he preserved an inscrutable silence about them. As a moralist he prescribed the duties of the king and of the father, and advocated the cultivation by the individual man of that rest or apathy of mind which resembles so much the disposition aimed at by the Greek and Roman Stoic. Even as a moralist, he seems to have sacrificed the ideal to the practical, and his loose notions about marriage, his tolerance of concubinage, the slight emphasis which he lays on the virtue of veracity--of which indeed he does not seem himself to have been particularly studious in his historic writings--place him low down in the rank of moralists. Yet he taught what he felt the people could receive, and the flat mediocrity of his character and his teachings has been stamped forever upon a people who, while they are kindly, gentle, forbearing, and full of family piety, are palpably lacking not only in the exaltation of Mysticism, but in any religious feeling, generally so-called. The second reason that made the teaching of Confucius so influential is based on the circumstances of the time. When this thoughtful, earnest youth awoke to the consciousness of life about him, he saw that the abuses under which the people groaned sprang from the feudal system, which cut up the country into separate territories, over which the power of the king had no control. China was in the position of France in the years preceding Philippe-Auguste, excepting that there were no places of sanctuary and no Truce of God. The great doctrine of Confucius was the unlimited despotism of the Emperor, and his moral precepts were intended to teach the Emperor how to use his power aright. But the Emperor was only typical of all those in authority--the feudal duke, the judge on the bench, and the father of the family. Each could discharge his duties aright only by submitting to the moral discipline which Confucius prescribed. A vital element in this system is its conservatism, its adherence to the imperial idea. As James I said, "No bishop, no king," so the imperialists of China have found in Confucianism the strongest basis for the throne, and have supported its dissemination accordingly. The Analects of Confucius contain the gist of his teachings, and is worthy of study. We find in this work most of the precepts which his disciples have preserved and recorded. They form a code remarkable for simplicity, even crudity, and we are compelled to admire the force of character, the practical sagacity, the insight into the needs of the hour, which enabled Confucius, without claiming any Divine sanction, to impose this system upon his countrymen. The name Confucius is only the Latinized form of two words which mean "Master K'ung." He was born 551 B.C., his father being governor of Shantung. He was married at nineteen, and seems to have occupied some minor position under the government. In his twenty-fourth year he entered upon the three years' mourning for the death of his mother. His seclusion gave him time for deep thought and the study of history, and he resolved upon the regeneration of his unhappy country. By the time he was thirty he became known as a great teacher, and disciples flocked to him. But he was yet occupied in public duties, and rose through successive stages to the office of Chief Judge in his own country of Lu. His tenure of office is said to have put an end to crime, and he became the "idol of the people" in his district. The jealousy of the feudal lords was roused by his fame as a moral teacher and a blameless judge. Confucius was driven from his home, and wandered about, with a few disciples, until his sixty-ninth year, when he returned to Lu, after accomplishing a work which has borne fruit, such as it is, to the present day. He spent the remaining five years of his life in editing the odes and historic monuments in which the glories of the ancient Chinese dynasty are set forth. He died in his seventy-third year, 478 B.C. There can be no doubt that the success of Confucius has been singularly great, owing especially to the narrow scope of his scheme, which has become crystallized in the habits, usages, and customs of the people. Especially has it been instrumental in consolidating the empire, and in strengthening the power of the monarch, who, as he every year burns incense in the red-walled temple at Pekin, utters sincerely the invocation: "Great art thou, O perfect Sage! Thy virtue is full, thy doctrine complete. Among mortal men there has not been thine equal. All kings honor thee. Thy statutes and laws have come gloriously down. Thou art the pattern in this imperial school. Reverently have the sacrificial vessels been set out. Full of awe, we sound our drums and bells." E. W. THE ANALECTS BOOK I On Learning--Miscellaneous Sayings:-- "To learn," said the Master, "and then to practise opportunely what one has learnt--does not this bring with it a sense of satisfaction? "To have associates in study coming to one from distant parts--does not this also mean pleasure in store? "And are not those who, while not comprehending all that is said, still remain not unpleased to hear, men of the superior order?" A saying of the Scholar Yu:-- "It is rarely the case that those who act the part of true men in regard to their duty to parents and elder brothers are at the same time willing to turn currishly upon their superiors: it has never yet been the case that such as desire not to commit that offence have been men willing to promote anarchy or disorder. "Men of superior mind busy themselves first in getting at the root of things; and when they have succeeded in this the right course is open to them. Well, are not filial piety and friendly subordination among brothers a root of that right feeling which is owing generally from man to man?" The Master observed, "Rarely do we meet with the right feeling due from one man to another where there is fine speech and studied mien." The Scholar Tsang once said of himself: "On three points I examine myself daily, viz., whether, in looking after other people's interests, I have not been acting whole-heartedly; whether, in my intercourse with friends, I have not been true; and whether, after teaching, I have not myself been practising what I have taught." The Master once observed that to rule well one of the larger States meant strict attention to its affairs and conscientiousness on the part of the ruler; careful husbanding of its resources, with at the same time a tender care for the interests of all classes; and the employing of the masses in the public service at suitable seasons. "Let young people," said he, "show filial piety at home, respectfulness towards their elders when away from home; let them be circumspect, be truthful; their love going out freely towards all, cultivating good-will to men. And if, in such a walk, there be time or energy left for other things, let them employ it in the acquisition of literary or artistic accomplishments." The disciple Tsz-hiá said, "The appreciation of worth in men of worth, thus diverting the mind from lascivious desires--ministering to parents while one is the most capable of so doing--serving one's ruler when one is able to devote himself entirely to that object--being sincere in one's language in intercourse with friends: this I certainly must call evidence of learning, though others may say there has been 'no learning.'" Sayings of the Master:-- "If the great man be not grave, he will not be revered, neither can his learning be solid. "Give prominent place to loyalty and sincerity. "Have no associates in study who are not advanced somewhat like yourself. "When you have erred, be not afraid to correct yourself." A saying of the Scholar Tsang:-- "The virtue of the people is renewed and enriched when attention is seen to be paid to the departed, and the remembrance of distant ancestors kept and cherished." Tsz-k'in put this query to his fellow disciple Tsz-kung: said he, "When our Master comes to this or that State, he learns without fail how it is being governed. Does he investigate matters? or are the facts given him?" Tsz-kung answered, "Our Master is a man of pleasant manners, and of probity, courteous, moderate, and unassuming: it is by his being such that he arrives at the facts. Is not his way of arriving at things different from that of others?" A saying of the Master:-- "He who, after three years' observation of the will of his father when alive, or of his past conduct if dead, does not deviate from that father's ways, is entitled to be called 'a dutiful son.'" Sayings of the Scholar Yu:-- "For the practice of the Rules of Propriety,[1] one excellent way is to be natural. This naturalness became a great grace in the practice of kings of former times; let everyone, small or great, follow their example. "It is not, however, always practicable; and it is not so in the case of a person who does things naturally, knowing that he should act so, and yet who neglects to regulate his acts according to the Rules. "When truth and right are hand in hand, a statement will bear repetition. When respectfulness and propriety go hand in hand, disgrace and shame are kept afar-off. Remove all occasion for alienating those to whom you are bound by close ties, and you have them still to resort to." A saying of the Master:-- "The man of greater mind who, when he is eating, craves not to eat to the full; who has a home, but craves not for comforts in it; who is active and earnest in his work and careful in his words; who makes towards men of high principle, and so maintains his own rectitude--that man may be styled a devoted student." Tsz-kung asked, "What say you, sir, of the poor who do not cringe and fawn; and what of the rich who are without pride and haughtiness?" "They are passable," the Master replied; "yet they are scarcely in the same category as the poor who are happy, and the rich who love propriety." "In the 'Book of the Odes,'" Tsz-kung went on to say, "we read of one Polished, as by the knife and file, The graving-tool, the smoothing-stone. Does that coincide with your remark?" "Ah! such as you," replied the Master, "may well commence a discussion on the Odes. If one tell you how a thing goes, you know what ought to come." "It does not greatly concern me," said the Master, "that men do not know me; my great concern is, my not knowing them." [Footnote 1: An important part of a Chinaman's education still. The text-book, "The Li Ki," contains rules for behavior and propriety for the whole life, from the cradle to the grave.] BOOK II Good Government--Filial Piety--The Superior Man Sayings of the Master:-- "Let a ruler base his government upon virtuous principles, and he will be like the pole-star, which remains steadfast in its place, while all the host of stars turn towards it. "The 'Book of Odes' contains three hundred pieces, but one expression in it may be taken as covering the purport of all, viz., Unswerving mindfulness. "To govern simply by statute, and to reduce all to order by means of pains and penalties, is to render the people evasive, and devoid of any sense of shame. "To govern upon principles of virtue, and to reduce them to order by the Rules of Propriety, would not only create in them the sense of shame, but would moreover reach them in all their errors. "When I attained the age of fifteen, I became bent upon study. At thirty, I was a confirmed student. At forty, nought could move me from my course. At fifty, I comprehended the will and decrees of Heaven. At sixty, my ears were attuned to them. At seventy, I could follow my heart's desires, without overstepping the lines of rectitude." To a question of Mang-i, as to what filial piety consisted in, the master replied, "In not being perverse." Afterwards, when Fan Ch'i was driving him, the Master informed him of this question and answer, and Fan Ch'i asked, "What was your meaning?" The Master replied, "I meant that the Rules of Propriety should always be adhered to in regard to those who brought us into the world: in ministering to them while living, in burying them when dead, and afterwards in the offering to them of sacrificial gifts." To a query of Mang Wu respecting filial piety, the Master replied, "Parents ought to bear but one trouble--that of their own sickness." To a like question put by Tsz-yu, his reply was this: "The filial piety of the present day simply means the being able to support one's parents--which extends even to the case of dogs and horses, all of which may have something to give in the way of support. If there be no reverential feeling in the matter, what is there to distinguish between the cases?" To a like question of Tsz-hia, he replied: "The manner is the difficulty. If, in the case of work to be done, the younger folks simply take upon themselves the toil of it; or if, in the matter of meat and drink, they simply set these before their elders--is this to be taken as filial piety?" Once the Master remarked, "I have conversed with Hwúi the whole day long, and he has controverted nothing that I have said, as if he were without wits. But when his back was turned, and I looked attentively at his conduct apart from me, I found it satisfactory in all its issues. No, indeed! Hwúi is not without his wits." Other observations of the Master:-- "If you observe what things people (usually) take in hand, watch their motives, and note particularly what it is that gives them satisfaction, shall they be able to conceal from you what they are? Conceal themselves, indeed! "Be versed in ancient lore, and familiarize yourself with the modern; then may you become teachers. "The great man is not a mere receptacle." In reply to Tsz-kung respecting the great man:-- "What he first says, as a result of his experience, he afterwards follows up. "The great man is catholic-minded, and not one-sided. The common man is the reverse. "Learning, without thought, is a snare; thought, without learning, is a danger. "Where the mind is set much upon heterodox principles--there truly and indeed is harm." To the disciple Tsz-lu the Master said, "Shall I give you a lesson about knowledge? When you know a thing, maintain that you know it; and when you do not, acknowledge your ignorance. This is characteristic of knowledge." Tsz-chang was studying with an eye to official income. The Master addressed him thus: "Of the many things you hear hold aloof from those that are doubtful, and speak guardedly with reference to the rest; your mistakes will then be few. Also, of the many courses you see adopted, hold aloof from those that are risky, and carefully follow the others; you will then seldom have occasion for regret. Thus, being seldom mistaken in your utterances, and having few occasions for regret in the line you take, you are on the high road to your preferment." To a question put to him by Duke Ngai [2] as to what should be done in order to render the people submissive to authority, Confucius replied, "Promote the straightforward, and reject those whose courses are crooked, and the thing will be effected. Promote the crooked and reject the straightforward, and the effect will be the reverse." When Ki K'ang [3] asked of him how the people could be induced to show respect, loyalty, and willingness to be led, the Master answered, "Let there be grave dignity in him who has the oversight of them, and they will show him respect; let him be seen to be good to his own parents, and kindly in disposition, and they will be loyal to him; let him promote those who have ability, and see to the instruction of those who have it not, and they will be willing to be led." Some one, speaking to Confucius, inquired, "Why, sir, are you not an administrator of government?" The Master rejoined, "What says the 'Book of the Annals,' with reference to filial duty?--'Make it a point to be dutiful to your parents and amicable with your brethren; the same duties extend to an administrator.' If these, then, also make an administrator, how am I to take your words about being an administrator?" On one occasion the Master remarked, "I know not what men are good for, on whose word no reliance can be placed. How should your carriages, large or little, get along without your whipple-trees or swing-trees?" Tsz-chang asked if it were possible to forecast the state of the country ten generations hence. The Master replied in this manner: "The Yin dynasty adopted the rules and manners of the Hiá line of kings, and it is possible to tell whether it retrograded or advanced. The Chow line has followed the Yin, adopting its ways, and whether there has been deterioration or improvement may also be determined. Some other line may take up in turn those of Chow; and supposing even this process to go on for a hundred generations, the result may be known." Other sayings of the Master:-- "It is but flattery to make sacrificial offerings to departed spirits not belonging to one's own family. "It is moral cowardice to leave undone what one perceives to be right to do." [Footnote 2: Of Lu (Confucius's native State).] [Footnote 3: Head of one of the "Three Families" of Lu.] BOOK III Abuse of Proprieties in Ceremonial and Music Alluding to the head of the Ki family, [4] and the eight lines of posturers [5] before their ancestral hall, Confucius remarked, "If the Ki can allow himself to go to this extent, to what extent will he not allow himself to go?" The Three Families [6] were in the habit, during the Removal of the sacred vessels after sacrifice, of using the hymn commencing, "Harmoniously the Princes Draw near with reverent tread, Assisting in his worship Heaven's Son, the great and dread." "How," exclaimed the Master, "can such words be appropriated in the ancestral hall of the Three Families?" "Where a man," said he again, "has not the proper feelings due from one man to another, how will he stand as regards the Rules of Propriety? And in such a case, what shall we say of his sense of harmony?" On a question being put to him by Lin Fang, a disciple, as to what was the radical idea upon which the Rules of Propriety were based, the Master exclaimed, "Ah! that is a large question. As to some rules, where there is likelihood of extravagance, they would rather demand economy; in those which relate to mourning, and where there is likelihood of being easily satisfied, what is wanted is real sorrow." Speaking of the disorder of the times he remarked that while the barbarians on the North and East had their Chieftains, we here in this great country had nothing to compare with them in that respect:--we had lost these distinctions! Alluding to the matter of the Chief of the Ki family worshipping on Tai-shan, [7] the Master said to Yen Yu, "Cannot you save him from this?" He replied, "It is beyond my power." "Alas, alas!" exclaimed the Master, "are we to say that the spirits of T'ai-shan have not as much discernment as Lin Fang?" Of "the superior man," the Master observed, "In him there is no contentiousness. Say even that he does certainly contend with others, as in archery competitions; yet mark, in that case, how courteously he will bow and go up for the forfeit-cup, and come down again and give it to his competitor. In his very contest he is still the superior man." Tsz-hiá once inquired what inference might be drawn from the lines-- "Dimples playing in witching smile, Beautiful eyes, so dark, so bright! Oh, and her face may be thought the while Colored by art, red rose on white!" "Coloring," replied the Master, "requires a pure and clear background." "Then," said the other, "rules of ceremony require to have a background!" "Ah!" exclaimed the Master, "you are the man to catch the drift of my thought. Such as you may well introduce a discussion on the Odes." Said the Master, "As regards the ceremonial adopted and enforced by the Hiá dynasty, I am able to describe it, although their own descendants in the State of Ki can adduce no adequate testimony in favor of its use there. So, too, I am able to describe the ceremonial of the Yin dynasty, although no more can the Sung people show sufficient reason for its continuance amongst themselves. And why cannot they do so? Because they have not documents enough, nor men learned enough. If only they had such, I could refer them to them in support of their usages. "When I am present at the great quinquennial sacrifice to the _manes_ of the royal ancestors," the Master said, "from the pouring-out of the oblation onwards, I have no heart to look on." Some one asked what was the purport of this great sacrifice, and the Master replied, "I cannot tell. The position in the empire of him who could tell you is as evident as when you look at this"--pointing to the palm of his hand. When he offered sacrifices to his ancestors, he used to act as if they were present before him. In offering to other spirits it was the same. He would say, "If I do not myself take part in my offerings, it is all the same as if I did not offer them." Wang-sun Kiá asked him once, "What says the proverb, 'Better to court favor in the kitchen than in the drawing-room'?" The Master replied, "Nay, better say, He who has sinned against Heaven has none other to whom prayer may be addressed." Of the Chow dynasty the Master remarked, "It looks back upon two other dynasties; and what a rich possession it has in its records of those times! I follow Chow!" On his first entry into the grand temple, he inquired about every matter connected with its usages. Some one thereupon remarked, "Who says that the son of the man of Tsou [8] understands about ceremonial? On entering the grand temple he inquired about everything." This remark coming to the Master's ears, he said, "What I did is part of the ceremonial!" "In archery," he said, "the great point to be observed is not simply the perforation of the leather; for men have not all the same strength. That was the fashion in the olden days." Once, seeing that his disciple Tsz-kung was desirous that the ceremonial observance of offering a sheep at the new moon might be dispensed with, the Master said, "Ah! you grudge the loss of the sheep; I grudge the loss of the ceremony." "To serve one's ruler nowadays," he remarked, "fully complying with the Rules of Propriety, is regarded by others as toadyism!" When Duke Ting questioned him as to how a prince should deal with his ministers, and how they in turn should serve their prince, Confucius said in reply, "In dealing with his ministers a prince should observe the proprieties; in serving his prince a minister should observe the duty of loyalty." Referring to the First of the Odes, he remarked that it was mirthful without being lewd, and sad also without being painful. Duke Ngai asked the disciple Tsai Wo respecting the places for sacrificing to the Earth. The latter replied, "The Family of the Great Yu, of the Hiá dynasty, chose a place of pine trees; the Yin founders chose cypresses; and the Chow founders chestnut trees, solemn and majestic, to inspire, 'tis said, the people with feelings of awe." The Master on hearing of this exclaimed, "Never an allusion to things that have been enacted in the past! Never a remonstrance against what is now going on! He has gone away without a word of censure." The Master once said of Kwan Chung, [9] "A small-minded man indeed!" "Was he miserly?" some one asked. "Miserly, indeed!" said he; "not that: he married three rimes, and he was not a man who restricted his official business to too few hands--how could he be miserly?" "He knew the Rules of Propriety, I suppose?" "Judge:--Seeing that the feudal lords planted a screen at their gates, he too would have one at his! Seeing that when any two of the feudal lords met in friendly conclave they had an earthenware stand on which to place their inverted cups after drinking, he must have the same! If he knew the Rules of Propriety, who is there that does not know them?" In a discourse to the Chief Preceptor of Music at the court of Lu, the Master said, "Music is an intelligible thing. When you begin a performance, let all the various instruments produce as it were one sound (inharmonious); then, as you go on, bring out the harmony fully, distinctly, and with uninterrupted flow, unto the end." The warden of the border-town of I requested an interview with Confucius, and said, "When great men have come here, I have never yet failed to obtain a sight of them." The followers introduced him; and, on leaving, he said to them, "Sirs, why grieve at his loss of office? The empire has for long been without good government; and Heaven is about to use your master as its edict-announcer." Comparing the music of the emperor Shun with the music of King Wu, the Master said, "That of Shun is beautiful throughout, and also good throughout. That of Wu is all of it beautiful, but scarcely all of it good." "High station," said the Master, "occupied by men who have no large and generous heart; ceremonial performed with no reverence; duties of mourning engaging the attention, where there is absence of sorrow;--how should I look on, where this is the state of things?" [Footnote 4: The Chief of the Ki clan was virtually the Duke of Lu, under whom Confucius for a time held office.] [Footnote 5: These posturers were mutes who took part in the ritual of the ancestral temple, waving plumes, flags, etc. Each line or rank of these contained eight men. Only in the sovereign's household should there have been eight lines of them; a ducal family like the Ki should have had but six lines; a great official had four, and one of lower grade two. These were the gradations marking the status of families, and Confucius's sense of propriety was offended at the Ki's usurping in this way the appearance of royalty.] [Footnote 6: Three great families related to each other, in whose hands the government of the State of Lu then was, and of which the Ki was the chief.] [Footnote 7: One of the five sacred mountains, worshipped upon only by the sovereign.] [Footnote 8: Tsou was Confucius's birthplace; his father was governor of the town.] [Footnote 9: A renowned statesman who flourished about two hundred years before Confucius's time. A philosophical work on law and government, said to have been written by him, is still extant. He was regarded as a sage by the people, but he lacked, in Confucius's eyes, the one thing needful--propriety.] BOOK IV Social Virtue--Superior and Inferior Man Sayings of the Master:-- "It is social good feeling that gives charm to a neighborhood. And where is the wisdom of those who choose an abode where it does not abide? "Those who are without it cannot abide long, either in straitened or in happy circumstances. Those who possess it find contentment in it. Those who are wise go after it as men go after gain. "Only they in whom it exists can have right likings and dislikings for others. "Where the will is set upon it, there will be no room for malpractices. "Riches and honor are what men desire; but if they arrive at them by improper ways, they should not continue to hold them. Poverty and low estate are what men dislike; but if they arrive at such a condition by improper ways, they should not refuse it. "If the 'superior man' make nought of social good feeling, how shall he fully bear that name? "Not even whilst he eats his meal will the 'superior man' forget what he owes to his fellow-men. Even in hurried leave-takings, even in moments of frantic confusion, he keeps true to this virtue. "I have not yet seen a lover of philanthropy, nor a hater of misanthropy--such, that the former did not take occasion to magnify that virtue in himself, and that the latter, in his positive practice of philanthropy, did not, at times, allow in his presence something savoring of misanthropy. "Say you, is there any one who is able for one whole day to apply the energy of his mind to this virtue? Well, I have not seen any one whose energy was not equal to it. It may be there are such, but I have never met with them. "The faults of individuals are peculiar to their particular class and surroundings; and it is by observing their faults that one comes to understand the condition of their good feelings towards their fellows. "One may hear the right way in the morning, and at evening die. "The scholar who is intent upon learning the right way, and who is yet ashamed of poor attire and poor food, is not worthy of being discoursed with. "The masterly man's attitude to the world is not exclusively this or that: whatsoever is right, to that he will be a party. "The masterly man has an eye to virtue, the common man, to earthly things; the former has an eye to penalties for error--the latter, to favor. "Where there is habitual going after gain, there is much ill-will. "When there is ability in a ruler to govern a country by adhering to the Rules of Propriety, and by kindly condescension, what is wanted more? Where the ability to govern thus is wanting, what has such a ruler to do with the Rules of Propriety? "One should not be greatly concerned at not being in office; but rather about the requirements in one's self for such a standing. Neither should one be so much concerned at being unknown; but rather with seeking to become worthy of being known." Addressing his disciple Tsang Sin, the Master said, "Tsang Sin, the principles which I inculcate have one main idea upon which they all hang." "Aye, surely," he replied. When the Master was gone out the other disciples asked what was the purport of this remark. Tsang's answer was, "The principles of our Master's teaching are these--whole-heartedness and kindly forbearance; these and nothing more." Other observations of the Master:-- "Men of loftier mind manifest themselves in their equitable dealings; small-minded men in their going after gain. "When you meet with men of worth, think how you may attain to their level; when you see others of an opposite character, look within, and examine yourself. "A son, in ministering to his parents, may (on occasion) offer gentle remonstrances; when he sees that their will is not to heed such, he should nevertheless still continue to show them reverent respect, never obstinacy; and if he have to suffer, let him do so without murmuring. "Whilst the parents are still living, he should not wander far; or, if a wanderer, he should at least have some fixed address. "If for three years he do not veer from the principles of his father, he may be called a dutiful son. "A son should not ignore the years of his parents. On the one hand, they may be a matter for rejoicing (that they have been so many), and on the other, for apprehension (that so few remain). "People in olden times were loth to speak out, fearing the disgrace of not being themselves as good as their words. "Those who keep within restraints are seldom losers. "To be slow to speak, but prompt to act, is the desire of the 'superior man.' "Virtue dwells not alone: she must have neighbors." An observation of Tsz-yu:-- "Officiousness, in the service of princes, leads to disgrace: among friends, to estrangement." BOOK V A Disciple and the Golden Rule--Miscellaneous The Master pronounced Kung-ye Ch'ang, a disciple, to be a marriageable person; for although lying bound in criminal fetters he had committed no crime. And he gave him his own daughter to wife. Of Nan Yung, a disciple, he observed, that in a State where the government was well conducted he would not be passed over in its appointments, and in one where the government was ill conducted he would evade punishment and disgrace. And he caused his elder brother's daughter to be given in marriage to him. Of Tsz-tsien, a disciple, he remarked, "A superior man indeed is the like of him! But had there been none of superior quality in Lu, how should this man have attained to this excellence?" Tsz-kung asked, "What of me, then?" "You," replied the Master--"You are a receptacle." "Of what sort?" said he. "One for high and sacred use," was the answer. Some one having observed of Yen Yung that he was good-natured towards others, but that he lacked the gift of ready speech, the Master said, "What need of that gift? To stand up before men and pour forth a stream of glib words is generally to make yourself obnoxious to them. I know not about his good-naturedness; but at any rate what need of that gift?" When the Master proposed that Tsi-tiau K'ai should enter the government service, the latter replied, "I can scarcely credit it." The Master was gratified. "Good principles are making no progress," once exclaimed the Master. "If I were to take a raft, and drift about on the sea, would Tsz-lu, I wonder, be my follower there?" That disciple was delighted at hearing the suggestion; whereupon the Master continued, "He surpasses me in his love of deeds of daring. But he does not in the least grasp the pith of my remark." In reply to a question put to him by Mang Wu respecting Tsz-lu--as to whether he might be called good-natured towards others, the Master said, "I cannot tell"; but, on the question being put again, he answered, "Well, in an important State [10] he might be intrusted with the management of the military levies; but I cannot answer for his good nature." "What say you then of Yen Yu?" "As for Yen," he replied, "in a city of a thousand families, or in a secondary fief, [11] he might be charged with the governorship; but I cannot answer for his good-naturedness." "Take Tsz-hwa, then; what of him?" "Tsz-hwa," said he, "with a cincture girt upon him, standing as attendant at Court, might be charged with the addressing of visitors and guests; but as to his good-naturedness I cannot answer." Addressing Tsz-kung, the Master said, "Which of the two is ahead of the other--yourself or Hwúi?" "How shall I dare," he replied, "even to look at Hwúi? Only let him hear one particular, and from that he knows ten; whereas I, if I hear one, may from it know two." "You are not a match for him, I grant you," said the Master. "You are not his match." Tsai Yu, a disciple, used to sleep in the daytime. Said the Master, "One may hardly carve rotten wood, or use a trowel to the wall of a manure-yard! In his case, what is the use of reprimand? "My attitude towards a man in my first dealings with him," he added, "was to listen to his professions and to trust to his conduct. My attitude now is to listen to his professions, and to watch his conduct. My experience with Tsai Yu has led to this change. "I have never seen," said the Master, "a man of inflexible firmness." Some one thereupon mentioned Shin Ch'ang, a disciple. "Ch'ang," said he, "is wanton; where do you get at his inflexibleness?" Tsz-kung made the remark: "That which I do not wish others to put upon me, I also wish not to put upon others." "Nay," said the Master, "you have not got so far as that." The same disciple once remarked, "There may be access so as to hear the Master's literary discourses, but when he is treating of human nature and the way of Heaven, there may not be such success." Tsz-lu, after once hearing him upon some subject, and feeling himself as yet incompetent to carry into practice what he had heard, used to be apprehensive only lest he should hear the subject revived. Tsz-kung asked how it was that Kung Wan had come to be so styled Wan (the talented). The Master's answer was, "Because, though a man of an active nature, he was yet fond of study, and he was not ashamed to stoop to put questions to his inferiors." Respecting Tsz-ch'an,[12] the Master said that he had four of the essential qualities of the 'superior man':--in his own private walk he was humble-minded; in serving his superiors he was deferential; in his looking after the material welfare of the people he was generously kind; and in his exaction of public service from the latter he was just. Speaking of Yen Ping, he said, "He was one who was happy in his mode of attaching men to him. However long the intercourse, he was always deferential to them." Referring to Tsang Wan, he asked, "What is to be said of this man's discernment?--this man with his tortoise-house, with the pillar-heads and posts bedizened with scenes of hill and mere!" Tsz-chang put a question relative to the chief Minister of Tsu, Tsz-wan. He said, "Three times he became chief Minister, and on none of these occasions did he betray any sign of exultation. Three times his ministry came to an end, and he showed no sign of chagrin. He used without fail to inform the new Minister as to the old mode of administration. What say you of him?" "That he was a loyal man," said the Master. "But was he a man of fellow-feeling?" said the disciple. "Of that I am not sure," he answered; "how am I to get at that?" The disciple went on to say:--"After the assassination of the prince of Ts'i by the officer Ts'ui, the latter's fellow-official Ch'in Wan, who had half a score teams of horses, gave up all, and turned his back upon him. On coming to another State, he observed, 'There are here characters somewhat like that of our minister Ts'ui,' and he turned his back upon them. Proceeding to a certain other State, he had occasion to make the same remark, and left. What say you of him?" "That he was a pure-minded man," answered the Master. "But was he a man of fellow-feeling?" urged the disciple. "Of that I am not sure," he replied; "how am I to get at that?" Ki Wan was one who thought three times over a thing before he acted. The Master hearing this of him, observed, "Twice would have been enough." Of Ning Wu, the Master said that when matters went well in the State he used to have his wits about him: but when they went wrong, he lost them. His intelligence might be equalled, but not his witlessness! Once, when the Master lived in the State of Ch'in, he exclaimed, "Let me get home again! Let me get home! My school-children [13] are wild and impetuous! Though they are somewhat accomplished, and perfect in one sense in their attainments, yet they know not how to make nice discriminations." Of Peh-I and Shuh Ts'i he said, "By the fact of their not remembering old grievances, they gradually did away with resentment." Of Wei-shang Kau he said, "Who calls him straightforward? A person once begged some vinegar of him, and he begged it from a neighbor, and then presented him with it!" "Fine speech," said he, "and studied mien, and superfluous show of deference--of such things Tso-k'iu Ming was ashamed, I too am ashamed of such things. Also of hiding resentment felt towards an opponent and treating him as a friend--of this kind of thing he was ashamed, and so too am I." Attended once by the two disciples Yen Yuen and Tsz-lu, he said, "Come now, why not tell me, each of you, what in your hearts you are really after?" "I should like," said Tsz-lu, "for myself and my friends and associates, carriages and horses, and to be clad in light furs! nor would I mind much if they should become the worse for wear." "And I should like," said Yen Yuen, "to live without boasting of my abilities, and without display of meritorious deeds." Tsz-lu then said, "I should like, sir, to hear what your heart is set upon." The Master replied, "It is this:--in regard to old people, to give them quiet and comfort; in regard to friends and associates, to be faithful to them; in regard to the young, to treat them with fostering affection and kindness." On one occasion the Master exclaimed, "Ah, 'tis hopeless! I have not yet seen the man who can see his errors, so as inwardly to accuse himself." "In a small cluster of houses there may well be," said he, "some whose integrity and sincerity may compare with mine; but I yield to none in point of love of learning." [Footnote 10: Lit., a State of 1,000 war chariots.] [Footnote 11: Lit., a House of 100 war chariots.] [Footnote 12: A great statesman of Confucius's time.] [Footnote 13: A familiar way of speaking of his disciples in their hearing.] BOOK VI More Characteristics--Wisdom--Philanthropy Of Yen Yung, a disciple, the Master said, "Yung might indeed do for a prince!" On being asked by this Yen Yung his opinion of a certain individual, the Master replied, "He is passable. Impetuous, though." "But," argued the disciple, "if a man habituate himself to a reverent regard for duty--even while in his way of doing things he is impetuous--in the oversight of the people committed to his charge, is he not passable? If, on the other hand, he habituate himself to impetuosity of mind, and show it also in his way of doing things, is he not then over-impetuous?" "You are right," said the Master. When the Duke Ngai inquired which of the disciples were devoted to learning, Confucius answered him, "There was one Yen Hwúi who loved it--a man whose angry feelings towards any particular person he did not suffer to visit upon another; a man who would never fall into the same error twice. Unfortunately his allotted time was short, and he died, and now his like is not to be found; I have never heard of one so devoted to learning." While Tsz-hwa, a disciple, was away on a mission to Ts'i, the disciple Yen Yu, on behalf of his mother, applied for some grain. "Give her three pecks," said the Master. He applied for more. "Give her eight, then." Yen gave her fifty times that amount. The Master said, "When Tsz-hwa went on that journey to Ts'i, he had well-fed steeds yoked to his carriage, and was arrayed in light furs. I have learnt that the 'superior man' should help those whose needs are urgent, not help the rich to be more rich." When Yuen Sz became prefect under him, he gave him nine hundred measures of grain, but the prefect declined to accept them.[14] "You must not," said the Master. "May they not be of use to the villages and hamlets around you?" Speaking of Yen Yung again, the Master said, "If the offspring of a speckled ox be red in color, and horned, even though men may not wish to take it for sacrifice, would the spirits of the hills and streams reject it?" Adverting to Hwúi again, he said, "For three months there would not be in his breast one thought recalcitrant against his feeling of good-will towards his fellow-men. The others may attain to this for a day or for a month, but there they end." When asked by Ki K'ang whether Tsz-lu was fit to serve the government, the Master replied, "Tsz-lu is a man of decision: what should prevent him from serving the government?" Asked the same question respecting Tsz-kung and Yen Yu he answered similarly, pronouncing Tsz-kung to be a man of perspicacity, and Yen Yu to be one versed in the polite arts. When the head of the Ki family sent for Min Tsz-k'ien to make him governor of the town of Pi, that disciple said, "Politely decline for me. If the offer is renewed, then indeed I shall feel myself obliged to go and live on the further bank of the Wan." Peh-niu had fallen ill, and the Master was inquiring after him. Taking hold of his hand held out from the window, he said, "It is taking him off! Alas, his appointed time has come! Such a man, and to have such an illness!" Of Hwúi, again: "A right worthy man indeed was he! With his simple wooden dish of rice, and his one gourd-basin of drink, away in his poor back lane, in a condition too grievous for others to have endured, he never allowed his cheery spirits to droop. Aye, a right worthy soul was he!" "It is not," Yen Yu once apologized, "that I do not take pleasure in your doctrines; it is that I am not strong enough." The Master rejoined, "It is when those who are not strong enough have made some moderate amount of progress that they fail and give up; but you are now drawing your own line for yourself." Addressing Tsz-hiá, the Master said, "Let your scholarship be that of gentlemen, and not like that of common men." When Tsz-yu became governor of Wu-shing, the Master said to him, "Do you find good men about you?" The reply was, "There is Tan-t'ai Mieh-ming, who when walking eschews by-paths, and who, unless there be some public function, never approaches my private residence." "Mang Chi-fan," said the Master, "is no sounder of his own praises. During a stampede he was in the rear, and as they were about to enter the city gate he whipped up his horses, and said, 'Twas not my daring made me lag behind. My horses would not go.'" _Obiter dicta_ of the Master:-- "Whoever has not the glib utterance of the priest T'o, as well as the handsomeness of Prince Cháu of Sung, will find it hard to keep out of harm's way in the present age. "Who can go out but by that door? Why walks no one by these guiding principles? "Where plain naturalness is more in evidence than polish, we have--the man from the country. Where polish is more in evidence than naturalness, we have--the town scribe. It is when naturalness and polish are equally evident that we have the ideal man. "The life of a man is--his rectitude. Life without it--such may you have the good fortune to avoid! "They who know it are not as those who love it, nor they who love it as those who rejoice in it--that is, have the fruition of their love for it. "To the average man, and those above the average, it is possible to discourse on higher subjects; to those from the average downwards, it is not possible." Fan Ch'i put a query about wisdom. The Master replied, "To labor for the promoting of righteous conduct among the people of the land; to be serious in regard to spiritual beings, and to hold aloof from them;--this may be called wisdom." To a further query, about philanthropy, he replied, "Those who possess that virtue find difficulty with it at first, success later. "Men of practical knowledge," he said, "find their gratification among the rivers of the lowland, men of sympathetic social feeling find theirs among the hills. The former are active and bustling, the latter calm and quiet. The former take their day of pleasure, the latter look to length of days." Alluding to the States of Ts'i and Lu, he observed, that Ts'i, by one change, might attain to the condition of Lu; and that Lu, by one change, might attain to good government. An exclamation of the Master (satirizing the times, when old terms relating to government were still used while bereft of their old meaning):--"A quart, and not a quart! _quart_, indeed! _quart_, indeed!" Tsai Wo, a disciple, put a query. Said he, "Suppose a philanthropic person were told, 'There's a fellow-creature down in the well!' Would he go down after him?" "Why should he really do so?" answered the Master. "The good man or, a superior man might be induced to go, but not to go down. He may be misled, but not befooled." "The superior man," said he, "with his wide study of books, and hedging himself round by the Rules of Propriety, is not surely, after all that, capable of overstepping his bounds." Once when the Master had had an interview with Nan-tsz, which had scandalized his disciple Tsz-lu, he uttered the solemn adjuration, "If I have done aught amiss, may Heaven reject me! may Heaven reject me!" "How far-reaching," said he, "is the moral excellence that flows from the Constant Mean! [15] It has for a long time been rare among the people." Tsz-kung said, "Suppose the case of one who confers benefits far and wide upon the people, and who can, in so doing, make his bounty universally felt--how would you speak of him? Might he be called philanthropic?" The Master exclaimed, "What a work for philanthropy! He would require indeed to be a sage! He would put into shade even Yau and Shun!--Well, a philanthropic person, desiring for himself a firm footing, is led on to give one to others; desiring for himself an enlightened perception of things, he is led on to help others to be similarly enlightened. If one could take an illustration coming closer home to us than yours, that might be made the starting-point for speaking about philanthropy." [Footnote 14: At this time Confucius was Criminal Judge in his native State of Lu. Yuen Sz had been a disciple. The commentators add that this was the officer's proper salary, and that he did wrong to refuse it.] [Footnote 15: The doctrine afterwards known by that name, and which gave its title to a Confucian treatise.] BOOK VII Characteristics of Confucius--An Incident Said the Master:-- "I, as a transmitter[16] and not an originator, and as one who believes in and loves the ancients, venture to compare myself with our old P'ang. "What find you indeed in me?--a quiet brooder and memorizer; a student never satiated with learning; an unwearied monitor of others! "The things which weigh heavily upon my mind are these--failure to improve in the virtues, failure in discussion of what is learnt, inability to walk according to knowledge received as to what is right and just, inability also to reform what has been amiss." In his hours of recreation and refreshment the Master's manner was easy and unconstrained, affable and winning. Once he exclaimed, "Alas! I must be getting very feeble; 'tis long since I have had a repetition of the dreams in which I used to see the Duke of Chow. [17] "Concentrate the mind," said he, "upon the Good Way. "Maintain firm hold upon Virtue. "Rely upon Philanthropy. "Find recreation in the Arts. [18] "I have never withheld instruction from any, even from those who have come for it with the smallest offering. "No subject do I broach, however, to those who have no eager desire to learn; no encouraging hint do I give to those who show no anxiety to speak out their ideas; nor have I anything more to say to those who, after I have made clear one corner of the subject, cannot from that give me the other three." If the Master was taking a meal, and there were any in mourning beside him, he would not eat to the full. On one day on which he had wept, on that day he would not sing. Addressing his favorite disciple, he said, "To you only and myself it has been given to do this--to go when called to serve, and to go back into quiet retirement when released from office." Tsz-lu, hearing the remark said, "But if, sir, you had the handling of the army of one of the greater States,[19] whom would you have associated with you in that case?" The Master answered:-- "Not the one 'who'll rouse the tiger,' Not the one 'who'll wade the Ho;' not the man who can die with no regret. He must be one who should watch over affairs with apprehensive caution, a man fond of strategy, and of perfect skill and effectiveness in it." As to wealth, he remarked, "If wealth were an object that I could go in quest of, I should do so even if I had to take a whip and do grooms' work. But seeing that it is not, I go after those objects for which I have a liking." Among matters over which he exercised great caution were times of fasting, war, and sickness. When he was in the State of Ts'i, and had heard the ancient Shau music, he lost all perception of the taste of his meat. "I had no idea," said he, "that music could have been brought to this pitch." In the course of conversation Yen Yu said, "Does the Master take the part of the Prince of Wei?" "Ah yes!" said Tsz-kung, "I will go and ask him that." On going in to him, that disciple began, "What sort of men were Peh-I and Shuh Ts'i?" "Worthies of the olden time," the Master replied. "Had they any feelings of resentment?" was the next question. "Their aim and object," he answered, "was that of doing the duty which every man owes to his fellows, and they succeeded in doing it;--what room further for feelings of resentment?" The questioner on coming out said, "The Master does not take his part." "With a meal of coarse rice," said the Master, "and with water to drink, and my bent arm for my pillow--even thus I can find happiness. Riches and honors without righteousness are to me as fleeting clouds." "Give me several years more to live," said he, "and after fifty years' study of the 'Book of Changes' I might come to be free from serious error." The Master's regular subjects of discourse were the "Books of the Odes" and "History," and the up-keeping of the Rules of Propriety. On all of these he regularly discoursed. The Duke of Shih questioned Tsz-lu about Confucius, and the latter did not answer. Hearing of this, the Master said, "Why did you not say, He is a man with a mind so intent on his pursuits that he forgets his food, and finds such pleasure in them that he forgets his troubles, and does not know that old age is coming upon him?" "As I came not into life with any knowledge of it," he said, "and as my likings are for what is old, I busy myself in seeking knowledge there." Strange occurrences, exploits of strength, deeds of lawlessness, references to spiritual beings--such-like matters the Master avoided in conversation. "Let there," he said, "be three men walking together: from that number I should be sure to find my instructors; for what is good in them I should choose out and follow, and what is not good I should modify." On one occasion he exclaimed, "Heaven begat Virtue in me; what can man do unto me?" To his disciples he once said, "Do you look upon me, my sons, as keeping anything secret from you? I hide nothing from you. I do nothing that is not manifest to your eyes, my disciples. That is so with me." Four things there were which he kept in view in his teaching--scholarliness, conduct of life, honesty, faithfulness. "It is not given to me," he said, "to meet with a sage; let me but behold a man of superior mind, and that will suffice. Neither is it given to me to meet with a good man; let me but see a man of constancy, and it will suffice. It is difficult for persons to have constancy, when they pretend to have that which they are destitute of, to be full when they are empty, to do things on a grand scale when their means are contracted!" When the Master fished with hook and line, he did not also use a net. When out with his bow, he would never shoot at game in cover. "Some there may be," said he, "who do things in ignorance of what they do. I am not of these. There is an alternative way of knowing things, viz.--to sift out the good from the many things one hears, and follow it; and to keep in memory the many things one sees." Pupils from Hu-hiang were difficult to speak with. One youth came to interview the Master, and the disciples were in doubt whether he ought to have been seen. "Why so much ado," said the Master, "at my merely permitting his approach, and not rather at my allowing him to draw back? If a man have cleansed himself in order to come and see me, I receive him as such; but I do not undertake for what he will do when he goes away." "Is the philanthropic spirit far to seek, indeed?" the Master exclaimed; "I wish for it, and it is with me!" The Minister of Crime in the State of Ch'in asked Confucius whether Duke Ch'an, of Lu was acquainted with the Proprieties; and he answered, "Yes, he knows them." When Confucius had withdrawn, the minister bowed to Wu-ma K'i, a disciple, and motioned to him to come forward. He said, "I have heard that superior men show no partiality; are they, too, then, partial? That prince took for his wife a lady of the Wu family, having the same surname as himself, and had her named 'Lady Tsz of Wu, the elder,' If he knows the Proprieties, then who does not?" The disciple reported this to the Master, who thereupon remarked, "Well for me! If I err in any way, others are sure to know of it." When the Master was in company with any one who sang, and who sang well, he must needs have the song over again, and after that would join in it. "Although in letters," he said, "I may have none to compare with me, yet in my personification of the 'superior man' I have not as yet been successful." "'A Sage and a Philanthropist?' How should I have the ambition?" said he. "All that I can well be called is this--An insatiable student, an unwearied teacher;--this, and no more."--"Exactly what we, your disciples, cannot by any learning manage to be," said Kung-si Hwa. Once when the Master was seriously ill, Tsz-lu requested to be allowed to say prayers for him. "Are such available?" asked the Master. "Yes," said he; "and the Manual of Prayers says, 'Pray to the spirits above and to those here below,'" "My praying has been going on a long while," said the Master. "Lavish living," he said, "renders men disorderly; miserliness makes them hard. Better, however, the hard than the disorderly." Again, "The man of superior mind is placidly composed; the small-minded man is in a constant state of perturbation." The Master was gentle, yet could be severe; had an over-awing presence, yet was not violent; was deferential, yet easy. [Footnote 16: In reference to his editing the six Classics of his time.] [Footnote 17: This was one of his "beloved ancients," famous for what he did in helping to found the dynasty of Chow, a man of great political wisdom, a scholar also, and poet. It was the "dream" of Confucius's life to restore the country to the condition in which the Duke of Chow left it.] [Footnote 18: These were six in number, viz.: Ceremonial, Music, Archery, Horsemanship, Language, and Calculation.] [Footnote 19: Lit., three forces. Each force consisted of 12,500 men, and three of such forces were the equipment of a greater State.] BOOK VIII Sayings of Tsang--Sentences of the Master Speaking of T'ai-pih the Master said that he might be pronounced a man of the highest moral excellence; for he allowed the empire to pass by him onwards to a third heir; while the people, in their ignorance of his motives, were unable to admire him for so doing. "Without the Proprieties," said the Master, "we have these results: for deferential demeanor, a worried one; for calm attentiveness, awkward bashfulness; for manly conduct, disorderliness; for straightforwardness, perversity. "When men of rank show genuine care for those nearest to them in blood, the people rise to the duty of neighborliness and sociability. And when old friendships among them are not allowed to fall off, there will be a cessation of underhand practices among the people." The Scholar Tsang was once unwell, and calling his pupils to him he said to them, "Disclose to view my feet and my hands. What says the Ode?-- 'Act as from a sense of danger, With precaution and with care, As a yawning gulf o'erlooking, As on ice that scarce will bear,' At all times, my children, I know how to keep myself free from bodily harm." Again, during an illness of his, Mang King, an official, went to ask after him. The Scholar had some conversation with him, in the course of which he said-- "'Doleful the cries of a dying bird, Good the last words of a dying man,' There are three points which a man of rank in the management of his duties should set store upon:--A lively manner and deportment, banishing both severity and laxity; a frank and open expression of countenance, allied closely with sincerity; and a tone in his utterances utterly free from any approach to vulgarity and impropriety. As to matters of bowls and dishes, leave such things to those who are charged with the care of them." Another saying of the Scholar Tsang: "I once had a friend who, though he possessed ability, would go questioning men of none, and, though surrounded by numbers, would go with his questions to isolated individuals; who also, whatever he might have, appeared as if he were without it, and, with all his substantial acquirements, made as though his mind were a mere blank; and when insulted would not retaliate;--this was ever his way." Again he said: "The man that is capable of being intrusted with the charge of a minor on the throne, and given authority over a large territory, and who, during the important term of his superintendence cannot be forced out of his position, is not such a 'superior man'? That he is, indeed." Again:--"The learned official must not be without breadth and power of endurance: the burden is heavy, and the way is long. "Suppose that he take his duty to his fellow-men as his peculiar burden, is that not indeed a heavy one? And since only with death it is done with, is not the way long?" Sentences of the Master:-- "From the 'Book of Odes' we receive impulses; from the 'Book of the Rules,' stability; from the 'Book on Music,' refinement. [20] "The people may be put into the way they should go, though they may not be put into the way of understanding it. "The man who likes bravery, and yet groans under poverty, has mischief in him. So, too, has the misanthrope, groaning at any severity shown towards him. "Even if a person were adorned with the gifts of the Duke of Chow, yet if he were proud and avaricious, all the rest of his qualities would not indeed be worth looking at. "Not easily found is the man who, after three years' study, has failed to come upon some fruit of his toil. "The really faithful lover of learning holds fast to the Good Way till death. "He will not go into a State in which a downfall is imminent, nor take up his abode in one where disorder reigns. When the empire is well ordered he will show himself; when not, he will hide himself away. Under a good government it will be a disgrace to him if he remain in poverty and low estate; under a bad one, it would be equally disgraceful to him to hold riches and honors. "If not occupying the office, devise not the policy. "When the professor Chi began his duties, how grand the finale of the First of the Odes used to be! How it rang in one's ears! "I cannot understand persons who are enthusiastic and yet not straightforward; nor those who are ignorant and yet not attentive; nor again those folks who are simple-minded and yet untrue. "Learn, as if never overtaking your object, and yet as if apprehensive of losing it. "How sublime was the handling of the empire by Shun and Yu!--it was as nothing to them! "How great was Yau as a prince! Was he not sublime! Say that Heaven only is great, then was Yau alone after its pattern! How profound was he! The people could not find a name for him. How sublime in his achievements! How brilliant in his scholarly productions!" Shun had for his ministers five men, by whom he ordered the empire. King Wu (in his day) stated that he had ten men as assistants for the promotion of order. With reference to these facts Confucius observed, "Ability is hard to find. Is it not so indeed? During the three years' interregnum between Yau and Shun there was more of it than in the interval before this present dynasty appeared. There were, at this latter period, one woman, and nine men only. "When two-thirds of the empire were held by King Wan, he served with that portion the House of Yin. We speak of the virtue of the House of Chow; we may say, indeed, that it reached the pinnacle of excellence." "As to Yu," added the Master, "I can find no flaw in him. Living on meagre food and drink; yet providing to the utmost in his filial offerings to the spirits of the dead! Dressing in coarse garments; yet most elegant when vested in his sacrificial apron and coronet! Dwelling in a poor palace; yet exhausting his energies over those boundary-ditches and watercourses! I can find no flaw in Yu." [Footnote 20: Comparison of three of the Classics: the "Shi-King," the "Li Ki," and the "Yoh." The last is lost.] BOOK IX His Favorite Disciple's Opinion of Him Topics on which the Master rarely spoke were--Advantage, and Destiny, and Duty of man to man. A man of the village of Tah-hiang exclaimed of him, "A great man is Confucius!--a man of extensive learning, and yet in nothing has he quite made himself a name!" The Master heard of this, and mentioning it to his disciples he said, "What then shall I take in hand? Shall I become a carriage driver, or an archer? Let me be a driver!" "The sacrificial cap," he once said, "should, according to the Rules, be of linen; but in these days it is of pure silk. However, as it is economical, I do as all do. "The Rule says, 'Make your bow when at the lower end of the hall'; but nowadays the bowing is done at the upper part. This is great freedom; and I, though I go in opposition to the crowd, bow when at the lower end." The Master barred four words:--he would have no "shall's," no "must's," no "certainty's," no "I's." Once, in the town of K'wang fearing that his life was going to be taken, the Master exclaimed, "King Wan is dead and gone; but is not '_wan_' [21] with you here? If Heaven be about to allow this '_wan_' to perish, then they who survive its decease will get no benefit from it. But so long as Heaven does not allow it to perish, what can the men of K'wang do to me?" A high State official, after questioning Tsz-kung, said, "Your Master is a sage, then? How many and what varied abilities must be his!" The disciple replied, "Certainly Heaven is allowing him full opportunities of becoming a sage, in addition to the fact that his abilities are many and varied." When the Master heard of this he remarked, "Does that high official know me? In my early years my position in life was low, and hence my ability in many ways, though exercised in trifling matters. In the gentleman is there indeed such variety of ability? No." From this, the disciple Lau used to say, "'Twas a saying of the Master: 'At a time when I was not called upon to use them, I acquired my proficiency in the polite arts.'" "Am I, indeed," said the Master, "possessed of knowledge? I know nothing. Let a vulgar fellow come to me with a question--a man with an emptyish head--I may thrash out with him the matter from end to end, and exhaust myself in doing it!" "Ah!" exclaimed he once, "the phoenix does not come! and no symbols issue from the river! May I not as well give up?" Whenever the Master met with a person in mourning, or with one in full-dress cap and kirtle, or with a blind person, although they might be young persons, he would make a point of rising on their appearance, or, if crossing their path, would do so with quickened step! Once Yen Yuen exclaimed with a sigh (with reference to the Master's doctrines), "If I look up to them, they are ever the higher; if I try to penetrate them, they are ever the harder; if I gaze at them as if before my eyes, lo, they are behind me!--Gradually and gently the Master with skill lures men on. By literary lore he gave me breadth; by the Rules of Propriety he narrowed me down. When I desire a respite, I find it impossible; and after I have exhausted my powers, there seems to be something standing straight up in front of me, and though I have the mind to make towards it I make no advance at all." Once when the Master was seriously ill, Tsz-lu induced the other disciples to feign they were high officials acting in his service. During a respite from his malady the Master exclaimed, "Ah! how long has Tsz-lu's conduct been false? Whom should I delude, if I were to pretend to have officials under me, having none? Should I deceive Heaven? Besides, were I to die, I would rather die in the hands of yourselves, my disciples, than in the hands of officials. And though I should fail to have a grand funeral over me, I should hardly be left on my death on the public highway, should I?" Tsz-kung once said to him, "Here is a fine gem. Would you guard it carefully in a casket and store it away, or seek a good price for it and sell it?" "Sell it, indeed," said the Master--"that would I; but I should wait for the bidder." The Master protested he would "go and live among the nine wild tribes." "A rude life," said some one;--"how could you put up with it?" "What rudeness would there be," he replied, "if a 'superior man' was living in their midst?" Once he remarked, "After I came back from Wei to Lu the music was put right, and each of the Festal Odes and Hymns was given its appropriate place and use." "Ah! which one of these following," he asked on one occasion, "are to be found exemplified in me--proper service rendered to superiors when abroad; duty to father and elder brother when at home; duty that shrinks from no exertion when dear ones die; and keeping free from the confusing effects of wine?" Standing once on the bank of a mountain stream, he said (musingly), "Like this are those that pass away--no cessation, day or night!" Other sayings:-- "Take an illustration from the making of a hill. A simple basketful is wanting to complete it, and the work stops. So I stop short. "Take an illustration from the levelling of the ground. Suppose again just one basketful is left, when the work has so progressed. There I desist! "Ah! it was Hwúi, was it not? who, when I had given him his lesson, was the unflagging one! "Alas for Hwúi! I saw him ever making progress. I never saw him stopping short. "Blade, but no bloom--or else bloom, but no produce; aye, that is the way with some! "Reverent regard is due to youth. How know we what difference there may be in them in the future from what they are now? Yet when they have reached the age of forty or fifty, and are still unknown in the world, then indeed they are no more worthy of such regard. "Can any do otherwise than assent to words said to them by way of correction? Only let them reform by such advice, and it will then be reckoned valuable. Can any be other than pleased with words of gentle suasion? Only let them comply with them fully, and such also will be accounted valuable. With those who are pleased without so complying, and those who assent but do not reform, I can do nothing at all. "Give prominent place to loyalty and sincerity. "Have no associates in study who are not advanced somewhat like yourself. "When you have erred, be not afraid to correct yourself. "It may be possible to seize and carry off the chief commander of a large army, but not possible so to rob one poor fellow of his will. "One who stands--clad in hempen robe, the worse for wear--among others clad in furs of fox and badger, and yet unabashed--'tis Tsz-lu, that, is it not?" Tsz-lu used always to be humming over the lines-- "From envy and enmity free, What deed doth he other than good?" "How should such a rule of life," asked the Master, "be sufficient to make any one good?" "When the year grows chilly, we know the pine and cypress are the last to fade. "The wise escape doubt; the good-hearted, trouble; the bold, apprehension. "Some may study side by side, and yet be asunder when they come to the logic of things. Some may go on together in this latter course, but be wide apart in the standards they reach in it. Some, again, may together reach the same standard, and yet be diverse in weight of character." "The blossom is out on the cherry tree, With a flutter on every spray. Dost think that my thoughts go not out to thee? Ah, why art thou far away!" Commenting on these lines the Master said, "There can hardly have been much 'thought going out,' What does distance signify?" [Footnote 21: "Wan" was the honorary appellation of the great sage and ruler, whose praise is in the "Shi-King" as one of the founders of the Chow dynasty, and the term represented civic talent and virtues, as distinct from Wu, the martial talent--the latter being the honorary title of his son and successor. "Wan" also often stands for literature and polite accomplishments. Here Confucius simply means, "If you kill me, you kill a sage."] BOOK X Confucius in Private and Official Life In his own village, Confucius presented a somewhat plain and simple appearance, and looked unlike a man who possessed ability of speech. But in the ancestral temple, and at Court, he spoke with the fluency and accuracy of a debater, but ever guardedly. At Court, conversing with the lower order of great officials, he spoke somewhat firmly and directly; with those of the higher order his tone was somewhat more affable. When the prince was present he was constrainedly reverent in his movements, and showed a proper degree of grave dignity in demeanor. Whenever the prince summoned him to act as usher to the Court, his look would change somewhat, and he would make as though he were turning round to do obeisance. He would salute those among whom he took up his position, using the right hand or the left, and holding the skirts of his robe in proper position before and behind. He would make his approaches with quick step, and with elbows evenly bent outwards. When the visitor withdrew, he would not fail to report the execution of his commands, with the words, "The visitor no longer looks back." When he entered the palace gate, it was with the body somewhat bent forward, almost as though he could not be admitted. When he stood still, this would never happen in the middle of the gateway; nor when moving about would he ever tread on the threshold. When passing the throne, his look would change somewhat, he would turn aside and make a sort of obeisance, and the words he spoke seemed as though he were deficient in utterance. On going up the steps to the audience chamber, he would gather up with both hands the ends of his robe, and walk with his body bent somewhat forward, holding back his breath like one in whom respiration has ceased. On coming out, after descending one step his countenance would relax and assume an appearance of satisfaction. Arrived at the bottom, he would go forward with quick step, his elbows evenly bent outwards, back to his position, constrainedly reverent in every movement. When holding the sceptre in his hand, his body would be somewhat bent forward, as if he were not equal to carrying it; wielding it now higher, as in a salutation, now lower, as in the presentation of a gift; his look would also be changed and appear awestruck; and his gait would seem retarded, as if he were obeying some restraining hand behind. When he presented the gifts of ceremony, he would assume a placid expression of countenance. At the private interview he would be cordial and affable. The good man would use no purple or violet colors for the facings of his dress. [22] Nor would he have red or orange color for his undress. [23] For the hot season he wore a singlet, of either coarse or fine texture, but would also feel bound to have an outer garment covering it. For his black robe he had lamb's wool; for his white one, fawn's fur; and for his yellow one, fox fur. His furred undress robe was longer, but the right sleeve was shortened. He would needs have his sleeping-dress one and a half times his own length. For ordinary home wear he used thick substantial fox or badger furs. When he left off mourning, he would wear all his girdle trinkets. His kirtle in front, when it was not needed for full cover, he must needs have cut down. He would never wear his (black) lamb's-wool, or a dark-colored cap, when he went on visits of condolence to mourners. [24] On the first day of the new moon, he must have on his Court dress and to Court. When observing his fasts, he made a point of having bright, shiny garments, made of linen. He must also at such times vary his food, and move his seat to another part of his dwelling-room. As to his food, he never tired of rice so long as it was clean and pure, nor of hashed meats when finely minced. Rice spoiled by damp, and sour, he would not touch, nor tainted fish, nor bad meat, nor aught of a bad color or smell, nor aught overdone in cooking, nor aught out of season. Neither would he eat anything that was not properly cut, or that lacked its proper seasonings. Although there might be an abundance of meat before him, he would not allow a preponderance of it to rob the rice of its beneficial effect in nutrition. Only in the matter of wine did he set himself no limit, yet he never drank so much as to confuse himself. Tradesmen's wines, and dried meats from the market, he would not touch. Ginger he would never have removed from the table during a meal. He was not a great eater. Meat from the sacrifices at the prince's temple he would never put aside till the following day. The meat of his own offerings he would never give out after three days' keeping, for after that time none were to eat it. At his meals he would not enter into discussions; and when reposing (afterwards) he would not utter a word. Even should his meal consist only of coarse rice and vegetable broth or melons, he would make an offering, and never fail to do so religiously. He would never sit on a mat that was not straight. After a feast among his villagers, he would wait before going away until the old men had left. When the village people were exorcising the pests, he would put on his Court robes and stand on the steps of his hall to receive them. When he was sending a message of inquiry to a person in another State, he would bow twice on seeing the messenger off. Ki K'ang once sent him a present of some medicine. He bowed, and received it; but remarked, "Until I am quite sure of its properties I must not venture to taste it." Once when the stabling was destroyed by fire, he withdrew from the Court, and asked, "Is any person injured? "--without inquiring as to the horses. Whenever the prince sent him a present of food, he was particular to set his mat in proper order, and would be the first one to taste it. If the prince's present was one of raw meat, he must needs have it cooked, and make an oblation of it. If the gift were a live animal, he would be sure to keep it and care for it. When he was in waiting, and at a meal with the prince, the prince would make the offering,[25] and he (the Master) was the pregustator. When unwell, and the prince came to see him, he would arrange his position so that his head inclined towards the east, would put over him his Court robes, and draw his girdle across them. When summoned by order of the prince, he would start off without waiting for his horses to be put to. On his entry into the Grand Temple, he inquired about everything connected with its usages. If a friend died, and there were no near relatives to take him to, he would say, "Let him be buried from my house." For a friend's gift--unless it consisted of meat that had been offered in sacrifice--he would not bow, even if it were a carriage and horses. In repose he did not lie like one dead. In his home life he was not formal in his manner. Whenever he met with a person in mourning, even though it were a familiar acquaintance, he would be certain to change his manner; and when he met with any one in full-dress cap, or with any blind person, he would also unfailingly put on a different look, even though he were himself in undress at the time. In saluting any person wearing mourning he would bow forwards towards the front bar of his carriage; in the same manner he would also salute the bearer of a census-register. When a sumptuous banquet was spread before him, a different expression would be sure to appear in his features, and he would rise up from his seat. At a sudden thunder-clap, or when the wind grew furious, his look would also invariably be changed. On getting into his car, he would never fail (first) to stand up erect, holding on by the strap. When in the car, he would never look about, nor speak hastily, nor bring one hand to the other. "Let one but make a movement in his face, And the bird will rise and seek some safer place." Apropos of this, he said, "Here is a hen-pheasant from Shan Liang--and in season! and in season!" After Tsz-lu had got it prepared, he smelt it thrice, and then rose up from his seat. [Footnote 22: Because, it is said, such colors were adopted in fasting and mourning.] [Footnote 23: Because they did not belong to the five correct colors (viz. green, yellow, carnation, white, and black), and were affected more by females.] [Footnote 24: Since white was, as it is still, the mourning color.] [Footnote 25: The act of "grace," before eating.] BOOK XI Comparative Worth of His Disciples "The first to make progress in the Proprieties and in Music," said the Master, "are plain countrymen; after them, the men of higher standing. If I had to employ any of them, I should stand by the former." "Of those," said he, "who were about me when I was in the Ch'in and Ts'ai States, not one now is left to approach my door." "As for Hwui," [26] said the Master, "he is not one to help me on: there is nothing I say but he is not well satisfied with." "What a dutiful son was Min Tsz-k'ien!" he exclaimed. "No one finds occasion to differ from what his parents and brothers have said of him." Nan Yung used to repeat three times over the lines in the Odes about the white sceptre. Confucius caused his own elder brother's daughter to be given in marriage to him. When Ki K'ang inquired which of the disciples were fond of learning, Confucius answered him, "There was one Yen Hwúi who was fond of it; but unfortunately his allotted time was short, and he died; and now his like is not to be found." When Yen Yuen died, his father, Yen Lu, begged for the Master's carriage in order to get a shell for his coffin. "Ability or no ability," said the Master, "every father still speaks of 'my son.' When my own son Li died, and the coffin for him had no shell to it, I know I did not go on foot to get him one; but that was because I was, though retired, in the wake of the ministers, and could not therefore well do so." On the death of Yen Yuen the Master exclaimed, "Ah me! Heaven is ruining me, Heaven is ruining me!" On the same occasion, his wailing for that disciple becoming excessive, those who were about him said, "Sir, this is too much!"--"Too much?" said he; "if I am not to do so for him, then--for whom else?" The disciples then wished for the deceased a grand funeral. The Master could not on his part consent to this. They nevertheless gave him one. Upon this he remarked, "He used to look upon me as if I were his father. I could never, however, look on him as a son. Twas not my mistake, but yours, my children." Tsz-lu propounded a question about ministering to the spirits of the departed. The Master replied, "Where there is scarcely the ability to minister to living men, how shall there be ability to minister to the spirits?" On his venturing to put a question concerning death, he answered, "Where there is scarcely any knowledge about life, how shall there be any about death?" The disciple Min was by his side, looking affable and bland; Tsz-lu also, looking careless and intrepid; and Yen Yu and Tsz-kung, firm and precise. The Master was cheery. "One like Tsz-lu there," said he, "does not come to a natural end." Some persons in Lu were taking measures in regard to the Long Treasury House. Min Tsz-k'ien observed, "How if it were repaired on the old lines?" The Master upon this remarked, "This fellow is not a talker, but when he does speak he is bound to hit the mark!" "There is Yu's harpsichord," exclaimed the Master--"what is it doing at my door?" On seeing, however, some disrespect shown to him by the other disciples, he added, "Yu has got as far as the top of the hall; only he has not yet entered the house." Tsz-kung asked which was the worthier of the two--Tsz-chang or Tsz-hiá. "The former," answered the Master, "goes beyond the mark; the latter falls short of it." "So then Tsz-chang is the better of the two, is he?" said he. "To go too far," he replied, "is about the same as to fall short." The Chief of the Ki family was a wealthier man than the Duke of Chow had been, and yet Yen Yu gathered and hoarded for him, increasing his wealth more and more. "He is no follower of mine," said the Master. "It would serve him right, my children, to sound the drum, and set upon him." Characteristics of four disciples:--Tsz-káu was simple-minded; Tsang Si, a dullard; Tsz-chang, full of airs; Tsz-lu, rough. "As to Hwúi," said the Master, "he comes near to perfection, while frequently in great want. Tsz-kung does not submit to the appointments of Heaven; and yet his goods are increased;--he is often successful in his calculations." Tsz-chang wanted to know some marks of the naturally Good Man. "He does not walk in others' footprints," said the Master; "yet he does not get beyond the hall into the house." Once the Master said, "Because we allow that a man's words have something genuine in them, are they necessarily those of a superior man? or words carrying only an outward semblance and show of gravity?" Tsz-lu put a question about the practice of precepts one has heard. The Master's reply was, "In a case where there is a father or elder brother still left with you, how should you practise all you hear?" When, however, the same question was put to him by Yen Yu, his reply was, "Yes; do so." Kung-si Hwa animadverted upon this to the Master. "Tsz-lu asked you, sir," said he, "about the practice of what one has learnt, and you said, 'There may be a father or elder brother still alive'; but when Yen Yu asked the same question, you answered, 'Yes, do so.' I am at a loss to understand you, and venture to ask what you meant." The Master replied, "Yen Yu backs out of his duties; therefore I push him on. Tsz-lu has forwardness enough for them both; therefore I hold him back." On the occasion of that time of fear in K'wang, Yen Yuen having fallen behind, the Master said to him (afterwards), "I took it for granted you were a dead man." "How should I dare to die," said he, "while you, sir, still lived?" On Ki Tsz-jen putting to him a question anent Tsz-lu and Yen Yu, as to whether they might be called "great ministers," the Master answered, "I had expected your question, sir, to be about something extraordinary, and lo! it is only about these two. Those whom we call 'great ministers' are such as serve their prince conscientiously, and who, when they cannot do so, retire. At present, as regards the two you ask about, they may be called 'qualified ministers.'" "Well, are they then," he asked, "such as will follow their leader?" "They would not follow him who should slay his father and his prince!" was the reply. Through the intervention of Tsz-lu, Tsz-kau was being appointed governor of Pi. "You are spoiling a good man's son," said the Master. Tsz-lu rejoined, "But he will have the people and their superiors to gain experience from, and there will be the altars; what need to read books? He can become a student afterwards." "Here is the reason for my hatred of glib-tongued people," said the Master. On one occasion Tsz-lu, Tsang Sin, Yen Yu, and Kung-si Hwa were sitting near him. He said to them, "Though I may be a day older than you, do not (for the moment) regard me as such. While you are living this unoccupied life you are saying, 'We do not become known.' Now suppose some one got to know you, what then?" Tsz-lu--first to speak--at once answered, "Give me a State of large size and armament, hemmed in and hampered by other larger States, the population augmented by armies and regiments, causing a dearth in it of food of all kinds; give me charge of that State, and in three years' time I should make a brave country of it, and let it know its place." The Master smiled at him. "Yen," said he, "how would it be with you?" "Give me," said Yen, "a territory of sixty or seventy li square, or of fifty or sixty square; put me in charge of that, and in three years I should make the people sufficiently prosperous. As regards their knowledge of ceremonial or music, I should wait for superior men to teach them that." "And with you, Kung-si, how would it be?" This disciple's reply was, "I have nothing to say about my capabilities for such matters; my wish is to learn. I should like to be a junior assistant, in dark robe and cap, at the services of the ancestral temple, and at the Grand Receptions of the Princes by the Sovereign." "And with you, Tsang Sin?" This disciple was strumming on his harpsichord, but now the twanging ceased, he turned from the instrument, rose to his feet, and answered thus: "Something different from the choice of these three." "What harm?" said the Master; "I want each one of you to tell me what his heart is set upon." "Well, then," said he, "give me--in the latter part of spring--dressed in full spring-tide attire--in company with five or six young fellows of twenty, [27] or six or seven lads under that age, to do the ablutions in the I stream, enjoy a breeze in the rain-dance, [28] and finish up with songs on the road home." The Master drew in his breath, sighed, and exclaimed, "Ah, I take with you!" The three other disciples having gone out, leaving Tsang Sin behind, the latter said, "What think you of the answers of those three?"--"Well, each told me what was uppermost in his mind," said the Master;--"simply that." "Why did you smile at Tsz-lu, sir?" "I smiled at him because to have the charge of a State requires due regard to the Rules of Propriety, and his words betrayed a lack of modesty." "But Yen, then--he had a State in view, had he not?" "I should like to be shown a territory such as he described which does not amount to a State." "But had not Kung-si also a State in view?" "What are ancestral temples and Grand Receptions, but for the feudal lords to take part in? If Kung-si were to become an unimportant assistant at these functions, who could become an important one?" [Footnote 26: The men of virtuous life were Yen Yuen (Hwúi), Min Tsz-k'ien, Yen Pihniu, and Chung-kung (Yen Yung); the speakers and debaters were Tsai Wo and Tsz-kung; the (capable) government servants were Yen Yu and Tsz-lu; the literary students, Tsz-yu and Tsz-hiá.] [Footnote 27: Lit., capped ones. At twenty they underwent the ceremony of capping, and were considered men.] [Footnote 28: I.e., before the altars, where offerings were placed with prayer for rain. A religious dance.] BOOK XII The Master's Answers--Philanthropy--Friendships Yen Yuen was asking about man's proper regard for his fellow-man. The Master said to him, "Self-control, and a habit of falling back upon propriety, virtually effect it. Let these conditions be fulfilled for one day, and every one round will betake himself to the duty. Is it to begin in one's self, or think you, indeed! it is to begin in others?" "I wanted you to be good enough," said Yen Yuen, "to give me a brief synopsis of it." Then said the Master, "Without Propriety use not your eyes; without it use not your ears, nor your tongue, nor a limb of your body." "I may be lacking in diligence," said Yen Yuen, "but with your favor I will endeavor to carry out this advice." Chung-kung asked about man's proper regard for his fellows. To him the Master replied thus: "When you go forth from your door, be as if you were meeting some guest of importance. When you are making use of the common people (for State purposes), be as if you were taking part in a great religious function. Do not set before others what you do not desire yourself. Let there be no resentful feelings against you when you are away in the country, and none when at home." "I may lack diligence," said Chung-kung, "but with your favor I will endeavor to carry out this advice." Sz-ma Niu asked the like question. The answer he received was this: "The words of the man who has a proper regard for his fellows are uttered with difficulty." "'His words--uttered with difficulty?'" he echoed, in surprise. "Is that what is meant by proper regard for one's fellow-creatures?" "Where there is difficulty in doing," the Master replied, "will there not be some difficulty in utterance?" The same disciple put a question about the "superior man." "Superior men," he replied, "are free from trouble and apprehension." "'Free from trouble and apprehension!'" said he. "Does that make them 'superior men'?" The Master added, "Where there is found, upon introspection, to be no chronic disease, how shall there be any trouble? how shall there be any apprehension?" The same disciple, being in trouble, remarked, "I am alone in having no brother, while all else have theirs--younger or elder." Tsz-hiá said to him, "I have heard this: 'Death and life have destined times; wealth and honors rest with Heaven. Let the superior man keep watch over himself without ceasing, showing deference to others, with propriety of manners--and all within the four seas will be his brethren. How should he be distressed for lack of brothers!'" [29] Tsz-chang asked what sort of man might be termed "enlightened." The Master replied, "That man with whom drenching slander and cutting calumny gain no currency may well be called enlightened. Ay, he with whom such things make no way may well be called enlightened in the extreme." Tsz-kung put a question relative to government. In reply the Master mentioned three essentials:--sufficient food, sufficient armament, and the people's confidence. "But," said the disciple, "if you cannot really have all three, and one has to be given up, which would you give up first?" "The armament," he replied. "And if you are obliged to give up one of the remaining two, which would it be?" "The food," said he. "Death has been the portion of all men from of old. Without the people's trust nothing can stand." Kih Tsz-shing once said, "Give me the inborn qualities of a gentleman, and I want no more. How are such to come from book-learning?" Tsz-kung exclaimed, "Ah! sir, I regret to hear such words from you. A gentleman!--But 'a team of four can ne'er o'er-take the tongue!' Literary accomplishments are much the same as inborn qualities, and inborn qualities as literary accomplishments. A tiger's or leopard's skin without the hair might be a dog's or sheep's when so made bare." Duke Ngai was consulting Yu Joh. Said he, "It is a year of dearth, and there is an insufficiency for Ways and Means--what am I to do?" "Why not apply the Tithing Statute?" said the minister. "But two tithings would not be enough for my purposes," said the duke; "what would be the good of applying the Statute?" The minister replied, "So long as the people have enough left for themselves, who of them will allow their prince to be without enough? But--when the people have not enough, who will allow their prince all that he wants?" Tsz-chang was asking how the standard of virtue was to be raised, and how to discern what was illusory or misleading. The Master's answer was, "Give a foremost place to honesty and faithfulness, and tread the path of righteousness, and you will raise the standard of virtue. As to discerning what is illusory, here is an example of an illusion:--Whom you love you wish to live; whom you hate you wish to die. To have wished the same person to live and also to be dead--there is an illusion for you." Duke King of Ts'i consulted Confucius about government. His answer was, "Let a prince be a prince, and ministers be ministers; let fathers be fathers, and sons be sons." "Good!" exclaimed the duke; "truly if a prince fail to be a prince, and ministers to be ministers, and if fathers be not fathers, and sons not sons, then, even though I may have my allowance of grain, should I ever be able to relish it?" "The man to decide a cause with half a word," exclaimed the Master, "is Tsz-lu!" Tsz-lu never let a night pass between promise and performance. "In hearing causes, I am like other men," said the Master. "The great point is--to prevent litigation." Tsz-chang having raised some question about government, the Master said to him, "In the settlement of its principles be unwearied; in its administration--see to that loyally." "The man of wide research," said he, "who also restrains himself by the Rules of Propriety, is not likely to transgress." Again, "The noble-minded man makes the most of others' good qualities, not the worst of their bad ones. Men of small mind do the reverse of this." Ki K'ang was consulting him about the direction of public affairs. Confucius answered him, "A director should be himself correct. If you, sir, as a leader show correctness, who will dare not to be correct?" Ki K'ang, being much troubled on account of robbers abroad, consulted Confucius on the matter. He received this reply: "If you, sir, were not covetous, neither would they steal, even were you to bribe them to do so." Ki K'ang, when consulting Confucius about the government, said, "Suppose I were to put to death the disorderly for the better encouragement of the orderly--what say you to that?" "Sir," replied Confucius, "in the administration of government why resort to capital punishment? Covet what is good, and the people will be good. The virtue of the noble-minded man is as the wind, and that of inferior men as grass; the grass must bend, when the wind blows upon it." Tsz-chang asked how otherwise he would describe the learned official who might be termed influential. "What, I wonder, do you mean by one who is influential?" said the Master. "I mean," replied the disciple, "one who is sure to have a reputation throughout the country, as well as at home." "That," said the Master, "is reputation, not influence. The influential man, then, if he be one who is genuinely straightforward and loves what is just and right, a discriminator of men's words, and an observer of their looks, and in honor careful to prefer others to himself--will certainly have influence, both throughout the country and at home. The man of mere reputation, on the other hand, who speciously affects philanthropy, though in his way of procedure he acts contrary to it, while yet quite evidently engrossed with that virtue--will certainly have reputation, both in the country and at home." Fan Ch'i, strolling with him over the ground below the place of the rain-dance, said to him, "I venture to ask how to raise the standard of virtue, how to reform dissolute habits, and how to discern what is illusory?" "Ah! a good question indeed!" he exclaimed. "Well, is not putting duty first, and success second, a way of raising the standard of virtue? And is not attacking the evil in one's self, and not the evil which is in others, a way of reforming dissolute habits? And as to illusions, is not one morning's fit of anger, causing a man to forget himself, and even involving in the consequences those who are near and dear to him--is not that an illusion?" The same disciple asked him what was meant by "a right regard for one's fellow-creatures." He replied, "It is love to man." Asked by him again what was meant by wisdom, he replied, "It is knowledge of man." Fan Ch'i did not quite grasp his meaning. The Master went on to say, "Lift up the straight, set aside the crooked, so can you make the crooked straight." Fan Ch'i left him, and meeting with Tsz-hiá he said, "I had an interview just now with the Master, and I asked him what wisdom was. In his answer he said, 'Lift up the straight, set aside the crooked, and so can you make the crooked straight.' What was his meaning?" "Ah! words rich in meaning, those," said the other. "When Shun was emperor, and was selecting his men from among the multitude, he 'lifted up' Káu-yáu; and men devoid of right feelings towards their kind went far away. And when T'ang was emperor, and chose out his men from the crowd, he 'lifted up' I-yin--with the same result." Tsz-kung was consulting him about a friend. "Speak to him frankly, and respectfully," said the Master, "and gently lead him on. If you do not succeed, then stop; do not submit yourself to indignity." The learned Tsang observed, "In the society of books the 'superior man' collects his friends; in the society of his friends he is furthering good-will among men." [Footnote 29: From Confucius, it is generally thought.] BOOK XIII Answers on the Art of Governing--Consistency Tsz-lu was asking about government. "Lead the way in it," said the Master, "and work hard at it." Requested to say more, he added, "And do not tire of it." Chung-kung, on being made first minister to the Chief of the Ki family, consulted the Master about government, and to him he said, "Let the heads of offices be heads. Excuse small faults. Promote men of sagacity and talent." "But," he asked, "how am I to know the sagacious and talented, before promoting them?" "Promote those whom you do know," said the Master. "As to those of whom you are uncertain, will others omit to notice them?" Tsz-lu said to the Master, "As the prince of Wei, sir, has been waiting for you to act for him in his government, what is it your intention to take in hand first?" "One thing of necessity," he answered--"the rectification of terms." "That!" exclaimed Tsz-lu. "How far away you are, sir! Why such rectification?" "What a rustic you are, Tsz-lu!" rejoined the Master. "A gentleman would be a little reserved and reticent in matters which he does not understand. If terms be incorrect, language will be incongruous; and if language be incongruous, deeds will be imperfect. So, again, when deeds are imperfect, propriety and harmony cannot prevail, and when this is the case laws relating to crime will fail in their aim; and if these last so fail, the people will not know where to set hand or foot. Hence, a man of superior mind, certain first of his terms, is fitted to speak; and being certain of what he says can proceed upon it. In the language of such a person there is nothing heedlessly irregular--and that is the sum of the matter." Fan Ch'i requested that he might learn something of husbandry. "For that." said the Master, "I am not equal to an old husbandman." Might he then learn something of gardening? he asked. "I am not equal to an old gardener." was the reply. "A man of little mind, that!" said the Master, when Fan Ch'i had gone out. "Let a man who is set over the people love propriety, and they will not presume to be disrespectful. Let him be a lover of righteousness, and they will not presume to be aught but submissive. Let him love faithfulness and truth, and they will not presume not to lend him their hearty assistance. Ah, if all this only were so, the people from all sides would come to such a one, carrying their children on their backs. What need to turn his hand to husbandry? "Though a man," said he, "could hum through the Odes--the three hundred--yet should show himself unskilled when given some administrative work to do for his country; though he might know much of that other lore, yet if, when sent on a mission to any quarter, he could answer no question personally and unaided, what after all is he good for? "Let a leader," said he, "show rectitude in his own personal character, and even without directions from him things will go well. If he be not personally upright, his directions will not be complied with." Once he made the remark, "The governments of Lu and of Wei are in brotherhood." Of King, a son of the Duke of Wei, he observed that "he managed his household matters well. On his coming into possession, he thought, 'What a strange conglomeration!'--Coming to possess a little more, it was, 'Strange, such a result!' And when he became wealthy, 'Strange, such elegance!'" The Master was on a journey to Wei, and Yen Yu was driving him. "What multitudes of people!" he exclaimed. Yen Yu asked him, "Seeing they are so numerous, what more would you do for them?" "Enrich them," replied the Master. "And after enriching them, what more would you do for them?" "Instruct them." "Were any one of our princes to employ me," he said, "after a twelvemonth I might have made some tolerable progress;" Again, "How true is that saying, 'Let good men have the management of a country for a century, and they would be adequate to cope with evil-doers, and thus do away with capital punishments,'" Again, "Suppose the ruler to possess true kingly qualities, then surely after one generation there would be good-will among men." Again, "Let a ruler but see to his own rectitude, and what trouble will he then have in the work before him? If he be unable to rectify himself, how is he to rectify others?" Once when Yen Yu was leaving the Court, the Master accosted him. "Why so late?" he asked. "Busy with legislation," Yen replied. "The details of it," suggested the Master; "had it been legislation, I should have been there to hear it, even though I am not in office." Duke Ting asked if there were one sentence which, if acted upon, might have the effect of making a country prosperous. Confucius answered, "A sentence could hardly be supposed to do so much as that. But there is a proverb people use which says, 'To play the prince is hard, to play the minister not easy.' Assuming that it is understood that 'to play the prince is hard,' would it not be probable that with that one sentence the country should be made to prosper?" "Is there, then," he asked, "one sentence which, if acted upon, would have the effect of ruining a country?" Confucius again replied, "A sentence could hardly be supposed to do so much as that. But there is a proverb men have which says, 'Not gladly would I play the prince, unless my words were ne'er withstood.' Assuming that the words were good, and that none withstood them, would not that also be good? But assuming that they were not good, and yet none withstood them, would it not be probable that with that one saying he would work his country's ruin?" When the Duke of Sheh consulted him about government, he replied, "Where the near are gratified, the far will follow." When Tsz-hiá became governor of Kü-fu, and consulted him about government, he answered, "Do not wish for speedy results. Do not look at trivial advantages. If you wish for speedy results, they will not be far-reaching; and if you regard trivial advantages you will not successfully deal with important affairs." The Duke of Sheh in a conversation with Confucius said, "There are some straightforward persons in my neighborhood. If a father has stolen a sheep, the son will give evidence against him." "Straightforward people in my neighborhood are different from those," said Confucius. "The father will hold a thing secret on his son's behalf, and the son does the same for his father. They are on their way to becoming straightforward." Fan Ch'i was asking him about duty to one's fellow-men. "Be courteous," he replied, "in your private sphere; be serious in any duty you take in hand to do; be leal-hearted in your intercourse with others. Even though you were to go amongst the wild tribes, it would not be right for you to neglect these duties." In answer to Tsz-kung, who asked, "how he would characterize one who could fitly be called 'learned official,'" the Master said, "He may be so-called who in his private life is affected with a sense of his own unworthiness, and who, when sent on a mission to any quarter of the empire, would not disgrace his prince's commands." "May I presume," said his questioner, "to ask what sort you would put next to such?" "Him who is spoken of by his kinsmen as a dutiful son, and whom the folks of his neighborhood call' good brother.'" "May I still venture to ask whom you would place next in order?" "Such as are sure to be true to their word, and effective in their work--who are given to hammering, as it were, upon one note--of inferior calibre indeed, but fit enough, I think, to be ranked next." "How would you describe those who are at present in the government service?" "Ugh! mere peck and panier men!--not worth taking into the reckoning." Once he remarked, "If I cannot get _via media_ men to impart instruction to, then I must of course take the impetuous and undisciplined! The impetuous ones will at least go forward and lay hold on things; and the undisciplined have at least something in them which needs to be brought out." "The Southerners," said he, "have the proverb, 'The man who sticks not to rule will never make a charm-worker or a medical man,' Good!--'Whoever is intermittent in his practise of virtue will live to be ashamed of it.' Without prognostication," he added, "that will indeed be so." "The nobler-minded man," he remarked, "will be agreeable even when he disagrees; the small-minded man will agree and be disagreeable." Tsz-kung was consulting him, and asked, "What say you of a person who was liked by all in his village?" "That will scarcely do," he answered. "What, then, if they all disliked him?" "That, too," said he, "is scarcely enough. Better if he were liked by the good folk in the village, and disliked by the bad." "The superior man," he once observed, "is easy to serve, but difficult to please. Try to please him by the adoption of wrong principles, and you will fail. Also, when such a one employs others, he uses them according to their capacity. The inferior man is, on the other hand, difficult to serve, but easy to please. Try to please him by the adoption of wrong principles, and you will succeed. And when he employs others he requires them to be fully prepared for everything." Again, "The superior man can be high without being haughty. The inferior man can be haughty if not high." "The firm, the unflinching, the plain and simple, the slow to speak," said he once, "are approximating towards their duty to their fellow-men." Tsz-lu asked how he would characterize one who might fitly be called an educated gentleman. The master replied, "He who can properly be so-called will have in him a seriousness of purpose, a habit of controlling himself, and an agreeableness of manner: among his friends and associates the seriousness and the self-control, and among his brethren the agreeableness of manner." "Let good and able men discipline the people for seven years," said the Master, "and after that they may do to go to war." But, said he, "To lead an undisciplined people to war--that I call throwing them away." BOOK XIV Good and Bad Government--Miscellaneous Sayings Yuen Sz asked what might be considered to bring shame on one. "Pay," said the Master; "pay--ever looking to that, whether the country be well or badly governed." "When imperiousness, boastfulness, resentments, and covetousness cease to prevail among the people, may it be considered that mutual good-will has been effected?" To this question the Master replied, "A hard thing overcome, it may be considered. But as to the mutual good-will--I cannot tell." "Learned officials," said he, "who hanker after a home life, are not worthy of being esteemed as such." Again, "In a country under good government, speak boldly, act boldly. When the land is ill-governed, though you act boldly, let your words be moderate." Again, "Men of virtue will needs be men of words--will speak out--but men of words are not necessarily men of virtue. They who care for their fellow-men will needs be bold, but the bold may not necessarily be such as care for their fellow-men." Nan-kung Kwoh, who was consulting Confucius, observed respecting I, the skilful archer, and Ngau, who could propel a boat on dry land, that neither of them died a natural death; while Yu and Tsih, who with their own hands had labored at husbandry, came to wield imperial sway. The Master gave him no reply. But when the speaker had gone out he exclaimed, "A superior man, that! A man who values virtue, that!" "There have been noble-minded men," said he, "who yet were wanting in philanthropy; but never has there been a small-minded man who had philanthropy in him." He asked, "Can any one refuse to toil for those he loves? Can any one refuse to exhort, who is true-hearted?" Speaking of the preparation of Government Notifications in his day he said, "P'i would draw up a rough sketch of what was to be said; the Shishuh then looked it carefully through and put it into proper shape; Tsz-yu next, who was master of the ceremonial of State intercourse, improved and adorned its phrases; and Tsz-ch'an of Tung-li added his scholarly embellishments thereto." To some one who asked his opinion of the last-named, he said, "He was a kind-hearted man." Asked what he thought of Tsz-si, he exclaimed, "Alas for him! alas for him!"--Asked again about Kwan Chung, his answer was, "As to him, he once seized the town of P'in with its three hundred families from the Chief of the Pih clan, who, afterwards reduced to living upon coarse rice, with all his teeth gone, never uttered a word of complaint." "It is no light thing," said he, "to endure poverty uncomplainingly; and a difficult thing to bear wealth without becoming arrogant." Respecting Mang Kung-ch'oh, he said that, while he was fitted for something better than the post of chief officer in the Cháu or Wei families, he was not competent to act as minister in small States like those of T'ang or Sieh. Tsz-lu asked how he would describe a perfect man. He replied, "Let a man have the sagacity of Tsang Wu-chung, the freedom from covetousness of Kung-ch'oh, the boldness of Chwang of P'in, and the attainments in polite arts of Yen Yu; and gift him further with the graces taught by the 'Books of Rites' and 'Music'--then he may be considered a perfect man. But," said he, "what need of such in these days? The man that may be regarded as perfect now is the one who, seeing some advantage to himself, is mindful of righteousness; who, seeing danger, risks his life; and who, if bound by some covenant of long standing, never forgets its conditions as life goes on." Respecting Kung-shuh Wan, the Master inquired of Kung-ming Kiá, saying, "Is it true that your master never speaks, never laughs, never takes aught from others?" "Those who told you that of him," said he, "have gone too far. My master speaks when there is occasion to do so, and men are not surfeited with his speaking. When there is occasion to be merry too, he will laugh, but men have never overmuch of his laughing. And whenever it is just and right to take things from others, he will take them, but never so as to allow men to think him burdensome." "Is that the case with him?" said the Master. "Can it be so?" Respecting Tsang Wu-chung the Master said, "When he sought from Lu the appointment of a successor to him, and for this object held on to his possession of the fortified city of Fang--if you say he was not then using constraint towards his prince, I must refuse to believe it." Duke Wan of Tsin he characterized as "artful but not upright"; and Duke Hwan of Ts'i as "upright but not artful." Tsz-lu remarked, "When Duke Hwan caused his brother Kiu to be put to death, Shau Hwuh committed suicide, but Kwan Chung did not. I should say he was not a man who had much good-will in him--eh?" The Master replied, "When Duke Hwan held a great gathering of the feudal lords, dispensing with military equipage, it was owing to Kwan Chung's energy that such an event was brought about. Match such good-will as that--match it if you can." Tsz-kung then spoke up. "But was not Kwan Chung wanting in good-will? He could not give up his life when Duke Hwan caused his brother to be put to death. Besides, he became the duke's counsellor." "And in acting as his counsellor put him at the head of all the feudal lords," said the Master, "and unified and reformed the whole empire; and the people, even to this day, reap benefit from what he did. Had it not been for him we should have been going about with locks unkempt and buttoning our jackets (like barbarians) on the left. Would you suppose that he should show the same sort of attachment as exists between a poor yokel and his one wife--that he would asphyxiate himself in some sewer, leaving no one the wiser?" Kung-shuh Wan's steward, who became the high officer Sien, went up accompanied by Wan to the prince's hall of audience. When Confucius heard of this he remarked, "He may well be esteemed a 'Wan,'" The Master having made some reference to the lawless ways of Duke Ling of Wei, Ki K'ang said to him, "If he be like that, how is it he does not ruin his position?" Confucius answered, "The Chung-shuh, Yu, is charged with the entertainment of visitors and strangers; the priest T'o has charge of the ancestral temple; and Wang-sun Kiá has the control of the army and its divisions:--with men such as those, how should he come to ruin?" He once remarked, "He who is unblushing in his words will with difficulty substantiate them." Ch'in Shing had slain Duke Kien. Hearing of this, Confucius, after performing his ablutions, went to Court and announced the news to Duke Ngai, saying, "Ch'in Hang has slain his prince. May I request that you proceed against him?" "Inform the Chiefs of the Three Families," said the duke. Soliloquizing upon this, Confucius said, "Since he uses me to back his ministers, [30] I did not dare not to announce the matter to him; and now he says, 'Inform the Three Chiefs.'" He went to the Three Chiefs and informed them, but nothing could be done. Whereupon again he said, "Since he uses me to back his ministers, I did not dare not to announce the matter." Tsz-lu was questioning him as to how he should serve his prince. "Deceive him not, but reprove him," he answered. "The minds of superior men," he observed, "trend upwards; those of inferior men trend downwards." Again, "Students of old fixed their eyes upon themselves: now they learn with their eyes upon others." Kü Pih-yuh despatched a man with a message to Confucius. Confucius gave him a seat, and among other inquiries he asked, "How is your master managing?" "My master," he replied, "has a great wish to be seldom at fault, and as yet he cannot manage it." "What a messenger!" exclaimed he admiringly, when the man went out. "What a messenger!" "When not occupying the office," was a remark of his, "devise not the policy." The Learned Tsang used to say, "The thoughts of the 'superior man' do not wander from his own office." "Superior men," said the Master, "are modest in their words, profuse in their deeds." Again, "There are three attainments of the superior man which are beyond me--the being sympathetic without anxiety, wise without scepticism, brave without fear." "Sir," said Tsz-kung, "that is what you say of yourself." Whenever Tsz-kung drew comparisons from others, the Master would say, "Ah, how wise and great you must have become! Now I have no time to do that." Again, "My great concern is, not that men do not know me, but that they cannot." Again, "If a man refrain from making preparations against his being imposed upon, and from counting upon others' want of good faith towards him, while he is foremost to perceive what is passing--surely that is a wise and good man." Wi-shang Mau accosted Confucius, saying, "Kiu, how comes it that you manage to go perching and roosting in this way? Is it not because you show yourself so smart a speaker, now?" "I should not dare do that," said Confucius. "Tis that I am sick of men's immovableness and deafness to reason." "In a well-bred horse," said he, "what one admires is not its speed, but its good points." Some one asked, "What say you of the remark, 'Requite enmity with kindness'?" "How then," he answered, "would you requite kindness? Requite enmity with straightforwardness, and kindness with kindness." "Ah! no one knows me!" he once exclaimed. "Sir," said Tsz-kung, "how comes it to pass that no one knows you?" "While I murmur not against Heaven," continued the Master, "nor cavil at men; while I stoop to learn and aspire to penetrate into things that are high; yet 'tis Heaven alone knows what I am." Liáu, a kinsman of the duke, having laid a complaint against Tsz-lu before Ki K'ang, an officer came to Confucius to inform him of the fact, and he added, "My lord is certainly having his mind poisoned by his kinsman Liáu, but through my influence perhaps we may yet manage to see him exposed in the marketplace or the Court." "If right principles are to have their course, it is so destined," said the Master; "if they are not to have their course, it is so destined. What can Liáu do against Destiny?" "There are worthy men," said the Master, "fleeing from the world; some from their district; some from the sight of men's looks; some from the language they hear." "The men who have risen from their posts and withdrawn in this manner are seven in number." Tsz-lu, having lodged overnight in Shih-mun, was accosted by the gate-keeper in the morning. "Where from?" he asked. "From Confucius," Tsz-lu responded. "That is the man," said he, "who knows things are not up to the mark, and is making some ado about them, is it not?" When the Master was in Wei, he was once pounding on the musical stone, when a man with a basket of straw crossed his threshold, and exclaimed, "Ah, there is a heart that feels! Aye, drub the stone!" After which he added, "How vulgar! how he hammers away on one note!--and no one knows him, and he gives up, and all is over! Be it deep, our skirts we'll raise to the waist, --Or shallow, then up to the knee,'" "What determination!" said the Master. "Yet it was not hard to do." Tsz-chang once said to him, "In the 'Book of the Annals' it is stated that while Káu-tsung was in the Mourning Shed he spent the three years without speaking. What is meant by that?" "Why must you name Káu-tsung?" said the Master. "It was so with all other ancient sovereigns: when one of them died, the heads of every department agreed between themselves that they should give ear for three years to the Prime Minister." "When their betters love the Rules, then the folk are easy tools," was a saying of the Master. Tsz-lu having asked what made a "superior man," he answered, "Self-culture, with a view to becoming seriously-minded." "Nothing more than that?" said he. "Self-culture with a view to the greater satisfaction of others," added the Master. "That, and yet no more?" "Self-culture with a view to the greater satisfaction of all the clans and classes," he again added. "Self-culture for the sake of all--a result that, that would almost put Yau and Shun into the shade!" To Yuen Jang, [31] who was sitting waiting for him in a squatting (disrespectful) posture, the Master delivered himself as follows: "The man who in his youth could show no humility or subordination, who in his prime misses his opportunity, and who when old age comes upon him will not die--that man is a miscreant." And he tapped him on the shin with his staff. Some one asked about his attendant--a youth from the village of Kiueh--whether he was one who improved. He replied, "I note that he seats himself in the places reserved for his betters, and that when he is walking he keeps abreast with his seniors. He is not one of those who care for improvement: he wants to be a man all at once." [Footnote 30: Confucius had now retired from office, and this incident occurred only two years before his death.] [Footnote 31: It is a habit with the Chinese, when a number are out walking together, for the eldest to go first, the others pairing off according to their age. It is a custom much older than the time of Confucius.] BOOK XV Practical Wisdom--Reciprocity the Rule of Life Duke Ling of Wei was consulting Confucius about army arrangements. His answer was, "Had you asked me about such things as temple requisites, I have learnt that business, but I have not yet studied military matters." And he followed up this reply by leaving on the following day. After this, during his residence in the State of Ch'in, his followers, owing to a stoppage of food supply, became so weak and ill that not one of them could stand. Tsz-lu, with indignation pictured on his countenance, exclaimed, "And is a gentleman to suffer starvation?" "A gentleman," replied the Master, "will endure it unmoved, but a common person breaks out into excesses under it." Addressing Tsz-kung, the Master said, "You regard me as one who studies and stores up in his mind a multiplicity of things--do you not?"--"I do," he replied; "is it not so?"--"Not at all. I have one idea--one cord on which to string all." To Tsz-lu he remarked, "They who know Virtue are rare." "If you would know one who without effort ruled well, was not Shun such a one? What did he indeed do? He bore himself with reverent dignity and undeviatingly 'faced the south,' and that was all." Tsz-chang was consulting him about making way in life. He answered, "Be true and honest in all you say, and seriously earnest in all you do, and then, even if your country be one inhabited by barbarians, South or North, you will make your way. If you do not show yourself thus in word and deed how should you succeed, even in your own district or neighborhood?--When you are afoot, let these two counsels be two companions preceding you, yourself viewing them from behind; when you drive, have them in view as on the yoke of your carriage. Then may you make your way." Tsz-chang wrote them on the two ends of his cincture. "Straight was the course of the Annalist Yu," said the Master--"aye, straight as an arrow flies; were the country well governed or ill governed, his was an arrow-like course. "A man of masterly mind, too, is Kü Pih-yuh! When the land is being rightly governed he will serve; when it is under bad government he is apt to recoil, and brood." "Not to speak to a man." said he, "to whom you ought to speak, is to lose your man; to speak to one to whom you ought not to speak is to lose your words. Those who are wise will not lose their man nor yet their words." Again, "The scholar whose heart is in his work, and who is philanthropic, seeks not to gain a livelihood by any means that will do harm to his philanthropy. There have been men who have destroyed their own lives in the endeavor to bring that virtue in them to perfection." Tsz-kung asked how to become philanthropic. The Master answered him thus: "A workman who wants to do his work well must first sharpen his tools. In whatever land you live, serve under some wise and good man among those in high office, and make friends with the more humane of its men of education." Yen Yuen consulted him on the management of a country. He answered:-- "Go by the Hiá Calendar. Have the State carriages like those of the Yin princes. Wear the Chow cap. For your music let that of Shun be used for the posturers. Put away the songs of Ch'ing, and remove far from you men of artful speech: the Ch'ing songs are immodest, and artful talkers are dangerous." Other sayings of the Master:-- "They who care not for the morrow will the sooner have their sorrow. "Ah, 'tis hopeless! I have not yet met with the man who loves Virtue as he loves Beauty. "Was not Tsang Wan like one who surreptitiously came by the post he held? He knew the worth of Hwúi of Liu-hiá, and could not stand in his presence. "Be generous yourself, and exact little from others; then you banish complaints. "With one who does not come to me inquiring 'What of this?' and 'What of that?' I never can ask 'What of this?' and give him up. "If a number of students are all day together, and in their conversation never approach the subject of righteousness, but are fond merely of giving currency to smart little sayings, they are difficult indeed to manage. "When the 'superior man' regards righteousness as the thing material, gives operation to it according to the Rules of Propriety, lets it issue in humility, and become complete in sincerity--there indeed is your superior man! "The trouble of the superior man will be his own want of ability: it will be no trouble to him that others do not know him. "Such a man thinks it hard to end his days and leave a name to be no longer named. "The superior man is exacting of himself; the common man is exacting of others. "A superior man has self-respect, and does not strive; is sociable, yet no party man. "He does not promote a man because of his words, or pass over the words because of the man." Tsz-kung put to him the question, "Is there one word upon which the whole life may proceed?" The Master replied, "Is not Reciprocity such a word?--what you do not yourself desire, do not put before others." "So far as I have to do with others, whom do I over-censure? whom do I over-praise? If there be something in them that looks very praiseworthy, that something I put to the test. I would have the men of the present day to walk in the straight path whereby those of the Three Dynasties have walked. "I have arrived as it were at the annalist's blank page.--Once he who had a horse would lend it to another to mount; now, alas! it is not so. "Artful speech is the confusion of Virtue. Impatience over little things introduces confusion into great schemes. "What is disliked by the masses needs inquiring into; so also does that which they have a preference for. "A man may give breadth to his principles: it is not principles (in themselves) that give breadth to the man. "Not to retract after committing an error may itself be called error. "If I have passed the whole day without food and the whole night without sleep, occupied with my thoughts, it profits me nothing: I were better engaged in learning. "The superior man deliberates upon how he may walk in truth, not upon what he may eat. The farmer may plough, and be on the way to want: the student learns, and is on his way to emolument. To live a right life is the concern of men of nobler minds: poverty gives them none. "Whatsoever the intellect may attain to, unless the humanity within is powerful enough to keep guard over it, is assuredly lost, even though it be gained. "If there be intellectual attainments, and the humanity within is powerful enough to keep guard over them, yet, unless (in a ruler) there be dignity in his rule, the people will fail to show him respect. "Again, given the intellectual attainments, and humanity sufficient to keep watch over them, and also dignity in ruling, yet if his movements be not in accordance with the Rules of Propriety, he is not yet fully qualified. "The superior man may not be conversant with petty details, and yet may have important matters put into his hands. The inferior man may not be charged with important matters, yet may be conversant with the petty details. "Good-fellowship is more to men than fire and water. I have seen men stepping into fire and into water, and meeting with death thereby; I have not yet seen a man die from planting his steps in the path of good-fellowship. "Rely upon good nature. 'Twill not allow precedence even to a teacher. "The superior man is inflexibly upright, and takes not things upon trust. "In serving your prince, make your service the serious concern, and let salary be a secondary matter. "Where instruction is to be given, there must be no distinction of persons. "Where men's methods are not identical, there can be no planning by one on behalf of another. "In speaking, perspicuity is all that is needed." When the blind music-master Mien paid him a visit, on his approaching the steps the Master called out "Steps," and on his coming to the mat, said "Mat." When all in the room were seated, the Master told him "So-and-so is here, so-and-so is here." When the music-master had left, Tsz-chang said to him, "Is that the way to speak to the music-master?" "Well," he replied, "it is certainly the way to assist him." BOOK XVI Against Intestine Strife--Good and Bad Friendships The Chief of the Ki family was about to make an onslaught upon the Chuen-yu domain. Yen Yu and Tsz-lu in an interview with Confucius told him, "The Ki is about to have an affair with Chuen-yu." "Yen," said Confucius, "does not the fault lie with you? The Chief of Chuen-yu in times past was appointed lord of the East Mung (mountain); besides, he dwells within the confines of your own State, and is an official of the State-worship; how can you think of making an onslaught upon him?" "It is the wish of our Chief," said Yen Yu, "not the wish of either of us ministers." Confucius said, "Yen, there is a sentence of Cháu Jin which runs thus: 'Having made manifest their powers and taken their place in the official list, when they find themselves incompetent they resign; if they cannot be firm when danger threatens the government, nor lend support when it is reeling, of what use then shall they be as Assistants?'--Besides, you are wrong in what you said. When a rhinoceros or tiger breaks out of its cage--when a jewel or tortoise-shell ornament is damaged in its casket--whose fault is it?" "But," said Yen Yu, "so far as Chuen-yu is concerned, it is now fortified, and it is close to Pi; and if he does not now take it, in another generation it will certainly be a trouble to his descendants." "Yen!" exclaimed Confucius, "it is a painful thing to a superior man to have to desist from saying, 'My wish is so-and-so,' and to be obliged to make apologies. For my part, I have learnt this--that rulers of States and heads of Houses are not greatly concerned about their small following, but about the want of equilibrium in it--that they do not concern themselves about their becoming poor, but about the best means of living quietly and contentedly; for where equilibrium is preserved there will be no poverty, where there is harmony their following will not be small, and where there is quiet contentment there will be no decline nor fall. Now if that be the case, it follows that if men in outlying districts are not submissive, then a reform in education and morals will bring them to; and when they have been so won, then will you render them quiet and contented. At the present time you two are Assistants of your Chief; the people in the outlying districts are not submissive, and cannot be brought round. Your dominion is divided, prostrate, dispersed, cleft in pieces, and you as its guardians are powerless. And plans are being made for taking up arms against those who dwell within your own State. I am apprehensive that the sorrow of the Ki family is not to lie in Chuen-yu, but in those within their own screen." "When the empire is well-ordered," said Confucius, "it is from the emperor that edicts regarding ceremonial, music, and expeditions to quell rebellion go forth. When it is being ill governed, such edicts emanate from the feudal lords; and when the latter is the case, it will be strange if in ten generations there is not a collapse. If they emanate merely from the high officials, it will be strange if the collapse do not come in five generations. When the State-edicts are in the hands of the subsidiary ministers, it will be strange if in three generations there is no collapse. "When the empire is well-ordered, government is not left in the hands of high officials. "When the empire is well-ordered, the common people will cease to discuss public matters." "For five generations," he said, "the revenue has departed from the ducal household. Four generations ago the government fell into the hands of the high officials. Hence, alas! the straitened means of the descendants of the three Hwan families." "There are," said he, "three kinds of friendships which are profitable, and three which are detrimental. To make friends with the upright, with the trustworthy, with the experienced, is to gain benefit; to make friends with the subtly perverse, with the artfully pliant, with the subtle in speech, is detrimental." Again, "There are three kinds of pleasure which are profitable, and three which are detrimental. To take pleasure in going regularly through the various branches of Ceremonial and Music, in speaking of others' goodness, in having many worthy wise friends, is profitable. To take pleasure in wild bold pleasures, in idling carelessly about, in the too jovial accompaniments of feasting, is detrimental." Again, "Three errors there be, into which they who wait upon their superior may fall:--(1) to speak before the opportunity comes to them to speak, which I call heedless haste; (2) refraining from speaking when the opportunity has come, which I call concealment; and (3) speaking, regardless of the mood he is in, which I call blindness." Again, "Three things a superior should guard against:--(1) against the lusts of the flesh in his earlier years while the vital powers are not fully developed and fixed; (2) against the spirit of combativeness when he has come to the age of robust manhood and when the vital powers are matured and strong, and (3) against ambitiousness when old age has come on and the vital powers have become weak and decayed." "Three things also such a man greatly reveres:--(1) the ordinances of Heaven, (2) great men, (3) words of sages. The inferior man knows not the ordinances of Heaven and therefore reveres them not, is unduly familiar in the presence of great men, and scoffs at the words of sages." "They whose knowledge comes by birth are of all men the first in understanding; they to whom it comes by study are next; men of poor intellectual capacity, who yet study, may be added as a yet inferior class; and lowest of all are they who are poor in intellect and never learn." "Nine things there are of which the superior man should be mindful:--to be clear in vision, quick in hearing, genial in expression, respectful in demeanor, true in word, serious in duty, inquiring in doubt, firmly self-controlled in anger, just and fair when the way to success opens out before him." "Some have spoken of 'looking upon goodness as upon something beyond their reach,' and of 'looking upon evil as like plunging one's hands into scalding liquid';--I have seen the men, I have heard the sayings. "Some, again, have talked of 'living in seclusion to work out their designs,' and of 'exercising themselves in righteous living in order to render their principles the more effective';--I have heard the sayings, I have not seen the men." "Duke King of Ts'i had his thousand teams of four, yet on the day of his death the people had nothing to say of his goodness. Peh-I and Shuh-Ts'i starved at the foot of Shau-yang, and the people make mention of them to this day. 'E'en if not wealth thine object be, 'Tis all the same, thou'rt changed to me.' "Is not this apropos in such cases?" Tsz-k'in asked of Pih-yu, "Have you heard anything else peculiar from your father?" "Not yet," said he. "Once, though, he was standing alone when I was hurrying past him over the vestibule, and he said, 'Are you studying the Odes?' 'Not yet,' I replied. 'If you do not learn the Odes,' said he, 'you will not have the wherewithal for conversing,' I turned away and studied the Odes. Another day, when he was again standing alone and I was hurrying past across the vestibule, he said to me, 'Are you learning the Rules of Propriety?' 'Not yet,' I replied. 'If you have not studied the Rules, you have nothing to stand upon,' said he. I turned away and studied the Rules.--These two things I have heard from him." Tsz-k'in turned away, and in great glee exclaimed, "I asked one thing, and have got three. I have learnt something about the Odes, and about the Rules, and moreover I have learnt how the superior man will turn away his own son." The wife of the ruler of a State is called by her husband "My helpmeet." She speaks of herself as "Your little handmaiden." The people of that State call her "The prince's helpmeet," but addressing persons of another State they speak of her as "Our little princess." When persons of another State name her they say also "Your prince's helpmeet." BOOK XVII The Master Induced to Take Office--Nature and Habit Yang Ho was desirous of having an interview with Confucius, but on the latter's failing to go and see him, he sent a present of a pig to his house. Confucius went to return his acknowledgments for it at a time when he was not at home. They met, however, on the way. He said to Confucius, "Come, I want a word with you. Can that man be said to have good-will towards his fellow-men who hugs and hides his own precious gifts and allows his country to go on in blind error?" "He cannot," was the reply. "And can he be said to be wise who, with a liking for taking part in the public service, is constantly letting slip his opportunities?" "He cannot," was the reply again. "And the days and months are passing; and the years do not wait for us." "True," said Confucius; "I will take office." It was a remark of the Master that while "by nature we approximate towards each other, by experience we go far asunder." Again, "Only the supremely wise and the most deeply ignorant do not alter." The Master once, on his arrival at Wu-shing, heard the sound of stringed instruments and singing. His face beamed with pleasure, and he said laughingly, "To kill a cock--why use an ox-knife?" Tsz-yu, the governor, replied, "In former days, sir, I heard you say, 'Let the superior man learn right principles, and he will be loving to other men; let the ordinary person learn right principles, and he will be easily managed.'" The Master (turning to his disciples) said, "Sirs, what he says is right: what I said just now was only in play." Having received an invitation from Kung-shan Fuh-jau, who was in revolt against the government and was holding to his district of Pi, the Master showed an inclination to go. Tsz-lu was averse to this, and said, "You can never go, that is certain; how should you feel you must go to that person?" "Well," said the Master, "he who has invited me must surely not have done so without a sufficient reason! And if it should happen that my services were enlisted, I might create for him another East Chow--don't you think so?" Tsz-chang asked Confucius about the virtue of philanthropy. His answer was, "It is the being able to put in practice five qualities, in any place under the sun." "May I ask, please, what these are?" said the disciple. "They are," he said, "dignity, indulgence, faithfulness, earnestness, kindness. If you show dignity you will not be mocked; if you are indulgent you will win the multitude; if faithful, men will place their trust in you; if earnest, you will do something meritorious; and if kind, you will be enabled to avail yourself amply of men's services." Pih Hih sent the Master an invitation, and he showed an inclination to go. Tsz-lu (seeing this) said to him, "In former days, sir, I have heard you say, 'A superior man will not enter the society of one who does not that which is good in matters concerning himself'; and this man is in revolt, with Chung-man in his possession; if you go to him, how will the case stand?" "Yes," said the Master, "those are indeed my words; but is it not said, 'What is hard may be rubbed without being made thin,' and 'White may be stained without being made black'?--I am surely not a gourd! How am I to be strung up like that kind of thing--and live without means?" "Tsz-lu," said the Master, "you have heard of the six words with their six obfuscations?" "No," said he, "not so far." "Sit down, and I will tell you them. They are these six virtues, cared for without care for any study about them:--philanthropy, wisdom, faithfulness, straightforwardness, courage, firmness. And the six obfuscations resulting from not liking to learn about them are, respectively, these:--fatuity, mental dissipation, mischievousness, perversity, insubordination, impetuosity." "My children," said he once, "why does no one of you study the Odes?--They are adapted to rouse the mind, to assist observation, to make people sociable, to arouse virtuous indignation. They speak of duties near and far--the duty of ministering to a parent, the duty of serving one's prince; and it is from them that one becomes conversant with the names of many birds, and beasts, and plants, and trees." To his son Pih-yu he said, "Study you the Odes of Chow and the South, and those of Shau and the South. The man who studies not these is, I should say, somewhat in the position of one who stands facing a wall!" "'Etiquette demands it.' 'Etiquette demands it,' so people plead," said he; "but do not these hankerings after jewels and silks indeed demand it? Or it is, 'The study of Music requires it'--'Music requires it'; but do not these predilections for bells and drums require it?" Again, "They who assume an outward appearance of severity, being inwardly weak, may be likened to low common men; nay, are they not somewhat like thieves that break through walls and steal?" Again, "The plebeian kind of respect for piety is the very pest of virtue." Again, "Listening on the road, and repeating in the lane--this is abandonment of virtue." "Ah, the low-minded creatures!" he exclaimed. "How is it possible indeed to serve one's prince in their company? Before they have got what they wanted they are all anxiety to get it, and after they have got it they are all anxiety lest they should lose it; and while they are thus full of concern lest they should lose it, there is no length to which they will not go." Again, "In olden times people had three moral infirmities; which, it may be, are now unknown. Ambitiousness in those olden days showed itself in momentary outburst; the ambitiousness of to-day runs riot. Austerity in those days had its sharp angles; in these it is irritable and perverse. Feebleness of intellect then was at least straightforward; in our day it is never aught but deceitful." Again, "Rarely do we find mutual good feeling where there is fine speech and studied mien." Again, "To me it is abhorrent that purple color should be made to detract from that of vermilion. Also that the Odes of Ch'ing should be allowed to introduce discord in connection with the music of the Festal Songs and Hymns. Also that sharp-whetted tongues should be permitted to subvert governments." Once said he, "Would that I could dispense with speech!" "Sir," said Tsz-kung, "if you were never to speak, what should your pupils have to hand down from you?" "Does Heaven ever speak?" said the Master. "The four seasons come and go, and all creatures live and grow. Does Heaven indeed speak?" Once Ju Pi desired an interview with Confucius, from which the latter excused himself on the score of ill-health; but while the attendant was passing out through the doorway with the message he took his lute and sang, in such a way as to let him hear him. Tsai Wo questioned him respecting the three years' mourning, saying that one full twelve-month was a long time--that, if gentlemen were for three years to cease from observing rules of propriety, propriety must certainly suffer, and that if for three years they neglected music, music must certainly die out--and that seeing nature has taught us that when the old year's grain is finished the new has sprung up for us--seeing also that all the changes[32] in procuring fire by friction have been gone through in the four seasons--surely a twelve-month might suffice. The Master asked him, "Would it be a satisfaction to you--that returning to better food, that putting on of fine clothes?" "It would," said he. "Then if you can be satisfied in so doing, do so. But to a gentleman, who is in mourning for a parent, the choicest food will not be palatable, nor will the listening to music be pleasant, nor will comforts of home make him happy in mind. Hence he does not do as you suggest. But if you are now happy in your mind, then do so." Tsai Wo went out. And the Master went on to say, "It is want of human feeling in this man. After a child has lived three years it then breaks away from the tender nursing of its parents. And this three years' mourning is the customary mourning prevalent all over the empire. Can this man have enjoyed the three years of loving care from his parents?" "Ah, it is difficult," said he, "to know what to make of those who are all day long cramming themselves with food and are without anything to apply their minds to! Are there no dice and chess players? Better, perhaps, join in that pursuit than do nothing at all!" "Does a gentleman," asked Tsz-lu, "make much account of bravery?" "Righteousness he counts higher," said the Master. "A gentleman who is brave without being just may become turbulent; while a common person who is brave and not just may end in becoming a highwayman." Tsz-kung asked, "I suppose a gentleman will have his aversions as well as his likings?" "Yes," replied the Master, "he will dislike those who talk much about other people's ill-deeds. He will dislike those who, when occupying inferior places, utter defamatory words against their superiors. He will dislike those who, though they may be brave, have no regard for propriety. And he will dislike those hastily decisive and venturesome spirits who are nevertheless so hampered by limited intellect." "And you, too, Tsz-kung," he continued, "have your aversions, have you not?" "I dislike," said he, "those plagiarists who wish to pass for wise persons. I dislike those people who wish their lack of humility to be taken for bravery. I dislike also those divulgers of secrets who think to be accounted straightforward." "Of all others," said the Master, "women-servants and men-servants are the most difficult people to have the care of. Approach them in a familiar manner, and they take liberties; keep them at a distance, and they grumble." Again, "When a man meets with odium at forty, he will do so to the end." [Footnote 32: Different woods were adopted for this purpose at the various seasons.] BOOK XVIII Good Men in Seclusion--Duke of Chow to His Son "In the reign of the last king of the Yin dynasty," Confucius I said, "there were three men of philanthropic spirit:--the viscount of Wei, who withdrew from him; the viscount of Ki, who became his bondsman; and Pi-kan, who reproved him and suffered death." Hwúi of Liu-hiá, who filled the office of Chief Criminal Judge, was thrice dismissed. A person remarked to him, "Can you not yet bear to withdraw?" He replied, "If I act in a straightforward way in serving men, whither in these days should I go, where I should not be thrice dismissed? Were I to adopt crooked ways in their service, why need I leave the land where my parents dwell?" Duke King of Ts'i remarked respecting his attitude towards Confucius, "If he is to be treated like the Chief of the Ki family, I cannot do it. I should treat him as somewhere between the Ki and Mang Chiefs.--I am old," he added, "and not competent to avail myself of him." Confucius, hearing of this, went away. The Ts'i officials presented to the Court of Lu a number of female musicians. Ki Hwan accepted them, and for three days no Court was held. Confucius went away. Tsieh-yu, the madman [33] of Ts'u, was once passing Confucius, singing as he went along. He sang-- "Ha, the phoenix! Ha, the phoenix! How is Virtue lying prone! Vain to chide for what is o'er, Plan to meet what's yet in store. Let alone! Let alone! Risky now to serve a throne." Confucius alighted, wishing to enter into conversation with him; but the man hurried along and left him, and he was therefore unable to get a word with him. Ch'ang-tsü and Kieh-nih [34] were working together on some ploughed land. Confucius was passing by them, and sent Tsz-lu to ask where the ford was. Ch'ang-tsü said, "Who is the person driving the carriage?" "Confucius," answered Tsz-lu. "He of Lu?" he asked. "The same," said Tsz-lu. "He knows then where the ford is," said he. Tsz-lu then put his question to Kieh-nih; and the latter asked, "Who are you?" Tsz-lu gave his name. "You are a follower of Confucius of Lu, are you not?" "You are right," he answered. "Ah, as these waters rise and overflow their bounds," said he, "'tis so with all throughout the empire; and who is he that can alter the state of things? And you are a follower of a learned man who withdraws from his chief; had you not better be a follower of such as have forsaken the world?" And he went on with his harrowing, without stopping. Tsz-lu went and informed his Master of all this. He was deeply touched, and said, "One cannot herd on equal terms with beasts and birds: if I am not to live among these human folk, then with whom else should I live? Only when the empire is well ordered shall I cease to take part in the work of reformation." Tsz-lu was following the Master, but had dropped behind on the way, when he encountered an old man with a weed-basket slung on a staff over his shoulder. Tsz-lu inquired of him, "Have you seen my Master, sir?" Said the old man, "Who is your master?--you who never employ your four limbs in laborious work; you who do not know one from another of the five sorts of grain!" And he stuck his staff in the ground, and began his weeding. Tsz-lu brought his hands together on his breast and stood still. The old man kept Tsz-lu and lodged him for the night, killed a fowl and prepared some millet, entertained him, and brought his two sons out to see him. On the morrow Tsz-lu went on his way, and told all this to the Master, who said, "He is a recluse," and sent Tsz-lu back to see him again. But by the time he got there he was gone. Tsz-lu remarked upon this, "It is not right he should evade official duties. If he cannot allow any neglect of the terms on which elders and juniors should live together, how is it that he neglects to conform to what is proper as between prince and public servant? He wishes for himself personally a pure life, yet creates disorder in that more important relationship. When a gentleman undertakes public work, he will carry out the duties proper to it; and he knows beforehand that right principles may not win their way." Among those who have retired from public life have been Peh-I and Shuh-Ts'i, Yu-chung, I-yih, Chu-chang, Hwúi of Liuhia, and Sháu-lien. "Of these," said the Master, "Peh-I and Shuh-Ts'i may be characterized, I should say, as men who never declined from their high resolve nor soiled themselves by aught of disgrace. "Of Hwúi of Liu-hiá and Sháu-lien, if one may say that they did decline from high resolve, and that they did bring disgrace upon themselves, yet their words were consonant with established principles, and their action consonant with men's thoughts and wishes; and this is all that may be said of them. "Of Yu-chung and I-yih, if it be said that when they retired into privacy they let loose their tongues, yet in their aim at personal purity of life they succeeded, and their defection was also successful in its influence. "My own rule is different from any adopted by these: I will take no liberties, I will have no curtailing of my liberty." The chief music-master went off to Ts'i. Kan, the conductor of the music at the second repast, went over to Ts'u. Liáu, conductor at the third repast, went over to Ts'ai. And Kiueh, who conducted at the fourth, went to Ts'in. Fang-shuh, the drummer, withdrew into the neighborhood of the Ho. Wu the tambourer went to the Han. And Yang the junior music-master, and Siang who played on the musical stone, went to the sea-coast. Anciently the Duke of Chow, addressing his son the Duke of Lu, said, "A good man in high place is not indifferent about the members of his own family, and does not give occasion to the chief ministers to complain that they are not employed; nor without great cause will he set aside old friendships; nor does he seek for full equipment for every kind of service in any single man." There were once eight officials during this Chow dynasty, who were four pairs of twins, all brothers--the eldest pair Tab and Kwoh, the next Tub and Hwuh, the third Yé and Hiá, the youngest Sui and Kwa. [Footnote 33: He only pretended to be mad, in order to escape being employed in the public service.] [Footnote 34: Two worthies who had abandoned public life, owing to the state of the times.] BOOK XIX Teachings of Various Chief Disciples "The learned official," said Tsz-chang, "who when he sees danger ahead will risk his very life, who when he sees a chance of success is mindful of what is just and proper, who in his religious acts is mindful of the duty of reverence, and when in mourning thinks of his loss, is indeed a fit and proper person for his place." Again he said, "If a person hold to virtue but never advance in it, and if he have faith in right principles and do not build himself up in them, how can he be regarded either as having such, or as being without them?" Tsz-hiá's disciples asked Tsz-chang his views about intercourse with others. "What says your Master?" he rejoined. "He says," they replied, "'Associate with those who are qualified, and repel from you such as are not,'" Tsz-chang then said, "That is different from what I have learnt. A superior man esteems the worthy and wise, and bears with all. He makes much of the good and capable, and pities the incapable. Am I eminently worthy and wise?--who is there then among men whom I will not bear with? Am I not worthy and wise?--others will be minded to repel me: I have nothing to do with repelling them." Sayings of Tsz-hiá:-- "Even in inferior pursuits there must be something worthy of contemplation, but if carried to an extreme there is danger of fanaticism; hence the superior man does not engage in them. "The student who daily recognizes how much he yet lacks, and as the months pass forgets not what he has succeeded in learning, may undoubtedly be called a lover of learning. "Wide research and steadfast purpose, eager questioning and close reflection--all this tends to humanize a man. "As workmen spend their time in their workshops for the perfecting of their work, so superior men apply their minds to study in order to make themselves thoroughly conversant with their subjects. "When an inferior man does a wrong thing, he is sure to gloss it over. "The superior man is seen in three different aspects:--look at him from a distance, he is imposing in appearance; approach him, he is gentle and warm-hearted; hear him speak, he is acute and strict. "Let such a man have the people's confidence, and he will get much work out of them; so long, however, as he does not possess their confidence they will regard him as grinding them down. "When confidence is reposed in him, he may then with impunity administer reproof; so long as it is not, he will be regarded as a detractor. "Where there is no over-stepping of barriers in the practice of the higher virtues, there may be freedom to pass in and out in the practice of the lower ones." Tsz-yu had said, "The pupils in the school of Tsz-hiá are good enough at such things as sprinkling and scrubbing floors, answering calls and replying to questions from superiors, and advancing and retiring to and from such; but these things are only offshoots--as to the root of things they are nowhere. What is the use of all that?" When this came to the ears of Tsz-hiá, he said, "Ah! there he is mistaken. What does a master, in his methods of teaching, consider first in his precepts? And what does he account next, as that about which he may be indifferent? It is like as in the study of plants--classification by _differentiae_. How may a master play fast and loose in his methods of instruction? Would they not indeed be sages, who could take in at once the first principles and the final developments of things?" Further observations of Tsz-hiá:-- "In the public service devote what energy and time remain to study. After study devote what energy and time remain to the public service. "As to the duties of mourning, let them cease when the grief is past. "My friend Tsz-chang, although he has the ability to tackle hard things, has not yet the virtue of philanthropy." The learned Tsang observed, "How loftily Tsz-chang bears himself! Difficult indeed along with him to practise philanthropy!" Again he said, "I have heard this said by the Master, that 'though men may not exert themselves to the utmost in other duties, yet surely in the duty of mourning for their parents they will do so!'" Again, "This also I have heard said by the Master: 'The filial piety of Mang Chwang in other respects might be equalled, but as manifested in his making no changes among his father's ministers, nor in his father's mode of government--that aspect of it could not easily be equalled.'" Yang Fu, having been made senior Criminal Judge by the Chief of the Mang clan, consulted with the learned Tsang. The latter advised him as follows: "For a long time the Chiefs have failed in their government, and the people have become unsettled. When you arrive at the facts of their cases, do not rejoice at your success in that, but rather be sorry for them, and have pity upon them." Tsz-kung once observed, "We speak of 'the iniquity of Cháu'--but 'twas not so great as this. And so it is that the superior man is averse from settling in this sink, into which everything runs that is foul in the empire." Again he said, "Faults in a superior man are like eclipses of the sun or moon: when he is guilty of a trespass men all see it; and when he is himself again, all look up to him." Kung-sun Ch'an of Wei inquired of Tsz-kung how Confucius acquired his learning. Tsz-kung replied, "The teachings of Wan and Wu have not yet fallen to the ground. They exist in men. Worthy and wise men have the more important of these stored up in their minds; and others, who are not such, store up the less important of them; and as no one is thus without the teachings of Wan and Wu, how should our Master not have learned? And moreover what permanent preceptor could he have?" Shuh-sun Wu-shuh, addressing the high officials at the Court, remarked that Tsz-kung was a greater worthy than Confucius. Tsz-fuh King-pih went and informed Tsz-kung of this remark. Tsz-kung said, "Take by way of comparison the walls outside our houses. My wall is shoulder-high, and you may look over it and see what the house and its contents are worth. My Master's wall is tens of feet high, and unless you should effect an entrance by the door, you would fail to behold the beauty of the ancestral hall and the rich array of all its officers. And they who effect an entrance by the door, methinks, are few! Was it not, however, just like him--that remark of the Chief?" Shuh-sun Wu-shuh had been casting a slur on the character of Confucius. "No use doing that," said Tsz-kung; "he is irreproachable. The wisdom and worth of other men are little hills and mounds of earth: traversible. He is the sun, or the moon, impossible to reach and pass. And what harm, I ask, can a man do to the sun or the moon, by wishing to intercept himself from either? It all shows that he knows not how to gauge capacity." Tsz-k'in, addressing Tsz-kung, said, "You depreciate yourself. Confucius is surely not a greater worthy than yourself." Tsz-kung replied, "In the use of words one ought never to be incautious; because a gentleman for one single utterance of his is apt to be considered a wise man, and for a single utterance may be accounted unwise. No more might one think of attaining to the Master's perfections than think of going upstairs to Heaven! Were it ever his fortune to be at the head of the government of a country, then that which is spoken of as 'establishing the country' would be establishment indeed; he would be its guide and it would follow him, he would tranquillize it and it would render its willing homage: he would give forward impulses to it to which it would harmoniously respond. In his life he would be its glory, at his death there would be great lamentation. How indeed could such as he be equalled?" BOOK XX Extracts from the Book of History The Emperor Yau said to Shun, "Ah, upon you, upon your person, lies the Heaven-appointed order of succession! Faithfully hold to it, without any deflection; for if within the four seas necessity and want befall the people, your own revenue will forever come to an end." Shun also used the same language in handing down the appointment to Yu. The Emperor T'ang in his prayer, said, "I, the child Li, presume to avail me of an ox of dusky hue, and presume to manifestly announce to Thee, O God, the most high and Sovereign Potentate, that to the transgressor I dare not grant forgiveness, nor yet keep in abeyance Thy ministers. Judgment rests in Thine heart, O God. Should we ourself transgress, may the guilt not be visited everywhere upon all. Should the people all transgress, be the guilt upon ourself!" Chow possessed great gifts, by which the able and good were richly endowed. "Although," said King Wu, "he is surrounded by his near relatives, they are not to be compared with men of humane spirit. The people are suffering wrongs, and the remedy rests with me--the one man." After Wu had given diligent attention to the various weights and measures, examined the laws and regulations, and restored the degraded officials, good government everywhere ensued. He caused ruined States to flourish again, reinstated intercepted heirs, and promoted to office men who had gone into retirement; and the hearts of the people throughout the empire drew towards him. Among matters of prime consideration with him were these--food for the people, the duty of mourning, and sacrificial offerings to the departed. He was liberal and large-hearted, and so won all hearts; true, and so was trusted by the people; energetic, and thus became a man of great achievements; just in his rule, and all were well content. Tsz-chang in a conversation with Confucius asked, "What say you is essential for the proper conduct of government?" The Master replied, "Let the ruler hold in high estimation the five excellences, and eschew the four evils; then may he conduct his government properly." "And what call you the five excellences?" he was asked. "They are," he said, "Bounty without extravagance; burdening without exciting discontent; desire without covetousness; dignity without haughtiness; show of majesty without fierceness." "What mean you," asked Tsz-chang, "by bounty without extravagance?" "Is it not this," he replied--"to make that which is of benefit to the people still more beneficial? When he selects for them such labors as it is possible for them to do, and exacts them, who will then complain? So when his desire is the virtue of humaneness, and he attains it, how shall he then be covetous? And if--whether he have to do with few or with many, with small or with great--he do not venture ever to be careless, is not this also to have dignity without haughtiness? And if--when properly vested in robe and cap, and showing dignity in his every look--his appearance be so imposing that the people look up to and stand in awe of him, is not this moreover to show majesty without fierceness?" "What, then, do you call the four evils?" said Tsz-chang. The answer here was, "Omitting to instruct the people and then inflicting capital punishment on them--which means cruel tyranny. Omitting to give them warning and yet looking for perfection in them--which means oppression. Being slow and late in issuing requisitions, and exacting strict punctuality in the returns--which means robbery. And likewise, in intercourse with men, to expend and to receive in a stingy manner--which is to act the part of a mere commissioner." "None can be a superior man," said the Master, "who does not recognize the decrees of Heaven. "None can have stability in him without a knowledge of the proprieties. "None can know a man without knowing his utterances." THE SAYINGS OF MENICUS [Translated into English by James Legge_] INTRODUCTION A hundred years after the time of Confucius the Chinese nation seemed to have fallen back into their original condition of lawlessness and oppression. The King's power and authority was laughed to scorn, the people were pillaged by the feudal nobility, and famine reigned in many districts. The foundations of truth and social order seemed to be overthrown. There were teachers of immorality abroad, who published the old Epicurean doctrine, "Let us eat and drink, for to-morrow we die." This teaching was accompanied by a spirit of cold-blooded egotism which extinguished every spark of Confucian altruism. Even the pretended disciples of Confucius confused the precepts of the Master, and by stripping them of their narrow significance rendered them nugatory. It was at this point that Mang-tsze, "Mang the philosopher," arose. He was sturdy in bodily frame, vigorous in mind, profound in political sagacity and utterly fearless in denouncing the errors of his countrymen. He had been brought up among the disciples of Confucius, in whose province he was born B.C. 372, but he was much more active and aggressive, less a Mystic than a fanatic, in comparison! with his Master. He resolved on active measures in stemming the tendency of his day. He did indeed surround himself with a school of disciples, but instead of making a series of desultory travels, teaching in remote places and along the high-road, he went to the heart of the evil. He presented himself like a second John the Baptist at the courts of kings and princes, and there boldly denounced vice and misrule. It was not difficult for a Chinese scholar and teacher to find access to the highest of the land. The Chinese believed in the divine right of learning, just as they believed in the divine right of kings. Mang employed every weapon of persuasion in trying to combat heresy and oppression; alternately ridiculing and reproving: now appealing in a burst of moral enthusiasm, and now denouncing in terms of cutting sarcasm the abuses which after all he failed to check. The last prince whom he successfully confronted was the Marquis of Lu, who turned him carelessly away. He accepted this as the Divine sentence of his failure, "That I have not found in this marquis, a ruler who would hearken to me is an intimation of heaven." Henceforth he lived in retirement until his ninety-seventh year; but from his apparent failure sprang a practical success. His written teachings are amongst the most lively and epigrammatic works of Chinese literature, have done much to keep alive amongst his countrymen the spirit of Confucianism, and even Western readers may drink wisdom from this spring of Oriental lore. The following selections from his sayings well exhibit the spirit of his system of philosophy and morality. E.W. THE SAYINGS OF MENCIUS BOOK I KING HWUY OF LËANG Part I Mencius went to see King Hwuy of Lëang. [1] The king said, "Venerable Sir, since you have not counted it far to come here a distance of a thousand li, may I presume that you are likewise provided with counsels to profit my kingdom?" Mencius replied, "Why must your Majesty used that word 'profit'? What I am likewise provided with are counsels to benevolence and righteousness; and these are my only topics. "If your Majesty say, 'What is to be done to profit my kingdom?' the great officers will say, 'What is to be done to profit our families?' and the inferior officers and the common people will say, 'What is to be done to profit our persons?' Superiors and inferiors will try to take the profit the one from the other, and the kingdom will be endangered. In the kingdom of ten thousand chariots, the murderer of his ruler will be the chief of a family of a thousand chariots. In the State of a thousand chariots, the murderer of his ruler will be the chief of a family of a hundred chariots. To have a thousand in ten thousand, and a hundred in a thousand, cannot be regarded as not a large allowance; but if righteousness be put last and profit first, they will not be satisfied without snatching all. "There never was a man trained to benevolence who neglected his parents. There never was a man trained to righteousness who made his ruler an after consideration. Let your Majesty likewise make benevolence and righteousness your only themes--Why must you speak of profit?" When Mencius, another day, was seeing King Hwuy of Lëang, the King went and stood with him by a pond, and, looking round on the wild geese and deer, large and small, said, "Do wise and good princes also take pleasure in these things?" Mencius replied, "Being wise and good, they then have pleasure in these things. If they are not wise and good, though they have these things, they do not find pleasure." It is said in the 'Book of Poetry':-- 'When he planned the commencement of the Marvellous tower, He planned it, and defined it, And the people in crowds undertook the work, And in no time completed it. When he planned the commencement, he said, "Be not in a hurry." But the people came as if they were his children. The king was in the Marvellous park, Where the does were lying down-- The does so sleek and fat; With the white birds glistening. The king was by the Marvellous pond;-- How full was it of fishes leaping about!' King Wan used the strength of the people to make his tower and pond, and the people rejoiced to do the work, calling the tower 'the Marvellous Tower,' and the pond 'the Marvellous Pond,' and being glad that he had his deer, his fishes and turtles. The ancients caused their people to have pleasure as well as themselves, and therefore they could enjoy it. "In the Declaration of T'ang it is said, 'O Sun, when wilt thou expire? We will die together with thee.' The people wished for Këeh's death, though they should die with him. Although he had his tower, his pond, birds and animals, how could he have pleasure alone?" King Hwuy of Lëang said, "Small as my virtue is, in the government of my kingdom, I do indeed exert my mind to the utmost. If the year be bad inside the Ho, I remove as many of the people as I can to the east of it, and convey grain to the country inside. If the year be bad on the east of the river, I act on the same plan. On examining the governmental methods of the neighboring kingdoms, I do not find there is any ruler who exerts his mind as I do. And yet the people of the neighboring kings do not decrease, nor do my people increase--how is this?" Mencius replied, "Your Majesty loves war; allow me to take an illustration from war. The soldiers move forward at the sound of the drum; and when the edges of their weapons have been crossed, on one side, they throw away their buff coats, trail their weapons behind them, and run. Some run a hundred paces and then stop; some run fifty paces and stop. What would you think if these, because they had run but fifty paces, should laugh at those who ran a hundred paces?" The king said, "They cannot do so. They only did not run a hundred paces; but they also ran." Mencius said, "Since your Majesty knows this you have no ground to expect that your people will become more numerous than those of the neighboring kingdoms. "If the seasons of husbandry be not interfered with, the grain will be more than can be eaten. If close nets are not allowed to enter the pools and ponds, the fish and turtles will be more than can be consumed. If the axes and bills enter the hill-forests only at the proper times, the wood will be more than can be used. When the grain and fish and turtles are more than can be eaten, and there is more wood than can be used, this enables the people to nourish their living and do all offices for their dead, without any feeling against any. But this condition, in which the people nourish their living, and do all offices to their dead without having any feeling against any, is the first step in the Royal way. "Let mulberry trees be planted about the homesteads with their five acres, and persons of fifty years will be able to wear silk. In keeping fowls, pigs, dogs, and swine, let not their time of breeding be neglected, and persons of seventy years will be able to eat flesh. Let there not be taken away the time that is proper for the cultivation of the field allotment of a hundred acres, and the family of several mouths will not suffer from hunger. Let careful attention be paid to the teaching in the various schools, with repeated inculcation of the filial and fraternal duties, and gray-haired men will not be seen upon the roads, carrying burdens on their backs or on their heads. It has never been that the ruler of a State where these results were seen, persons of seventy wearing silk and eating flesh, and the black-haired people suffering neither from hunger nor cold, did not attain to the Royal dignity. "Your dogs and swine eat the food of men, and you do not know to store up of the abundance. There are people dying from famine on the roads, and you do not know to issue your stores for their relief. When men die, you say, 'It is not owing to me; it is owing to the year,' In what does this differ from stabbing a man and killing him, and then saying, 'It was not I; it was the weapon'? Let your Majesty cease to lay the blame on the year and instantly the people, all under the sky, will come to you." King Hwuy of Lëang said, "I wish quietly to receive your instructions." Mencius replied, "Is there any difference between killing a man with a stick and with a sword?" "There is no difference," was the answer. Mencius continued, "Is there any difference between doing it with a sword and with governmental measures?" "There is not," was the answer again. Mencius then said, "In your stalls there are fat beasts; in your stables there are fat horses. But your people have the look of hunger, and in the fields there are those who have died of famine. This is leading on beasts to devour men. Beasts devour one another, and men hate them for doing so. When he who is called the parent of the people conducts his government so as to be chargeable with leading on beasts to devour men, where is that parental relation to the people? Chung-ne said, 'Was he not without posterity who first made wooden images to bury with the dead?' So he said, because that man made the semblances of men and used them for that purpose; what shall be thought of him who causes his people to die of hunger?" King Hwuy of Lëang said, "There was not in the kingdom a stronger State than Ts'in, as you, venerable Sir, know. But since it descended to me, on the east we were defeated by Ts'e, and then my eldest son perished; on the west we lost seven hundred li of territory to Ts'in; and on the south we have sustained disgrace at the hands of Ts'oo. I have brought shame on my departed predecessors, and wish on their account to wipe it away once for all. What course is to be pursued to accomplish this?" Mencius replied, "With a territory only a hundred li square it has been possible to obtain the Royal dignity. If your Majesty will indeed dispense a benevolent government to the people, being sparing in the use of punishments and fines, and making the taxes and levies of produce light, so causing that the fields shall be ploughed deep, and the weeding well attended to, and that the able-bodied, during their days of leisure, shall cultivate their filial piety, fraternal duty, faithfulness, and truth, serving thereby, at home, their fathers and elder brothers, and, abroad, their elders and superiors, you will then have a people who can be employed with sticks which they have prepared to oppose the strong buff-coats and sharp weapons of the troops of Ts'in and Ts'oo. "The rulers of those States rob their people of their time, so that they cannot plough and weed their fields in order to support their parents. Parents suffer from cold and hunger; elder and younger brothers, wives and children, are separated and scattered abroad. Those rulers drive their people into pitfalls or into the water; and your Majesty will go to punish them. In such a case, who will oppose your Majesty? In accordance with this is the saying, 'The benevolent has no enemy!' I beg your Majesty not to doubt what I said." Mencius had an interview with King Sëang[2] of Lëang. When he came out he said to some persons, "When I looked at him from a distance, he did not appear like a ruler; when I drew near to him, I saw nothing venerable about him. Abruptly he asked me, 'How can the kingdom, all under the sky, be settled?' I replied, 'It will be settled by being united under one sway,' "'Who can so unite it?' he asked. "I replied, 'He who has no pleasure in killing men can so unite it.' "'Who can give it to him?' he asked. "I replied, 'All under heaven will give it to him. Does your Majesty know the way of the growing grain? During the seventh and eighth months, when drought prevails, the plants become dry. Then the clouds collect densely in the heavens, and send down torrents of rain, so that the grain erects itself as if by a shoot. When it does so, who can keep it back? Now among those who are shepherds of men throughout the kingdom, there is not one who does not find pleasure in killing men. If there were one who did not find pleasure in killing men, all the people under the sky would be looking towards him with outstretched necks. Such being indeed the case, the people would go to him as water flows downwards with a rush, which no one can repress." King Seuen of Ts'e asked, saying, "May I be informed by you of the transactions of Hwan of Ts'e and Wan of Ts'in?" Mencius replied, "There were none of the disciples of Chung-ne who spoke about the affairs of Hwan and Wan, and therefore they have not been transmitted to these after-ages; your servant has not heard of them. If you will have me speak, let it be about the principles of attaining to the Royal sway." The king said, "Of what kind must his virtue be who can attain to the Royal sway?" Mencius said, "If he loves and protects the people, it is impossible to prevent him from attaining it." The king said, "Is such an one as poor I competent to love and protect the people?" "Yes," was the reply. "From what do you know that I am competent to that?" "I have heard," said Mencius, "from Hoo Heih the following incident:--'The king,' said he, 'was sitting aloft in the hall, when some people appeared leading a bull past below it. The king saw it, and asked where the bull was going, and being answered that they were going to consecrate a bell with its blood, he said, "Let it go, I cannot bear its frightened appearance--as if it were an innocent person going to the place of death." They asked in reply whether, if they did so, they should omit the consecration of the bell, but the king said, "How can that be omitted? Change it for a sheep."' I do not know whether this incident occurred." "It did," said the king, and Mencius replied, "The heart seen in this is sufficient to carry you to the Royal sway. The people all supposed that your Majesty grudged the animal, but your servant knows surely that it was your Majesty's not being able to bear the sight of the creature's distress which made you do as you did." The king said, "You are right; and yet there really was an appearance of what the people imagined. But though Ts'e be narrow and small, how should I grudge a bull? Indeed it was because I could not bear its frightened appearance, as if it were an innocent person going to the place of death, that therefore I changed it for a sheep." Mencius said, "Let not your Majesty deem it strange that the people should think you grudged the animal. When you changed a large one for a small, how should they know the true reason? If you felt pained by its being led without any guilt to the place of death, what was there to choose between a bull and a sheep?" The king laughed and said, "What really was my mind in the matter? I did not grudge the value of the bull, and yet I changed it for a sheep! There was reason in the people's saying that I grudged the creature." Mencius said, "There is no harm in their saying so. It was an artifice of benevolence. You saw the bull, and had not seen the sheep. So is the superior man affected towards animals, that, having seen them alive, he cannot bear to see them die, and, having heard their dying cries, he cannot bear to eat their flesh. On this account he keeps away from his stalls and kitchen." The king was pleased and said, "The Ode says, 'What other men have in their minds, I can measure by reflection,' This might be spoken of you, my Master. I indeed did the thing, but when I turned my thoughts inward and sought for it, I could not discover my own mind. When you, Master, spoke those words, the movements of compassion began to work in my mind. But how is it that this heart has in it what is equal to the attainment of the Royal sway?" Mencius said, "Suppose a man were to make this statement to your Majesty, 'My strength is sufficient to lift three thousand catties, but is not sufficient to lift one feather; my eyesight is sharp enough to examine the point of an autumn hair, but I do not see a wagon-load of fagots,' would your Majesty allow what he said?" "No," was the king's remark, and Mencius proceeded, "Now here is kindness sufficient to reach to animals, and yet no benefits are extended from it to the people--how is this? is an exception to be made here? The truth is, the feather's not being lifted is because the strength was not used; the wagon-load of firewood's not being seen is because the eyesight was not used; and the people's not being loved and protected is because the kindness is not used. Therefore your Majesty's not attaining to the Royal sway is because you do not do it, and not because you are not able to do it." The king asked, "How may the difference between him who does not do a thing and him who is not able to do it be graphically set forth?" Mencius replied, "In such a thing as taking the T'ae mountain under your arm, and leaping with it over the North Sea, if you say to people, 'I am not able to do it,' that is a real case of not being able. In such a matter as breaking off a branch from a tree at the order of a superior, if you say to people, 'I am not able to do it,' it is not a case of not being able to do it. And so your Majesty's not attaining to the Royal sway is not such a case as that of taking the T'ae mountain under your arm and leaping over the North Sea with it; but it is a case like that of breaking off a branch from a tree. "Treat with reverence due to age the elders in your own family, so that those in the families of others shall be similarly treated; treat with the kindness due to youth the young in your own family, so that those in the families of others shall be similarly treated--do this and the kingdom may be made to go round in your palm. It is said in the 'Book of Poetry,' 'His example acted on his wife, Extended to his brethren, And was felt by all the clans and States;' Telling us how King Wan simply took this kindly heart, and exercised it towards those parties. Therefore the carrying out of the feeling of kindness by a ruler will suffice for the love and protection of all within the four seas; and if he do not carry it out, he will not be able to protect his wife and children. The way in which the ancients came greatly to surpass other men was no other than this, that they carried out well what they did, so as to affect others. Now your kindness is sufficient to reach to animals, and yet no benefits are extended from it to the people. How is this? Is an exception to be made here? "By weighing we know what things are light, and what heavy. By measuring we know what things are long, and what short. All things are so dealt with, and the mind requires specially to be so. I beg your Majesty to measure it.--Your Majesty collects your equipments of war, endangers your soldiers and officers and excites the resentment of the various princes--do these things cause you pleasure in your mind?" The king said, "No. How should I derive pleasure from these things? My object in them is to seek for what I greatly desire." Mencius said, "May I hear from you what it is that your Majesty greatly desires?" The king laughed, and did not speak. Mencius resumed, "Are you led to desire it because you have not enough of rich and sweet food for your mouth? or because you have not enough of light and warm clothing for your body? or because you have not enough of beautifully colored objects to satisfy your eyes? or because there are not voices and sounds enough to fill your ears? or because you have not enough of attendants and favorites to stand before you and receive your orders? Your Majesty's various officers are sufficient to supply you with all these things. How can your Majesty have such a desire on account of them?" "No," said the king, "my desire is not on account of them." Mencius observed, "Then what your Majesty greatly desires can be known. You desire to enlarge your territories, to have Ts'in and Ts'oo coming to your court, to rule the Middle States, and to attract to you the barbarous tribes that surround them. But to do what you do in order to seek for what you desire is like climbing a tree to seek for fish." "Is it so bad as that?" said the king. "I apprehend it is worse," was the reply. "If you climb a tree to seek for fish, although you do not get the fish, you have no subsequent calamity. But if you do what you do in order to seek for what you desire, doing it even with all your heart, you will assuredly afterwards meet with calamities." The king said, "May I hear what they will be?" Mencius replied, "If the people of Tsow were fighting with the people of Ts'oo, which of them does your Majesty think would conquer?" "The people of Ts'oo would conquer," was the answer, and Mencius pursued, "So then, a small State cannot contend with a great, few cannot contend with many, nor can the weak contend with the strong. The territory within the seas would embrace nine divisions, each of a thousand li square. All Ts'e together is one of them. If with one part you try to subdue the other eight, what is the difference between that and Tsow's contending with Ts'oo? With the desire which you have, you must turn back to the proper course for its attainment. "Now, if your Majesty will institute a government whose action shall all be benevolent, this will cause all the officers in the kingdom to wish to stand in your Majesty's court, the farmers all to wish to plough in your Majesty's fields, the merchants, both travelling and stationary, all to wish to store their goods in your Majesty's market-places, travellers and visitors all to wish to travel on your Majesty's roads, and all under heaven who feel aggrieved by their rulers to wish to come and complain to your Majesty. When they are so bent, who will be able to keep them back?" The king said, "I am stupid and cannot advance to this. But I wish you, my Master, to assist my intentions. Teach me clearly, and although I am deficient in intelligence and vigor, I should like to try at least to institute such a government." Mencius replied, "They are only men of education, who, without a certain livelihood, are able to maintain a fixed heart. As to the people, if they have not a certain livelihood, they will be found not to have a fixed heart. And if they have not a fixed heart, there is nothing which they will not do in the way of self-abandonment, of moral deflection, of depravity, and of wild license. When they have thus been involved in crime, to follow them up and punish them, is to entrap the people. How can such a thing as entrapping the people be done under the rule of a benevolent man?" "Therefore, an intelligent ruler will regulate the livelihood of the people, so as to make sure that, above, they shall have sufficient wherewith to serve their parents, and below, sufficient wherewith to support their wives and children; that in good years they shall always be abundantly satisfied, and that in bad years they shall not be in danger of perishing. After this he may urge them, and they will proceed to what is good, for in this case the people will follow after that with readiness. "But now the livelihood of the people is so regulated, that, above, they have not sufficient wherewith to serve their parents, and, below, they have not sufficient wherewith to support their wives and children; even in good years their lives are always embittered, and in bad years they are in danger of perishing. In such circumstances their only object is to escape from death, and they are afraid they will not succeed in doing so--what leisure have they to cultivate propriety and righteousness? "If your Majesty wishes to carry out a benevolent government, why not turn back to what is the essential step to its attainment? "Let mulberry trees be planted about the homesteads with their five acres, and persons of fifty years will be able to wear silk. In keeping fowls, pigs, dogs, and swine, let not their times of breeding be neglected, and persons of seventy years will be able to eat flesh. Let there not be taken away the time that is proper for the cultivation of the field-allotment of a hundred acres, and the family of eight mouths will not suffer from hunger. Let careful attention be paid to the teaching in the various schools, with repeated inculcation of the filial and fraternal duties, and gray-haired men will not be seen upon the roads, carrying burdens on their backs or on their heads. It has never been that the ruler of a State, where these results were seen, the old wearing silk and eating flesh, and the black-haired people suffering neither from hunger nor cold, did not attain to the Royal dignity." [NOTE: _Books II, III, and IV are omitted_] [Footnote 1: The title of this book in Chinese is--"King Hwuy of Lëang; in chapters and sentences." Like the Books of the Confucian Analects, those of this work are headed by two or three words at or near the commencement of them. Each Book is divided into two parts. This arrangement was made by Chaou K'e, and to him are due also the divisions into chapters, and sentences, or paragraphs, containing, it may be, many sentences.] [Footnote 2: Sëang was the son of King Hwuy. The first year of his reign is supposed to be B.C. 317. Sëang's name was Hih. As a posthumous epithet, Sëang has various meanings: "Land-enlarger and Virtuous"; "Successful in Arms." The interview here recorded seems to have taken place immediately after Hih's accession, and Mencius, it is said, was so disappointed by it that he soon after left the country.] THE SHI-KING [_Metrical translation by James Legge_] INTRODUCTION The wisdom of Confucius as a social reformer, as a teacher and guide of the Chinese people, is shown in many ways. He not only gave them a code of personal deportment, providing them with rules for the etiquette and ceremony of life, but he instilled into them that profound spirit of domestic piety which is one of the strongest features in the Chinese character. He took measures to secure also the intellectual cultivation of his followers, and his Five Canons contain all the most ancient works of Chinese literature, in the departments of poetry, history, philosophy, and legislation. The Shi-King is a collection of Chinese poetry made by Confucius himself. This great anthology consists of more than three hundred pieces, covering the whole range of Chinese lyric poetry, the oldest of which dates some eighteen centuries before Christ, while the latest of the selections must have been written at the beginning of the sixth century before Christ. These poems are of the highest interest, and even nowadays may be read with delight by Europeans. The ballad and the hymn are among the earliest forms of national poetry, and the contents of the Shi-King naturally show specimens of lyric poetry of this sort. We find there not only hymns, but also ballads of a really fine and spirited character. Sometimes the poems celebrate the common pursuits, occupations, and incidents of life. They rise to the exaltation of the epithalamium, or of the vintage song; at other times they deal with sentiment and human conduct, being in the highest degree sententious and epigrammatic. We must give the credit to Confucius of having saved for us the literature of China, and of having set his people an example in preserving the monuments of a remote antiquity. While the literatures of ancient Greece and Rome have largely perished in the convulsions that followed the breaking up of the Roman empire in Europe, when the kingdom of China fell into disorder and decrepitude this one great teacher stepped forward to save the precious record of historic fact, philosophical thought, and of legislation as well as poetry, from being swept away by the deluge of revolution. Confucius showed his wisdom by the high value he set upon the poetry of his native land, and his name must be set side by side with that of the astute tyrant of Athens who collected the poems of Homer and preserved them as a precious heritage to the Greek world. Confucius has given us his opinion with regard to the poems of the Shi-King. No man, he says, is worth speaking to who has not mastered the poems of an anthology, the perusal of which elevates the mind and purifies it from all corrupt thoughts. Thanks to the work of modern scholarship, English readers can now verify this dictum for themselves. E. W. THE SHI-KING _PART I--LESSONS FROM THE STATES_ BOOK I THE ODES OF CHOW AND THE SOUTH ~Celebrating the Virtue of King Wan's Bride~ Hark! from the islet in the stream the voice Of the fish-hawks that o'er their nests rejoice! From them our thoughts to that young lady go, Modest and virtuous, loth herself to show. Where could be found to share our prince's state, So fair, so virtuous, and so fit a mate? See how the duckweed's stalks, or short or long, Sway left and right, as moves the current strong! So hard it was for him the maid to find! By day, by night, our prince with constant mind Sought for her long, but all his search was vain. Awake, asleep, he ever felt the pain Of longing thought, as when on restless bed, Tossing about, one turns his fevered head. Here long, there short, afloat the duckweed lies; But caught at last, we seize the longed-for prize. The maiden modest, virtuous, coy, is found; Strike every lute, and joyous welcome sound. Ours now, the duckweed from the stream we bear, And cook to use with other viands rare. He has the maiden, modest, virtuous, bright; Let bells and drums proclaim our great delight ~Celebrating the Industry of King Wan's Queen~ Sweet was the scene. The spreading dolichos Extended far, down to the valley's depths, With leaves luxuriant. The orioles Fluttered around, and on the bushy trees In throngs collected--whence their pleasant notes Resounded far in richest melody. The spreading dolichos extended far, Covering the valley's sides, down to its depths, With leaves luxuriant and dense. I cut It down, then boiled, and from the fibres spun Of cloth, both fine and coarse, large store, To wear, unwearied of such simple dress. Now back to my old home, my parents dear To see, I go. The matron I have told, Who will announcement make. Meanwhile my clothes, My private clothes I wash, and rinse my robes. Which of them need be rinsed? and which need not? My parents dear to visit, back I go. ~In Praise of a Bride~ Graceful and young the peach-tree stands; How rich its flowers, all gleaming bright! This bride to her new home repairs; Chamber and house she'll order right. Graceful and young the peach-tree stands; Large crops of fruit it soon will show. This bride to her new home repairs; Chamber and house her sway shall know. Graceful and young the peach-tree stands, Its foliage clustering green and full. This bride to her new home repairs; Her household will attest her rule. ~Celebrating T'ae-Sze's Freedom from Jealousy~ In the South are the trees whose branches are bent, And droop in such fashion that o'er their extent All the dolichos' creepers fast cling. See our princely lady, from whom we have got Rejoicing that's endless! May her happy lot And her honors repose ever bring! In the South are the trees whose branches are bent, And droop in such fashion that o'er their extent All the dolichos' creepers are spread. See our princely lady, from whom we have got Rejoicing that's endless! Of her happy lot And her honors the greatness ne'er fade! In the South are the trees whose branches are bent, And droop in such fashion that o'er their extent All the dolichos' creepers entwine. See our princely lady, from whom we have got Rejoicing that's endless! May her happy lot And her honors complete ever shine! ~The Fruitfulness of the Locust~ Ye locusts, wingèd tribes, Gather in concord fine; Well your descendants may In numerous bright hosts shine! Ye locusts, wingèd tribes, Your wings in flight resound; Well your descendants may In endless lines be found! Ye locusts, wingèd tribes, Together cluster strong; Well your descendants may In swarms forever throng! ~Lamenting the Absence of a Cherished Friend~ Though small my basket, all my toil Filled it with mouse-ears but in part. I set it on the path, and sighed For the dear master of my heart. My steeds, o'er-tasked, their progress stayed, When midway up that rocky height. Give me a cup from that gilt vase-- When shall this longing end in sight? To mount that lofty ridge I drove, Until my steeds all changed their hue. A cup from that rhinoceros's horn May help my longing to subdue. Striving to reach that flat-topped hill, My steeds, worn out, relaxed their strain; My driver also sank oppressed:-- I'll never see my lord again! ~Celebrating the Goodness of the Descendants of King Wan~ As the feet of the _lin_, which avoid each living thing, So our prince's noble sons no harm to men will bring. They are the _lin!_ As the front of the _lin_, never forward thrust in wrath, So our prince's noble grandsons of love tread the path. They are the _lin!_ As the horn of the _lin_, flesh-tipped, no wound to give, So our prince's noble kindred kindly with all live. They are the _lin!_ [NOTE.--The "lin" is the female of "K'e"--a fabulous animal--the symbol of all goodness and benevolence; having the body of a deer, the tail of an ox, the hoofs of a horse, one horn, the scales of a fish, etc. Its feet do not tread on any living thing--not even on live grass; it does not butt with its forehead; and the end of its horn is covered with flesh--to show that, while able for war, it wills to have peace. The "lin" was supposed to appear inaugurating a golden age, but the poet finds a better auspice of that in the character of Wan's family and kindred.] ~The Virtuous Manners of the Young Women~ High and compressed, the Southern trees No shelter from the sun afford. The girls free ramble by the Han, But will not hear enticing word. Like the broad Han are they, Through which one cannot dive; And like the Keang's long stream, Wherewith no raft can strive. Many the fagots bound and piled; The thorns I'd hew still more to make. As brides, those girls their new homes seek; Their colts to feed I'd undertake. Like the broad Han are they, Through which one cannot dive; And like the Keang's long stream, Wherewith no raft can strive. Many the fagots bound and piled; The Southern-wood I'd cut for more. As brides, those girls their new homes seek; Food for their colts I'd bring large store. Like the broad Han are they, Through which one cannot dive; And like the Keang's long stream, Wherewith no raft can strive. ~Praise of a Rabbit-Catcher~ Careful he sets his rabbit-nets all round; _Chang-chang_ his blows upon the pegs resound. Stalwart the man and bold! his bearing all Shows he might be his prince's shield and wall. Careful he is his rabbit-nets to place Where many paths of rabbits' feet bear trace. Stalwart the man and bold! 'tis plain to see He to his prince companion good would be. Careful he is his rabbit-nets to spread, Where in the forest's depth the trees give shade. Stalwart the man and bold! fit his the part Guide to his prince to be, and faithful heart. ~The Song of the Plantain-Gatherers~ We gather and gather the plantains; Come gather them anyhow. Yes, gather and gather the plantains, And here we have got them now. We gather and gather the plantains; Now off the ears we must tear. Yes, gather and gather the plantains, And now the seeds are laid bare. We gather and gather the plantains, The seeds in our skirts are placed. Yes, gather and gather the plantains. Ho! safe in the girdled waist! ~The Affection of the Wives on the Joo~ Along the raised banks of the Joo, To hew slim stem and branch I wrought, My lord away, my husband true, Like hunger-pang my troubled thought! Along the raised banks of the Joo, Branch and fresh shoot confessed my art. I've seen my lord, my husband true, And still he folds me in his heart. As the toiled bream makes red its tail, Toil you, Sir, for the Royal House; Amidst its blazing fires, nor quail:-- Your parents see you pay your vows. BOOK II THE ODES OF SHAOU AND THE SOUTH ~The Marriage of a Princess~ In the magpie's nest Dwells the dove at rest. This young bride goes to her future home; To meet her a hundred chariots come. Of the magpie's nest Is the dove possessed. This bride goes to her new home to live; And escort a hundred chariots give. The nest magpie wove Now filled by the dove. This bride now takes to her home her way; And these numerous cars her state display. ~The Industry and Reverence of a Prince's Wife~ Around the pools, the islets o'er, Fast she plucks white Southern-wood, To help the sacrificial store; And for our prince does service good. Where streams among the valleys shine, Of Southern-woods she plucks the white; And brings it to the sacred shrine, To aid our prince in solemn rite. In head-dress high, most reverent, she The temple seeks at early dawn. The service o'er, the head-dress see To her own chamber slow withdrawn. ~The Wife of Some Great Officer Bewails His Absence~ Shrill chirp the insects in the grass; All about the hoppers spring. While I my husband do not see, Sorrow must my bosom wring. O to meet him! O to greet him! Then my heart would rest and sing. Ascending high that Southern hill, Turtle ferns I strove to get. While I my husband do not see, Sorrow must my heart beset. O to meet him! O to greet him! Then my heart would cease to fret. Ascending high that Southern hill, Spinous ferns I sought to find. While I my husband do not see, Rankles sorrow in my mind. O to meet him! O to greet him! In my heart would peace be shrined. ~The Diligence of the Young Wife of an Officer~ She gathers fast the large duckweed, From valley stream that southward flows; And for the pondweed to the pools Left on the plains by floods she goes. The plants, when closed her toil, she puts In baskets round and baskets square. Then home she hies to cook her spoil, In pans and tripods ready there. In sacred chamber this she sets, Where the light falls down through the wall. 'Tis she, our lord's young reverent wife, Who manages this service all. ~The Love of the People for the Duke of Shaou~ O fell not that sweet pear-tree! See how its branches spread. Spoil not its shade, For Shaou's chief laid Beneath it his weary head. O clip not that sweet pear-tree! Each twig and leaflet spare. 'Tis sacred now, Since the lord of Shaou, When weary, rested him there. O touch not that sweet pear-tree! Bend not a twig of it now. There long ago, As the stories show, Oft halted the chief of Shaou. ~The Easy Dignity of the Officers at Some Court~ Arrayed in skins of lamb or sheep, With five silk braidings all of white, From court they go, to take their meal, All self-possessed, with spirits light. How on their skins of lamb or sheep The five seams wrought with white silk show! With easy steps, and self-possessed, From court to take their meal, they go. Upon their skins of lamb or sheep Shines the white silk the seams to link. With easy steps and self-possessed, They go from court to eat and drink. ~Anxiety of a Young Lady to Get Married~ Ripe, the plums fall from the bough; Only seven-tenths left there now! Ye whose hearts on me are set, Now the time is fortunate! Ripe, the plums fall from the bough; Only three-tenths left there now! Ye who wish my love to gain, Will not now apply in vain! No more plums upon the bough! All are in my basket now! Ye who me with ardor seek, Need the word but freely speak! BOOK III THE ODES OF P'EI ~An Officer Bewails the Neglect with which He is Treated~ It floats about, that boat of cypress wood, Now here, now there, as by the current borne. Nor rest nor sleep comes in my troubled mood; I suffer as when painful wound has torn The shrinking body. Thus I dwell forlorn, And aimless muse, my thoughts of sorrow full. I might with wine refresh my spirit worn; I might go forth, and, sauntering try to cool The fever of my heart; but grief holds sullen rule. My mind resembles not a mirror plate, Reflecting all the impressions it receives. The good I love, the bad regard with hate; I only cherish whom my heart believes. Colleagues I have, but yet my spirit grieves, That on their honor I cannot depend. I speak, but my complaint no influence leaves Upon their hearts; with mine no feelings blend; With me in anger they, and fierce disdain contend. My mind is fixed, and cannot, like a stone, Be turned at will indifferently about; And what I think, to that, and that alone, I utterance give, alike within, without; Nor can like mat be rolled and carried out. With dignity in presence of them all, My conduct marked, my goodness who shall scout? My foes I boldly challenge, great and small, If there be aught in me they can in question call. How full of trouble is my anxious heart! With hate the blatant herd of creatures mean Ceaseless pursue. Of their attacks the smart Keeps my mind in distress. Their venomed spleen Aye vents itself; and with insulting mien They vex my soul; and no one on my side A word will speak. Silent, alone, unseen, I think of my sad case; then opening wide My eyes, as if from sleep, I beat my breast, sore-tried. Thy disc, O sun, should ever be complete, While thine, O changing moon, doth wax and wane. But now our sun hath waned, weak and effete, And moons are ever full. My heart with pain Is firmly bound, and held in sorrow's chain, As to the body cleaves an unwashed dress. Silent I think of my sad case; in vain I try to find relief from my distress. Would I had wings to fly where ills no longer press! ~A Wife Deplores the Absence of Her Husband~ Away the startled pheasant flies, With lazy movement of his wings. Borne was my heart's lord from my eyes;-- What pain the separation brings! The pheasant, though no more in view, His cry, below, above, forth sends. Alas! my princely lord, 'tis you-- Your absence, that my bosom rends. At sun and moon I sit and gaze, In converse with my troubled heart. Far, far from me my husband stays! When will he come to heal its smart? Ye princely men who with him mate, Say, mark ye not his virtuous way. His rule is--covet nought, none hate;-- How can his steps from goodness stray? ~The Plaint of a Rejected Wife~ The east wind gently blows, With cloudy skies and rain. 'Twixt man and wife should ne'er be strife, But harmony obtain. Radish and mustard plants Are used, though some be poor; While my good name is free from blame, Don't thrust me from your door. I go along the road, Slow, with reluctant heart. Your escort lame to door but came, There glad from me to part. Sow-thistle, bitter called, As shepherd's purse is sweet; With your new mate you feast elate, As joyous brothers meet. Part clear, the stream of King Is foul beside the Wei. You feast elate with your new mate, And take no heed of me. Loose mate, avoid my dam, Nor dare my basket move! Person slighted, life all blighted, What can the future prove? The water deep, in boat, Or raft-sustained, I'd go; And where the stream did narrow seem, I dived or breasted through. I labored to increase Our means, or great or small; When 'mong friends near death did appear, On knees to help I'd crawl. No cherishing you give, I'm hostile in your eyes. As pedler's wares for which none cares, My virtues you despise. When poverty was nigh, I strove our means to spare; You, now rich grown, me scorn to own; To poison me compare. The stores for winter piled Are all unprized in spring. So now, elate with your new mate, Myself away you fling. Your cool disdain for me A bitter anguish hath. The early time, our love's sweet prime, In you wakes only wrath. ~Soldiers of Wei Bewail Separation from Their Families~ List to the thunder and roll of the drum! See how we spring and brandish the dart! Some raise Ts'aou's walls; some do field work at home; But we to the southward lonely depart. Our chief, Sun Tsze-chung, agreement has made, Our forces to join with Ch'in and with Sung. When shall we back from this service be led? Our hearts are all sad, our courage unstrung. Here we are halting, and there we delay; Anon we soon lose our high-mettled steeds. The forest's gloom makes our steps go astray; Each thicket of trees our searching misleads. For death as for life, at home or abroad, We pledged to our wives our faithfulest word. Their hands clasped in ours, together we vowed, We'd live to old age in sweetest accord. This march to the South can end but in ill; Oh! never shall we our wives again meet. The word that we pledged we cannot fulfil; Us home returning they never will greet. ~An Officer Tells of His Mean Employment~ With mind indifferent, things I easy take; In every dance I prompt appearance make:-- Then, when the sun is at his topmost height, There, in the place that courts the public sight. With figure large I in the courtyard dance, And the duke smiles, when he beholds me prance. A tiger's strength I have; the steeds swift bound; The reins as ribbons in my hands are found. See how I hold the flute in my left hand; In right the pheasant's plume, waved like a wand; With visage red, where rouge you think to trace, While the duke pleased, sends down the cup of grace! Hazel on hills; the _ling_ in meadow damp;-- Each has its place, while I'm a slighted scamp. My thoughts go back to th' early days of Chow, And muse upon its chiefs, not equalled now. O noble chiefs, who then the West adorned, Would ye have thus neglected me and scorned? ~An Officer Sets Forth His Hard Lot~ My way leads forth by the gate on the north; My heart is full of woe. I hav'n't a cent, begged, stolen, or lent, And friends forget me so. So let it be! 'tis Heaven's decree. What can I say--a poor fellow like me? The King has his throne, sans sorrow or moan; On me fall all his cares, And when I come home, resolved not to roam, Each one indignant stares. So let it be! 'tis Heaven's decree. What can I say--a poor fellow like me? Each thing of the King, and the fate of the State, On me come more and more. And when, sad and worn, I come back forlorn, They thrust me from the door. So let it be! 'tis Heaven's decree. What can I say--a poor fellow like me? ~The Complaint of a Neglected Wife~ When the upper robe is green, With a yellow lining seen, There we have a certain token, Right is wronged and order broken. How can sorrow from my heart In a case like this depart? Color green the robe displays; Lower garment yellow's blaze. Thus it is that favorite mean In the place of wife is seen. Vain the conflict with my grief; Memory denies relief. Yes, 'twas you the green who dyed, You who fed the favorite's pride. Anger rises in my heart, Pierces it as with a dart. But on ancient rules lean I, Lest to wrong my thoughts should fly. Fine or coarse, if thin the dress, Cold winds always cause distress. Hard my lot, my sorrow deep, But my thoughts in check I keep. Ancient story brings to mind Sufferers who were resigned. [NOTE.--Yellow is one of the five "correct" colors of the Chinese, while green is one of the "intermediate" colors that are less esteemed. Here we have the yellow used merely as a lining to the green, or employed in the lower, or less honorable, part of the dress;--an inversion of propriety, and intimating how a favorite had usurped the place of the rightful wife and thrust her down.] ~In Praise of a Maiden~ O sweet maiden, so fair and retiring, At the corner I'm waiting for you; And I'm scratching my head, and inquiring What on earth it were best I should do. Oh! the maiden, so handsome and coy, For a pledge gave a slim rosy reed. Than the reed is she brighter, my joy; On her loveliness how my thoughts feed! In the pastures a _t'e_ blade she sought, And she gave it, so elegant, rare. Oh! the grass does not dwell in my thought, But the donor, more elegant, fair. ~Discontent~ As when the north winds keenly blow, And all around fast falls the snow, The source of pain and suffering great, So now it is in Wei's poor state. Let us join hands and haste away, My friends and lovers all. 'Tis not a time will brook delay; Things for prompt action call. As when the north winds whistle shrill, And drifting snows each hollow fill, The source of pain and suffering great, So now it is in Wei's poor state, Let us join hands, and leave for aye, My friends and lovers all, 'Tis not a time will brook delay; Things for prompt action call. We look for red, and foxes meet; For black, and crows our vision greet. The creatures, both of omen bad, Well suit the state of Wei so sad. Let us join hands and mount our cars, My friends and lovers all. No time remains for wordy jars; Things for prompt action call. ~Chwang Keang Bemoans Her Husband's Cruelty~ Fierce is the wind and cold; And such is he. Smiling he looks, and bold Speaks mockingly. Scornful and lewd his words, Haughty his smile. Bound is my heart with cords In sorrow's coil. As cloud of dust wind-blown, Just such is he. Ready he seems to own, And come to me. But he comes not nor goes, Stands in his pride. Long, long, with painful throes, Grieved I abide. Strong blew the wind; the cloud Hastened away. Soon dark again, the shroud Covers the day. I wake, and sleep no more Visits my eyes. His course I sad deplore, With heavy sighs. Cloudy the sky, and dark; The thunders roll. Such outward signs well mark My troubled soul. I wake, and sleep no more Comes to give rest. His course I sad deplore, In anguished breast. [NOTE: Selections from Books IV., V., and VI., have been omitted.--EDITOR.] BOOK VII THE ODES OF CH'ING ~The People's Admiration for Duke Woo~ The black robes well your form befit; When they are worn we'll make you new. Now for your court! oh! there we'll sit, And watch how you your duties do. And when we to our homes repair, We'll send to you our richest fare, Such is the love to you we bear! Those robes well with your virtue match; When they are worn we'll make you new. Now for your court! There will we watch, Well pleased, how you your duties do. And when we to our homes repair, We'll send to you our richest fare, Such is the love to you we bear! Those robes your character beseem; When they are worn we'll make you new. Now for your court! oh! there we deem It pleasure great your form to view. And when we to our homes repair, We'll send to you our richest fare, Such is the love to you we bear! ~A Wife Consoled by Her Husband's Arrival~ Cold is the wind, fast falls the rain, The cock aye shrilly crows. But I have seen my lord again;-- Now must my heart repose. Whistles the wind, patters the rain, The cock's crow far resounds. But I have seen my lord again, And healed are my heart's wounds. All's dark amid the wind and rain, Ceaseless the cock's clear voice! But I have seen my lord again;-- Should not my heart rejoice? ~In Praise of Some Lady~ There by his side in chariot rideth she, As lovely flower of the hibiscus tree, So fair her face; and when about they wheel, Her girdle gems of _Ken_ themselves reveal. For beauty all the House of Këang have fame; Its eldest daughter--she beseems her name. There on the path, close by him, walketh she, Bright as the blossom of hibiscus tree, And fair her face; and when around they flit, Her girdle gems a tinkling sound emit. Among the Keang she has distinguished place, For virtuous fame renowned, and peerless grace. ~A Man's Praise of His Wife~ My path forth from the east gate lay, Where cloud-like moved the girls at play. Numerous are they, as clouds so bright, But not on them my heart's thoughts light. Dressed in a thin white silk, with coiffure gray Is she, my wife, my joy in life's low way. Forth by the covering wall's high tower, I went, and saw, like rush in flower, Each flaunting girl. Brilliant are they, But not with them my heart's thoughts stay. In thin white silk, with head-dress madder-dyed, Is she, my sole delight, 'foretime my bride. ~An Entreaty~ Along the great highway, I hold you by the cuff. O spurn me not, I pray, Nor break old friendship off. Along the highway worn, I hold your hand in mine. Do not as vile me scorn; Your love I can't resign. ~A Woman Scorning Her Lover~ O dear! that artful boy Refuses me a word! But, Sir, I shall enjoy My food, though you're absurd! O dear! that artful boy My table will not share! But, Sir, I shall enjoy My rest, though you're not there! ~A Lady Mourns the Absence of Her Student Lover~ You student, with the collar blue, Long pines my heart with anxious pain. Although I do not go to you, Why from all word do you refrain? O you, with girdle strings of blue, My thoughts to you forever roam! Although I do not go to you, Yet why to me should you not come? How reckless you, how light and wild, There by the tower upon the wall! One day, from sight of you exiled, As long as three long months I call. [NOTE: Selections from Books IV., V., and VI., have been omitted.--EDITOR.] BOOK VIII THE ODES OF TS'E ~A Wife Urging Her Husband to Action~ His lady to the marquis says, "The cock has crowed; 'tis late. Get up, my lord, and haste to court. 'Tis full; for you they wait." She did not hear the cock's shrill sound, Only the blueflies buzzing round. Again she wakes him with the words, "The east, my lord, is bright. A crowded court your presence seeks; Get up and hail the light." 'Twas not the dawning light which shone, But that which by the moon was thrown. He sleeping still, once more she says, "The flies are buzzing loud. To lie and dream here by your side Were pleasant, but the crowd Of officers will soon retire; Draw not on you and me their ire!" ~The Folly of Useless Effort~ The weeds will but the ranker grow, If fields too large you seek to till. To try to gain men far away With grief your toiling heart will fill, If fields too large you seek to till, The weeds will only rise more strong. To try to gain men far away Will but your heart's distress prolong. Things grow the best when to themselves Left, and to nature's vigor rare. How young and tender is the child, With his twin tufts of falling hair! But when you him ere long behold, That child shall cap of manhood wear! ~The Prince of Loo~ A grand man is the prince of Loo, With person large and high. Lofty his front and suited to The fine glance of his eye! Swift are his feet. In archery What man with him can vie? With all these goodly qualities, We see him and we sigh! Renowned through all the land is he, The nephew of our lord. With clear and lovely eyes, his grace May not be told by word. All day at target practice, He'll never miss the bird. Such is the prince of Loo, and yet With grief for him we're stirred! All grace and beauty he displays, High forehead and eyes bright. And dancing choice! His arrows all The target hit aright. Straight through they go, and every one Lights on the self-same spot. Rebellion he could well withstand, And yet we mourn his lot! BOOK IX THE ODES OF WEI ~On the Misgovernment of the State~ A fruit, small as the garden peach, May still be used for food. A State, though poor as ours, might thrive, If but its rule were good. Our rule is bad, our State is sad, With mournful heart I grieve. All can from instrument and voice My mood of mind perceive. Who know me not, with scornful thought, Deem me a scholar proud. "Those men are right," they fiercely say, "What mean your words so loud?" Deep in my heart my sorrows lie, And none the cause may know. How should they know who never try To learn whence comes our woe? The garden jujube, although small, May still be used for food. A State, though poor as ours, might thrive, If but its rule were good. Our rule is bad, our State is sad, With mournful heart I grieve. Methinks I'll wander through the land, My misery to relieve. Who know me not, with scornful thought, Deem that wild views I hold. "Those men are right," they fiercely say, "What mean your words so bold?" Deep in my heart my sorrows lie, And none the cause may know. How can they know, who never try To learn whence comes our woe? ~The Mean Husband~ Thin cloth of dolichos supplies the shoes, In which some have to brave the frost and cold. A bride, when poor, her tender hands must use, Her dress to make, and the sharp needle hold. This man is wealthy, yet he makes his bride Collars and waistbands for his robes provide. Conscious of wealth, he moves with easy mien; Politely on the left he takes his place; The ivory pin is at his girdle seen:-- His dress and gait show gentlemanly grace. Why do we brand him in our satire here? 'Tis this---his niggard soul provokes the sneer. ~A Young Soldier on Service~ To the top of that tree-clad hill I go, And towards my father I gaze, Till with my mind's eye his form I espy, And my mind's ear hears how he says:-- "Alas for my son on service abroad! He rests not from morning till eve. May he careful be and come back to me! While he is away, how I grieve!" To the top of that barren hill I climb, And towards my mother I gaze, Till with my mind's eye her form I espy, And my mind's ear hears how she says:-- "Alas for my child on service abroad! He never in sleep shuts an eye. May he careful be, and come back to me! In the wild may his body not lie!" Up the lofty ridge I, toiling, ascend, And towards my brother I gaze, Till with my mind's eye his form I espy, And my mind's ear hears how he says:-- "Alas! my young brother, serving abroad, All day with his comrades must roam. May he careful be, and come back to me, And die not away from his home." BOOK X THE ODES OF TANG ~The King Goes to War~ The wild geese fly the bushy oaks around, With clamor loud. _Suh-suh_ their wings resound, As for their feet poor resting-place is found. The King's affairs admit of no delay. Our millet still unsown, we haste away. No food is left our parents to supply; When we are gone, on whom can they rely? O azure Heaven, that shinest there afar, When shall our homes receive us from the war? The wild geese on the bushy jujube-trees Attempt to settle and are ill at ease;-- _Suh-suh_ their wings go flapping in the breeze. The King's affairs admit of no delay; Our millet still unsown, we haste away. How shall our parents their requirements get? How in our absence shall their wants be met? O azure Heaven, that shinest there afar, When shall our homes receive us from the war? The bushy mulberry-trees the geese in rows Seek eager and to rest around them close-- With rustling loud, as disappointment grows. The King's affairs admit of no delay; To plant our rice and maize we cannot stay. How shall our parents find their wonted food? When we are gone, who will to them be good? O azure Heaven, that shinest there afar, When shall our homes receive us from the war? ~Lament of a Bereaved Person~ A russet pear-tree rises all alone, But rich the growth of leaves upon it shown! I walk alone, without one brother left, And thus of natural aid am I bereft. Plenty of people there are all around, But none like my own father's sons are found. Ye travellers, who forever hurry by, Why on me turn the unsympathizing eye? No brother lives with whom my cause to plead;-- Why not perform for me the helping deed? A russet pear-tree rises all alone, But rich with verdant foliage o'ergrown. I walk alone, without one brother's care, To whom I might, amid my straits repair. Plenty of people there are all around, But none like those of my own name are found. Ye travellers, who forever hurry by, Why on me turn the unsympathizing eye? No brother lives with whom my cause to plead;-- Why not perform for me the helping deed? ~The Drawbacks of Poverty~ On the left of the way, a russet pear-tree Stands there all alone--a fit image of me. There is that princely man! O that he would come, And in my poor dwelling with me be at home! In the core of my heart do I love him, but say, Whence shall I procure him the wants of the day? At the bend in the way a russet pear-tree Stands there all alone--a fit image of me. There is that princely man! O that he would come, And rambling with me be himself here at home! In the core of my heart I love him, but say, Whence shall I procure him the wants of the day? ~A Wife Mourns for Her Husband~ The dolichos grows and covers the thorn, O'er the waste is the dragon-plant creeping. The man of my heart is away and I mourn-- What home have I, lonely and weeping? Covering the jujubes the dolichos grows, The graves many dragon-plants cover; But where is the man on whose breast I'd repose? No home have I, having no lover! Fair to see was the pillow of horn, And fair the bed-chamber's adorning; But the man of my heart is not here, and I mourn All alone, and wait for the morning. While the long days of summer pass over my head, And long winter nights leave their traces, I'm alone! Till a hundred of years shall have fled, And then I shall meet his embraces. Through the long winter nights I am burdened with fears, Through the long summer days I am lonely; But when time shall have counted its hundreds of years I then shall be his--and his only! BOOK XI THE ODES OF TS'IN ~Celebrating the Opulence of the Lords of Ts'in~ Our ruler to the hunt proceeds; And black as iron are his steeds That heed the charioteer's command, Who holds the six reins in his hand. His favorites follow to the chase, Rejoicing in his special grace. The season's males, alarmed, arise-- The season's males, of wondrous size. Driven by the beaters, forth they spring, Soon caught within the hunters' ring. "Drive on their left," the ruler cries; And to its mark his arrow flies. The hunting done, northward he goes; And in the park the driver shows The horses' points, and his own skill That rules and guides them at his will. Light cars whose teams small bells display, The long-and short-mouthed dogs convey. ~A Complaint~ He lodged us in a spacious house, And plenteous was our fare. But now at every frugal meal There's not a scrap to spare. Alas! alas that this good man Could not go on as he began! ~A Wife's Grief Because of Her Husband's Absence~ The falcon swiftly seeks the north, And forest gloom that sent it forth. Since I no more my husband see, My heart from grief is never free. O how is it, I long to know, That he, my lord, forgets me so? Bushy oaks on the mountain grow, And six elms where the ground is low. But I, my husband seen no more, My sad and joyless fate deplore. O how is it, I long to know, That he, my lord, forgets me so? The hills the bushy wild plums show, And pear-trees grace the ground below. But, with my husband from me gone, As drunk with grief, I dwell alone. O how is it, I long to know, That he, my lord, forgets me so? ~Lament for Three Brothers~ They flit about, the yellow birds, And rest upon the jujubes find. Who buried were in duke Muh's grave, Alive to awful death consigned? 'Mong brothers three, who met that fate, 'Twas sad the first, Yen-seih to see. He stood alone; a hundred men Could show no other such as he. When to the yawning grave he came, Terror unnerved and shook his frame. Why thus destroy our noblest men, To thee we cry, O azure Heaven! To save Yen-seih from death, we would A hundred lives have freely given. They flit about, the yellow birds, And on the mulberry-trees rest find. Who buried were in duke Muh's grave, Alive to awful death consigned? 'Mong brothers three, who met that fate, 'Twas sad the next, Chung-hang to see. When on him pressed a hundred men, A match for all of them was he. When to the yawning grave he came, Terror unnerved and shook his frame. Why thus destroy our noblest men, To thee we cry, O azure Heaven! To save Chung-hang from death, we would A hundred lives have freely given. They flit about, the yellow birds, And rest upon the thorn-trees find. Who buried were in duke Muh's grave, Alive to awful death consigned? 'Mong brothers three, who met that fate, 'Twas sad the third, K'ëen-foo, to see. A hundred men in desperate fight Successfully withstand could he. When to the yawning grave he came, Terror unnerved and shook his frame. Why thus destroy our noblest men, To thee we cry, O azure Heaven! To save K'ëen-foo from death, we would A hundred lives have freely given. [NOTE.--The incident related in this poem occurred in the year B.C. 620, when the duke of Muh died after playing an important part in the affairs of Northwest China. Muh required the three officers here celebrated, to be buried with him, and according to the "Historical Records" this barbarous practice began with duke Ching, Muh's predecessor. In all, 170 individuals were buried with Muh. The death of the last distinguished man of the Ts'in dynasty, the Emperor I, was subsequently celebrated by the entombment with him of all the inmates of his harem.] ~In Praise of a Ruler of Ts'in~ What trees grow on the Chung-nan hill? The white fir and the plum. In fur of fox, 'neath 'broidered robe, Thither our prince is come. His face glows with vermilion hue. O may he prove a ruler true! What find we on the Chung-nan hill? Deep nook and open glade. Our prince shows there the double _Ke_ On lower robe displayed. His pendant holds each tinkling gem, Long life be his, and deathless fame! ~The Generous Nephew~ I escorted my uncle to Tsin, Till the Wei we crossed on the way. Then I gave as I left For his carriage a gift Four steeds, and each steed was a bay. I escorted my uncle to Tsin, And I thought of him much in my heart. Pendent stones, and with them Of fine jasper a gem, I gave, and then saw him depart. BOOK XII THE ODES OF CH'IN ~The Contentment of a Poor Recluse~ My only door some pieces of crossed wood, Within it I can rest enjoy. I drink the water wimpling from the spring; Nor hunger can my peace destroy. Purged from ambition's aims I say, "For fish. We need not bream caught in the Ho; Nor, to possess the sweets of love, require To Ts'e, to find a Keang, to go. "The man contented with his lot, a meal Of fish without Ho carp can make; Nor needs, to rest in his domestic joy, A Tsze of Sung as wife to take." ~The Disappointed Lover~ Where grow the willows near the eastern gate, And 'neath their leafy shade we could recline, She said at evening she would me await, And brightly now I see the day-star shine! Here where the willows near the eastern gate Grow, and their dense leaves make a shady gloom, She said at evening she would me await. See now the morning star the sky illume! ~A Love-Song~ The moon comes forth, bright in the sky; A lovelier sight to draw my eye Is she, that lady fair. She round my heart has fixed love's chain, But all my longings are in vain. 'Tis hard the grief to bear. The moon comes forth, a splendid sight; More winning far that lady bright, Object of my desire! Deep-seated is my anxious grief; In vain I seek to find relief; While glows the secret fire. The rising moon shines mild and fair; More bright is she, whose beauty rare My heart with longing fills. With eager wish I pine in vain; O for relief from constant pain, Which through my bosom thrills! ~The Lament of a Lover~ There where its shores the marsh surround, Rushes and lotus plants abound. Their loveliness brings to my mind The lovelier one that I would find. In vain I try to ease the smart Of wounded love that wrings my heart. In waking thought and nightly dreams, From every pore the water streams. All round the marsh's shores are seen Valerian flowers and rushes green. But lovelier is that Beauty rare, Handsome and large, and tall and fair, I wish and long to call her mine, Doomed with the longing still to pine. Nor day nor night e'er brings relief; My inmost heart is full of grief. Around the marsh, in rich display, Grow rush and lotus flowers, all gay. But not with her do they compare, So tall and large, majestic, fair. Both day and night, I nothing speed; Still clings to me the aching need. On side, on back, on face, I lie, But vain each change of posture. THE ODES OF KWEI ~The Wish of an Unhappy Man~ Where the grounds are wet and low, There the trees of goat-peach grow, With their branches small and smooth, Glossy in their tender youth. Joy it were to me, O tree, Consciousness to want like thee. Where the grounds are wet and low, There the trees of goat-peach grow. Soft and fragrant are their flowers, Glossy from the vernal showers. Joy it were to me, O tree, Ties of home to want like thee. Where the grounds are wet and low, There the trees of goat-peach grow, What delicious fruits they bear, Glossy, soft, of beauty rare! Joy it were to me, O tree, Household cares to want like thee. BOOK XIV THE ODES OF TS'AOU ~Against Frivolous Pursuits~ Like splendid robes appear the wings Of the ephemeral fly; And such the pomp of those great men, Which soon in death shall lie! I grieve! Would they but come to me! To teach them I should try. The wings of the ephemeral fly Are robes of colors gay; And such the glory of those men, Soon crumbling to decay! I grieve! Would they but rest with me, They'd learn a better way! The ephemeral fly bursts from its hole, With gauzy wings like snow; So quick the rise, so quick the fall, Of those great men we know! I grieve! Would they but lodge with me, Forth they would wiser go. BOOK XV THE ODES OF PIN ~The Duke of Chow Tells of His Soldiers~ To the hills of the east we went, And long had we there to remain. When the word of recall was sent, Thick and fast came the drizzling rain. When told our return we should take, Our hearts in the West were and sore; But there did they clothes for us make:-- They knew our hard service was o'er. On the mulberry grounds in our sight The large caterpillars were creeping; Lonely and still we passed the night, All under our carriages sleeping. To the hills of the East we went, And long had we there to remain. When the word of recall was sent, Thick and fast came the drizzling rain. The heavenly gourds rise to the eye, With their fruit hanging under the eave. In our chambers the sow-bug we spy; Their webs on our doors spiders weave. Our paddocks seem crowded with deer, With the glow-worm's light all about. Such thoughts, while they filled us with fear, We tried, but in vain, to keep out. To the hills of the East we went, And long had we there to remain. When the word of recall was sent, Thick and fast came the drizzling rain. On ant-hills screamed cranes with delight; In their rooms were our wives sighing sore. Our homes they had swept and made tight:-- All at once we arrived at the door. The bitter gourds hanging are seen, From branches of chestnut-trees high. Three years of toil away we had been, Since such a sight greeted the eye. To the hills of the East we went, And long had we there to remain. When the word of recall was sent, Thick and fast came the drizzling rain. With its wings now here, and now there, Is the oriole sporting in flight. Those brides to their husbands repair, Their steeds red and bay, flecked with white. Each mother has fitted each sash; Their equipments are full and complete; But fresh unions, whatever their dash, Can ne'er with reunions compete. ~There is a Proper Way for Doing Everything~ In hewing an axe-shaft, how must you act? Another axe take, or you'll never succeed. In taking a wife, be sure 'tis a fact, That with no go-between you never can speed. In hewing an axe-shaft, hewing a shaft, For a copy you have the axe in your hand. In choosing a wife, you follow the craft, And forthwith on the mats the feast-vessels stand. PART II.--MINOR ODES TO THE KINGDOM BOOK I DECADE OF LUH MING ~A Festal Ode~ With sounds of happiness the deer Browse on the celery of the meads. A nobler feast is furnished here, With guests renowned for noble deeds. The lutes are struck; the organ blows, Till all its tongues in movement heave. Each basket loaded stands, and shows The precious gifts the guests receive. They love me and my mind will teach, How duty's highest aim to reach. With sounds of happiness the deer The southern-wood crop in the meads, What noble guests surround me here, Distinguished for their worthy deeds! From them my people learn to fly Whate'er is mean; to chiefs they give A model and a pattern high;-- They show the life they ought to live. Then fill their cups with spirits rare, Till each the banquet's joy shall share. With sounds of happiness the deer The salsola crop in the fields. What noble guests surround me here! Each lute for them its music yields. Sound, sound the lutes, or great or small. The joy harmonious to prolong;-- And with my spirits rich crown all The cups to cheer the festive throng. Let each retire with gladdened heart, In his own sphere to play his part. ~A Festal Ode Complimenting an Officer~ On dashed my four steeds, without halt, without stay, Though toilsome and winding from Chow was the way. I wished to return--but the monarch's command Forbade that his business be done with slack hand; And my heart was with sadness oppressed. On dashed my four steeds; I ne'er slackened the reins. They snorted and panted--all white, with black manes. I wished to return, but our sovereign's command Forbade that his business be done with slack hand;-- And I dared not to pause or to rest. Unresting the Filial doves speed in their flight, Ascending, then sweeping swift down from the height, Now grouped on the oaks. The king's high command Forbade that his business be done with slack hand;-- And my father I left, sore distressed. Unresting the Filial doves speed in their flight, Now fanning the air and anon they alight On the medlars thick grouped. But our monarch's command Forbade that his business be done with slack hand;-- Of my mother I thought with sad breast. My four steeds I harnessed, all white and black-maned, Which straight on their way, fleet and emulous strained. I wished to return; and now venture in song The wish to express, and announce how I long For my mother my care to attest. [NOTE.--Both Maou and Choo agree that this ode was composed in honor of the officer who narrates the story in it, although they say it was not written by the officer himself, but was put into his mouth, as it were, to express the sympathy of his entertainer with him, and the appreciation of his devotion to duty.] ~The Value of Friendship~ The woodmen's blows responsive ring, As on the trees they fall; And when the birds their sweet notes sing, They to each other call. From the dark valley comes a bird, And seeks the lofty tree. _Ying_ goes its voice, and thus it cries, "Companion, come to me." The bird, although a creature small, Upon its mate depends; And shall we men, who rank o'er all, Not seek to have our friends? All spirits love the friendly man, And hearken to his prayer. What harmony and peace they can Bestow, his lot shall share. _Hoo-hoo_ the woodmen all unite To shout, as trees they fell. They do their work with all their might;-- What I have done I'll tell. I've strained and made my spirits clear, The fatted lambs I've killed. With friends who my own surname bear, My hall I've largely filled. Some may be absent, casually, And leave a broken line; But better this than absence by An oversight of mine. My court I've sprinkled and swept clean, Viands in order set. Eight dishes loaded stand with grain; There's store of fatted meat. My mother's kith and kin I'm sure I've widely called by name. That some be hindered better is Than ~I~ give cause for blame. On the hill-side the trees they fell, All working with good-will I labor too, with equal zeal. And the host's part fulfil. Spirits I've set in order meet, The dishes stand in rows. The guests are here; no vacant seat A brother absent shows. The loss of kindly feeling oft From slightest things shall grow, Where all the fare is dry and spare, Resentments fierce may glow. My store of spirits is well strained, If short prove the supply, My messengers I straightway send, And what is needed buy. I beat the drums, and in the dance Lead joyously the train. Oh! good it is, when falls the chance The sparkling cup to drain. ~The Response to a Festal Ode~ Heaven shields and sets thee fast. It round thee fair has cast Thy virtue pure. Thus richest joy is thine;-- Increase of corn and wine, And every gift divine, Abundant, sure. Heaven shields and sets thee fast. From it thou goodness hast; Right are thy ways. Its choicest gifts 'twill pour, That last for evermore, Nor time exhaust the store Through endless days. Heaven shields and sets thee fast, Makes thine endeavor last And prosper well. Like hills and mountains high, Whose masses touch the sky; Like streams aye surging by; Thine increase swell! With rite and auspice fair, Thine offerings thou dost bear, And son-like give, The season's round from spring, To olden duke and king, Whose words to thee we bring:-- "Forever live," The spirits of thy dead Pour blessings on thy head, Unnumbered sweet. Thy subjects, simple, good, Enjoy their drink and food. Our tribes of every blood Follow thy feet. Like moons that wax in light; Or suns that scale the height; Or ageless hill; Nor change, nor autumn know; As pine and cypress grow; The sons that from thee flow Be lasting still! ~An Ode of Congratulation~ The russet pear-tree stands there all alone; How bright the growth of fruit upon it shown! The King's affairs no stinting hands require, And days prolonged still mock our fond desire. But time has brought the tenth month of the year; My woman's heart is torn with wound severe. Surely my warrior lord might now appear! The russet pear-tree stands there all alone; How dense the leafy shade all o'er it thrown! The King's affairs require no slackening hand, And our sad hearts their feelings can't command. The plants and trees in beauty shine; 'tis spring. From off my heart its gloom I fain would fling. This season well my warrior home may bring! I climbed that northern hill, and medlars sought; The spring nigh o'er, to ripeness they were brought. "The King's affairs cannot be slackly done";-- 'Tis thus our parents mourn their absent son. But now his sandal car must broken be; I seem his powerful steeds worn out to see. Relief has gone! He can't be far from me! Alas! they can't have marched; they don't arrive! More hard it grows with my distress to strive. The time is passed, and still he is not here! My sorrows multiply; great is my fear. But lo! by reeds and shell I have divined, That he is near, they both assure my mind;-- Soon at my side my warrior I shall find! ~An Ode on the Return of the Troops~ Forth from the city in our cars we drove, Until we halted at the pasture ground. The general came, and there with ardor strove A note of zeal throughout the host to sound. "Direct from court I come, by orders bound The march to hasten";--it was thus he spake. Then with the carriage-officers around, He strictly charged them quick despatch to make:-- "Urgent the King's affairs, forthwith the field we take." While there we stopped, the second corps appeared, And 'twixt Us and the city took its place. The guiding standard was on high upreared, Where twining snakes the tortoises embrace, While oxtails, crest-like, did the staff's top grace. We watched the sheet unfolding grandly wave; Each flag around showed falcons on its face. With anxious care looked on our leader brave; Watchful the carriage-officers appeared and grave. Nan Chung, our chief, had heard the royal call To go where inroad by Heen-yuns was made, And 'cross the frontier build a barrier wall. Numerous his chariots, splendidly arrayed! The standards--this where dragons were displayed, And that where snakes round tortoises were coiled-- Terrific flew. "Northward our host," he said, "Heaven's son sends forth to tame the Heen-yun wild." Soon by this awful chief would all their tribes be foiled. When first we took the field, and northward went, The millet was in flower;--a prospect sweet. Now when our weary steps are homeward bent, The snow falls fast, the mire impedes our feet. Many the hardships we were called to meet, Ere the King's orders we had all fulfilled. No rest we had; often our friends to greet The longing came; but vain regrets we stilled; By tablets stern our hearts with fresh resolve were thrilled. "Incessant chirp the insects in the grass; All round about the nimble hoppers spring. From them our thoughts quick to our husbands pass? Although those thoughts our hearts with anguish wring. Oh! could we see them, what relief 'twould bring! Our hearts, rejoiced, at once would feel at rest." Thus did our wives, their case deploring, sing; The while our leader farther on had pressed, And smitten with his power the wild Jung of the west. The spring days now are lengthening out their light; The plants and trees are dressed in living green; The orioles resting sing, or wing their flight; Our wives amid the southern-wood are seen, Which white they bring, to feed their silkworms keen. Our host, returned, sweeps onwards to the hall, Where chiefs are questioned, shown the captives mean Nan Chung, majestic, draws the gaze of all, Proud o'er the barbarous foe his victories to recall. BOOK II THE DECADE OF PIH H'WA ~An Ode Appropriate to a Festivity~ The dew lies heavy all around, Nor, till the sun shines, leaves the ground. Far into night we feasting sit; We drink, and none his place may quit. The dew lies heavy, and its gems Stud the luxuriant, grassy stems. The happy night with wassail rings; So feasted here the former kings. The jujube and the willow-tree All fretted with the dew we see. Each guest's a prince of noble line, In whom the virtues all combine. The _t'ung_ and _e_ their fruits display, Pendant from every graceful spray. My guests are joyous and serene, No haggard eye, no ruffled mien. BOOK III THE DECADE OF TUNG RUNG ~Celebrating a Hunting Expedition~ Our chariots were well-built and firm, Well-matched our steeds, and fleet and strong. Four, sleek and large, each chariot drew, And eastward thus we drove along. Our hunting cars were light and good, Each with its team of noble steeds. Still further east we took the way To Foo-mere's grassy plains that leads. Loud-voiced, the masters of the chase Arranged the huntsmen, high and low. While banners streamed, and ox-tails flew, We sought the prey on distant Gaou. Each with full team, the princes came, A lengthened train in bright array. In gold-wrought slippers, knee-caps red, They looked as on an audience day. Each right thumb wore the metal guard; On the left arm its shield was bound. In unison the arrows flew; The game lay piled upon the ground. The leaders of the tawny teams Sped on their course, direct and true. The drivers perfect skill displayed; Like blow well aimed each arrow flew. Neighing and pleased, the steeds returned; The bannered lines back slowly came. No jostling rude disgraced the crowd; The king declined large share of game. So did this famous hunt proceed! So free it was from clamorous sound! Well does our King become his place, And high the deeds his reign have crowned! ~The King's Anxiety for His Morning Levée~ How goes the night? For heavy morning sleep Ill suits the king who men would loyal keep. The courtyard, ruddy with the torch's light, Proclaims unspent the deepest hour of night. Already near the gate my lords appear; Their tinkling bells salute my wakeful ear. How goes the night? I may not slumber on. Although not yet the night is wholly gone, The paling torch-light in the court below Gives token that the hours swift-footed go. Already at the gate my lords appear; Their tinkling bells with measured sound draw near. How goes the night? I may not slumber now. The darkness smiles with morning on its brow. The courtyard torch no more gives forth its ray, But heralds with its smoke the coming day. My princes pass the gate, and gather there; I see their banners floating in the air. ~Moral Lessons from Natural Facts~ All true words fly, as from yon reedy marsh The crane rings o'er the wild its screaming harsh. Vainly you try reason in chains to keep;-- Freely it moves as fish sweeps through the deep. Hate follows love, as 'neath those sandal-trees The withered leaves the eager searcher sees. The hurtful ne'er without some good was born;-- The stones that mar the hill will grind the corn. All true words spread, as from the marsh's eye The crane's sonorous note ascends the sky. Goodness throughout the widest sphere abides, As fish round isle and through the ocean glides. And lesser good near greater you shall see, As grows the paper shrub 'neath sandal-tree. And good emerges from what man condemns;-- Those stones that mar the hill will polish gems. BOOK IV THE DECADE OF K'E-FOO ~On the Completion of a Royal Palace~ On yonder banks a palace, lo! upshoots, The tender blue of southern hill behind; Firm-founded, like the bamboo's clamping roots; Its roof made pine-like, to a point defined. Fraternal love here bears its precious fruits, And unfraternal schemes be ne'er designed! Ancestral sway is his. The walls they rear, Five thousand cubits long; and south and west The doors are placed. Here will the king appear, Here laugh, here talk, here sit him down and rest. To mould the walls, the frames they firmly tie; The toiling builders beat the earth and lime. The walls shall vermin, storm, and bird defy;-- Fit dwelling is it for his lordly prime. Grand is the hall the noble lord ascends;-- In height, like human form most reverent, grand; And straight, as flies the shaft when bow unbends; Its tints, like hues when pheasant's wings expand. High pillars rise the level court around; The pleasant light the open chamber steeps; And deep recesses, wide alcoves, are found, Where our good king in perfect quiet sleeps. Laid is the bamboo mat on rush mat square;-- Here shall he sleep, and, waking, say, "Divine What dreams are good? For bear and grizzly bear, And snakes and cobras, haunt this couch of mine." Then shall the chief diviner glad reply, "The bears foreshow that Heaven will send you sons. The snakes and cobras daughters prophesy. These auguries are all auspicious ones. "Sons shall be his--on couches lulled to rest. The little ones, enrobed, with sceptres play; Their infant cries are loud as stern behest; Their knees the vermeil covers shall display. As king hereafter one shall be addressed; The rest, our princes, all the States shall sway. "And daughters also to him shall be born. They shall be placed upon the ground to sleep; Their playthings tiles, their dress the simplest worn; Their part alike from good and ill to keep, And ne'er their parents' hearts to cause to mourn; To cook the food, and spirit-malt to steep." ~The Condition of King Seuen's Flocks~ Who dares to say your sheep are few? The flocks are all three hundred strong. Who dares despise your cattle too? There ninety, black-lipped, press along. Though horned the sheep, yet peaceful each appears; The cattle come with moist and flapping ears. These climb the heights, those drink the pool; Some lie at rest, while others roam. With rain-coats, and thin splint hats cool, And bearing food, your herdsmen come. In thirties, ranged by hues, the creatures stand; Fit victims they will yield at your command. Your herdsmen twigs and fagots bring, With prey of birds and beasts for food. Your sheep, untouched by evil thing, Approach, their health and vigor good. The herdsman's waving hand they all behold, And docile come, and pass into the fold. Your herdsmen dream;--fish take the place Of men; on banners falcons fly, Displacing snakes and tortoises. The augur tells his prophecy:-- "The first betoken plenteous years; the change Of banners shows of homes a widening range." BOOK V THE DECADE OF SEAOU MIN ~A Eunuch Complains of His Fate~ A few fine lines, at random drawn, Like the shell-pattern wrought in lawn To hasty glance will seem. My trivial faults base slander's slime Distorted into foulest crime, And men me worthless deem. A few small points, pricked down on wood, May be made out a picture good Of the bright Southern Sieve. Who planned, and helped those slanderers vile, My name with base lies to defile? Unpitied, here I grieve. With babbling tongues you go about, And only scheme how to make out The lies you scatter round. Hear me--Be careful what you say; People ere long your words will weigh, And liars you'll be found. Clever you are with changeful schemes! How else could all your evil dreams And slanders work their way? Men now believe you; by and by, The truth found out, each vicious lie Will ill for ill repay. The proud rejoice; the sufferer weeps. O azure Heaven, from out thy deeps Why look in silence down? Behold those proud men and rebuke; With pity on the sufferers look, And on the evil frown. Those slanderers I would gladly take, With all who help their schemes to make, And to the tigers throw. If wolves and tigers such should spare, Td hurl them 'midst the freezing air, Where the keen north winds blow. And should the North compassion feel I'd fling them to great Heaven, to deal On them its direst woe. As on the sacred heights you dwell, My place is in the willow dell, One is the other near. Before you, officers, I spread These lines by me, poor eunuch, made. Think not Mang-tsze severe. ~An Officer Deplores the Misery of the Time~ In the fourth month summer shines; In the sixth the heat declines. Nature thus grants men relief; Tyranny gives only grief. Were not my forefathers men? Can my suffering 'scape their ken? In the cold of autumn days Each plant shrivels and decays. Nature then is hard and stern; Living things sad lessons learn. Friends dispersed, all order gone, Place of refuge have I none. Winter days are wild and fierce; Rapid gusts each crevice pierce. Such is my unhappy lot, Unbefriended and forgot! Others all can happy be; I from misery ne'er am free. On the mountains are fine trees; Chestnuts, plum-trees, there one sees. All the year their forms they show; Stately more and more they grow. Noble turned to ravening thief! What the cause? This stirs my grief. Waters from that spring appear Sometimes foul, and sometimes clear, Changing oft as falls the rain, Or the sky grows bright again. New misfortunes every day Still befall me, misery's prey. Aid from mighty streams obtained, Southern States are shaped and drained. Thus the Keang and Han are thanked, And as benefactors ranked. Weary toil my vigor drains; All unnoticed it remains! Hawks and eagles mount the sky; Sturgeons in deep waters lie. Out of reach, they safely get, Arrow fear not, nor the net. Hiding-place for me there's none; Here I stay, and make my moan. Ferns upon the hills abound; _Ke_ and _e_ in marshy ground. Each can boast its proper place, Where it grows for use or grace. I can only sing the woe, Which, ill-starred, I undergo. ~On the Alienation of a Friend~ Gently and soft the east wind blows, And then there falls the pelting rain. When anxious fears pressed round you close, Then linked together were we twain. Now happy, and your mind at rest, You turn and cast me from your breast. Gently and soft the east wind blows, And then there comes the whirlwind wild. When anxious fears pressed round you close, Your bosom held me as a child. Now happy, and in peaceful state, You throw me off and quite forget. Gently and soft the east wind blows, Then round the rocky height it storms. Each plant its leaves all dying shows; The trees display their withered forms. My virtues great forgotten all, You keep in mind my faults, though small. BOOK VI THE DECADE OF PIH SHAN ~A Picture of Husbandry~ Various the toils which fields so large demand! We choose the seed; we take our tools in hand. In winter for our work we thus prepare; Then in the spring, bearing the sharpened 'share, We to the acres go that south incline, And to the earth the different seeds consign. Soon, straight and large, upward each plant aspires;-- All happens as our noble lord desires. The plants will ear; within their sheath confined, The grains will harden, and be good in kind. Nor darnel these, nor wolf's-tail grass infests; From core and leaf we pick the insect pests, And pick we those that eat the joints and roots:-- So do we guard from harm the growing fruits. May the great Spirit, whom each farmer names, Those insects take, and cast them to the flames! The clouds o'erspread the sky in masses dense, And gentle rain down to the earth dispense. First may the public fields the blessing get, And then with it our private fields we wet! Patches of unripe grain the reaper leaves; And here and there ungathered are the sheaves. Handfuls besides we drop upon the ground, And ears untouched in numbers lie around;-- These by the poor and widows shall be found. When wives and children to the toilers come, Bringing provisions from each separate home, Our lord of long descent shall oft appear; The Inspector also, glad the men to cheer. They too shall thank the Spirits of the air, With sacrifices pure for all their care; Now red, now black, the victims that they slay, As North or South the sacrifice they pay; While millet bright the altars always show;-- And we shall thus still greater blessings know. ~The Complaint of an Officer~ O Heaven above, before whose light Revealed is every deed and thought, To thee I cry. Hither on toilsome service brought, In this wild K'ew I watch time's flight, And sadly sigh. The second month had just begun, When from the east we took our way. Through summer hot We passed, and many a wintry day. Summer again its course has run. O bitter lot! There are my compeers, gay at court, While here the tears my face begrime. I'd fain return-- But there is that dread net for crime! The fear of it the wish cuts short. In vain I burn! Ere we the royal city left, The sun and moon renewed the year. We marched in hope. Now to its close this year is near. Return deferred, of hope bereft, All mourn and mope. My lonesome state haunts aye my breast, While duties grow, and cares increase, Too hard to bear. Toils that oppress me never cease; Not for a moment dare I rest, Nigh to despair. I think with fond regard of those, Who in their posts at court remain, My friends of old. Fain would I be with them again, But fierce reproof return would cause. This post I hold. When for the West I left my home, The sun and moon both mildly shone, Our hearts to cheer. We'd soon be back, our service done! Alas! affairs more urgent come, And fix us here. The year is hastening to expire. We gather now the southern-wood, The beans we reap;-- That for its fragrance, these for food. Such things that constant care require Me anxious keep. Thinking of friends still at their posts, I rise and pass the night outside, So vexed my mind. But soon what changes may betide? I here will stay, whate'er it costs, And be resigned. My honored friends, O do not deem Your rest which seems secure from ill Will ever last! Your duties quietly fulfil, And hold the upright in esteem, With friendship fast. So shall the Spirits hear your cry, You virtuous make, and good supply, In measure vast. My honored friends, O do not deem Repose that seems secure from ill Will lasting prove. Your duties quietly fulfil, And hold the upright in esteem, With earnest love. So shall the Spirits hear your prayer, And on you happiness confer, Your hopes above. BOOK VII DECADE OF SANG HOO ~The Rejoicings of a Bridegroom~ With axle creaking, all on fire I went, To fetch my young and lovely bride. No thirst or hunger pangs my bosom rent-- I only longed to have her by my side. I feast with her, whose virtue fame had told, Nor need we friends our rapture to behold. The long-tailed pheasants surest covert find, Amid the forest on the plain. Here from my virtuous bride, of noble mind, And person tall, I wisdom gain. I praise her while we feast, and to her say, "The love I bear you ne'er will know decay. "Poor we may be; spirits and viands fine My humble means will not afford. But what we have, we'll taste and not repine; From us will come no grumbling word. And though to you no virtue I can add, Yet we will sing and dance, in spirit glad. "I oft ascend that lofty ridge with toil, And hew large branches from the oaks; Then of their leafy glory them I spoil, And fagots form with vigorous strokes. Returning tired, your matchless grace I see, And my whole soul dissolves in ecstasy. "To the high hills I looked, and urged each steed; The great road next was smooth and plain. Up hill, o'er dale, I never slackened speed; Like lute-string sounded every rein. I knew, my journey ended, I should come To you, sweet bride, the comfort of my home." ~Against Listening to Slanderers~ Like the blueflies buzzing round, And on the fences lighting, Are the sons of slander found, Who never cease their biting. O thou happy, courteous king, To the winds their slanders fling. Buzzing round the blueflies hear, About the jujubes flocking! So the slanderers appear, Whose calumnies are shocking. By no law or order bound, All the kingdom they confound. How they buzz, those odious flies, Upon the hazels clust'ring! And as odious are the lies Of those slanderers blust'ring. Hatred stirred between us two Shows the evil they can do. BOOK VIII THE DECADE OF TOO JIN SZE ~In Praise of By-gone Simplicity~ In the old capital they stood, With yellow fox-furs plain, Their manners all correct and good, Speech free from vulgar stain. Could we go back to Chow's old days, All would look up to them with praise. In the old capital they wore _T'ae_ hats and black caps small; And ladies, who famed surnames bore, Their own thick hair let fall. Such simple ways are seen no more, And the changed manners I deplore. Ear-rings, made of plainest gold, In the old days were worn. Each lady of a noble line A Yin or Keih seemed born. Such officers and ladies now I see not and my sorrows grow. With graceful sweep their girdles fell, Then in the days of old. The ladies' side-hair, with a swell, Like scorpion's tail, rose bold. Such, if I saw them in these days, I'd follow with admiring gaze. So hung their girdles, not for show;-- To their own length 'twas due. 'Twas not by art their hair curled so;-- By nature so it grew. I seek such manners now in vain, And pine for them with longing pain. [NOTE.--Yin and Keih were clan names of great families, the ladies of which would be leaders of fashion in the capital.] ~A Wife Bemoans Her Husband's Absence~ So full am I of anxious thought, Though all the morn king-grass I've sought, To fill my arms I fail. Like wisp all-tangled is my hair! To wash it let me home repair. My lord soon may I hail! Though 'mong the indigo I've wrought The morning long; through anxious thought My skirt's filled but in part. Within five days he was to appear; The sixth has come and he's not here. Oh! how this racks my heart! When here we dwelt in union sweet, If the hunt called his eager feet, His bow I cased for him. Or if to fish he went away, And would be absent all the day, His line I put in trim. What in his angling did he catch? Well worth the time it was to watch How bream and tench he took. Men thronged upon the banks and gazed; At bream and tench they looked amazed, The triumphs of his hook. ~The Earl of Shaou's Work~ As the young millet, by the genial rain Enriched, shoots up luxuriant and tall, So, when we southward marched with toil and pain, The Earl of Shaou cheered and inspired us all. We pushed our barrows, and our burdens bore; We drove our wagons, and our oxen led. "The work once done, our labor there is o'er, And home we travel," to ourselves we said. Close kept our footmen round the chariot track; Our eager host in close battalions sped. "When once our work is done, then we go back, Our labor over," to themselves they said. Hard was the work we had at Seay to do, But Shaou's great earl the city soon upreared. The host its service gave with ardor true;-- Such power in all the earl's commands appeared! We did on plains and low lands what was meet; We cleared the springs and streams, the land to drain. The Earl of Shaou announced his work complete, And the King's heart reposed, at rest again. ~The Plaint of King Yew's Forsaken Wife~ The fibres of the white-flowered rush Are with the white grass bound. So do the two together go, In closest union found. And thus should man and wife abide, The twain combined in one; But this bad man sends me away, And bids me dwell alone. Both rush and grass from the bright clouds The genial dew partake. Kind and impartial, nature's laws No odious difference make. But providence appears unkind; Events are often hard. This man, to principle untrue, Denies me his regard. Northward the pools their waters send, To flood each paddy field; So get the fields the sap they need, Their store of rice to yield. But that great man no deed of grace Deigns to bestow on me. My songs are sighs. At thought of him My heart aches wearily. The mulberry branches they collect, And use their food to cook; But I must use a furnace small, That pot nor pan will brook. So me that great man badly treats, Nor uses as his wife, Degrades me from my proper place, And fills with grief my life. The bells and drums inside the court Men stand without and hear; So should the feelings in my breast, To him distinct appear. All-sorrowful, I think of him, Longing to move his love; But he vouchsafes no kind response; His thoughts far from me rove. The marabow stands on the dam, And to repletion feeds; The crane deep in the forest cries, Nor finds the food it needs. So in my room the concubine By the great man is placed; While I with cruel banishment Am cast out and disgraced. The yellow ducks sit on the dam, With left wing gathered low; So on each other do they lean, And their attachment show. And love should thus the man and wife In closest concord bind; But that man turns away from me, And shows a fickle mind. When one stands on a slab of stone, No higher than the ground, Nothing is added to his height;-- Low with the stone he's found. So does the favorite's mean estate Render that great man mean, While I by him, to distance sent, Am pierced with sorrow keen. ~Hospitality~ A few gourd leaves that waved about Cut down and boiled;--the feast how spare! But the good host his spirits takes, Pours out a cup, and proves them rare. A single rabbit on the mat, Or baked, or roast:--how small the feast! But the good host his spirits takes, And fills the cup of every guest. A single rabbit on the mat, Roasted or broiled:--how poor the meal! But the guests from the spirit vase Fill their host's cup, and drink his weal. A single rabbit on the mat, Roasted or baked:--no feast we think! But from the spirit vase they take, Both host and guests, and joyous drink. ~On the Misery of Soldiers~ Yellow now is all the grass; All the days in marching pass. On the move is every man; Hard work, far and near, they plan. Black is every plant become; Every man is torn from home. Kept on foot, our state is sad;-- As if we no feelings had! Not rhinoceroses we! Tigers do we care to be? Fields like these so desolate Are to us a hateful fate. Long-tailed foxes pleased may hide 'Mong the grass, where they abide. We, in box carts slowly borne, On the great roads plod and mourn. PART III.--GREATER ODES OF THE KINGDOM BOOK I DECADE OF KING WAN ~Celebrating King Wan~ The royal Wan now rests on high, Enshrined in brightness of the sky. Chow as a state had long been known, And Heaven's decree at last was shown. Its lords had borne a glorious name; God kinged them when the season came. King Wan ruled well when earth he trod; Now moves his spirit near to God. A strong-willed, earnest king was Wan, And still his fame rolls widening on. The gifts that God bestowed on Chow Belong to Wan's descendants now. Heaven blesses still with gifts divine The hundred scions of his line; And all the officers of Chow From age to age more lustrous grow. More lustrous still from age to age, All reverent plans their zeal engage; And brilliant statesmen owe their birth To this much-favored spot of earth. They spring like products of the land-- The men by whom the realm doth stand. Such aid their numerous bands supply, That Wan rests tranquilly on high. Deep were Wan's thoughts, sustained his ways; His reverence lit its trembling rays. Resistless came great Heaven's decree; The sons of Shang must bend the knee;-- The sons of Shang, each one a king, In numbers beyond numbering. Yet as God spoke, so must it be:-- The sons of Shang all bent the knee. Now each to Chow his homage pays-- So dark and changing are Heaven's ways. When we pour our libations here, The officers of Shang appear, Quick and alert to give their aid:-- Such is the service by them paid, While still they do not cast aside The cap and broidered axe--their pride. Ye servants of our line of kings, Remember him from whom it springs. Remember him from whom it springs;-- Let this give to your virtue wings. Seek harmony with Heaven's great mind;-- So shall you surest blessing find. Ere Shang had lost the nation's heart, Its monarchs all with God had part In sacrifice. From them you see 'Tis hard to keep high Heaven's decree. 'Tis hard to keep high Heaven's decree! O sin not, or you cease to be. To add true lustre to your name, See Shang expire in Heaven's dread flame. For Heaven's high dealings are profound, And far transcend all sense and sound. From Wan your pattern you must draw, And all the States will own your law. [Book II. is omitted] BOOK III [*] DECADE OF TANG ~King Seuen on the Occasion of a Great Drought~ Grand shone the Milky Way on high, With brilliant span athwart the sky, Nor promise gave of rain. King Seuen long gazed; then from him broke, In anguished tones the words he spoke. Well might he thus complain! "O Heaven, what crimes have we to own, That death and ruin still come down? Relentless famine fills our graves. Pity the king who humbly craves! Our miseries never cease. To every Spirit I have vowed; The choicest victim's blood has flowed. As offerings I have freely paid My store of gems and purest jade. Hear me, and give release! "The drought consumes us. As on wing Its fervors fly, and torment bring. With purest mind and ceaseless care My sacrifices I prepare. At thine own border altars, Heaven, And in my father's fane, I've given What might relief have found. What Powers above, below, have sway, To all my precious gifts I pay, Then bury in the ground. Yes, every Spirit has received Due honor, and, still unrelieved, Our sufferings greater grow. How-tseih can't give the needed aid, And help from God is still delayed! The country lies a ruined waste. O would that I alone might taste This bitter cup of woe! "The drought consumes us. Nor do I To fix the blame on others try. I quake with dread; the risk I feel, As when I hear the thunders peal, Or fear its sudden crash. Our black-haired race, a remnant now, Will every one be swept from Chow, As by the lightning's flash. Nor I myself will live alone. God from his great and heavenly throne Will not spare even me. O friends and officers, come, blend Your prayers with mine; come, lowly bend. Chow's dynasty will pass away; Its altars at no distant day In ruins all shall be! "The drought consumes us. It keeps on Its fatal course. All hope is gone. The air more fierce and fiery glows. Where can I fly? Where seek repose? Death marks me for its prey. Above, no saving hand! Around, No hope, no comfort, can be found. The dukes and ministers of old Give us no help. Can ye withhold Your sympathy, who lately reigned? And parents, how are you restrained, In this so dreadful day? "The drought consumes us. There on high The hills are parched. The streams are dry. Drought's demon stalks abroad in ire, And scatters wide his flames and fire. Alas, my woful heart! The fires within its strength consume; The heat without creates a gloom That from it will not part. The dukes and ministers by-gone Respond not to my prayer and moan. God in great Heaven, permission give That I may in retirement live, And try to heal my smart! "The drought consumes us. Still I strive, And will not leave while I survive. Duty to shun I fear. Why upon me has come this drought? Vainly I try to search it out, Vainly, with quest severe. For a good harvest soon I prayed, Nor late the rites I duly paid, To Spirits of the air and land. There wanted nought they could demand, Their favor to secure. God in great heaven, be just, be kind! Thou dost not bear me in Thy mind. My cry, ye wisest Spirits, hear! Ye whom I constantly revere, Why do I this endure? "The drought consumes us. People fly, And leave their homes. Each social tie And bond of rule is snapt. The Heads of Boards are all perplexed; My premier's mind is sorely vexed; In trouble all are wrapt. The Masters of my Horse and Guards; My cook, and men of different wards:-- Not one has from the struggle shrunk. Though feeling weak, they have not sunk, But done their best to aid. To the great sky I look with pain;-- Why do these grievous sorrows rain On my devoted head? "Yes, at the mighty sky I gaze, And lo! the stars pursue their maze, And sparkle clear and bright. Ah! Heaven nor helps, nor seems to ken. Great officers and noble men, With all your powers ye well have striven, And reverently have sought from Heaven Its aid in our great fight. My death is near; but oh! keep on, And do as thus far you have done. Regard you only me? No, for yourselves and all your friends, On whom for rule the land depends, You seek security. I turn my gaze to the great sky;-- When shall this drought be done, and I Quiet and restful be?" [NOTE *: Selections from Book II. are omitted.--EDITOR.] PART IV.--ODES OF THE TEMPLE AND ALTAR BOOK I SACRIFICIAL ODES OF CHOW ~Appropriate to a Sacrifice to King Wan~ My offerings here are given, A ram, a bull. Accept them, mighty Heaven, All-bountiful. Thy statutes, O great king, I keep, I love; So on the realm to bring Peace from above. From Wan comes blessing rich; Now on the right He owns those gifts to which Him I invite. Do I not night and day, Revere great Heaven, That thus its favor may To Chow be given? ~On Sacrificing to the Kings Woo, Ching, and K'ang~ The arm of Woo was full of might; None could his fire withstand; And Ching and K'ang stood forth to sight, As kinged by God's own hand. We err not when we call them sage. How grandly they maintained Their hold of all the heritage That Wan and Woo had gained! As here we worship, they descend, While bells and drums resound, And stones and lutes their music blend. With blessings we are crowned. The rites correctly we discharge; The feast we freely share. Those Sires Chow's glory will enlarge, And ever for it care. THE TRAVELS OF FÂ-HIEN [Translation by James Legge] TRANSLATOR'S INTRODUCTION Nothing of great importance is known about Fâ-hien in addition to what may be gathered from his own record of his travels. I have read the accounts of him in the "Memoirs of Eminent Monks," compiled in A.D. 519, and a later work, the "Memoirs of Marvellous Monks," by the third emperor of the Ming dynasty (A.D. 1403-1424), which, however, is nearly all borrowed from the other; and all in them that has an appearance of verisimilitude can be brought within brief compass. His surname, they tell us, was Kung, and he was a native of Wu-yang in P'ing-yang, which is still the name of a large department in Shan-hsî. He had three brothers older than himself; but when they all died before shedding their first teeth, his father devoted him to the service of the Buddhist society, and had him entered as a Srâmanera, still keeping him at home in the family. The little fellow fell dangerously ill, and the father sent him to the monastery, where he soon got well and refused to return to his parents. When he was ten years old, his father died; and an uncle, considering the widowed solitariness and helplessness of the mother, urged him to renounce the monastic life, and return to her, but the boy replied, "I did not quit the family in compliance with my father's wishes, but because I wished to be far from the dust and vulgar ways of life. This is why I choose monkhood." The uncle approved of his words and gave over urging him. When his mother also died, it appeared how great had been the affection for her of his fine nature; but after her burial he returned to the monastery. On one occasion he was cutting rice with a score or two of his fellow-disciples, when some hungry thieves came upon them to take away their grain by force. The other Srâmaneras all fled, but our young hero stood his ground, and said to the thieves, "If you must have the grain, take what you please. But, sirs, it was your former neglect of charity which brought you to your present state of destitution; and now, again, you wish to rob others. I am afraid that in the coming ages you will have still greater poverty and distress; I am sorry for you beforehand." With these words he followed his companions to the monastery, while the thieves left the grain and went away, all the monks, of whom there were several hundred, doing homage to his conduct and courage. When he had finished his novitiate and taken on him the obligations of the full Buddhist orders, his earnest courage, clear intelligence, and strict regulation of his demeanor, were conspicuous; and soon after, he undertook his journey to India in search of complete copies of the Vinaya-pitaka. What follows this is merely an account of his travels in India and return to China by sea, condensed from his own narrative, with the addition of some marvellous incidents that happened to him, on his visit to the Vulture Peak near Râjagriha. It is said in the end that after his return to China, he went to the capital (evidently Nanking), and there, along with the Indian Sramana Buddha-bhadra, executed translations of some of the works which he had obtained in India; and that before he had done all that he wished to do in this way, he removed to King-chow (in the present Hoo-pih), and died in the monastery of Sin, at the age of eighty-eight, to the great sorrow of all who knew him. It is added that there is another larger work giving an account of his travels in various countries. Such is all the information given about our author, beyond what he has himself told us. Fâ-hien was his clerical name, and means "Illustrious in the Law," or "Illustrious master of the Law." The Shih which often precedes it is an abbreviation of the name of Buddha as Sâkyamuni, "the Sâkya, mighty in Love, dwelling in Seclusion and Silence," and may be taken as equivalent to Buddhist. He is sometimes said to have belonged to "the eastern Tsin dynasty" (A.D. 317-419), and sometimes to "the Sung," that is, the Sung dynasty of the House of Liû (A.D. 420-478). If he became a full monk at the age of twenty, and went to India when he was twenty-five, his long life may have been divided pretty equally between the two dynasties. If there were ever another and larger account of Fâ-hien's travels than the narrative of which a translation is now given, it has long ceased to be in existence. In the catalogue of the imperial library of the Suy dynasty (A.D. 589-618), the name Fâ-hien occurs four times. Towards the end of the last section of it, after a reference to his travels, his labors in translation at Kin-ling (another name for Nanking), in conjunction with Buddha-bhadra, are described. In the second section we find "A Record of Buddhistic Kingdoms"--with a note, saying that it was the work of "the Sramana, Fâ-hien"; and again, we have "Narrative of Fâ-hien in two Books," and "Narrative of Fâ-hien's Travels in one Book." But all these three entries may possibly belong to different copies of the same work, the first and the other two being in separate subdivisions of the catalogue. In the two Chinese copies of the narrative in my possession the title is "Record of Buddhistic Kingdoms." In the Japanese or Corean recension the title is twofold; first, "Narrative of the Distinguished Monk, Fâ-hien"; and then, more at large, "Incidents of Travels in India, by the Sramana of the Eastern Tsîn, Fâ-hien, recorded by himself." There is still earlier attestation of the existence of our little work than the Suy catalogue. The "Catalogue Raisonné" of the imperial library of the present dynasty mentions two quotations from it by Le Tâo-yüen, a geographical writer of the dynasty of the Northern Wei (A.D. 386-584), one of them containing eighty-nine characters, and the other two hundred and seventy-six; both of them given as from the "Narrative of Fâ-hien." In all catalogues subsequent to that of Suy our work appears. The evidence for its authenticity and genuineness is all that could be required. It is clear to myself that the "Record of Buddhistic Kingdoms" and the "Narrative of his Travels by Fâ-hien" were designations of one and the same work, and that it is doubtful whether any larger work on the same subject was ever current. With regard to the text subjoined to my translation, it was published in Japan in 1779. The editor had before him four recensions of the narrative; those of the Sung and Ming dynasties, with appendices on the names of certain characters in them; that of Japan; and that of Corea. He wisely adopted the Corean text, published in accordance with a royal rescript in 1726, so far as I can make out; but the different readings of the other texts are all given in top-notes, instead of foot-notes as with us, this being one of the points in which customs in the East and West go by contraries. Very occasionally, the editor indicates by a single character, equivalent to "right" or "wrong," which reading in his opinion is to be preferred. The editors of the "Catalogue Raisonné" intimate their doubts of the good taste and reliability of all Fâ-hien's statements. It offends them that he should call central India the "Middle Kingdom," and China, which to them was the true and only Middle Kingdom, but "a Border-land"--it offends them as the vaunting language of a Buddhist writer, whereas the reader will see in the expressions only an instance of what Fâ-hien calls his "simple straightforwardness." As an instance of his unreliability they refer to his account of the Buddhism of Khoten, whereas it is well-known, they say, that the Khoteners from ancient times till now have been Mohammedans;--as if they could have been so one hundred and seventy years before Mohammed was born, and two hundred twenty-two years before the year of the Hegira! And this is criticism in China. The catalogue was ordered by the K'ien-lung emperor in 1722. Between three and four hundred of the "Great Scholars" of the empire were engaged on it in various departments, and thus egregiously ignorant did they show themselves of all beyond the limits of their own country, and even of the literature of that country itself. Much of what Fâ-hien tells his readers of Buddhist miracles and legends is indeed unreliable and grotesque; but we have from him the truth as to what he saw and heard. In concluding this introduction I wish to call attention to some estimates of the number of Buddhists in the world which have become current, believing, as I do, that the smallest of them is much above what is correct. In a note on the first page of his work on the Bhilsa Topes (1854), General Cunningham says: "The Christians number about two hundred and seventy millions; the Buddhists about two hundred and twenty-two millions, who are distributed as follows: China one hundred and seventy millions, Japan twenty-five millions, Anam fourteen millions, Siam three millions, Ava eight millions, Nepál one million, and Ceylon one million." In his article on M.J. Barthélemy Saint-Hilaire's "Le Bouddha et sa Religion," republished in his "Chips from a German workshop," vol. i. (1868), Professor Max Müller says, "The young prince became the founder of a religion which, after more than two thousand years, is still professed by four hundred and fifty-five millions of human beings," and he appends the following note: "Though truth is not settled by majorities, it would be interesting to know which religion counts at the present moment the largest numbers of believers. Berghaus, in his 'Physical Atlas,' gives the following division of the human race according to religion: 'Buddhists 31.2 per cent., Christians 30.7, Mohammedans 15.7, Brahmanists 13.4, Heathens 8.7, and Jews O.3.' As Berghaus does not distinguish the Buddhists in China from the followers of Confucius and Laotse, the first place on the scale belongs really to Christianity. It is difficult in China to say to what religion a man belongs, as the same person may profess two or three. The emperor himself, after sacrificing according to the ritual of Confucius, visits a Tao-tsé temple, and afterwards bows before an image of Fo in a Buddhist chapel." ("Mélanges Asiatiques de St. Pétersbourg," vol. ii. p. 374.) Both these estimates are exceeded by Dr. T.W. Rhys Davids (intimating also the uncertainty of the statements, and that numbers are no evidence of truth) in the introduction to his "Manual of Buddhism." The Buddhists there appear as amounting in all to five hundred millions:--thirty millions of Southern Buddhists, in Ceylon, Burma, Siam, Anam, and India (Jains); and four hundred and seventy millions of Northern Buddhists, of whom nearly thirty-three millions are assigned to Japan, and 414,686,974 to the eighteen provinces of China proper. According to him, Christians amount to about 26 per cent, of mankind, Hindus to about 13, Mohammedans to about 12-1/2, Buddhists to about 40, and Jews to about one-half of one per cent. In regard to all these estimates, it will be observed that the immense numbers assigned to Buddhism are made out by the multitude of Chinese with which it is credited. Subtract Cunningham's one hundred and seventy millions of Chinese from his total of two hundred and twenty-two millions, and there remain only fifty-two millions of Buddhists. Subtract Davids's four hundred fourteen and one-half millions of Chinese from his total of five hundred millions, and there remain only eighty-five and one-half millions for Buddhism. Of the numbers assigned to other countries, as well as of their whole populations, I am in considerable doubt, excepting in the cases of Ceylon and India; but the greatness of the estimates turns upon the immense multitudes said to be in China. I do not know what total population Cunningham allowed for that country, nor on what principle he allotted one hundred and seventy millions of it to Buddhism; perhaps he halved his estimate of the whole, whereas Berghaus and Davids allotted to it the highest estimates that have been given of the people. But we have no certain information of the population of China. At an interview with the former Chinese ambassador, Kwo Sung-tâo, in Paris, in 1878, I begged him to write out for me the amount, with the authority for it, and he assured me that it could not be done. I have read probably almost everything that has been published on the subject, and endeavored by methods of my own to arrive at a satisfactory conclusion;--without reaching a result which I can venture to lay before the public. My impression has been that four hundred millions is hardly an exaggeration. But supposing that we had reliable returns of the whole population, how shall we proceed to apportion that among Confucianists, Tâoists, and Buddhists? Confucianism is the orthodoxy of China. The common name for it is Jû Chiâo, "the Doctrines held by the Learned Class," entrance into the circle of which is, with a few insignificant exceptions, open to all the people. The mass of them and the masses under their influence are preponderatingly Confucian; and in the observance of ancestral worship, the most remarkable feature of the religion proper of China from the earliest times, of which Confucius was not the author but the prophet, an overwhelming majority are regular and assiduous. Among "the strange principles" which the emperor of the K'ang-hsî period, in one of his famous Sixteen Precepts, exhorted his people to "discountenance and put away, in order to exalt the correct doctrine," Buddhism and Tâoism were both included. If, as stated in the note quoted from Professor Müller, the emperor countenances both the Tâoist worship and the Buddhist, he does so for reasons of state; to please especially his Buddhistic subjects in Thibet and Mongolia, and not to offend the many whose superstitious fancies incline to Tâoism. When I went out and in as a missionary among the Chinese people for about thirty years, it sometimes occurred to me that only the inmates of their monasteries and the recluses of both systems should be enumerated as Buddhists and Taoists; but I was in the end constrained to widen that judgment, and to admit a considerable following of both among the people, who have neither received the tonsure nor assumed the yellow top. Dr. Eitel, in concluding his discussion of this point in his "Lecture on Buddhism, an Event in History," says: "It is not too much to say that most Chinese are theoretically Confucianists, but emotionally Buddhists or Taoists. But fairness requires us to add that, though the mass of the people are more or less influenced by Buddhist doctrines, yet the people, as a whole, have no respect for the Buddhist church, and habitually sneer at Buddhist priests." For the "most" in the former of these two sentences I would substitute "nearly all;" and between my friend's "but" and "emotionally" I would introduce "many are," and would not care to contest his conclusion further. It does seem to me preposterous to credit Buddhism with the whole of the vast population of China, the great majority of whom are Confucianists. My own opinion is that its adherents are not so many as those even of Mohammedanism, and that instead of being the most numerous of the religions (so-called) of the world, it is only entitled to occupy the fifth place, ranking below Christianity, Confucianism, Brahmanism, and Mohammedanism, and followed, some distance off, by Tâoism. To make a table of percentages of mankind, and to assign to each system its proportion, are to seem to be wise where we are deplorably ignorant; and, moreover, if our means of information were much better than they are, our figures would merely show the outward adherence. A fractional percentage might tell more for one system than a very large integral one for another. JAMES LEGGE. THE TRAVELS OF FÂ-HIEN CHAPTER I ~From Ch'ang-gan to the Sandy Desert~ Fâ-Hien had been living in Ch'ang-gan. [1] Deploring the mutilated and imperfect state of the collection of the Books of Discipline, in the second year of the period Hwang-che, being the Ke-hâe year of the cycle, [2] he entered into an engagement with Hwuy-king, Tâo-ching, Hwuy-ying, and Hwuy-wei, that they should go to India and seek for the Disciplinary Rules. After starting from Ch'ang-gan, they passed through Lung, [3] and came to the kingdom of K'een-kwei,[4] where they stopped for the summer retreat. When that was over, they went forward to the kingdom of Now-t'an, crossed the mountain of Yang-low, and reached the emporium of Chang-yih.[5] There they found the country so much disturbed that travelling on the roads was impossible for them. Its king, however, was very attentive to them, kept them in his capital, and acted the part of their dânapati.[6] Here they met with Che-yen, Hwuy-keen, Sang-shâo, Pâo-yun, and Sang-king; and in pleasant association with them, as bound on the same journey with themselves, they passed the summer retreat of that year [7] together, resuming after it their travelling, and going on to T'un-hwang, [8] the chief town in the frontier territory of defence extending for about eighty li from east to west, and about forty from north to south. Their company, increased as it had been, halted there for some days more than a month, after which Fâ-hien and his four friends started first in the suite of an envoy, having separated for a time from Pâo-yun and his associates. Le Hâo, the prefect of Tun-hwang, had supplied them with the means of crossing the desert before them, in which there are many evil demons and hot winds. Travellers who encounter them perish all to a man. There is not a bird to be seen in the air above, nor an animal on the ground below. Though you look all round most earnestly to find where you can cross, you know not where to make your choice, the only mark and indication being the dry bones of the dead left upon the sand. [Footnote 1: Ch'ang-gan is still the name of the principal district (and its city) in the department of Se-gan, Shen-se. It had been the capital of the first empire of Han (B.C. 202 A.D. 24), as it subsequently was that of Suy (A.D. 589-618).] [Footnote 2: The period Hwang-che embraced from A.D. 399 to 414, being the greater portion of the reign of Yâo Hing of the After Ts'in, a powerful prince. He adopted Hwang-che for the style of his reign in 399, and the cyclical name of that year was Kang-tsze. It is not possible at this distance of time to explain, if it could be explained, how Fâ-hien came to say that Ke-hâe was the second year of the period. It seems most reasonable to suppose that he set out on his pilgrimage in A.D. 399, the cycle name of which was Ke-hâe. In the "Memoirs of Eminent Monks" it is said that our author started in the third year of the period Lung-gan of the Eastern Ts'in, which was A.D. 399.] [Footnote 3: Lung embraced the western part of Shen-se and the eastern part of Kan-suh. The name remains in Lung Chow, in the extreme west of Shen-se.] [Footnote 4: K'een-kwei was the second king of "the Western Ts'in." Fâ-hien would find him at his capital, somewhere in the present department of Lan-chow, Kan-suh.] [Footnote 5: Chang-yih is still the name of a district in Kan-chow department, Kan-suh. It is a long way north and west from Lan-chow, and not far from the Great Wall. Its king at this time was, probably, Twan-yeh of "the northern Lëang."] [Footnote 6: Dâna is the name for religious charity, the first of the six pâramitâs, or means of attaining to nirvâna; and a dânapati is "one who practises dâna and thereby crosses the sea of misery."] [Footnote 7: This was the second summer since the pilgrims left Ch'ang-gan. We are now, therefore, probably, in A.D. 400.] [Footnote 8: T'un-hwang is still the name of one of the two districts constituting the department of Gan-se, the most western of the prefectures of Kan-suh; beyond the termination of the Great Wall.] CHAPTER II ~On to Shen-shen and thence to Khoten~ After travelling for seventeen days, a distance we may calculate of about 1500 li, the pilgrims reached the kingdom of Shen-shen, a country rugged and hilly, with a thin and barren soil. The clothes of the common people are coarse, and like those worn in our land of Han, [1] some wearing felt and others coarse serge or cloth of hair; this was the only difference seen among them. The king professed our Law, and there might be in the country more than four thousand monks, who were all students of the hînayâna. [2] The common people of this and other kingdoms in that region, as well as the Sramans, [3] all practise the rules of India, only that the latter do so more exactly, and the former more loosely. So the travellers found it in all the kingdoms through which they went on their way from this to the west, only that each had its own peculiar barbarous speech. The monks, however, who had given up the worldly life and quitted their families, were all students of Indian books and the Indian language. Here they stayed for about a month, and then proceeded on their journey, fifteen days' walking to the northwest bringing them to the country of Woo-e. In this also there were more than four thousand monks, all students of the hînayâna. They were very strict in their rules, so that Sramans from the territory of Ts'in were all unprepared for their regulations. Fâ-hien, through the management of Foo Kung-sun, _maître d'hotellerie_, was able to remain with his company in the monastery where they were received for more than two months, and here they were rejoined by Pâo-yun and his friends. At the end of that time the people of Woo-e neglected the duties of propriety and righteousness, and treated the strangers in so niggardly a manner that Che-yen, Hwuy-keen, and Hwuy-wei went back towards Kâo-ch'ang, hoping to obtain there the means of continuing their journey. Fâ-hien and the rest, however, through the liberality of Foo Kung-sun, managed to go straight forward in a southwest direction. They found the country uninhabited as they went along. The difficulties which they encountered in crossing the streams and on their route, and the sufferings which they endured, were unparalleled in human experience, but in the course of a month and five days they succeeded in reaching Yu-teen. [Footnote 1: This is the name which Fâ-hien always uses when he would speak of China, his native country, as a whole, calling it from the great dynasty which had ruled it, first and last, for between four and five centuries. Occasionally, as we shall immediately see, he speaks of "the territory of Ts'in or Ch'in," but intending thereby only the kingdom of Ts'in, having its capital in Ch'ang-gan.] [Footnote 2: Meaning the "small vehicle, or conveyance." There are in Buddhism the triyâna, or "three different means of salvation, i.e. of conveyance across the samsâra, or sea of transmigration, to the shores of nirvâna. Afterwards the term was used to designate the different phases of development through which the Buddhist dogma passed, known as the mahâyâna, hînayâna, and madhyamayâna." "The hînayâna is the simplest vehicle of salvation, corresponding to the first of the three degrees of saintship." E.H., pp. 151-2, 45, and 117.] [Footnote 3: "Sraman" may in English take the place of Sramana, the name for Buddhist monks, as those who have separated themselves from (left) their families, and quieted their hearts from all intrusion of desire and lust.] CHAPTER III ~Khoten--Processions of Images~ Yu-Teen is a pleasant and prosperous kingdom, with a numerous and flourishing population. The inhabitants all profess our Law, and join together in its religious music for their enjoyment. The monks amount to several myriads, most of whom are students of the mahâyâna. [1] They all receive their food from the common store. Throughout the country the houses of the people stand apart like separate stars, and each family has a small tope [2] reared in front of its door. The smallest of these may be twenty cubits high, or rather more. They make in the monasteries rooms for monks from all quarters, the use of which is given to travelling monks who may arrive, and who are provided with whatever else they require. The lord of the country lodged Fâ-hien and the others comfortably, and supplied their wants, in a monastery called Gomati, of the mahâyâna school. Attached to it there are three thousand monks, who are called to their meals by the sound of a bell. When they enter the refectory, their demeanor is marked by a reverent gravity, and they take their seats in regular order, all maintaining a perfect silence. No sound is heard from their alms-bowls and other utensils. When any of these pure men require food, they are not allowed to call out to the attendants for it, but only make signs with their hands. Hwuy-king, Tâo-ching, and Hwuy-tah set out in advance towards the country of K'eeh-ch'â; but Fâ-hien and the others, wishing to see the procession of images, remained behind for three months. There are in this country four great monasteries, not counting the smaller ones. Beginning on the first day of the fourth month, they sweep and water the streets inside the city, making a grand display in the lanes and byways. Over the city gate they pitch a large tent, grandly adorned in all possible ways, in which the king and queen, with their ladies brilliantly arrayed, take up their residence for the time. The monks of the Gomati monastery, being mahâyâna students, and held in greatest reverence by the king, took precedence of all the others in the procession. At a distance of three or four li from the city, they made a four-wheeled image car, more than thirty cubits high, which looked like the great hall of a monastery moving along. The seven precious substances [3] were grandly displayed about it, with silken streamers and canopies hanging all around. The chief image stood in the middle of the car, with two Bodhisattvas [4] in attendance on it, while devas were made to follow in waiting, all brilliantly carved in gold and silver, and hanging in the air. When the car was a hundred paces from the gate, the king put off his crown of state, changed his dress for a fresh suit, and with bare feet, carrying in his hands flowers and incense, and with two rows of attending followers, went out at the gate to meet the image; and, with his head and face bowed to the ground, he did homage at its feet, and then scattered the flowers and burnt the incense. When the image was entering the gate, the queen and the brilliant ladies with her in the gallery above scattered far and wide all kinds of flowers, which floated about and fell promiscuously to the ground. In this way everything was done to promote the dignity of the occasion. The carriages of the monasteries were all different, and each one had its own day for the procession. The ceremony began on the first day of the fourth month, and ended on the fourteenth, after which the king and queen returned to the palace. Seven or eight li to the west of the city there is what is called the King's new monastery, the building of which took eighty years, and extended over three reigns. It may be two hundred and fifty cubits in height, rich in elegant carving and inlaid work, covered above with gold and silver, and finished throughout with a combination of all the precious substances. Behind the tope there has been built a Hall of Buddha, of the utmost magnificence and beauty, the beams, pillars, venetianed doors and windows, being all overlaid with gold-leaf. Besides this, the apartments for the monks are imposingly and elegantly decorated, beyond the power of words to express. Of whatever things of highest value and preciousness the kings in the six countries on the east of the Ts'ung range of mountains are possessed, they contribute the greater portion to this monastery, using but a small portion of them themselves. [Footnote 1: Mahâyâna is a later form of the Buddhist doctrine, the second phase of its development corresponding to the state of a Bodhisattva, who, being able to transport himself and all mankind to nirvâna, may be compared to a huge vehicle.] [Footnote 2: A worshipping place, an altar, or temple.] [Footnote 3: The Sapta-ratna, gold, silver, lapis lazuli, rock crystal, rubies, diamonds or emeralds, and agate.] [Footnote 4: A Bodhisattva is one whose essence has become intelligence; a Being who will in some future birth as a man (not necessarily or usually the next) attain to Buddhahood. The name does not include those Buddhas who have not yet attained to parinirvâna. The symbol of the state is an elephant fording a river.] CHAPTER IV ~Through the Ts'ung Mountains to K'eech-ch'a~ When the processions of images in the fourth month were over, Sang-shâo, by himself alone, followed a Tartar who was an earnest follower of the Law, and proceeded towards Ko-phene. Fâ-hien and the others went forward to the kingdom of Tsze-hoh, which it took them twenty-five days to reach. Its king was a strenuous follower of our Law, and had around him more than a thousand monks, mostly students of the mahâyâna. Here the travellers abode fifteen days, and then went south for four days, when they found themselves among the Ts'ung-ling mountains, and reached the country of Yu-hwuy, where they halted and kept their retreat. [1] When this was over, they went on among the hills for twenty-five days, and got to K'eeh-ch'a, there rejoining Hwuy-king and his two companions. [Footnote 1: This was the retreat already twice mentioned as kept by the pilgrims in the summer, the different phraseology, "quiet rest," without any mention of the season, indicating their approach to India. Two, if not three, years had elapsed since they left Ch'ang-gan. Are we now with them in 402?] CHAPTER V ~Great Quinquennial Assembly of Monks~ It happened that the king of the country was then holding the pañcha parishad; that is, in Chinese, the great quinquennial assembly. When this is to be held, the king requests the presence of the Sramans from all quarters of his kingdom. They come as if in clouds; and when they are all assembled, their place of session is grandly decorated. Silken streamers and canopies are hung out in it, and water-lilies in gold and silver are made and fixed up behind the places where the chief of them are to sit. When clean mats have been spread, and they are all seated, the king and his ministers present their offerings according to rule and law. The assembly takes place in the first, second, or third month, for the most part in the spring. After the king has held the assembly, he further exhorts the ministers to make other and special offerings. The doing of this extends over one, two, three, five, or even seven days; and when all is finished, he takes his own riding-horse, saddles, bridles, and waits on him himself, while he makes the noblest and most important minister of the kingdom mount him. Then, taking fine white woollen cloth, all sorts of precious things, and articles which the Sramans require, he distributes them among them, uttering vows at the same time along with all his ministers; and when this distribution has taken place, he again redeems whatever he wishes from the monks. The country, being among the hills and cold, does not produce the other cereals, and only the wheat gets ripe. After the monks have received their annual portion of this, the mornings suddenly show the hoar-frost, and on this account the king always begs the monks to make the wheat ripen [1] before they receive their portion. There is in the country a spittoon which belonged to Buddha, made of stone, and in color like his alms-bowl. There is also a tooth of Buddha, for which the people have reared a tope, connected with which there are more than a thousand monks and their disciples, all students of the hînayâna. To the east of these hills the dress of the common people is of coarse materials, as in our country of Ts'in, but here also there were among them the differences of fine woollen cloth and of serge or haircloth. The rules observed by the Sramans are remarkable, and too numerous to be mentioned in detail. The country is in the midst of the Onion range. As you go forward from these mountains, the plants, trees, and fruits are all different from those of the land of Han, excepting only the bamboo, pomegranate, and sugarcane. [Footnote 1: Watters calls attention to this as showing that the monks of K'eeh-ch'â had the credit of possessing weather-controlling powers.] CHAPTER VI ~North India--Image of Maitreya Bodhisattva~ From this the travellers went westward towards North India, and after being on the way for a month, they succeeded in getting across and through the range of the Onion mountains. The snow rests on them both winter and summer. There are also among them venomous dragons, which, when provoked, spit forth poisonous winds, and cause showers of snow and storms of sand and gravel. Not one in ten thousand of those who encounter these dangers escapes with his life. The people of the country call the range by the name of "The Snow mountains." When the travellers had got through them, they were in North India, and immediately on entering its borders, found themselves in a small kingdom called T'oleih, where also there were many monks, all students of the hînayâna. In this kingdom there was formerly an Arhan, [1] who by his supernatural power took a clever artificer up to the Tushita [2] heaven, to see the height, complexion, and appearance of Maitreya Bodhisattva, [3] and then return and make an image of him in wood. First and last, this was done three times, and then the image was completed, eighty cubits in height, and eight cubits at the base from knee to knee of the crossed legs. On fast-days it emits an effulgent light. The kings of the surrounding countries vie with one another in presenting offerings to it. Here it is--to be seen now as of old. [Footnote 1: Lo-han, Arhat, Arahat are all designations of the perfected Ârya, the disciple who has passed the different stages of the Noble Path, or eightfold excellent way, who has conquered all passions, and is not to be reborn again. Arhatship implies possession of certain supernatural powers, and is not to be succeeded by Buddhaship, but implies the fact of the saint having already attained Nirvâna.] [Footnote 2: Tushita is the fourth Devaloka, where all Bodhisattvas are reborn before finally appearing on earth as Buddha. Life lasts in Tushita four thousand years, but twenty-four hours there are equal to four hundred years on earth.] [Footnote 3: Maitreya was a Bodhisattva, the principal one, indeed, of Sâkyamuni's retinue, but is not counted among the ordinary disciples, nor is anything told of his antecedents. It was in the Tushita heaven that Sâkyamuni met him and appointed him as his successor, to appear as Buddha after the lapse of five thousand years. Maitreya is therefore the expected Messiah of the Buddhists, residing at present in Tushita.] CHAPTER VII ~The Perilous Crossing of the Indus~ The travellers went on to the southwest for fifteen days at the foot of the mountains, and following the course of their range. The way was difficult and rugged, running along a bank exceedingly precipitous, which rose up there, a hill-like wall of rock, ten thousand cubits from the base. When one approached the edge of it, his eyes became unsteady; and if he wished to go forward in the same direction, there was no place on which he could place his foot; and beneath were the waters of the river called the Indus. In former times men had chiselled paths along the rocks, and distributed ladders on the face of them, to the number altogether of seven hundred, at the bottom of which there was a suspension bridge of ropes, by which the river was crossed, its banks being there eighty paces apart. The place and arrangements are to be found in the Records of the Nine Interpreters, but neither Chang K'een [1] nor Kan Ying [2] had reached the spot. The monks asked Fâ-hien if it could be known when the Law of Buddha first went to the east. He replied, "When I asked the people of those countries about it, they all said that it had been handed down by their fathers from of old that, after the setting up of the image of Maitreya Bodhisattva, there were Sramans of India who crossed this river, carrying with them Sútras and Books of Discipline. Now the image was set up rather more than three hundred years after the Nirvâna of Buddha, which may be referred to the reign of king P'ing of the Chow dynasty. According to this account we may say that the diffusion of our great doctrines in the East began from the setting up of this image. If it had not been through that Maitreya, the great spiritual master who is to be the successor of the Sâkya, who could have caused the 'Three Precious Ones,' [3] to be proclaimed so far, and the people of those border lands to know our Law? We know of a truth that the opening of the way for such a mysterious propagation is not the work of man; and so the dream of the emperor Ming of Han had its proper cause." [Footnote 1: Chang K'een, a minister of the emperor Woo of Han (B.C. 140-87), is celebrated as the first Chinese who "pierced the void," and penetrated to "the regions of the west," corresponding very much to the present Turkestan. Through him, by B.C. 115, a regular intercourse was established between China and the thirty-six kingdoms or states of that quarter.] [Footnote 2: Less is known of Kan Ying than of Chang K'een. Being sent in A.D. 88 by his patron Pan Châo on an embassy to the Roman empire, he only got as far as the Caspian sea, and returned to China. He extended, however, the knowledge of his countrymen with regard to the western regions.] [Footnote 3: "The precious Buddha," "the precious Law," and "the precious Monkhood"; Buddha, Dharma, and Sangha; the whole being equivalent to Buddhism.] CHAPTER VIII ~Woo-chang, or Udyâna--Traces of Buddha~ After crossing the river, the travellers immediately came to the kingdom of Woo-chang, which is indeed a part of North India. The people all use the language of Central India, "Central India" being what we should call the "Middle Kingdom." The food and clothes of the common people are the same as in that Central Kingdom. The Law of Buddha is very flourishing in Woo-chang. They call the places where the monks stay for a time or reside permanently Sanghârâmas; and of these there are in all five hundred, the monks being all students of the hînayâna. When stranger bhikshus [1] arrive at one of them, their wants are supplied for three days, after which they are told to find a resting-place for themselves. There is a tradition that when Buddha came to North India, he came at once to this country, and that here he left a print of his foot, which is long or short according to the ideas of the beholder on the subject. It exists, and the same thing is true about it, at the present day. Here also are still to be seen the rock on which he dried his clothes, and the place where he converted the wicked dragon. The rock is fourteen cubits high, and more than twenty broad, with one side of it smooth. Hwuy-king, Hwuy-tah, and Tâo-ching went on ahead towards the place of Buddha's shadow in the country of Nâgara; but Fâ-hien and the others remained in Woo-chang, and kept the summer retreat. That over, they descended south, and arrived in the country of Soo-ho-to. [Footnote 1: Bhikshu is the name for a monk as "living by alms," a mendicant. All bhikshus call themselves Sramans. Sometimes the two names are used together by our author.] CHAPTER IX ~Soo-ho-to--Legends of Buddha~ In that country also Buddhism is flourishing. There is in it the place where Sakra, [1] Ruler of Devas, in a former age, tried the Bodhisattva, by producing a hawk in pursuit of a dove, when the Bodhisattva cut off a piece of his own flesh, and with it ransomed the dove. After Buddha had attained to perfect wisdom, and in travelling about with his disciples arrived at this spot, he informed them that this was the place where he ransomed the dove with a piece of his own flesh. In this way the people of the country became aware of the fact, and on the spot reared a tope, adorned with layers of gold and silver plates. [Footnote 1: Sakra is a common name for the Brahmanic Indra, adopted by Buddhism into the circle of its own great adherents;--it has been said, "because of his popularity." He is now the representative of the secular power, the valiant protector of the Buddhist body, but is looked upon as inferior to Sâkyamuni, and every Buddhist saint.] CHAPTER X ~Gandhâra--Legends of Buddha~ The travellers, going downwards from this towards the east, in five days came to the country of Gandhâra, the place where Dharma-vivardhana, the son of Asoka, [1] ruled. When Buddha was a Bodhisattva, he gave his eyes also for another man here; and at the spot they have also reared a large tope, adorned with layers of gold and silver plates. The people of the country were mostly students of the hînayâna. [Footnote 1: Asoka is here mentioned for the first time--the Constantine of the Buddhist society, and famous for the number of vihâras and topes which he erected. He was the grandson of Chandragupta, a rude adventurer, who at one time was a refugee in the camp of Alexander the Great; and within about twenty years afterwards drove the Greeks out of India, having defeated Seleucus, the Greek ruler of the Indus provinces. His grandson was converted to Buddhism by the bold and patient demeanor of an Arhat whom he had ordered to be buried alive, and became a most zealous supporter of the new faith.] CHAPTER XI ~Takshasilâ--Legends--The Four Great Topes~ Seven days' journey from this to the east brought the travellers to the kingdom of Takshasilâ, which means "the severed head" in the language of China. Here, when Buddha was a Bodhisattva, he gave away his head to a man; and from this circumstance the kingdom got its name. Going on further for two days to the east, they came to the place where the Bodhisattva threw down his body to feed a starving tigress. In these two places also large topes have been built, both adorned with layers of all the precious substances. The kings, ministers, and peoples of the kingdoms around vie with one another in making offerings at them. The trains of those who come to scatter flowers and light lamps at them never cease. The nations of those quarters call those and the other two mentioned before "the four great topes." CHAPTER XII ~Buddha's Alms-bowl--Death of Hwuy-king~ Going southwards from Gândhâra, the travellers in four days arrived at the kingdom of Purushapura. [1] Formerly, when Buddha was travelling in this country with his disciples, he said to Ânanda, [2] "After my pari-nirvâna, [3] there will be a king named Kanishka, who shall on this spot build a tope." This Kanishka was afterwards born into the world; and once, when he had gone forth to look about him, Sakra, Ruler of Devas, wishing to excite the idea in his mind, assumed the appearance of a little herd-boy, and was making a tope right in the way of the king, who asked what sort of a thing he was making. The boy said, "I am making a tope for Buddha." The king said, "Very good;" and immediately, right over the boy's tope, he proceeded to rear another, which was more than four hundred cubits high, and adorned with layers of all the precious substances. Of all the topes and temples which the travellers saw in their journeyings, there was not one comparable to this in solemn beauty and majestic grandeur. There is a current saying that this is the finest tope in Jambudvîpa [4]. When the king's tope was completed, the little tope of the boy came out from its side on the south, rather more than three cubits in height. Buddha's alms-bowl is in this country. Formerly, a king of Yüeh-she raised a large force and invaded this country, wishing to carry the bowl away. Having subdued the kingdom, as he and his captains were sincere believers in the Law of Buddha, and wished to carry off the bowl, they proceeded to present their offerings on a great scale. When they had done so to the Three Precious Ones, he made a large elephant be grandly caparisoned, and placed the bowl upon it. But the elephant knelt down on the ground, and was unable to go forward. Again he caused a four-wheeled wagon to be prepared in which the bowl was put to be conveyed away. Eight elephants were then yoked to it, and dragged it with their united strength; but neither were they able to go forward. The king knew that the time for an association between himself and the bowl had not yet arrived, and was sad and deeply ashamed of himself. Forthwith he built a tope at the place and a monastery, and left a guard to watch the bowl, making all sorts of contributions. There may be there more than seven hundred monks. When it is near mid-day, they bring out the bowl, and, along with the common people, make their various offerings to it, after which they take their mid-day meal. In the evening, at the time of incense, they bring the bowl out again. It may contain rather more than two pecks, and is of various colors, black predominating, with the seams that show its fourfold composition distinctly marked. Its thickness is about the fifth of an inch, and it has a bright and glossy lustre. When poor people throw into it a few flowers, it becomes immediately full, while some very rich people, wishing to make offering of many flowers, might not stop till they had thrown in hundreds, thousands, and myriads of bushels, and yet would not be able to fill it.[5] Pâo-yun and Sang-king here merely made their offerings to the alms-bowl, and then resolved to go back. Hwuy-king, Hwuy-tah, and Tâo-ching had gone on before the rest to Nagâra, to make their offerings at the places of Buddha's shadow, tooth, and the flat-bone of his skull. There Hwuy-king fell ill, and Tâo-ching remained to look after him, while Hwuy-tah came alone to Purushapura, and saw the others, and then he with Pâo-yun and Sang-king took their way back to the land of Ts'in. Hwuy-king came to his end in the monastery of Buddha's alms-bowl, and on this Fâ-hien went forward alone towards the place of the flat-bone of Buddha's skull.[6] [Footnote 1: The modern Peshâwur.] [Footnote 2: A first cousin of Sâkyamuni, and born at the moment when he attained to Buddhaship. Under Buddha's teaching, Ânanda became an Arhat, and is famous for his strong and accurate memory; and he played an important part at the first council for the formation of the Buddhist canon. The friendship between Sâkyamuni and Ânanda was very close and tender; and it is impossible to read much of what the dying Buddha said to him and of him, as related in the Mahâpari-nirvâna Sûtra, without being moved almost to tears. Ânanda is to reappear on earth as Buddha in another Kalpa.] [Footnote 3: On his attaining to nirvâna, Sâkyamuni became the Buddha, and had no longer to mourn his being within the circle of transmigration, and could rejoice in an absolute freedom from passion, and a perfect purity. Still he continued to live on for forty-five years, till he attained to pari-nirvâna, and had done with all the life of sense and society, and had no more exercise of thought. He died; but whether he absolutely and entirely ceased to be, in any sense of the word being, it would be difficult to say. Probably he himself would not and could not have spoken definitely on the point. So far as our use of language is concerned, apart from any assured faith in and hope of immortality, his pari-nirvâna was his death.] [Footnote 4: Jambudvîpa is one of the four great continents of the universe, representing the inhabited world as fancied by the Buddhists, and so-called because it resembles in shape the leaves of the jambu tree.] [Footnote 5: Compare the narrative in Luke's Gospel, xxi. 1-4.] [Footnote 6: This story of Hwuy-king's death differs from the account given in chapter xiv.--EDITOR.] CHAPTER XIII ~Festival of Buddha's Skull-bone~ Going west for sixteen yojanas, [1] he came to the city He-lo [2] in the borders of the country of Nagâra, where there is the flat-bone of Buddha's skull, deposited in a vihâra [3] adorned all over with gold-leaf and the seven sacred substances. The king of the country, revering and honoring the bone, and anxious lest it should be stolen away, has selected eight individuals, representing the great families in the kingdom, and committed to each a seal, with which he should seal its shrine and guard the relic. At early dawn these eight men come, and after each has inspected his seal, they open the door. This done, they wash their hands with scented water and bring out the bone, which they place outside the vihâra, on a lofty platform, where it is supported on a round pedestal of the seven precious substances, and covered with a bell of lapis lazuli, both adorned with rows of pearls. Its color is of a yellowish white, and it forms an imperfect circle twelve inches round, curving upwards to the centre. Every day, after it has been brought forth, the keepers of the vihâra ascend a high gallery, where they beat great drums, blow conches, and clash their copper cymbals. When the king hears them, he goes to the vihâra, and makes his offerings of flowers and incense. When he has done this, he and his attendants in order, one after another, raise the bone, place it for a moment on the top of their heads, and then depart, going out by the door on the west as they had entered by that on the east. The king every morning makes his offerings and performs his worship, and afterwards gives audience on the business of his government. The chiefs of the Vaisyas [4] also make their offerings before they attend to their family affairs. Every day it is so, and there is no remissness in the observance of the custom. When all of the offerings are over, they replace the bone in the vihâra, where there is a vimoksha tope, of the seven precious substances, and rather more than five cubits high, sometimes open, sometimes shut, to contain it. In front of the door of the vihâra, there are parties who every morning sell flowers and incense, and those who wish to make offerings buy some of all kinds. The kings of various countries are also constantly sending messengers with offerings. The vihâra stands in a square of thirty paces, and though heaven should shake and earth be rent, this place would not move. Going on, north from this, for a yojana, Fâ-hien arrived at the capital of Nagâra, the place where the Bodhisattva once purchased with money five stalks of flowers, as an offering to the Dipânkara Buddha. In the midst of the city there is also the tope of Buddha's tooth, where offerings are made in the same way as to the flat-bone of his skull. A yojana to the northeast of the city brought him to the mouth of a valley, where there is Buddha's pewter staff; and a vihâra also has been built at which offerings are made. The staff is made of Gosirsha Chandana, and is quite sixteen or seventeen cubits long. It is contained in a wooden tube, and though a hundred or a thousand men were to try to lift it, they could not move it. Entering the mouth of the valley, and going west, he found Buddha's Sanghâli, [5] where also there is reared a vihâra, and offerings are made. It is a custom of the country when there is a great drought, for the people to collect in crowds, bring out the robe, pay worship to it, and make offerings, on which there is immediately a great rain from the sky. South of the city, half a yojana, there is a rock-cavern, in a great hill fronting the southwest; and here it was that Buddha left his shadow. Looking at it from a distance of more than ten paces, you seem to see Buddha's real form, with his complexion of gold, and his characteristic marks in their nicety, clearly and brightly displayed. The nearer you approach, however, the fainter it becomes, as if it were only in your fancy. When the kings from the regions all around have sent skilful artists to take a copy, none of them have been able to do so. Among the people of the country there is a saying current that "the thousand Buddhas must all leave their shadows here." Rather more than four hundred paces west from the shadow, when Buddha was at the spot, he shaved off his hair and clipped his nails, and proceeded, along with his disciples, to build a tope seventy or eighty cubits high, to be a model for all future topes; and it is still existing. By the side of it there is a monastery, with more than seven hundred monks in it. At this place there are as many as a thousand topes of Arhans and Pratyeka Buddhas. [Footnote 1: Now in India, Fâ-hien used the Indian measure of distance; but it is not possible to determine exactly what its length then was. The estimates of it are very different, and vary from four and a half or five miles to seven, and sometimes more.] [Footnote 2: The present Hidda, west of Peshâwur, and five miles south of Jellalabad.] [Footnote 3: "The vihara," says Hardy, "is the residence of a recluse or priest;" and so Davids--"the clean little hut where the mendicant lives."] [Footnote 4: The Vaisyas, or the bourgeois caste of Hindu society, are described here as "resident scholars."] [Footnote 5: Or Sanghâti, the double or composite robe, part of a monk's attire, reaching from the shoulders to the knees, and fastened round the waist.] CHAPTER XIV ~Crossing the Indus to the East~ Having stayed there till the third month of winter, Fâ-hien and the two others, proceeding southwards, crossed the Little Snowy mountains. On them the snow lies accumulated both winter and summer. On the north side of the mountains, in the shade, they suddenly encountered a cold wind which made them shiver and become unable to speak. Hwuy-king could not go any farther. A white froth came from his mouth, and he said to Fâ-hien, "I cannot live any longer. Do you immediately go away, that we do not all die here"; and with these words he died. Fâ-hien stroked the corpse, and cried out piteously, "Our original plan has failed; it is fate. What can we do?" He then again exerted himself, and they succeeded in crossing to the south of the range, and arrived in the kingdom of Lo-e, [1] where there were nearly three thousand monks, students of both the mahâyâna and hînayâna. Here they stayed for the summer retreat, [2] and when that was over, they went on to the south, and ten days' journey brought them to the kingdom of Poh-nâ, where there are also more than three thousand monks, all students of the hînayâna. Proceeding from this place for three days, they again crossed the Indus, where the country on each side was low and level. [Footnote 1: Lo-e, or Rohi, or Afghanistan; only a portion of it can be intended.] [Footnote 2: We are now therefore in A.D. 404.] CHAPTER XV ~Sympathy of Monks with the Pilgrims~ After they had crossed the river, there was a country named Pe-t'oo, where Buddhism was very flourishing, and the monks studied both the mahâyâna and hînayâna. When they saw their fellow-disciples from Ts'in passing along, they were moved with great pity and sympathy, and expressed themselves thus: "How is it that these men from a border-land should have learned to become monks, and come for the sake of our doctrines from such a distance in search of the Law of Buddha?" They supplied them with what they needed, and treated them in accordance with the rules of the Law. CHAPTER XVI ~Condition and Customs of Central India~ From this place they travelled southeast, passing by a succession of very many monasteries, with a multitude of monks, who might be counted by myriads. After passing all these places, they came to a country named Ma-t'âou-lo. They still followed the course of the P'oo-na river, on the banks of which, left and right, there were twenty monasteries, which might contain three thousand monks; and here the Law of Buddha was still more flourishing. Everywhere, from the Sandy Desert, in all the countries of India, the kings had been firm believers in that Law. When they make their offerings to a community of monks, they take off their royal caps, and along with their relatives and ministers, supply them with food with their own hands. That done, the king has a carpet spread for himself on the ground, and sits down on it in front of the chairman;--they dare not presume to sit on couches in front of the community. The laws and ways, according to which the kings presented their offerings when Buddha was in the world, have been handed down to the present day. All south from this is named the Middle Kingdom. In it the cold and heat are finely tempered, and there is neither hoarfrost nor snow. The people are numerous and happy; they have not to register their households, or attend to any magistrates and their rules; only those who cultivate the royal land have to pay a portion of the gain from it. If they want to go they go; if they want to stay on, they stay. The king governs without decapitation or other corporal punishments. Criminals are simply fined, lightly or heavily, according to the circumstances of each case. Even in cases of repeated attempts at wicked rebellion, they only have their right hands cut off. The king's body-guards and attendants all have salaries. Throughout the whole country the people do not kill any living creature, nor drink intoxicating liquor, nor eat onions or garlic. The only exception is that of the Chandâlas. That is the name for those who are held to be wicked men, and live apart from others. When they enter the gate of a city or a market-place, they strike a piece of wood to make themselves known, so that men know and avoid them, and do not come into contact with them. In that country they do not keep pigs and fowls, and do not sell live cattle; in the markets there are no butchers' shops and no dealers in intoxicating drink. In buying and selling commodities they use cowries. Only the Chandâlas are fishermen and hunters, and sell flesh meat. After Buddha attained to pari-nirvâna the kings of the various countries and the heads of the Vaisyas built vihâras for the priests, and endowed them with fields, houses, gardens, and orchards, along with the resident populations and their cattle, the grants being engraved on plates of metal, so that afterwards they were handed down from king to king, without any one daring to annul them, and they remain even to the present time. The regular business of the monks is to perform acts of meritorious virtue, and to recite their Sûtras and sit wrapped in meditation. When stranger monks arrive at any monastery, the old residents meet and receive them, carry for them their clothes and alms-bowl, give them water to wash their feet, oil with which to anoint them, and the liquid food permitted out of the regular hours. [1] When the stranger has enjoyed a very brief rest, they further ask the number of years that he has been a monk, after which he receives a sleeping apartment with its appurtenances, according to his regular order, and everything is done for him which the rules prescribe. Where a community of monks resides, they erect topes to Sâriputtra, [2] to Mahâ-maudgalyâyana, [3] and to Ânanda, and also topes in honor of the Abhidharma, [4] the Vinaya, [4] and the Sûtras. [4] A month after the annual season of rest, the families which are looking out for blessing stimulate one another to make offerings to the monks, and send round to them the liquid food which may be taken out of the ordinary hours. All the monks come together in a great assembly, and preach the Law; after which offerings are presented at the tope of Sâriputtra, with all kinds of flowers and incense. All through the night lamps are kept burning, and skilful musicians are employed to perform. When Sâriputtra was a great Brahman, he went to Buddha, and begged to be permitted to quit his family and become a monk. The great Mugalan and the great Kas'yapa also did the same. The bhikshunis [5] for the most part make their offerings at the tope of Ånanda, because it was he who requested the World-honored one to allow females to quit their families and become nuns. The Srâmaneras [6] mostly make their offerings to Rahula. [7] The professors of the Abhidharma make their offerings to it; those of the Vinaya to it. Every year there is one such offering, and each class has its own day for it. Students of the mahâyâna present offerings to the Prajña-pâramitâ, to Mañjus'ri, and to Kwan-she-yin. When the monks have done receiving their annual tribute from the harvests, the Heads of the Vaisyas and all the Brahmans bring clothes and such other articles as the monks require for use, and distribute among them. The monks, having received them, also proceed to give portions to one another. From the nirvâna of Buddha, the forms of ceremony, laws, and rules, practised by the sacred communities, have been handed down from one generation to another without interruption. From the place where the travellers crossed the Indus to South India, and on to the Southern Sea, a distance of forty or fifty thousand li, all is level plain. There are no large hills with streams among them; there are simply the waters of the rivers. [Footnote 1: No monk can eat solid food except between sunrise and noon, and total abstinence from intoxicating drinks is obligatory. Food eaten at any other part of the day is called vikâla, and forbidden; but a weary traveller might receive unseasonable refreshment, consisting of honey, butter, treacle, and sesamum oil.] [Footnote 2: Sâriputtra was one of the principal disciples of Buddha, and indeed the most learned and ingenious of them all.] [Footnote 3: Mugalan, the Singhalese name of this disciple, is more pronounceable. He also was one of the principal disciples, called Buddha's "left-hand attendant." He was distinguished for his power of vision, and his magic powers.] [Footnote 4: The different parts of the tripitaka.] [Footnote 5: The bhikshunis are the female monks or nuns, subject to the same rules as the bhikshus, and also to special ordinances of restraint.] [Footnote 6: The Srâmaneras are the novices, male or female, who have vowed to observe the Shikshâpada, or ten commandments.] [Footnote 7: The eldest son of Sâkyamuni by Yasodharâ. Converted to Buddhism, he followed his father as an attendant; and after Buddha's death became the founder of a philosophical realistic school (vaibhâshika). He is now revered as the patron saint of all novices, and is to be reborn as the eldest son of every future Buddha.] CHAPTER XVII ~Legend of the Trayastrimsas Heaven~ From this they proceeded southeast for eighteen yojanas, and found themselves in a kingdom called Sankâs'ya, at the place where Buddha came down, after ascending to the Trayastrims'as heaven [1], and there preaching for three months his Law for the benefit of his mother [2]. Buddha had gone up to this heaven by his supernatural power, without letting his disciples know; but seven days before the completion of the three months he laid aside his invisibility, and Anuruddha [3], with his heavenly eyes, saw the World-honored one, and immediately said to the honored one, the great Mugalan, "Do you go and salute the World-honored one," Mugalan forthwith went, and with head and face did homage at Buddha's feet. They then saluted and questioned each other, and when this was over, Buddha said to Mugalan, "Seven days after this I will go down to Jambudvîpa"; and thereupon Mugalan returned. At this time the great kings of eight countries with their ministers and people, not having seen Buddha for a long time, were all thirstily looking up for him, and had collected in clouds in this kingdom to wait for the World-honored one. Then the bhikshunî Utpala thought in her heart, "To-day the kings, with their ministers and people, will all be meeting and welcoming Buddha. I am but a woman; how shall I succeed in being the first to see him?" Buddha immediately, by his spirit-like power, changed her into the appearance of a holy Chakravartti king, and she was the foremost of all in doing reverence to him. As Buddha descended from his position aloft in the Trayastrims'as heaven, when he was coming down, there were made to appear three flights of precious steps. Buddha was on the middle flight, the steps of which were composed of the seven precious substances. The king of Brahma-loka [4] also made a flight of silver steps appear on the right side, where he was seen attending with a white chowry in his hand. Sakra, Ruler of Devas, made a flight of steps of purple gold on the left side, where he was seen attending and holding an umbrella of the seven precious substances. An innumerable multitude of the devas followed Buddha in his descent. When he was come down, the three flights all disappeared in the ground, excepting seven steps, which continued to be visible. Afterwards king As'oka, wishing to know where their ends rested, sent men to dig and see. They went down to the yellow springs without reaching the bottom of the steps, and from this the king received an increase to his reverence and faith, and built a vihâra over the steps, with a standing image, sixteen cubits in height, right over the middle flight. Behind the vihâra he erected a stone pillar, about fifty cubits high, with a lion on the top of it. [5] Let into the pillar, on each of its four sides, there is an image of Buddha, inside and out shining and transparent, and pure as it were of lapis lazuli. Some teachers of another doctrine once disputed with the S'ramanas about the right to this as a place of residence, and the latter were having the worst of the argument, when they took an oath on both sides on the condition that, if the place did indeed belong to the S'ramanas, there should be some marvellous attestation of it. When these words had been spoken, the lion on the top gave a great roar, thus giving the proof; on which their opponents were frightened, bowed to the decision, and withdrew. Through Buddha having for three months partaken of the food of heaven, his body emitted a heavenly fragrance, unlike that of an ordinary man. He went immediately and bathed; and afterwards, at the spot where he did so, a bathing-house was built, which is still existing. At the place where the bhikshuni Utpala was the first to do reverence to Buddha, a tope has now been built. At the places where Buddha, when he was in the world, cut his hair and nails, topes are erected; and where the three Buddhas [6] that preceded S'âkyamuni Buddha and he himself sat; where they walked, and where images of their persons were made. At all these places topes were made, and are still existing. At the place where S'akra, Ruler of the Devas, and the king of the Brahma-loka followed Buddha down from the Trayastrimsas heaven they have also raised a tope. At this place the monks and nuns may be a thousand, who all receive their food from the common store, and pursue their studies, some of the mahayana and some of the hînayâna. Where they live, there is a white-eared dragon, which acts the part of danapati to the community of these monks, causing abundant harvests in the country, and the enriching rains to come in season, without the occurrence of any calamities, so that the monks enjoy their repose and ease. In gratitude for its kindness, they have made for it a dragon-house, with a carpet for it to sit on, and appointed for it a diet of blessing, which they present for its nourishment. Every day they set apart three of their number to go to its house, and eat there. Whenever the summer retreat is ended, the dragon straightway changes its form, and appears as a small snake, with white spots at the side of its ears. As soon as the monks recognize it, they fill a copper vessel with cream, into which they put the creature, and then carry it round from the one who has the highest seat at their tables to him who has the lowest, when it appears as if saluting them. When it has been taken round, immediately it disappears; and every year it thus comes forth once. The country is very productive, and the people are prosperous, and happy beyond comparison. When people of other countries come to it, they are exceedingly attentive to them all, and supply them with what they need. Fifty yojanas northwest from the monastery there is another, called "The Great Heap." Great Heap was the name of a wicked demon, who was converted by Buddha, and men subsequently at this place reared a vihâra. When it was being made over to an Arhat by pouring water on his hands, some drops fell on the ground. They are still on the spot, and however they may be brushed away and removed, they continue to be visible, and cannot be made to disappear. At this place there is also a tope to Buddha, where a good spirit constantly keeps all about it swept and watered, without any labor of man being required. A king of corrupt views once said, "Since you are able to do this, I will lead a multitude of troops and reside there till the dirt and filth has increased and accumulated, and see whether you can cleanse it away or not." The spirit thereupon raised a great wind, which blew the filth away, and made the place pure. At this place there are many small topes, at which a man may keep counting a whole day without being able to know their exact number. If he be firmly bent on knowing it, he will place a man by the side of each tope. When this is done, proceeding to count the number of the men, whether they be many or few, he will not get to know the number. [7] There is a monastery, containing perhaps six hundred or seven hundred monks, in which there is a place where a Pratyeka Buddha used to take his food. The nirvâna ground where he was burned after death is as large as a carriage wheel; and while grass grows all around, on this spot there is none. The ground also where he dried his clothes produces no grass, but the impression of them, where they lay on it, continues to the present day. [Footnote 1: The heaven of Indra or Sâkya, meaning "the heaven of thirty-three classes," a name which has been explained both historically and mythologically. "The description of it," says Eitel, "tallies in all respects with the Svarga of Brahmanic mythology. It is situated between the four peaks of the Meru, and consists of thirty-two cities of devas, eight on each of the four corners of the mountain. Indra's capital of Bellevue is in the centre. There he is enthroned, with a thousand heads and a thousand eyes, and four arms grasping the vajra, with his wife and 119,000 concubines. There he receives the monthly reports of the four Mahârâjas, concerning the progress of good and evil in the world," etc., etc.] [Footnote 2: Buddha's mother, Mâyâ and Mahâ-mâyâ, died seven days after his birth.] [Footnote 3: Anuruddha was a first cousin of Sâkyamuni, being the son of his uncle Amritodana. He is often mentioned in the account we have of Buddha's last moments. His special gift was the "heavenly eye," the first of the six "supernatural talents," the faculty of comprehending in one instantaneous view, or by intuition, all beings in all worlds.] [Footnote 4: This was Brahma, the first person of the Brahmanical Trimurti, adopted by Buddhism, but placed in an inferior position, and surpassed by every Buddhist saint who attains to bodhi.] [Footnote 5: A note of Mr. Beal says on this:--"General Cunningham, who visited the spot (1862), found a pillar, evidently of the age of Asoka, with a well-carved elephant on the top, which, however, was minus trunk and tail. He supposes this to be the pillar seen by Fâ-hien, who mistook the top of it for a lion. It is possible such a mistake may have been made, as in the account of one of the pillars at Srâvasti, Fâ-hien says an ox formed the capital, whilst Hsüan-chwang calls it an elephant."] [Footnote 6: These three predecessors of Sakya-muni were the three Buddhas of the present or Mahâ-bhadra Kalpa, of which he was the fourth, and Maitreya is to be the fifth and last. They were: (i) Kra-kuchanda, "he who readily solves all doubts"; a scion of the Kasyapa family. Human life reached in his time forty thousand years, and so many persons were converted by him. (2) Kanakamuni, "body radiant with the color of pure gold"; of the same family. Human life reached in his time thirty thousand years, and so many persons were converted by him. (3) Kasyapa, "swallower of light." Human life reached in his time twenty thousand years, and so many persons were converted by him.] [Footnote 7: This would seem to be absurd; but the writer evidently intended to convey the idea that there was something mysterious about the number of the topes.] CHAPTER XVIII ~Buddha's Subjects of Discourse~ Fâ-Hien stayed at the Dragon vihara till after the summer retreat, [1] and then, travelling to the southeast for seven yojanas, he arrived at the city of Kanyakubja, lying along the Ganges. There are two monasteries in it, the inmates of which are students of the hinayâna. At a distance from the city of six or seven li, on the west, on the northern bank of the Ganges, is a place where Buddha preached the Law to his disciples. It has been handed down that his subjects of discourse were such as "The bitterness and vanity of life as impermanent and uncertain," and that "The body is as a bubble or foam on the water." At this spot a tope was erected, and still exists. Having crossed the Ganges, and gone south for three yojanas, the travellers arrived at a village named A-le, containing places where Buddha preached the Law, where he sat, and where he walked, at all of which topes have been built. [Footnote 1: This was, probably, in A.D. 405.] CHAPTER XIX ~Legend of Buddha's Danta-kâshtha~ Going on from this to the southeast for three yojanas, they came to the great kingdom of Shâ-che. As you go out of the city of Shâ-che by the southern gate, on the east of the road is the place where Buddha, after he had chewed his willow branch, stuck it in the ground, when it forthwith grew up seven cubits, at which height it remained, neither increasing nor diminishing. The Brahmans, with their contrary doctrines, became angry and jealous. Sometimes they cut the tree down, sometimes they plucked it up, and cast it to a distance, but it grew again on the same spot as at first. Here also is the place where the four Buddhas walked and sat, and at which a tope was built that is still existing. CHAPTER XX ~The Jetavana Vihâra--Legends of Buddha~ Going on from this to the south, for eight yojanas, the travellers came to the city of Sravasti in the kingdom of Kosala, in which the inhabitants were few and far between, amounting in all only to a few more than two hundred families; the city where king Prasenajit ruled, and the place of the old vihâra of Maha-prajâpati; [1] of the well and walls of the house of the Vaisya head Sudatta; [2] and where the Angulimâlya [3] became an Arhat, and his body was afterwards burned on his attaining to pari-nirvâna. At all these places topes were subsequently erected, which are still existing in the city. The Brahmans, with their contrary doctrine, became full of hatred and envy in their hearts, and wished to destroy them, but there came from the heavens such a storm of crashing thunder and flashing lightning that they were not able in the end to effect their purpose. As you go out from the city by the south gate, and one thousand two hundred paces from it, the Vais'ya head Sudatta built a vihâra, facing the south; and when the door was open, on each side of it there was a stone pillar, with the figure of a wheel on the top of that on the left, and the figure of an ox on the top of that on the right. On the left and right of the building the ponds of water clear and pure, the thickets of trees always luxuriant, and the numerous flowers of various hues, constituted a lovely scene, the whole forming what is called the Jetavana vihâra. When Buddha went up to the Trayastrimsas heaven, and preached the Law for the benefit of his mother, after he had been absent for ninety days, Prasenajit, longing to see him, caused an image of him to be carved in Gosirsha Chandana wood, and put in the place where he usually sat. When Buddha, on his return entered the vihara, this image immediately left its place, and came forth to meet him. Buddha said to it, "Return to your seat. After I have attained to pari-nirvâna, you will serve as a pattern to the four classes of my disciples," [4] and on this the image returned to its seat. This was the very first of all the images of Buddha, and that which men subsequently copied. Buddha then removed, and dwelt in a small vihara on the south side of the other, a different place from that containing the image, and twenty paces distant from it. The Jetavana vihâra was originally of seven stories. The kings and people of the countries around vied with one another in their offerings, hanging up about it silken streamers and canopies, scattering flowers, burning incense, and lighting lamps, so as to make the night as bright as the day. This they did day after day without ceasing. It happened that a rat, carrying in its mouth the wick of a lamp, set one of the streamers or canopies on fire, which caught the vihâra, and the seven stories were all consumed. The kings, with their officers and people, were all very sad and distressed, supposing that the sandalwood image had been burned; but lo! after four or five days, when the door of a small vihâra on the east was opened, there was immediately seen the original image. They were all greatly rejoiced, and cooperated in restoring the vihâra. When they had succeeded in completing two stories, they removed the image back to its former place. When Fâ-hien and Tâo-ching first arrived at the Jetavana monastery, and thought how the World-honored one had formerly resided there for twenty-five years, painful reflections arose in their minds. Born in a border-land, along with their like-minded friends, they had travelled through so many kingdoms; some of those friends had returned to their own land, and some had died, proving the impermanence and uncertainty of life; and today they saw the place where Buddha had lived now unoccupied by him. They were melancholy through their pain of heart, and the crowd of monks came out, and asked them from what kingdom they were come. "We are come," they replied, "from the land of Han." "Strange," said the monks with a sigh, "that men of a border country should be able to come here in search of our Law!" Then they said to one another, "During all the time that we, preceptors and monks, have succeeded to one another, we have never seen men of Han, followers of our system, arrive here." Four li to the northwest of the vihâra there is a grove called "The Getting of Eyes." Formerly there were five hundred blind men, who lived here in order that they might be near the vihâra. Buddha preached his Law to them, and they all got their eyesight. Full of joy, they stuck their staves in the earth, and with their heads and faces on the ground, did reverence. The staves immediately began to grow, and they grew to be great. People made much of them, and no one dared to cut them down, so that they came to form a grove. It was in this way that it got its name, and most of the Jetavana monks, after they had taken their mid-day meal, went to the grove, and sat there in meditation. Six or seven li northeast from the Jetavana, mother Vaisakha built another vihâra, to which she invited Buddha and his monks, and which is still existing. To each of the great residences for the monks at the Jetavana vihâra there were two gates, one facing the east and the other facing the north. The park containing the whole was the space of ground which the Vaisaya head, Sudatta, purchased by covering it with gold coins. The vihâra was exactly in the centre. Here Buddha lived for a longer time than at any other place, preaching his Law and converting men. At the places where he walked and sat they also subsequently reared topes, each having its particular name; and here was the place where Sundari [5] murdered a person and then falsely charged Buddha with the crime. Outside the east gate of the Jetavana, at a distance of seventy paces to the north, on the west of the road, Buddha held a discussion with the advocates of the ninety-six schemes of erroneous doctrine, when the king and his great officers, the householders, and people were all assembled in crowds to hear it. Then a woman belonging to one of the erroneous systems, by name Chañchamana, prompted by the envious hatred in her heart, and having put on extra clothes in front of her person, so as to give her the appearance of being with child, falsely accused Buddha before all the assembly of having acted unlawfully towards her. On this, Sakra, Ruler of Devas, changed himself and some devas into white mice, which bit through the strings about her waist; and when this was done, the extra clothes which she wore dropped down on the ground. The earth at the same time was rent, and she went down alive into hell. This also is the place where Devadatta, trying with empoisoned claws to injure Buddha, went down alive into hell. Men subsequently set up marks to distinguish where both these events took place. Further, at the place where the discussion took place, they reared a vihâra rather more than sixty cubits high, having in it an image of Buddha in a sitting posture. On the east of the road there was a devâlaya [6] of one of the contrary systems, called "The Shadow Covered," right opposite the vihâra on the place of discussion, with only the road between them, and also rather more than sixty cubits high. The reason why it was called "The Shadow Covered" was this: When the sun was in the west, the shadow of the vihâra of the World-honored one fell on the devâlaya of a contrary system; but when the sun was in the east, the shadow of that devâlaya was diverted to the north, and never fell on the vihâra of Buddha. The malbelievers regularly employed men to watch their devâlaya, to sweep and water all about it, to burn incense, light the lamps, and present offerings; but in the morning the lamps were found to have been suddenly removed, and in the vihâra of Buddha. The Brahmans were indignant, and said, "Those Sramanas take our lamps and use them for their own service of Buddha, but we will not stop our service for you!" [7] On that night the Brahmans themselves kept watch, when they saw the deva spirits which they served take the lamps and go three times round the vihâra of Buddha and present offerings. After this administration to Buddha they suddenly disappeared. The Brahmans thereupon knowing how great was the spiritual power of Buddha, forthwith left their families, and became monks. It has been handed down, that, near the time when these things occurred, around the Jetavana vihâra there were ninety-eight monasteries, in all of which there were monks residing, excepting only in one place which was vacant. In this Middle Kingdom there are ninety-six sorts of views, erroneous and different from our system, all of which recognize this world and the future world and the connection between them. Each has its multitude of followers, and they all beg their food: only they do not carry the alms-bowl. They also, moreover, seek to acquire the blessing of good deeds on unfrequented ways, setting up on the roadside houses of charity, where rooms, couches, beds, and food and drink are supplied to travellers, and also to monks, coming and going as guests, the only difference being in the time for which those parties remain. There are also companies of the followers of Devadatta still existing. They regularly make offerings to the three previous Buddhas, but not to Sâkyamuni Buddha. Four li southeast from the city of Srâvastî, a tope has been erected at the place where the World-honored one encountered king Virûdhaha, when he wished to attack the kingdom of Shay-e, and took his stand before him at the side of the road. [Footnote 1: Explained by "Path of Love," and "Lord of Life." Prajâpati was aunt and nurse of Sâkyamuni, the first woman admitted to the monkhood, and the first superior of the first Buddhistic convent. She is yet to become a Buddha.] [Footnote 2: Sudatta, meaning "almsgiver," was the original name of Anâtha-pindika, a wealthy householder, or Vaisya head, of Srâvasti, famous for his liberality. Of his old house, only the well and walls remained at the time of Fâ-hien's visit to Srâvasti.] [Footnote 3: The Angulimâlya were a sect or set of Sivaitic fanatics, who made assassination a religious act. The one of them here mentioned had joined them by the force of circumstances. Being converted by Buddha, he became a monk.] [Footnote 4: Ârya, meaning "honorable," "venerable," is a title given only to those who have mastered the four spiritual truths:--(i) that "misery" is a necessary condition of all sentient existence; this is duhka: (ii) that the "accumulation" of misery is caused by the passions; this is samudaya: (iii) that the "extinction" of passion is possible; this is nirodha: and (iv) that the "path" leads to the extinction of passion; which is marga. According to their attainment of these truths, the Aryas, or followers of Buddha, are distinguished into four classes--Srotâpannas, Sakridâgamins, Anâgâmins, and Arhats.] [Footnote 5: Hsüan-chwang does not give the name of this murderer; see in Julien's "Vie et Voyages de Hiouen-thsang "--"a heretical Brahman killed a woman and calumniated Buddha." See also the fuller account in Beal's "Records of Western Countries," where the murder is committed by several Brahmacharins. In this passage Beal makes Sundari to be the name of the murdered person. But the text cannot be so construed.] [Footnote 6: A devâlaya is a place in which a deva is worshipped--a general name for all Brahmanical temples.] [Footnote 7: Their speech was somewhat unconnected, but natural enough in the circumstances. Compare the whole account with the narrative in 1 Samuel v. about the Ark and Dagon, that "twice-battered god of Palestine."] CHAPTER XXI ~The Three Predecessors of Sâkyamuni~ Fifty li to the west of the city brings the traveller to a town named Too-wei, the birthplace of Kâsyapa Buddha. At the place where he and his father met, and at that where he attained to pari-nirvâna, topes were erected. Over the entire relic of the whole body of him, the Kâsyapa Tathâgata, a great tope was also erected. Going on southeast from the city of Srâvasti for twelve yojanas, the travellers came to a town named Na-pei-keâ, the birthplace of Krakuchanda Buddha. At the place where he and his father met, and at that where he attained to pari-nirvâna, topes were erected. Going north from here less than a yojana, they came to a town which had been the birthplace of Kanakamuni Buddha. At the place where he and his father met, and where he attained to pari-nirvâna, topes were erected. CHAPTER XXII ~Legends of Buddha's Birth~ Less than a yojana to the east from this brought them to the city of Kapilavastu; but in it there was neither king nor people. All was mound and desolation. Of inhabitants there were only some monks and a score or two of families of the common people. At the spot where stood the old palace of king Suddhodana there have been made images of his eldest son and his mother; and at the places where that son appeared mounted on a white elephant when he entered his mother's womb, and where he turned his carriage round on seeing the sick man after he had gone out of the city by the eastern gate, topes have been erected. The places were also pointed out where the rishi Â-e inspected the marks of Buddhaship on the body of the heir-apparent when an infant; where, when he was in company with Nanda and others, on the elephant being struck down and drawn on one side, he tossed it away; [1] where he shot an arrow to the southeast, and it went a distance of thirty li, then entering the ground and making a spring to come forth, which men subsequently fashioned into a well from which travellers might drink; where, after he had attained to Wisdom, Buddha returned and saw the king, his father; where five hundred Sâkyas quitted their families and did reverence to Upâli [2] while the earth shook and moved in six different ways; where Buddha preached his Law to the devas, and the four deva kings and others kept the four doors of the hall, so that even the king, his father, could not enter; where Buddha sat under a nyagrodha tree, which is still standing, with his face to the east, and his aunt Mahâ-prajâpati presented him with a Sanghâli; and where king Vaidûrya slew the seed of Sâkya, and they all in dying became Srotâpannas. [3] A tope was erected at this last place, which is still existing. Several li northeast from the city was the king's field, where the heir-apparent sat under a tree, and looked at the ploughers. Fifty li east from the city was a garden, named Lumbinî, where the queen entered the pond and bathed. Having come forth from the pond on the northern bank, after walking twenty paces, she lifted up her hand, laid hold of a branch of a tree, and, with her face to the east, gave birth to the heir-apparent. When he fell to the ground, he immediately walked seven paces. Two dragon-kings appeared and washed his body. At the place where they did so, there was immediately formed a well, and from it, as well as from the above pond, where the queen bathed, the monks even now constantly take the water, and drink it. There are four places of regular and fixed occurrence in the history of all Buddhas: first, the place where they attained to perfect Wisdom and became Buddha; second, the place where they turned the wheel of the Law; third, the place where they preached the Law, discoursed of righteousness, and discomfited the advocates of erroneous doctrines; and fourth, the place where they came down, after going up to the Trayastrimsas heaven to preach the Law for the benefit of their mothers. Other places in connection with them became remarkable, according to the manifestations which were made at them at particular times. The country of Kapilavastu is a great scene of empty desolation. The inhabitants are few and far between. On the roads people have to be on their guard against white elephants [4] and lions, and should not travel incautiously. [Footnote 1: The Lichchhavis of Vaisâlî had sent to the young prince a very fine elephant; but when it was near Kapilavastu, Deva-datta, out of envy, killed it with a blow of his fist. Nanda (not Ânanda, but a half-brother of Siddhartha), coming that way, saw the carcass lying on the road, and pulled it on one side; but the Bodhisattva, seeing it there, took it by the tail, and tossed it over seven fences and ditches, when the force of its fall made a great ditch.] [Footnote 2: They did this, probably, to show their humility, for Upâli was only a Sûdra by birth, and had been a barber; so from the first did Buddhism assert its superiority to the conditions of rank and caste. Upâli was distinguished by his knowledge of the rules of discipline, and praised on that account by Buddha. He was one of the three leaders of the first synod, and the principal compiler of the original Vinaya books.] [Footnote 3: The Srotâpannas are the first class of saints, who are not to be reborn in a lower sphere, but attain to nirvàna after having been reborn seven times consecutively as men or devas. The Chinese editions state there were one thousand of the Sãkya seed. The general account is that they were five hundred, all maidens, who refused to take their place in king Vaidurya's harem, and were in consequence taken to a pond, and had their hands and feet cut off. There Buddha came to them, had their wounds dressed, and preached to them the Law. They died in the faith, and were reborn in the region of the four Great Kings. Thence they came back and visited Buddha at Jetavana in the night, and there they obtained the reward of Srotâpanna.] [Footnote 4: Fâ-hien does not say that he himself saw any of these white elephants, nor does he speak of the lions as of any particular color. We shall find by and by, in a note further on, that, to make them appear more terrible, they are spoken of as "black."] CHAPTER XXIII ~Legends of Râma and its Tope~ East from Buddha's birthplace, and at a distance of five yojanas, there is a kingdom called Râma. The king of this country, having obtained one portion of the relics of Buddha's body, returned with it and built over it a tope, named the Râma tope. By the side of it there was a pool, and in the pool a dragon, which constantly kept watch over the tope, and presented offerings at it day and night. When king Asoka came forth into the world, he wished to destroy the eight topes over the relics, and to build instead of them eighty-four thousand topes. [1] After he had thrown down the seven others, he wished next to destroy this tope. But then the dragon showed itself, and took the king into its palace; when he had seen all the things provided for offerings, it said to him, "If you are able with your offerings to exceed these, you can destroy the tope, and take it all away. I will not contend with you." The king, however, knew that such appliances for offerings were not to be had anywhere in the world, and thereupon returned without carrying out his purpose. Afterwards, the ground all about became overgrown with vegetation, and there was nobody to sprinkle and sweep about the tope; but a herd of elephants came regularly, which brought water with their trunks to water the ground, and various kinds of flowers and incense, which they presented at the tope. Once there came from one of the kingdoms a devotee to worship at the tope. When he encountered the elephants he was greatly alarmed, and screened himself among the trees; but when he saw them go through with the offerings in the most proper manner, the thought filled him with great sadness--that there should be no monastery here, the inmates of which might serve the tope, but the elephants have to do the watering and sweeping. Forthwith he gave up the great prohibitions by which he was bound, and resumed the status of a Srâmanera. With his own hands he cleared away the grass and trees, put the place in good order, and made it pure and clean. By the power of his exhortations, he prevailed on the king of the country to form a residence for monks; and when that was done, he became head of the monastery. At the present day there are monks residing in it. This event is of recent occurrence; but in all the succession from that time till now, there has always been a Srâmanera head of the establishment. [Footnote 1: The bones of the human body are supposed to consist of 84,000 atoms, and hence the legend of Asoka's wish to build 84,000 topes, one over each atom of Sakyamuni's skeleton.] CHAPTER XXIV ~Where Buddha Renounced the World~ East from here four yojanas, there is the place where the heir-apparent sent back Chandaka, with his white horse; and there also a tope was erected. Four yojanas to the east from this, the travellers came to the Charcoal tope, where there is also a monastery. Going on twelve yojanas, still to the east, they came to the city of Kusanagara, on the north of which, between two trees, on the bank of the Nairañjanâ river, is the place where the World-honored one, with his head to the north, attained to pan-nirvâna and died. There also are the places where Subhadra, [1] the last of his converts, attained to Wisdom and became an Arhat; where in his coffin of gold they made offerings to the World-honored one for seven days, where the Vajrapâni laid aside his golden club, and where the eight kings divided the relics of the burnt body: at all these places were built topes and monasteries, all of which are now existing. In the city the inhabitants are few and far between, comprising only the families belonging to the different societies of monks. Going from this to the southeast for twelve yojanas, they came to the place where the Lichchhavis wished to follow Buddha to the place of his pari-nirvâna, and where, when he would not listen to them and they kept cleaving to him, unwilling to go away, he made to appear a large and deep ditch which they could not cross over, and gave them his alms-bowl, as a pledge of his regard, thus sending them back to their families. There a stone pillar was erected with an account of this event engraved upon it. [Footnote 1: A Brahman of Benâres, said to have been one hundred and twenty years old, who came to learn from Buddha the very night he died. Ânanda would have repulsed him; but Buddha ordered him to be introduced; and then putting aside the ingenious but unimportant question which he propounded, preached to him the Law. The Brahman was converted and attained at once to Arhatship.] CHAPTER XXV ~The Kingdom of Vaisâlî~ East from this city ten yojanas, the travellers came to the kingdom of Vaisâlî. North of the city so named is a large forest, having in it the double-galleried vihâra where Buddha dwelt, and the tope over half the body of Ânanda. Inside the city the woman Âmbapâlî [1] built a vihâra in honor of Buddha, which is now standing as it was at first. Three li south of the city, on the west of the road, is the garden which the same Âmbapâlî presented to Buddha, in which he might reside. When Buddha was about to attain to his pari-nirvâna, as he was quitting the city by the west gate, he turned round, and, beholding the city on his right, said to them, "Here I have taken my last walk." Men subsequently built a tope at this spot. Three li northwest of the city there is a tope called, "Bows and weapons laid down." The reason why it got that name was this: The inferior wife of a king, whose country lay along the river Ganges, brought forth from her womb a ball of flesh. The superior wife, jealous of the other, said, "You have brought forth a thing of evil omen," and immediately it was put into a box of wood and thrown into the river. Farther down the stream another king was walking and looking about, when he saw the wooden box floating in the water. He had it brought to him, opened it, and found a thousand little boys, upright and complete, and each one different from the others. He took them and had them brought up. They grew tall and large, and very daring and strong, crushing all opposition in every expedition which they undertook. By and by they attacked the kingdom of their real father, who became in consequence greatly distressed and sad. His inferior wife asked what it was that made him so, and he replied, "That king has a thousand sons, daring and strong beyond compare, and he wishes with them to attack my kingdom; this is what makes me sad." The wife said, "You need not be sad and sorrowful. Only make a high gallery on the wall of the city on the east; and when the thieves come, I shall be able to make them retire." The king did as she said; and when the enemies came, she said to them from the tower, "You are my sons; why are you acting so unnaturally and rebelliously?" They replied, "Who are you that say you are our mother?" "If you do not believe me," she said, "look, all of you, towards me, and open your mouths." She then pressed her breasts with her two hands, and each sent forth five hundred jets of milk, which fell into the mouths of the thousand sons. The thieves thus knew that she was their mother, and laid down their bows and weapons. The two kings, the fathers, hereupon fell into reflection, and both got to be Pratyeka Buddhas. The tope of the two Pratyeka Buddhas is still existing. In a subsequent age, when the World-honored one had attained to perfect Wisdom and become Buddha, he said to his disciples, "This is the place where I in a former age laid down my bow and weapons." [2] It was thus that subsequently men got to know the fact, and raised the tope on this spot, which in this way received its name. The thousand little boys were the thousand Buddhas of this Bhadra-kalpa. [3] It was by the side of the "Weapons-laid-down" tope that Buddha, having given up the idea of living longer, said to Ânanda, "In three months from this I will attain to pari-nirvâna"; and king Mâra [4] had so fascinated and stupefied Ânanda, that he was not able to ask Buddha to remain longer in this world. Three or four li east from this place there is a tope commemorating the following occurrence: A hundred years after the pari-nirvâna of Buddha, some Bhikshus of Vaisâlî went wrong in the matter of the disciplinary rules in ten particulars, and appealed for their justification to what they said were the words of Buddha. Hereupon the Arhats and Bhikshus observant of the rules, to the number in all of seven hundred monks, examined afresh and collated the collection of disciplinary books [5]. Subsequently men built at this place the tope in question, which is still existing. [Footnote 1: Âmbapâlî, Âmrapâlî, or Âmradarikâ, "the guardian of the Âmra (probably the mango) tree," is famous in Buddhist annals. She was a courtesan. She had been in many nârakas or hells, was one hundred thousand times a female beggar, and ten thousand times a prostitute; but maintaining perfect continence during the period of Kâsyana Buddha, Sakyamuni's predecessor, she had been born a devî, and finally appeared in earth under an Âmra tree in Vaisâlî. There again she fell into her old ways, and had a son by king Bimbisâra; but she was won over by Buddha to virtue and chastity, renounced the world, and attained to the state of an Arhat.] [Footnote 2: Thus Sâkyamuni had been one of the thousand little boys who floated in the box in the Ganges. How long back the former age was we cannot tell. I suppose the tope of the two fathers who became Pratyeka Buddhas had been built like the one commemorating the laying down of weapons after Buddha had told his disciples of the strange events in the past.] [Footnote 3: Bhadra-kalpa, "the Kalpa of worthies or sages." "This," says Eitel, "is a designation for a Kalpa of stability, so-called because one thousand Buddhas appear in the course of it. Our present period is a Bhadra-kalpa, and four Buddhas have already appeared. It is to last two hundred and thirty-six millions of years, but over one hundred and fifty-one millions have already elapsed."] [Footnote 4: "The king of demons." The name Mara is explained by "the murderer," "the destroyer of virtue," and similar appellations. "He is," says Eitel, "the personification of lust, the god of love, sin, and death, the arch-enemy of goodness, residing in the heaven Paranirmita Vasavartin on the top of the Kamadhatu. He assumes different forms, especially monstrous ones, to tempt or frighten the saints, or sends his daughters, or inspires wicked men like Devadatta or the Nirgranthas to do his work. He is often represented with 100 arms, and riding on an elephant."] [Footnote 5: Or the Vinaya-pitaka. The meeting referred to was an important one, and is generally spoken of as the second Great Council of the Buddhist Church. The first Council was that held at Râjagriha, shortly after Buddha's death, under the presidency of Kâsyapa--say about B.C. 410. The second was that spoken of here--say about B.C. 300.] CHAPTER XXVI ~Remarkable Death of Ânanda~ Four yojanas on from this place to the east brought the travellers to the confluence of the five rivers. When Ânanda was going from Magadha to Vaisâlî, wishing his pari-nirvâna to take place there, the devas informed king Ajâtasatru [1] of it, and the king immediately pursued him, in his own grand carriage, with a body of soldiers, and had reached the river. On the other hand, the Lichchhavis of Vaisâlî had heard that Ânanda was coming to their city, and they on their part came to meet him. In this way, they all arrived together at the river, and Ânanda considered that, if he went forward, king Ajâtasatru would be very angry, while, if he went back, the Lichchhavis would resent his conduct. He thereupon in the very middle of the river burnt his body in a fiery ecstasy of Samâdhi [2], and his pari-nirvâna was attained. He divided his body into two parts, leaving one part on each bank; so that each of the two kings got one part as a sacred relic, and took it back to his own capital, and there raised a tope over it. [Footnote 1: He was the son of king Bimbisâra, who was one of the first royal converts to Buddhism. Ajasat murdered his father, or at least wrought his death; and was at first opposed to Sakyamuni, and a favorer of Devadotta. When converted, he became famous for his liberality in almsgiving.] [Footnote 2: "Samâdhi," says Eitel, "signifies the highest pitch of abstract, ecstatic meditation; a state of absolute indifference to all influences from within or without; a state of torpor of both the material and spiritual forces of vitality; a sort of terrestrial Nirvâna, consistently culminating in total destruction of life."] CHAPTER XXVII ~King Asoka's Spirit-built Palace and Halls~ Having crossed the river, and descended south for a yojana, the travellers came to the town of Pâtaliputtra [1], in the kingdom of Magadha, the city where king Asoka ruled. The royal palace and halls in the midst of the city, which exist now as of old, were all made by spirits which he employed, and which piled up the stones, reared the walls and gates, and executed the elegant carving and inlaid sculpture-work--in a way which no human hands of this world could accomplish. King Asoka had a younger brother who had attained to be an Arhat, and resided on Gridhra-kûta hill, finding his delight in solitude and quiet. The king, who sincerely reverenced him, wished and begged him to come and live in his family, where he could supply all his wants. The other, however, through his delight in the stillness of the mountain, was unwilling to accept the invitation, on which the king said to him, "Only accept my invitation, and I will make a hill for you inside the city." Accordingly, he provided the materials of a feast, called to him the spirits, and announced to them, "Tomorrow you will all receive my invitation; but as there are no mats for you to sit on, let each one bring his own seat." Next day the spirits came, each one bringing with him a great rock, like a wall, four or five paces square, for a seat. When their sitting was over, the king made them form a hill with the large stones piled on one another, and also at the foot of the hill, with five large square stones, to make an apartment, which might be more than thirty cubits long, twenty cubits wide, and more than ten cubits high. In this city there had resided a great Brahman, named Râdha-sâmi, a professor of the mahâyâna, of clear discernment and much wisdom, who understood everything, living by himself in spotless purity. The king of the country honored and reverenced him, and served him as his teacher. If he went to inquire for and greet him, the king did not presume to sit down alongside of him; and if, in his love and reverence, he took hold of his hand, as soon as he let it go, the Brahman made haste to pour water on it and wash it. He might be more than fifty years old, and all the kingdom looked up to him. By means of this one man, the Law of Buddha was widely made-known, and the followers of other doctrines did not find it in their power to persecute the body of monks in any way. By the side of the tope of Asoka, there has been made a mahâyâna monastery, very grand and beautiful; there is also a hînayâna one; the two together containing six hundred or seven hundred monks. The rules of demeanor and the scholastic arrangements in them are worthy of observation. Shamans of the highest virtue from all quarters, and students, inquirers wishing to find out truth and the grounds of it, all resort to these monasteries. There also resides in this monastery a Brahman teacher, whose name also is Mañjusrî, whom the Shamans of greatest virtue in the kingdom, and the mahâyâna Bhikshus honor and look up to. The cities and towns of this country are the greatest of all in the Middle Kingdom. The inhabitants are rich and prosperous, and vie with one another in the practice of benevolence and righteousness. Every year on the eighth day of the second month they celebrate a procession of images. They make a four-wheeled car, and on it erect a structure of five stories by means of bamboos tied together. This is supported by a king-post, with poles and lances slanting from it, and is rather more than twenty cubits high, having the shape of a tope. White and silk-like cloth of hair is wrapped all round it, which is then painted in various colors. They make figures of devas, with gold, silver, and lapis lazuli grandly blended and having silken streamers and canopies hung out over them. On the four sides are niches, with a Buddha seated in each, and a Bodhisattva standing in attendance on him. There may be twenty cars, all grand and imposing, but each one different from the others. On the day mentioned, the monks and laity within the borders all come together; they have singers and skilful musicians: they say their devotions with flowers and incense. The Brahmans come and invite the Buddhas to enter the city. These do so in order, and remain two nights in it. All through the night they keep lamps burning, have skilful music, and present offerings. This is the practice in all the other kingdoms as well. The Heads of the Vaisya families in them establish in the cities houses for dispensing charity and medicines. All the poor and destitute in the country, orphans, widowers, and childless men, maimed people and cripples, and all who are diseased, go to those houses, and are provided with every kind of help, and doctors examine their diseases. They get the food and medicines which their cases require, and are made to feel at ease; and when they are better, they go away of themselves. When king Asoka destroyed the seven topes, intending to make eighty-four thousand, the first which he made was the great tope, more than three li to the south of this city. In front of this there is a footprint of Buddha, where a vihara has been built. The door of it faces the north, and on the south of it there is a stone pillar, fourteen or fifteen cubits in circumference, and more than thirty cubits high, on which there is an inscription, saying, "Asoka gave the Jambudvipa to the general body of all the monks, and then redeemed it from them with money. This he did three times." North from the tope three hundred or four hundred paces, king Asoka built the city of Ne-le. In it there is a stone pillar, which also is more than thirty feet high, with a lion on the top of it. On the pillar there is an inscription recording the things which led to the building of Ne-le, with the number of the year, the day, and the month. [Footnote 1: The modern Patna. The Sanscrit name means "The city of flowers." It is the Indian Florence.] CHAPTER XXVIII ~Râjagriha, New and Old--Legends Connected with It~ The travellers went on from this to the southeast for nine yojanas, and came to a small solitary rocky hill, at the head or end of which was an apartment of stone, facing the south--the place where Buddha sat, when Sakra, Ruler of Devas, brought the deva-musician, Pañchasikha, to give pleasure to him by playing on his lute. Sakra then asked Buddha about forty-two subjects, tracing the questions out with his finger one by one on the rock. The prints of his tracing are still there; and here also there is a monastery. A yojana southwest from this place brought them to the village of Nâla, where Sâriputtra was born, and to which also he returned, and attained here his pari-nirvâna. Over the spot where his body was burned there was built a tope, which is still in existence. Another yojana to the west brought them to New Râjagriha--the new city which was built by king Ajâtasatru. There were two monasteries in it. Three hundred paces outside the west gate, king Ajâtasatru, having obtained one portion of the relics of Buddha, built over them a tope, high, large, grand, and beautiful. Leaving the city by the south gate, and proceeding south four li, one enters a valley, and comes to a circular space formed by five hills, which stand all round it, and have the appearance of the suburban wall of a city. Here was the old city of king Bimbisâra; from east to west about five or six li, and from north to south seven or eight. It was here that Sâriputtra and Maudgalyâyana first saw Upasena [1]; that the Nirgrantha made a pit of fire and poisoned the rice, and then invited Buddha to eat with him; that king Ajâtasatru made a black elephant intoxicated with liquor, wishing him to injure Buddha; and that at the northeast corner of the city in a large curving space Jîvaka built a vihâra in the garden of Âmbapâlî, and invited Buddha with his one thousand two hundred and fifty disciples to it, that he might there make his offerings to support them. These places are still there as of old, but inside the city all is emptiness and desolation; no man dwells in it. [Footnote 1: One of the five first followers of Sakyamuni. He is also called Asvajit; in Pali Assaji; but Asvajit seems to be a military title, "Master or trainer of horses." The two more famous disciples met him, not to lead him, but to be directed by him, to Buddha.] CHAPTER XXIX ~Fâ-Hien Passes a Night on Gridhra-kûta Hill~ Entering the valley, and keeping along the mountains on the southeast, after ascending fifteen li, the travellers came to mount Gridhra-kûta. Three li before you reach the top, there is a cavern in the rocks, facing the south, in which Buddha sat in meditation. Thirty paces to the northwest there is another, where Ânanda was sitting in meditation, when the deva Mâra Pisuna, having assumed the form of a large vulture, took his place in front of the cavern, and frightened the disciple. Then Buddha, by his mysterious, supernatural power, made a cleft in the rock, introduced his hand, and stroked Ânanda's shoulder, so that his fear immediately passed away. The footprints of the bird and the cleft for Buddha's hand are still there, and hence comes the name of "The Hill of the Vulture Cavern." In front of the cavern there are the places where the four Buddhas sat. There are caverns also of the Arhats, one where each sat and meditated, amounting to several hundred in all. At the place where in front of his rocky apartment Buddha was walking from east to west in meditation, and Devadatta, from among the beetling cliffs on the north of the mountain, threw a rock across, and hurt Buddha's toes, the rock is still there. The hall where Buddha preached his Law has been destroyed, and only the foundations of the brick walls remain. On this hill the peak is beautifully green, and rises grandly up; it is the highest of all the five hills. In the New City Fâ-hien bought incense-sticks, flowers, oil and lamps, and hired two bhikshus, long resident at the place, to carry them to the peak. When he himself got to it, he made his offerings with the flowers and incense, and lighted the lamps when the darkness began to come on. He felt melancholy, but restrained his tears and said, "Here Buddha delivered the Sûrângama Sûtra. I, Fâ-hien, was born when I could not meet with Buddha; and now I only see the footprints which he has left, and the place where he lived, and nothing more." With this, in front of the rock cavern, he chanted the Sûrângama Sûtra, remained there over the night, and then returned towards the New City. CHAPTER XXX ~Srataparna Cave, or Cave of the First Council~ Out from the old city, after walking over three hundred paces, on the west of the road, the travellers found the Karanda Bamboo garden, where the old vihâra is still in existence, with a company of monks, who keep the ground about it swept and watered. North of the vihâra two or three li there was the Smasânam, which name means in Chinese "the field of graves into which the dead are thrown." As they kept along the mountain on the south, and went west for three hundred paces, they found a dwelling among the rocks, named the Pippala cave, in which Buddha regularly sat in meditation after taking his mid-day meal. Going on still to the west for five or six li, on the north of the hill, in the shade, they found the cavern called Srataparna, [1] the place where, after the nirvâna of Buddha, five hundred Arhats collected the Sûtras. When they brought the Sûtras forth, three lofty seats had been prepared and grandly ornamented. Sâriputtra occupied the one on the left, and Maudgalyâyana that on the right. Of the number of five hundred one was wanting. Mahâkasyapa was president on the middle seat. Ânanda was then outside the door, and could not get in. At the place there was subsequently raised a tope, which is still existing. Along the sides of the hill, there are also a very great many cells among the rocks, where the various Arhans sat and meditated. As you leave the old city on the north, and go down east for three li, there is the rock dwelling of Devadatta, and at a distance of fifty paces from it there is a large, square, black rock. Formerly there was a bhikshu, who, as he walked backwards and forwards upon it, thought with himself:--"This body is impermanent, a thing of bitterness and vanity, and which cannot be looked on as pure. I am weary of this body, and troubled by it as an evil." With this he grasped a knife, and was about to kill himself. But he thought again:--"The World-honored one laid down a prohibition against one's killing himself." [2] Further it occurred to him:--"Yes, he did; but I now only wish to kill three poisonous thieves." Immediately with the knife he cut his throat. With the first gash into the flesh he attained the state of a Srotâpanna; when he had gone half through, he attained to be an Anâgâmin; and when he had cut right through, he was an Arhat, and attained to pari-nirvâna, and died. [Footnote 1: A very great place in the annals of Buddhism. The Council in the Srataparna cave did not come together fortuitously, but appears to have been convoked by the older members to settle the rules and doctrines of the order. The cave was prepared for the occasion by king Ajâtasatru.] [Footnote 2: Buddha made a law forbidding the monks to commit suicide. He prohibited any one from discoursing on the miseries of life in such a manner as to cause desperation.] CHAPTER XXXI ~Sâkyamuni's Attaining to the Buddhaship~ From this place, after travelling to the west for four yojanas, the pilgrims came to the city of Gayâ; but inside the city all was emptiness and desolation. Going on again to the south for twenty li, they arrived at the place where the Bodhisattva for six years practised with himself painful austerities. All around was forest. Three li west from here they came to the place where, when Buddha had gone into the water to bathe, a deva bent down the branch of a tree, by means of which he succeeded in getting out of the pool. Two li north from this was the place where the Grâmika girls presented to Buddha the rice-gruel made with milk; and two li north from this was the place where, seated on a rock under a great tree, and facing the east, he ate the gruel. The tree and the rock are there at the present day. The rock may be six cubits in breadth and length, and rather more than two cubits in height. In Central India the cold and heat are so equally tempered that trees live for several thousand and even for ten thousand years. Half a yojana from this place to the northeast there was a cavern in the rocks, into which the Bodhisattva entered, and sat cross-legged with his face to the west. As he did so, he said to himself, "If I am to attain to perfect wisdom and become Buddha, let there be a supernatural attestation of it." On the wall of the rock there appeared immediately the shadow of a Buddha, rather more than three feet in length, which is still bright at the present day. At this moment heaven and earth were greatly moved, and devas in the air spoke plainly, "This is not the place where any Buddha of the past, or he that is to come, has attained, or will attain, to perfect Wisdom. Less than half a yojana from this to the southwest will bring you to the patra tree, where all past Buddhas have attained, and all to come must attain, to perfect Wisdom." When they had spoken these words, they immediately led the way forward to the place, singing as they did so. As they thus went away, the Bodhisattva arose and walked after them. At a distance of thirty paces from the tree, a deva gave him the grass of lucky omen, which he received and went on. After he had proceeded fifteen paces, five hundred green birds came flying towards him, went round him thrice, and disappeared. The Bodhisattva went forward to the patra tree, placed the kusa grass at the foot of it, and sat down with his face to the east. Then king Mâra sent three beautiful young ladies, who came from the north, to tempt him, while he himself came from the south to do the same. The Bodhisattva put his toes down on the ground, and the demon soldiers retired and dispersed, and the three young ladies were changed into old grandmothers. At the place mentioned above of the six years' painful austerities, and at all these other places, men subsequently reared topes and set up images, which all exist at the present day. Where Buddha, after attaining to perfect Wisdom, for seven days contemplated the tree, and experienced the joy of vimukti; where, under the patra tree, he walked to and fro from west to east for seven days; where the devas made a hall appear, composed of the seven precious substances, and presented offerings to him for seven days; where the blind dragon Muchilinda [1] encircled him for seven days; where he sat under the nyagrodha tree, on a square rock, with his face to the east, and Brahma-deva came and made his request to him; where the four deva kings brought to him their alms-bowls; where the five hundred merchants presented to him the roasted flour and honey; and where he converted the brothers Kasyapa and their thousand disciples;--at all these places topes were reared. At the place where Buddha attained to perfect Wisdom, there are three monasteries, in all of which there are monks residing. The families of their people around supply the societies of these monks with an abundant sufficiency of what they require, so that there is no lack or stint. The disciplinary rules are strictly observed by them. The laws regulating their demeanor in sitting, rising, and entering when the others are assembled, are those which have been practised by all the saints since Buddha was in the world down to the present day. The places of the four great topes have been fixed, and handed down without break, since Buddha attained to nirvâna. Those four great topes are those at the places where Buddha was born; where he attained to Wisdom; where he began to move the wheel of his Law; and where he attained to pari-nirvâna. [Footnote 1: Called also Maha, or the Great Muchilinda. Eitel says: "A naga king, the tutelary deity of a lake near which Sakyamuni once sat for seven days absorbed in meditation, whilst the king guarded him." The account in "The Life of the Buddha" is:--"Buddha went to where lived the naga king Muchilinda, and he, wishing to preserve him from the sun and rain, wrapped his body seven times round him, and spread out his hood over his head; and there he remained seven days in thought."] CHAPTER XXXII ~Legend of King Asoka in a Former Birth~ When king Asoka, in a former birth, was a little boy and playing on the road, he met Kasyapa Buddha walking. The stranger begged food, and the boy pleasantly took a handful of earth and gave it to him. The Buddha took the earth, and returned it to the ground on which he was walking; but because of this the boy received the recompense of becoming a king of the iron wheel, to rule over Jambudvîpa. Once when he was making a judicial tour of inspection through Jambudvîpa, he saw, between the iron circuit of the two hills, a naraka for the punishment of wicked men. Having thereupon asked his ministers what sort of a thing it was, they replied, "It belongs to Yama, [1] king of demons, for punishing wicked people." The king thought within himself:--"Even the king of demons is able to make a naraka in which to deal with wicked men; why should not I, who am the lord of men, make a naraka in which to deal with wicked men?" He forthwith asked his ministers who could make for him a naraka and preside over the punishment of wicked people in it. They replied that it was only a man of extreme wickedness who could make it; and the king thereupon sent officers to seek everywhere for such a bad man; and they saw by the side of a pond a man tall and strong, with a black countenance, yellow hair, and green eyes, hooking up the fish with his feet, while he called to him birds and beasts, and, when they came, then shot and killed them, so that not one escaped. Having got this man, they took him to the king, who secretly charged him, "You must make a square enclosure with high walls. Plant in it all kinds of flowers and fruits; make good ponds in it for bathing; make it grand and imposing in every way, so that men shall look to it with thirsting desire; make its gates strong and sure; and when any one enters, instantly seize him and punish him as a sinner, not allowing him to get out. Even if I should enter, punish me as a sinner in the same way, and do not let me go. I now appoint you master of that naraka." Soon after this a bhikshu, pursuing his regular course of begging his food, entered the gate of the place. When the lictors of the naraka saw him, they were about to subject him to their tortures; but he, frightened, begged them to allow him a moment in which to eat his mid-day meal. Immediately after, there came in another man, whom they thrust into a mortar and pounded till a red froth overflowed. As the bhikshu looked on, there came to him the thought of the impermanence, the painful suffering and inanity of this body, and how it is but as a bubble and as foam; and instantly he attained to Arhatship. Immediately after, the lictors seized him, and threw him into a caldron of boiling water. There was a look of joyful satisfaction, however, in the bhikshu's countenance. The fire was extinguished, and the water became cold. In the middle of the caldron there rose up a lotus flower, with the bhikshu seated on it. The lictors at once went and reported to the king that there was a marvellous occurrence in the naraka, and wished him to go and see it; but the king said, "I formerly made such an agreement that now I dare not go to the place." The lictors said, "This is not a small matter. Your Majesty ought to go quickly. Let your former agreement be altered." The king thereupon followed them, and entered the naraka, when the bhikshu preached the Law to him, and he believed, and was made free. Forthwith he demolished the naraka, and repented of all the evil which he had formerly done. From this time he believed in and honored the Three Precious Ones, and constantly went to a patra tree, repenting under it, with self-reproach, of his errors, and accepting the eight rules of abstinence. The queen asked where the king was constantly going to, and the ministers replied that he was constantly to be seen under such and such a patra tree. She watched for a time when the king was not there, and then sent men to cut the tree down. When the king came, and saw what had been done, he swooned away with sorrow, and fell to the ground. His ministers sprinkled water on his face, and after a considerable time he revived. He then built all round the stump with bricks, and poured a hundred pitchers of cows' milk on the roots; and as he lay with his four limbs spread out on the ground, he took this oath, "If the tree do not live, I will never rise from this." When he had uttered this oath, the tree immediately began to grow from the roots, and it has continued to grow till now, when it is nearly one hundred cubits in height. [Footnote 1: Yama was originally the Âryan god of the dead, living in a heaven above the world, the regent of the south; but Brahmanism transferred his abode to hell. Both views have been retained by Buddhism. The Yama of the text is the "regent of the narakas, residing south of Jambudvîpa, outside the Chakravâlas (the double circuit of mountains above), in a palace built of brass and iron. He has a sister who controls all the female culprits, as he exclusively deals with the male sex. Three times, however, in every twenty-four hours, a demon pours boiling copper into Yama's mouth, and squeezes it down his throat, causing him unspeakable pain." Such, however, is the wonderful "transrotation of births," that when Yama's sins have been expiated, he is to be reborn as Buddha, under the name of "The Universal King."] CHAPTER XXXIII ~Kasyapa Buddha's Skeleton on Mount Gurupada~ The travellers, going on from this three li to the south, came to a mountain named Gurupada, inside which Mahâkasyapa even now is. He made a cleft, and went down into it, though the place where he entered would not now admit a man. Having gone down very far, there was a hole on one side, and there the complete body of Kasyapa still abides. Outside the hole at which he entered is the earth with which he had washed his hands. If the people living thereabouts have a sore on their heads, they plaster on it some of the earth from this, and feel immediately easier. On this mountain, now as of old, there are Arhats abiding. Devotees of our Law from the various countries in that quarter go year by year to the mountain, and present offerings to Kasyapa; and to those whose hearts are strong in faith there come Arhats at night, and talk with them, discussing and explaining their doubts, and disappearing suddenly afterwards. On this hill hazels grow luxuriantly; and there are many lions, tigers, and wolves, so that people should not travel incautiously. CHAPTER XXXIV ~On the Way Returning to Patna~ Fâ-Hien returned from here towards Pâtaliputtra, keeping along the course of the Ganges and descending in the direction of the west. After going ten yojanas he found a vihâra, named "The Wilderness"--a place where Buddha had dwelt, and where there are monks now. Pursuing the same course, and going still to the west, he arrived, after twelve yojanas, at the city of Vârânasî in the kingdom of Kâsî. Rather more than ten li to the northeast of the city, he found the vihâra in the park of "The rishi's Deer-wild." [1] In this park there formerly resided a Pratyeka Buddha, with whom the deer were regularly in the habit of stopping for the night. When the World-honored one was about to attain to perfect Wisdom, the devas sang in the sky, "The son of king Suddhodana, having quitted his family and studied the Path of Wisdom, will now in seven days become Buddha." The Pratyeka Buddha heard their words, and immediately attained to nirvâna; and hence this place was named "The Park of the rishi's Deer-wild." After the World-honored one had attained to perfect Wisdom, men built the vihâra in it. Buddha wished to convert Kaundinya and his four companions; but they, being aware of his intention, said to one another, "This Sramana Gotama [2] for six years continued in the practice of painful austerities, eating daily only a single hemp-seed, and one grain of rice, without attaining to the Path of Wisdom; how much less will he do so now that he has entered again among men, and is giving the reins to the indulgence of his body, his speech, and his thoughts! What has he to do with the Path of Wisdom? To-day, when he comes to us, let us be on our guard not to speak with him." At the places where the five men all rose up, and respectfully saluted Buddha, when he came to them; where, sixty paces north from this, he sat with his face to the east, and first turned the wheel of the Law, converting Kaundinya and the four others; where, twenty paces further to the north, he delivered his prophecy concerning Maitreya; and where, at a distance of fifty paces to the south, the dragon Elâpattra asked him, "When shall I get free from this nâga body?"--at all these places topes were reared, and are still existing. In the park there are two monasteries, in both of which there are monks residing. When you go northwest from the vihâra of the Deer-wild park for thirteen yojanas, there is a kingdom named Kausâmbi. Its vihâra is named Ghochiravana--a place where Buddha formerly resided. Now, as of old, there is a company of monks there, most of whom are students of the hînayâna. East from this, when you have travelled eight yojanas, is the place where Buddha converted the evil demon. There, and where he walked in meditation and sat at the place which was his regular abode, there have been topes erected. There is also a monastery, which may contain more than a hundred monks. [Footnote 1: "The rishi," says Eitel, "is a man whose bodily frame has undergone a certain transformation by dint of meditation and asceticism, so that he is, for an indefinite period, exempt from decrepitude, age, and death. As this period is believed to extend far beyond the usual duration of human life, such persons are called, and popularly believed to be, immortals." Rishis are divided into various classes; and rishi-ism is spoken of as a seventh path of transrotation, and rishis are referred to as the seventh class of sentient beings.] [Footnote 2: This is the only instance in Fâ-hien's text where the Bodhisattva or Buddha is called by the surname "Gotama." For the most part our traveller uses Buddha as a proper name, though it properly means "The Enlightened." He uses also the combinations "Sâkya Buddha," which means "The Buddha of the Sâkya tribe," and "Sâkyamuni," which means "The Sâkya sage." This last is the most common designation of the Buddha in China. Among other Buddhistic peoples "Gotama" and "Gotama Buddha" are the more frequent designations.] CHAPTER XXXV ~Dakshina, and the Pigeon Monastery~ South from this two hundred yojanas, there is a country named Dakshina, where there is a monastery dedicated to the by-gone Kasyapa Buddha, and which has been hewn out from a large hill of rock. It consists in all of five stories;--the lowest, having the form of an elephant, with five hundred apartments in the rock; the second, having the form of a lion, with four hundred apartments; the third, having the form of a horse, with three hundred apartments; the fourth, having the form of an ox, with two hundred apartments; and the fifth, having the form of a pigeon, with one hundred apartments. At the very top there is a spring, the water of which, always in front of the apartments in the rock, goes round among the rooms, now circling, now curving, till in this way it arrives at the lowest story, having followed the shape of the structure, and flows out there at the door. Everywhere in the apartments of the monks, the rock has been pierced so as to form windows for the admission of light, so that they are all bright, without any being left in darkness. At the four corners of the tiers of apartments, the rock has been hewn so as to form steps for ascending to the top of each. The men of the present day, being of small size, and going up step by step, manage to get to the top; but in a former age they did so at one step. Because of this, the monastery is called Paravata, that being the Indian name for a pigeon. There are always Arhats residing in it. The country about is a tract of uncultivated hillocks, without inhabitants. At a very long distance from the hill there are villages, where the people all have bad and erroneous views, and do not know the Sramanas of the Law of Buddha, Brahmanas, or devotees of any of the other and different schools. The people of that country are constantly seeing men on the wing, who come and enter this monastery. On one occasion, when devotees of various countries came to perform their worship at it, the people of those villages said to them, "Why do you not fly? The devotees whom we have seen hereabouts all fly"; and the strangers answered, on the spur of the moment, "Our wings are not yet fully formed." The kingdom of Dakshina is out of the way, and perilous to traverse. There are difficulties in connection with the roads; but those who know how to manage such difficulties and wish to proceed should bring with them money and various articles, and give them to the king. He will then send men to escort them. These will, at different stages, pass them over to others, who will show them the shortest routes. Fâ-hien, however, was after all unable to go there; but having received the above accounts from men of the country, he has narrated them. CHAPTER XXXVI ~Fâ-Hien's Indian Studies~ From Vârânasî the travellers went back east to Pâtaliputtra. Fâ-hien's original object had been to search for copies of the Vinaya. In the various kingdoms of North India, however, he had found one master transmitting orally the rules to another, but no written copies which he could transcribe. He had therefore travelled far and come on to Central India. Here, in the mahâyâna monastery, he found a copy of the Vinaya, containing the Mahâsânghikâ [1] rules--those which were observed in the first Great Council, while Buddha was still in the world. The original copy was handed down in the Jetavana vihâra. As to the other eighteen schools, each one has the views and decisions of its own masters. Those agree with this in the general meaning, but they have small and trivial differences, as when one opens and another shuts. This copy of the rules, however, is the most complete, with the fullest explanations. [2] He further got a transcript of the rules in six or seven thousand gâthas, [3] being the sarvâstivâdâh [4] rules--those which are observed by the communities of monks in the land of Ts'in; which also have all been handed down orally from master to master without being committed to writing. In the community here, moreover, he got the Samyuktâbhi-dharma-hridaya-sâstra, containing about six or seven thousand gâthas; he also got a Sûtra of two thousand five hundred gâthas; one chapter of the Pari-nirvâna-vaipulya Sûtra, of about five thousand gâthas; and the Mahâsânghikâ Abhidharma. In consequence of this success in his quest Fâ-hien stayed here for three years, learning Sanscrit books and the Sanscrit speech, and writing out, the Vinaya rules. When Tâo-ching arrived in the Central Kingdom, and saw the rules observed by the Sramanas, and the dignified demeanor in their societies which he remarked under all occurring circumstances, he sadly called to mind in what a mutilated and imperfect condition the rules were among the monkish communities in the land of Ts'in, and made the following aspiration: "From this time forth till I come to the state of Buddha, let me not be born in a frontier-land." He remained accordingly in India, and did not return to the land of Han. Fâ-hien, however, whose original purpose had been to secure the introduction of the complete Vinaya rules into the land of Han, returned there alone. [Footnote 1: Mahâsânghikâ simply means "the Great Assembly," that is, of monks.] [Footnote 2: It was afterwards translated by Fâ-hien into Chinese.] [Footnote 3: A gâtha is a stanza, generally consisting of a few, commonly of two, lines somewhat metrically arranged.] [Footnote 4: "A branch," says Eitel, "of the great vaibhâshika school, asserting the reality of all visible phenomena, and claiming the authority of Râhula."] CHAPTER XXXVII ~Fâ-hien's Stay in Champâ and Tâmaliptî~ Following the course of the Ganges, and descending eastward for eighteen yojanas, he found on the southern bank the great kingdom of Champâ, with topes reared at the places where Buddha walked in meditation by his vihâra, and where he and the three Buddhas, his predecessors, sat. There were monks residing at them all. Continuing his journey east for nearly fifty yojanas, he came to the country of Tâmaliptî, the capital of which is a seaport. In the country there are twenty-two monasteries, at all of which there are monks residing. The Law of Buddha is also flourishing in it. Here Fâ-hien stayed two years, writing out his Sûtras, and drawing pictures of images. After this he embarked in a large merchant-vessel, and went floating over the sea to the southwest. It was the beginning of winter, and the wind was favorable; and, after fourteen days, sailing day and night, they came to the country of Singhala. The people said that it was distant from Tâmaliptî about seven hundred yojanas. The kingdom is on a large island, extending from east to west fifty yojanas, and from north to south thirty. Left and right from it there are as many as one hundred small islands, distant from one another ten, twenty, or even two hundred li; but all subject to the large island. Most of them produce pearls and precious stones of various kinds; there is one which produces the pure and brilliant pearl--an island which would form a square of about ten li. The king employs men to watch and protect it, and requires three out of every ten pearls which the collectors find. CHAPTER XXXVIII ~At Ceylon--Feats of Buddha--His Statue in Jade~ The country originally had no human inhabitants, but was occupied only by spirits and nâgas, with which merchants of various countries carried on a trade. When the trafficking was taking place, the spirits did not show themselves. They simply set forth their precious commodities, with labels of the price attached to them; while the merchants made their purchases according to the price; and took the things away. Through the coming and going of the merchants in this way, when they went away, the people of their various countries heard how pleasant the land was, and flocked to it in numbers till it became a great nation. The climate is temperate and attractive, without any difference of summer and winter. The vegetation is always luxuriant. Cultivation proceeds whenever men think fit: there are no fixed seasons for it. When Buddha came to this country, wishing to transform the wicked nâgas by his supernatural power, he planted one foot at the north of the royal city, and the other on the top of a mountain, [1] the two being fifteen yojanas apart. Over the footprint at the north of the city the king built a large tope, four hundred cubits high, grandly adorned with gold and silver, and finished with a combination of all the precious substances. By the side of the tope he further built a monastery, called the Abhayagiri, where there are now five thousand monks. There is in it a hall of Buddha, adorned with carved and inlaid work of gold and silver, and rich in the seven precious substances, in which there is an image of Buddha in green jade, more than twenty cubits in height, glittering all over with those substances, and having an appearance of solemn dignity which words cannot express. In the palm of the right hand there is a priceless pearl. Several years had now elapsed since Fâ-hien left the land of Han; the men with whom he had been in intercourse had all been of regions strange to him; his eyes had not rested on an old and familiar hill or river, plant or tree: his fellow-travellers, moreover, had been separated from him, some by death, and others flowing off in different directions; no face or shadow was now with him but his own, and a constant sadness was in his heart. Suddenly one day, when by the side of this image of jade, he saw a merchant presenting as his offering a fan of white silk; [2] and the tears of sorrow involuntarily filled his eyes and fell down. A former king of the country had sent to Central India and got a slip of the patra tree, which he planted by the side of the hall of Buddha, where a tree grew up to the height of about two hundred cubits. As it bent on one side towards the southeast, the king, fearing it would fall, propped it with a post eight or nine spans around. The tree began to grow at the very heart of the prop, where it met the trunk; a shoot pierced through the post, and went down to the ground, where it entered and formed roots, that rose to the surface and were about four spans round. Although the post was split in the middle, the outer portions kept hold of the shoot, and people did not remove them. Beneath the tree there has been built a vihâra, in which there is an image of Buddha seated, which the monks and commonalty reverence and look up to without ever becoming wearied. In the city there has been reared also the vihâra of Buddha's tooth, in which, as well as on the other, the seven precious substances have been employed. The king practises the Brahmanical purifications, and the sincerity of the faith and reverence of the population inside the city are also great. Since the establishment of government in the kingdom there has been no famine or scarcity, no revolution or disorder. In the treasuries of the monkish communities there are many precious stones, and the priceless manis. One of the kings once entered one of those treasuries, and when he looked all round and saw the priceless pearls, his covetous greed was excited, and he wished to take them to himself by force. In three days, however, he came to himself, and immediately went and bowed his head to the ground in the midst of the monks, to show his repentance of the evil thought. As a sequel to this, he informed the monks of what had been in his mind, and desired them to make a regulation that from that day forth the king should not be allowed to enter the treasury and see what it contained, and that no bhikshu should enter it till after he had been in orders for a period of full forty years. In the city there are many Vaisya elders and Sabaean merchants, whose houses are stately and beautiful. The lanes and passages are kept in good order. At the heads of the four principal streets there have been built preaching halls, where, on the eighth, fourteenth, and fifteenth days of the month, they spread carpets, and set forth a pulpit, while the monks and commonalty from all quarters come together to hear the Law. The people say that in the kingdom there may be altogether sixty thousand monks, who get their food from their common stores. The king, besides, prepares elsewhere in the city a common supply of food for five or six thousand more. When any want, they take their great bowls, and go to the place of distribution, and take as much as the vessels will hold, all returning with them full. The tooth of Buddha is always brought forth in the middle of the third month. Ten days beforehand the king grandly caparisons a large elephant, on which he mounts a man who can speak distinctly, and is dressed in royal robes, to beat a large drum, and make the following proclamation: "The Bodhisattva, during three Asankhyeya-kalpas, [3] manifested his activity, and did not spare his own life. He gave up kingdom, city, wife, and son; he plucked out his eyes and gave them to another; he cut off a piece of his flesh to ransom the life of a dove; he cut off his head and gave it as an alms; he gave his body to feed a starving tigress; he grudged not his marrow and brains. In many such ways as these did he undergo pain for the sake of all living. And so it was, that, having become Buddha, he continued in the world for forty-five years, preaching his Law, teaching and transforming, so that those who had no rest found rest, and the unconverted were converted. When his connection with the living was completed, he attained to pari-nirvana and died. Since that event, for one thousand four hundred and ninety-seven years, the light of the world has gone out, and all living things have had long-continued sadness. Behold! ten days after this, Buddha's tooth will be brought forth, and taken to the Abhayagiri -vihâra. Let all and each, whether monks or laics, who wish to amass merit for themselves, make the roads smooth and in good condition, grandly adorn the lanes and by-ways, and provide abundant store of flowers and incense to be used as offerings to it." When this proclamation is over, the king exhibits, so as to line both sides of the road, the five hundred different bodily forms in which the Bodhisattva has in the course of his history appeared:--here as Sudâna, there as Sâma; now as the king of elephants, and then as a stag or a horse. All these figures are brightly colored and grandly executed, looking as if they were alive. After this the tooth of Buddha is brought forth, and is carried along in the middle of the road. Everywhere on the way offerings are presented to it, and thus it arrives at the hall of Buddha in the Abhayagiri-vihâra. There monks and laics are collected in crowds. They burn incense, light lamps, and perform all the prescribed services, day and night without ceasing, till ninety days have been completed, when the tooth is returned to the vihâra within the city. On fast-days the door of that vihâra is opened, and the forms of ceremonial reverence are observed according to the rules. Forty li to the east of the Abhayagiri-vihâra there is a hill, with a vihâra on it, called the Chaitya, where there may be two thousand monks. Among them there is a Sramana of great virtue, named Dharma-gupta, honored and looked up to by all the kingdom. He has lived for more than forty years in an apartment of stone, constantly showing such gentleness of heart, that he has brought snakes and rats to stop together in the same room, without doing one another any harm. [Footnote 1: This would be what is known as "Adam's peak," having, according to Hardy, the three names of Selesumano, Samastakûta, and Samanila. There is an indentation on the top of it, a superficial hollow, 5 feet 3 3/4 inches long, and 2 1/2 feet wide. The Hindus regard it as the footprint of Siva; the Mohammedans, as that of Adam; and the Buddhists, as in the text--as having been, made by Buddha.] [Footnote 2: We naturally suppose that the merchant-offerer was a Chinese, as indeed the Chinese texts say, and the fan such as Fâ-hien had seen and used in his native land.] [Footnote 3: A Kalpa, we have seen, denotes a great period of time; a period during which a physical universe is formed and destroyed. Asankhyeya denotes the highest sum for which a conventional term exists--according to Chinese calculations equal to one followed by seventeen ciphers; according to Thibetan and Singhalese, equal to one followed by ninety-seven ciphers. Every Maha-kalpa consists of four Asankhye-yakalpas.] CHAPTER XXXIX ~Cremation of an Arhat--Sermon of a Devotee~ South of the city seven li there is a vihâra, called the Mahâ-vihâra, where three thousand monks reside. There had been among them a Sramana, of such lofty virtue, and so holy and pure in his observance of the disciplinary rules, that the people all surmised that he was an Arhat. When he drew near his end, the king came to examine into the point; and having assembled the monks according to rule, asked whether the bhikshu had attained to the full degree of Wisdom. They answered in the affirmative, saying that he was an Arhat. The king accordingly, when he died, buried him after the fashion of an Arhat, as the regular rules prescribed. Four or five li east from the vihâra there was reared a great pile of firewood, which might be more than thirty cubits square, and the same in height. Near the top were laid sandal, aloe, and other kinds of fragrant wood. On the four sides of the pile they made steps by which to ascend it. With clean white hair-cloth, almost like silk, they wrapped the body round and round. They made a large carriage-frame, in form like our funeral car, but without the dragons and fishes. At the time of the cremation, the king and the people, in multitudes from all quarters, collected together, and presented offerings of flowers and incense. While they were following the car to the burial-ground, the king himself presented flowers and incense. When this was finished, the car was lifted on the pile, all over which oil of sweet basil was poured, and then a light was applied. While the fire was blazing, every one, with a reverent heart, pulled off his upper garment, and threw it, with his feather-fan and umbrella, from a distance into the midst of the flames, to assist the burning. When the cremation was over, they collected and preserved the bones, and proceeded to erect a tope. Fâ-hien had not arrived in time to see the distinguished Shaman alive, and only saw his burial. At that time the king, who was a sincere believer in the Law of Buddha and wished to build a new vihâra for the monks, first convoked a great assembly. After giving the monks a meal of rice, and presenting his offerings on the occasion, he selected a pair of first-rate oxen, the horns of which were grandly decorated with gold, silver, and the precious substances. A golden plough had been provided, and the king himself turned up a furrow on the four sides of the ground within which the building was to be. He then endowed the community of the monks with the population, fields, and houses, writing the grant on plates of metal, to the effect that from that time onwards, from generation to generation, no one should venture to annul or alter it. In this country Fâ-hien heard an Indian devotee, who was reciting a Sûtra from the pulpit, say: "Buddha's alms-bowl was at first in Vaisâlî, and now it is in Gandhâra. After so many hundred years (he gave, when Fâ-hien heard him, the exact number of years, but he has forgotten it), it will go to Western Tukhâra; after so many hundred years, to Khoten; after so many hundred years, to Kharachar; after so many hundred years, to the land of Han; after so many hundred years, it will come to Sinhala; and after so many hundred years, it will return to Central India. After that, it will ascend to the Tushita heaven; and when the Bodhisattva Maitreya sees it, he will say with a sigh, 'The alms-bowl of Sâkyamuni Buddha is come'; and with all the devas he will present to it flowers and incense for seven days. When these have expired, it will return to Jambudvîpa, where it will be received by the king of the sea nâgas, and taken into his nâga palace. When Maitreya shall be about to attain to perfect Wisdom and become Buddha, it will again separate into four bowls, which will return to the top of mount Anna, whence they came. After Maitreya has become Buddha, the four deva kings will again think of the Buddha with their bowls as they did in the case of the previous Buddha. The thousand Buddhas of this Bhadra-kalpa, indeed, will all use the same alms-bowl; and when the bowl has disappeared, the Law of Buddha will go on gradually to be extinguished. After that extinction has taken place, the life of man will be shortened, till it is only a period of five years. During this period of a five years' life, rice, butter, and oil will all vanish away, and men will become exceedingly wicked. The grass and trees which they lay hold of will change into swords and clubs, with which they will hurt, cut, and kill one another. Those among them on whom there is blessing will withdraw from society among the hills; and when the wicked have exterminated one another, they will again come forth, and say among themselves, 'The men of former times enjoyed a very great longevity; but through becoming exceedingly wicked, and doing all lawless things, the length of our life has been shortened and reduced even to five years. Let us now unite together in the practice of what is good, cherishing a gentle and sympathizing heart, and carefully cultivating good faith and righteousness. When each one in this way practises that faith and righteousness, life will go on to double its length till it reaches eighty thousand years. When Maitreya appears in the world, and begins to turn the wheel of this Law, he will in the first place save those among the disciples of the Law left by the Sâkya who have quitted their families, and those who have accepted the three Refuges, undertaken the five Prohibitions and the eight Abstinences, and given offerings to the Three Precious Ones; secondly and thirdly, he will save those between whom and conversion there is a connection transmitted from the past.'" [1] Such was the discourse, and Fâ-hien wished to write it down as a portion of doctrine; but the man said, "This is taken from no Sûtra, it is only the utterance of my own mind." [Footnote 1: That is, those whose Karma in the past should be rewarded by such conversion in the present.] CHAPTER XL ~After Two Years Fâ-hien Takes Ship for China~ Fâ-hien abode in this country two years; and, in addition to his acquisitions in Patna, succeeded in getting a copy of the Vinaya-pitaka of the Mahîsâsakâh school; the Dîrghâgama and Samyuktâgama Sûtras; and also the Samyukta-sañchaya-pitaka;--all being works unknown in the land of Han. Having obtained these Sanscrit works, he took passage in a large merchantman, on board of which there were more than two hundred men, and to which was attached by a rope a smaller vessel, as a provision against damage or injury to the large one from the perils of the navigation. With a favorable wind, they proceeded eastward for three days, and then they encountered a great wind. The vessel sprang a leak and the water came in. The merchants wished to go to the smaller vessel; but the men on board it, fearing that too many would come, cut the connecting rope. The merchants were greatly alarmed, feeling their risk of instant death. Afraid that the vessel would fill, they took their bulky goods and threw them into the water. Fâ-hien also took his pitcher and washing-basin, with some other articles, and cast them into the sea; but fearing that the merchants would cast overboard his books and images, he could only think with all his heart of Kwan-she-yin, and commit his life to the protection of the church of the land of Han, saying in effect, "I have travelled far in search of our Law. Let me, by your dread and supernatural power, return from my wanderings, and reach my resting-place!" In this way the tempest continued day and night, till on the thirteenth day the ship was carried to the side of an island, where, on the ebbing of the tide, the place of the leak was discovered, and it was stopped, on which the voyage was resumed. On the sea hereabouts there are many pirates, to meet with whom is speedy death. The great ocean spreads out, a boundless expanse. There is no knowing east or west; only by observing the sun, moon, and stars was it possible to go forward. If the weather were dark and rainy, the ship went as she was carried by the wind, without any definite course. In the darkness of the night, only the great waves were to be seen, breaking on one another, and emitting a brightness like that of fire, with huge turtles and other monsters of the deep all about. The merchants were full of terror, not knowing where they were going. The sea was deep and bottomless, and there was no place where they could drop anchor and stop. But when the sky became clear, they could tell east and west, and the ship again went forward in the right direction. If she had come on any hidden rock, there would have been no way of escape. After proceeding in this way for rather more than ninety days, they arrived at a country called Java-dvipa, where various forms of error and Brahmanism are flourishing, while Buddhism in it is not worth speaking of. After staying there for five months, Fâ-hien again embarked in another large merchantman, which also had on board more than two hundred men. They carried provisions for fifty days, and commenced the voyage on the sixteenth day of the fourth month. Fâ-hien kept his retreat on board the ship. They took a course to the northeast, intending to fetch Kwang-chow. After more than a month, when the night-drum had sounded the second watch, they encountered a black wind and tempestuous rain, which threw the merchants and passengers into consternation. Fâ-hien again, with all his heart, directed his thoughts to Kwan-she-yin and the monkish communities of the land of Han; and, through their dread and mysterious protection, was preserved to daybreak. After daybreak, the Brahmans deliberated together and said, "It is having this Sramana on board which has occasioned our misfortune and brought us this great and bitter suffering. Let us land the bhikshu and place him on some island-shore. We must not for the sake of one man allow ourselves to be exposed to such imminent peril." A patron of Fâ-hien, however, said to them, "If you land the bhikshu, you must at the same time land me; and if you do not, then you must kill me. If you land this Sramana, when I get to the land of Han, I will go to the king, and inform against you. The king also reveres and believes the Law of Buddha, and honors the bhikshus." The merchants hereupon were perplexed, and did not dare immediately to land Fâ-hien. At this time the sky continued very dark and gloomy, and the sailing-masters looked at one another and made mistakes. More than seventy days passed from their leaving Java, and the provisions and water were nearly exhausted. They used the salt-water of the sea for cooking, and carefully divided the fresh water, each man getting two pints. Soon the whole was nearly gone, and the merchants took counsel and said, "At the ordinary rate of sailing we ought to have reached Kwang-chow, and now the time is passed by many days;--must we not have held a wrong course?" Immediately they directed the ship to the northwest, looking out for land; and after sailing day and night for twelve days, they reached the shore on the south of mount Lao, on the borders of the prefecture of Ch'ang-kwang, and immediately got good water and vegetables. They had passed through many perils and hardships, and had been in a state of anxious apprehension for many days together; and now suddenly arriving at this shore, and seeing those well-known vegetables, the lei and kwoh, [1] they knew indeed that it was the land of Han. Not seeing, however, any inhabitants nor any traces of them, they did not know whereabouts they were. Some said that they had not yet got to Kwang-chow, and others that they had passed it. Unable to come to a definite conclusion, some of them got into a small boat and entered a creek, to look for someone of whom they might ask what the place was. They found two hunters, whom they brought back with them, and then called on Fâ-hien to act as interpreter and question them. Fâ-hien first spoke assuringly to them, and then slowly and distinctly asked them, "Who are you?" They replied, "We are disciples of Buddha." He then asked, "What are you looking for among these hills?" They began to lie,[2] and said, "To-morrow is the fifteenth day of the seventh month. We wanted to get some peaches to present to Buddha." He asked further, "What country is this?" They replied, "This is the border of the prefecture of Ch'ang-kwang, a part of Ts'ing-chow under the ruling House of Ts'in." When they heard this, the merchants were glad, immediately asked for a portion of their money and goods, and sent men to Ch'ang-kwang city. The prefect Le E was a reverent believer in the Law of Buddha. When he heard that a Sramana had arrived in a ship across the sea, bringing with him books and images, he immediately came to the sea-shore with an escort to meet the traveller, and receive the books and images, and took them back with him to the seat of his government. On this the merchants went back in the direction of Yang-chow; but when Fâ-hien arrived at Ts'ing-chow, the prefect there begged him to remain with him for a winter and a summer. After the summer retreat was ended, Fâ-hien, having been separated for a long time from his fellows, wished to hurry to Ch'ang-gan; but as the business which he had in hand was important, he went south to the Capital; and at an interview with the masters there exhibited the Sûtras and the collection of the Vinaya which he had procured. After Fâ-hien set out from Ch'ang-gan, it took him six years to reach Central India; stoppages there extended over six years; and on his return it took him three years to reach Ts'ing-chow. The countries through which he passed were a few under thirty. From the sandy desert westwards on to India, the beauty of the dignified demeanor of the monkhood and of the transforming influence of the Law was beyond the power of language fully to describe; and reflecting how our masters had not heard any complete account of them, he therefore went on without regarding his own poor life, or the dangers to be encountered on the sea upon his return, thus incurring hardships and difficulties in a double form. He was fortunate enough, through the dread power of the three Honored Ones, to receive help and protection in his perils; and therefore he wrote out an account of his experiences, that worthy readers might share with him in what he had heard and said. [Footnote 1: What these vegetables exactly were it is difficult to say; and there are different readings of the characters for kwoh, brings the two names together in a phrase, but the rendering of it is simply "a soup of simples."] [Footnote 2: It is likely that these men were really hunters; and, when brought before Fâ-hien, because he was a Sramana, they thought they would please him by saying they were disciples of Buddha. But what had disciples of Buddha to do with hunting and taking life? They were caught in their own trap, and said they were looking for peaches.] ~THE SORROWS OF HAN~ [Translated into English by John Francis Davis] INTRODUCTION "The Sorrows of Han" is considered by Chinese scholars to be one of the largest tragedies in the whole range of the Chinese drama, which is very voluminous. Although, properly speaking, there are no theatres in China, the Chinese are passionately fond of dramatic representations. Chinese acting is much admired and praised by travellers who are competent to follow the dialogue. The stage is generally a temporary erection improvised in a market-place, and the stage arrangements are of the most primitive character; no scenery is employed, and the actors introduce themselves in a sort of prologue, in which they state the name and character they represent in the drama. They also indicate the place where they are in the story, or the house which they have entered. Yet the Chinese stage has many points in common with that of Ancient Greece. It is supported and controlled by government, and has something of a religious and national character, being particularly employed for popular amusement in the celebration of religious festivals. Only two actors are allowed to occupy the stage at the same time, and this is another point in common with the early Greek drama. The plots or stories of the Chinese plays are simple and effective, and Voltaire is known to have taken the plot of a Chinese drama, as Molière took a comedy of Plautus, and applied it in writing a drama for the modern French stage. "The Sorrows of Han" belongs to the famous collection entitled "The Hundred Plays of the Yuen Dynasty." It is divided into acts and is made up of alternate prose and verse. The movement of the drama is good, and the dénouement arranged with considerable skill. E.W. TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE The following drama was selected from the "Hundred Plays of Yuen," which has already supplied to Europe two specimens of the Chinese stage--the first, called the "Orphan of Chaou," translated by Père Premare; and the second, entitled an "Heir in Old Age," by the author of the present version. "The Sorrows of Han" is historical, and relates to one of the most interesting periods of the Chinese annals, when the growing effeminacy of the court, and consequent weakness of the government, emboldened the Tartars in their aggressions, and first gave rise to the temporizing and impolitic system of propitiating those barbarians by tribute, which long after produced the downfall of the empire and the establishment of the Mongol dominion. The moral of the piece is evidently to expose the evil consequences of luxury, effeminacy, and supineness in the sovereign. "When love was all an easy monarch's care, Seldom at council--never in a war." The hero, or rather the chief personage, of the drama, came to the throne very near the beginning of the Christian era, about B.C. 42. The fate of the Lady Chaoukeun is a favorite incident in history, of which painters, poets, and romancers frequently avail themselves; her "Verdant Lamb" is said to exist at the present day, and to remain green all the year round, while the vegetation of the desert in which it stands is parched by the summer sun. In selecting this single specimen from among so many, the translator was influenced by the consideration of its remarkable accordance with our own canons of criticism. The Chinese themselves make no regular classification of comedy and tragedy; but we are quite at liberty to give the latter title to a play which so completely answers to the European definition. The unity of action is complete, and the unities of time and place much less violated than they frequently are on our own stage. The grandeur and gravity of the subject, the rank and dignity of the personages, the tragical catastrophe, and the strict award of poetical justice, might satisfy the most rigid admirer of Grecian rules. The translator has thought it necessary to adhere to the original by distinguishing the first act (or Proëm) from the four which follow it: but the distinction is purely nominal, and the piece consists, to all intents and purposes, of five acts. It is remarkable that this peculiar division holds true with regard to a large number of the "Hundred Plays of Yuen." The reader will doubtless be struck by the apparent shortness of the drama which is here presented to him; but the original is eked out, in common with all Chinese plays, by an irregular operatic species of song, which the principal character occasionally chants forth in unison with a louder or a softer accompaniment of music, as may best suit the sentiment or action of the moment. Some passages have been embodied in our version: but the translator did not give all, for the same reasons that prompted Père Premare to give none--"they are full of allusions to things unfamiliar to us, and figures of speech very difficult for us to observe." They are frequently, moreover, mere repetitions or amplifications of the prose parts; and being intended more for the ear than the eye, are rather adapted to the stage than to the closet. His judgment may perhaps be swayed by partiality towards the subject of his own labors; but the translator cannot help thinking the plot and incidents of "The Sorrows of Han" superior to those of the "Orphan of Chaou"--though the genius of Voltaire contrived to make the last the ground-work of an excellent French tragedy. Far is he, however, from entertaining the presumptuous expectation that a destiny of equal splendor awaits the present drama; and he will be quite satisfied if the reader has patience to read it to the end, and then pronounces it to be a somewhat curious sample of a very foreign literature. JOHN FRANCIS DAVIS. DRAMATIS PERSONAE YUENTE, Emperor of China of the Dynasty Han. HANCHENYU, K'han of the Tartars. MAOUYENSHOW, a worthless Minister of the Emperor. SHANGSHOO (a title), President of the Imperial Council. CHANGSHEE (a title), Officer in waiting. FANSHE (a title), Envoy of the K'han. CHAOUKEUN, Lady, raised to be Princess of Han. Tartar Soldiers, Female Attendants, Eunuchs. The Scene is laid in the Tartar Camp on the Frontiers; and in the Palace of Han. ~THE SORROWS OF HAN~ [1] ~PROLOGUE~ _Enter Hanchenyu, K'han [2] of the Tartars, reciting four verses_. K'HAN. The autumnal gale blows wildly through the grass, amidst our woolen tents. And the moon of night, shining on the rude huts, hears the lament of the mournful pipe: The countless hosts, with their bended horns, obey me as their leader. Our tribes are ten distinguished friends of the family of Han. I am Hanchenyu, the old inhabitant of the sandy waste; the sole ruler of the northern regions. The wild chase is our trade; battle and conquest our chief occupation. The Emperor Wunwong retired before our Eastern tribes; Weikeang trembled at us, and sued for our friendship. The ancient title of our chiefs has in the course of time been changed to that which I now bear. When the two races of Tsin and Han contended in battle, and filled the empire with tumult, our tribes were in full power: numberless was the host of armed warriors with their bended horns. For seven days my ancestor hemmed in with his forces the Emperor Kaoute; until, by the contrivance of the minister, a treaty was concluded, and the Princesses of China were yielded in marriage to our K'hans. Since the time of Hoeyte and the Empress Leuhow, [3] each successive generation has adhered to the established rule, and sought our alliance with its daughters. In the reign of the late Emperor Seuente, my brothers contended with myself for the rule of our nation, and its power was weakened until the tribes elected me as their chief. I am a real descendant of the empire of Han. I command a hundred thousand armed warriors. We have moved to the South, and approached the border, claiming an alliance with the Imperial race. Yesterday I despatched an envoy with tributary presents to demand a princess in marriage; but know not if the Emperor will ratify the engagement with the customary oaths. The fineness of the season has drawn away our chiefs on a hunting excursion amidst the sandy steppes. May they meet with success, for we Tartars have no fields--our bows and arrows are our sole means of subsistence. _Enter Minister of Han, reciting verses_. MINISTER. Let a man have the heart of a kite, and the talons of an eagle. Let him deceive his superiors, and oppress those below him; Let him enlist flattery, insinuation, profligacy, and avarice on his side, And he will find them a lasting assistance through life. I am no other than Maouyenshow, a minister of the sovereign of Han. By a hundred arts of specious flattery and address I have deceived the Emperor, until he places his whole delight in me alone. My words he listens to; and he follows my counsel. Within the precincts of the palace, as without them, who is there but bows before me--who is there but trembles at my approach? But observe the chief art which I have learned: It is this: to persuade the Emperor to keep aloof from his wise counsellors, and seek all his pleasures amidst the women of his palace. Thus it is that I strengthen my power and greatness. But, in the midst of my lucubrations--Here comes the Emperor. _Enter Emperor Yuente, attended by Eunuchs and Women_. EMPEROR [_recites verses]_. During the ten generations that have succeeded our acquisition of Empire, my race has alone possessed the four hundred districts of the world. Long have the frontiers been bound in tranquillity by the ties of mutual oaths. And our pillow has been undisturbed by grief or anxiety. Behold in us the Emperor Yuente, of the race of Han. Our ancestor Kaoute emerged from a private station, and raised his family by extinguishing the dynasty of Tsin, and slaughtering their race. Ten generations have passed away since he left this inheritance to us. The four boundaries of the empire have been tranquil; the eight regions at rest! But not through our personal merits; we have wholly depended on the exertions of our civil and military rulers. On the demise of our late father, the female inmates of the palace were all dispersed, and our harem is now solitary and untenanted; but how shall this be endured! MINISTER. Consider, sir, that even the thriving husbandman may desire to change his partner; then why not your Majesty, whose title is the Law of Heaven, whose possessions are the whole world! May I advise that commissioners be despatched to search throughout the empire for all of whatever rank that is most beautiful between the ages of fifteen and twenty, for the peopling of the inner palace. EMPEROR. You say well. We appoint you at once our minister of selection, and will invest you with a written authority. Search diligently through our realms; and when you have selected the most worthy, let us be provided with portraits of each, as a means of fixing our choice. By the merits of your services, you may supply us with an occasion of rewarding you on your return. [_Exeunt_. [Footnote 1: Han Koong Tsew, literally "Autumn in the Palace of Han"; but in Chinese, Autumn is emblematic of Sorrow, as Spring is of Joy, and may therefore be rendered by what it represents.] [Footnote 2: In Chinese, Ko-ban.] [Footnote 3: The mother of Hoeyte, a bold and able woman, who ruled for her son, the second emperor of Han.] ~ACT FIRST~ MINISTER [_repeats verses_]. The huge ingots of yellow gold I appropriate to myself. I heed not the seas of blood which flow by perverting the laws. During life I am determined to have abundance of riches; what care I for the curses of mankind after my death? Having received the Emperor's commission to search far and wide for the most beautiful damsels, I have fixed upon ninety and nine. Their families were glad to invite my selection by rich gifts, and the treasure that I have amassed is not small. On arriving yesterday at a district pertaining to Chingtoo city, I met with a maiden, daughter of one Wongchang. The brightness of her charms was piercing as an arrow. She was perfectly beautiful--and doubtless unparalleled in the whole empire. But, unfortunately, her father is a cultivator of the land, not possessed of much wealth. When I insisted on a hundred ounces of gold to secure her being the chief object of the imperial choice, they first pleaded their poverty--and then, relying on her extraordinary beauty, rejected my offers altogether. I therefore left them. [_Considers awhile_.] But no!----I have a better plan. [_He knits his brows and matures his scheme_.] I will disfigure her portrait in such a manner that when it reaches the Emperor it shall secure her being doomed to neglected seclusion. Thus I shall contrive to make her unhappy for life--Base is the man who delights not in revenge! [_Exit._ _Night_.--_Enter the Lady Chaoukeun, with two female attendants_. CHAOUKEUN [_recites verses_]. Though raised to be an inhabitant of the imperial dwelling I have long been here without the good fortune to see my prince. This beautiful night must I pass in lonely solitude, with no companion but my lute to solace my retirement. I am a native of Chingtoo city; and my father's occupation is husbandry. My mother dreamed on the day I was born that the light of the moon shone on her bosom, but was soon cast low to the earth.[1] I was just eighteen years of age when chosen as an inhabitant of the imperial palace; but the minister Maouyenshow, disappointed in the treasure which he demanded on my account, disfigured my portrait in such a manner as to keep me out of the Emperor's presence; and now I live in neglected solitude. While at home, I learned a little music, and could play a few airs on the lute. Thus sorrowing in the stillness of midnight, let me practise one of my songs to dispel my griefs. [_Begins to play on the lute_. _Enter Emperor, attended by a Eunuch, carrying a light_. EMPEROR. Since the beauties were selected to grace our palace, we have not yet discovered a worthy object on whom to fix our preference. Vexed and disappointed, we pass this day of leisure roaming in search of her who may be destined for our imperial choice. [_Hears the lute._] Is not that some lady's lute? ATTENDANT. It is.--I hasten to advise her of your Majesty's approach. EMPEROR. No, hold! Keeper of the yellow gate, discover to what part of our palace that lady pertains; and bid her approach our presence; but beware lest you alarm her. ATTENDANT [_approaches in the direction of the sound, and speaks_]. What lady plays there? The Emperor comes! approach to meet him. [_Lady advances_. EMPEROR. Keeper of the yellow gate, see that the light burns brightly within your gauze [2] lamp, and hold it nearer to us. LADY _[approaching_]. Had your handmaid but known it was your Majesty, she would have been less tardy; forgive, then, this delay. EMPEROR. Truly this is a very perfect beauty! From what quarter come such superior charms? LADY. My name is Chaoukeun: my father cultivates at Chingtoo the fields which he has derived from his family. Born in an humble station, I am ignorant of the manners that befit a palace. EMPEROR. But with such uncommon attractions, what chance has kept you from our sight? LADY. When I was chosen by the minister Maouyenshow, he demanded of my father an amount of treasure which our poverty could not supply; he therefore disfigured my portrait, by representing a scar under the eyes, and caused me to be consigned to seclusion and neglect. EMPEROR. Keeper of the yellow gate, bring us that picture, that we may view it. [_Sees the picture_.] Ah, how has he dimmed the purity of the gem, bright as the waves in autumn. [_To the attendant_] Transmit our pleasure to the officer of the guard, to behead Maouyenshow and report to us his execution. LADY. My parents, sir, are subject to the tax [3] in our native district. Let me entreat your Majesty to remit their contributions and extend favor towards them! EMPEROR. That shall readily be done. Approach and hear our imperial pleasure. We create you a Princess of our palace. LADY. How unworthy is your handmaid of such gracious distinction! [_Goes through the form of returning thanks_.] Early to-morrow I attend your Majesty's commands in this place. The Emperor is gone: let the attendants close the doors:--I will retire to rest. _[Exit._ [Footnote 1: Boding a short but fatal distinction to her offspring.] [Footnote 2: Instead of glass, to defend it from the wind.] [Footnote 3: The principal taxes in China are the land-tax, customs, salt monopoly, and personal service; which last is the source of much oppression to the lowest orders, who have nothing but their labor to contribute.] ~ACT SECOND~ _Enter K'han of the Tartars, at the head of his Tribes_. K'HAN. I lately sent an envoy to the sovereign of Han, with the demand of a princess in marriage; but the Emperor has returned a refusal, under the plea that the princess is yet too young. This answer gives me great trouble. Had he not plenty of ladies in his palace, of whom he might have sent me one? The difference was of little consequence. [1] Let me recall my envoy with all speed, for I must invade the South with out forces. And yet I am unwilling to break a truce of so many years' standing! We must see how matters turn out, and be guided by the event. _Enter Minister of Han_. MINISTER. The severity with which I extorted money, in the selection of beauties for the palace, led me to disfigure the picture of Chaoukeun, and consign her to neglected seclusion. But the Emperor fell in with her, obtained the truth, and condemned me to lose my head. I contrived to make my escape--though I have no home to receive me. I will take this true portrait of Chaoukeun and show it to the Tartar K'han, persuading him to demand her from the Emperor, who will no doubt be obliged to yield her up. A long journey has brought me to this spot, and from the troops of men and horses I conclude I have reached the Tartar camp. [_Addresses himself to somebody_] Leader, inform King Hanchenyu that a great minister of the empire of Han is come to wait on him. K'HAN [_on being informed_]. Command him to approach. [_Seeing Maouyenshow_] What person are you? MINISTER. I am a minister of Han. In the western palace of the Emperor is a lady, named Chaoukeun, of rare and surpassing charms. When your envoy, great king, came to demand a princess, this lady would have answered the summons, but the Emperor of Han could not bring himself to part with her, and refused to yield her up. I repeatedly renewed my bitter reproaches, and asked how he could bear, for the sake of a woman's beauty, to implicate the welfare of two nations. For this the Emperor would have beheaded me; and I therefore escaped with the portrait of the lady, which I present, great king, to yourself. Should you send away an envoy with the picture to demand her, she must certainly be delivered up. Here is the portrait. [_Hands it up_. K'HAN. Whence could so beautiful a female have appeared in the world! If I can only obtain her, my wishes are complete. Immediately shall an envoy be despatched, and my ministers prepare a letter to the Emperor of Han, demanding her in marriage as the condition of peace. Should he refuse, I will presently invade the South: his hills and rivers shall be exposed to ravage. Our warriors will commence by hunting, as they proceed on their way; and thus gradually entering the frontiers, I shall be ready to act as may best suit the occasion. [_Exit._ _The Palace of Han. Enter Lady, attended by females_. PRINCESS. A long period has elapsed since I had to thank his Majesty for his choice. The Emperor's fondness for me is so great, that he has still neglected to hold a court. I hear he is now gone to the hall of audience, and will therefore ornament myself at my toilet and be ready to wait on him at his return. [_Stands opposite a mirror_. _Enter Emperor_. EMPEROR. Since we first met with Chaoukeun in the western palace, we have been as it were deranged and intoxicated; a long interval has elapsed since we held a court; and on entering the hall of audience this day, we waited not until the assembly had dispersed, but returned hither to obtain a sight of her. [_Perceiving the Princess_.] Let us not alarm her, but observe in secret what she is doing. [_Comes close behind and looks over her._] Reflected in that round mirror, she resembles the Lady in the Moon. [2] _Enter President, and an Officer in waiting_. PRESIDENT [_recites verses._] Ministers should devote themselves to the regulation of the empire; They should be occupied with public cares in the hall of government. But they do nought but attend at the banquets in the palace. When have they employed a single day in the service of their prince? This day, when the audience was concluded, an envoy arrived from the Tartars to demand Chaoukeun in marriage, as the only condition of peace. It is my duty to report this to his Majesty, who has retired to his western palace. Here I must enter. [_Perceiving the Emperor._] I report to your Majesty that Hanchenyu, the leader of the northern foreigners, sends an envoy to declare that Maouyenshow has presented to him the portrait of the princess, and that he demands her in marriage as the only condition of peace. If refused, he will invade the South with a great power, and our rivers and hills will be exposed to rapine. EMPEROR. In vain do we maintain and send forth armies; vain are the crowds of civil and military officers about our palace! Which of them will drive back for us these foreign troops? They are all afraid of the Tartar swords and arrows! But if they cannot exert themselves to expel the barbarians, why call for the princess to propitiate them? PRESIDENT. The foreigners say that through your Majesty's devoted fondness for the princess, the affairs of your empire are falling into ruin. They declare that if the government does not yield her up, they will put their army in motion, and subdue the country. Your servant reflects, that Chow-wong [3] who lost his empire and life entirely through his blind devotion to Takee, is a fit example to warn your Majesty. Our army is weak, and needs the talents of a fit general. Should we oppose the Tartars, and be defeated, what will remain to us? Let your Majesty give up your fondness for the princess, to save your people. OFFICER. The envoy waits without for an audience. EMPEROR. Well; command that he approach us. _Enter Envoy_. ENVOY. Hanchenyu, K'han of the Tartars, sends me, his minister, to state before the great Sovereign of Han, that the Northern tribes and the Southern empire have long been bound in peace by mutual alliances; but that envoys being twice sent to demand a princess, his requisitions have been refused. The late minister, Maouyenshow, took with him the portrait of a beautiful lady, and presented it to the K'ban, who now sends me, his envoy, on purpose to demand the Lady Chaoukeun, and no other, as the only condition of peace between the two nations. Should your Majesty refuse, the K'han has a countless army of brave warriors, and will forthwith invade the South to try the chances of war. I trust your Majesty will not err in your decision. EMPEROR. The envoy may retire to repose himself in his lodging. [_Exit the Envoy_.] Let our civil and military officers consult, and report to us the best mode of causing the foreign troops to retire, without yielding up the princess to propitiate them. They take advantage of the compliant softness of her temper. Were the Empress Leuhow alive--let her utter a word--which of them would dare to be of a different opinion? It would seem that, for the future, instead of men for ministers, we need only have fair women to keep our empire in peace. PRINCESS. In return for your Majesty's bounties, it is your handmaid's duty to brave death to serve you. I can cheerfully enter into this foreign alliance, for the sake of producing peace, and shall leave behind me a name still green in history.--But my affection for your Majesty, how am I to lay aside! EMPEROR. Alas, I [4] know too well that I can do no more than yourself! PRESIDENT. I entreat your Majesty to sacrifice your love, and think of the security of your Dynasty. Hasten, sir, to send the princess on her way! EMPEROR. Let her this day advance a stage on her journey, and be presented to the envoy.--To-morrow we will repair as far as the bridge of Pahling, and give her a parting feast. PRESIDENT. Alas! Sir, this may not be! It will draw on us the contempt of these barbarians. EMPEROR. We have complied with all our minister's propositions--shall they not, then, accede to ours? Be it as it may, we will witness her departure--and then return home to hate the traitor Maouyenshow! PRESIDENT. Unwillingly we advise that the princess be sacrificed for the sake of peace; but the envoy is instructed to insist upon her alone--and from ancient times, how often hath a nation suffered for a woman's beauty! PRINCESS. Though I go into exile for the nation's good, yet ill can I bear to part from your Majesty! _[Exeunt._ [Footnote 1: The honor of the imperial alliance being the chief object.] [Footnote 2: Changngo, the goddess of the moon, gives her name to the finely curved eyebrows of the Chinese ladies, which are compared to the lunar crescent when only a day or two old.] [Footnote 3: Chow-wong was the last of the Shang dynasty, and infamous by his debaucheries and cruelties, in concert with his empress Takee, the Theodora of Chinese history.] [Footnote 4: The imperial pronoun "Tchin," _me_, is with very good taste supplied by _I_ in these impassioned passages.] ~ACT THIRD~ _Enter Envoy, escorting the Princess, with a band of music_. PRINCESS. Thus was I, in spite of the treachery of Maouyenshow, who disfigured my portrait, seen and exalted by his Majesty; but the traitor presented a truer likeness to the Tartar king, who comes at the head of an army to demand me, with a threat of seizing the country. There is no remedy--I must be yielded up to propitiate the invaders! How shall I bear the rigors--the winds and frosts of that foreign land! It has been said of old, that "surpassing beauty is often coupled with an unhappy fate." Let me grieve, then, without entertaining fruitless resentment at the effects of my own attractions. _Enter Emperor, attended by his several officers_. EMPEROR. This day we take leave of the princess at Pahling bridge! [_To his ministers_.] Can ye not devise a way to send out these foreign troops, without yielding up the princess for the sake of peace? [_Descends from his horse and seems to grieve with Chaoukeun_.] Let our attendants delay awhile, till we have conferred the parting cup. ENVOY. Lady, let us urge you to proceed on your way--the sky darkens, and night is coming on. PRINCESS. Alas! when shall I again behold your Majesty? I will take off my robes of distinction and leave them behind me. To-day in the palace of Han--to-morrow I shall be espoused to a stranger. I cease to wear these splendid vestments--they shall no longer adorn my beauty in the eyes of men. ENVOY. Again let us urge you, princess, to depart; we have delayed but too long already! EMPEROR. 'Tis done!--Princess, when you are gone, let your thoughts forbear to dwell with sorrow and resentment upon us! [_They part_.] And am I the great Monarch of the line of Han? PRESIDENT. Let your Majesty cease to dwell with such grief upon this subject! EMPEROR. She is gone! In vain have we maintained those armed heroes on the frontier. [1] Mention but swords and spears, and they tremble at their hearts like a young deer. The princess has this day performed what belonged to themselves: and yet they affect the semblance of men! PRESIDENT. Your Majesty is entreated to return to the palace: dwell not so bitterly, Sir, on her memory:--allow her to depart! EMPEROR. Did I not think of her, I had a heart of iron--a heart of iron! The tears of my grief stream in thousand channels--this evening shall her likeness be suspended in the palace, where I will sacrifice to it--and tapers with their silver lights shall illuminate her chamber. PRESIDENT. Let your Majesty return to the palace--the princess is already far distant! [_Exeunt_. _The Tartar Camp. Enter K'han at the head of his tribes, leading in the Princess_. K'HAN. The Emperor of Han having now, in observance of old treaties, yielded up to me the Lady Chaoukeun in marriage, I take her as my rightful queen. The two nations shall enjoy the benefits of peace. [_To his generals_] Leaders, transmit my commands to the army to strike our encampment, and proceed to the north. [_They march_. _The river Amoor. [2] Tartar army on its march_. PRINCESS. What place is this? ENVOY. It is the River of the Black Dragon, the frontier of the Tartar territories and those of China. This southern shore is the Emperor's; on the northern side commences our Tartar dominion. PRINCESS [_to the K'han_]. Great King, I take a cup of wine, and pour a libation towards the South--my last farewell to the Emperor--[_pours the libation_] of Han, this life is finished. I await thee in the next! [_Throws herself into the river. The K'han, in great consternation, endeavors to save her, but in vain_. K'HAN. Alas! alas!--so determined was her purpose against this foreign alliance--she has thrown herself into the stream, and perished! Tis done, and remediless! Let her sepulchre be on this river's bank, and be it called "the verdant tomb," [3] She is no more; and vain has been our enmity with the dynasty of Han! The traitor Maouyenshow was the author of all this misery. [_To an officer_] Take Maouyenshow and let him be delivered over to the Emperor for punishment. I will return to our former friendship with the dynasty of Han. We will renew and long preserve the sentiments of relationship. The traitor disfigured the portrait to injure Chaoukeun--then deserted his sovereign, and stole over to me, whom he prevailed on to demand the lady in marriage. How little did I think that she would thus precipitate herself into the stream, and perish!--In vain did my spirit melt at the sight of her! But if I detained this profligate and traitorous rebel, he would certainly prove to us a root of misfortune: it is better to deliver him for his reward to the Emperor of Han, with whom I will renew, and long retain, our old feelings of friendship and amity. _[Exeunt._ [Footnote 1: It may be observed that the great wall is never once expressly mentioned through this drama. The expression used is Pëensih, the border, or frontier. The wall had existed two hundred years at this time, but the real frontier was beyond it.] [Footnote 2: Or Saghalien, which falls into the sea of Ochotsk.] [Footnote 3: Said to exist now and to be green all the year.] ~ACT FOURTH~ _Enter Emperor, with an attendant_. EMPEROR. Since the princess was yielded to the Tartars, we have not held an audience. The lonely silence of night but increases our melancholy! We take the picture of that fair one and suspend it here, as some small solace to our griefs, [_To the attendant_] Keeper of the yellow gate, behold, the incense in yonder vase is burnt out: hasten then to add some more. Though we cannot see her, we may at least retain this shadow; and, while life remains, betoken our regard. But oppressed and weary, we would fain take a little repose. [_Lies down to sleep. The Princess appears before him in a vision_.] [1] PRINCESS. Delivered over as a captive to appease the barbarians, they would have conveyed me to their Northern country: but I took an occasion to elude them and have escaped back. Is not this the Emperor, my sovereign? Sir, behold me again restored. [_A Tartar soldier appears in the vision_.] SOLDIER. While I chanced to sleep, the lady, our captive, has made her escape, and returned home. In eager pursuit of her, I have reached the imperial palace.--Is not this she? [_Carries her off. The Emperor starts from his sleep_.] EMPEROR. We just saw the Princess returned--but alas, how quickly has she vanished! In bright day she answered not to our call--but when morning dawned on our troubled sleep, a vision presented her in this spot. [_Hears the wild fowl's [2] cry_] Hark, the passing fowl screamed twice or thrice!--Can it know there is no one so desolate as I? [_Cries repeated_] Perhaps worn out and weak, hungry and emaciated, they bewail at once the broad nets of the South and the tough bows of the North. [_Cries repeated_] The screams of those water-birds but increase our melancholy. ATTENDANT. Let your Majesty cease this sorrow, and have some regard to your sacred [3] person. EMPEROR. My sorrows are beyond control. Cease to upbraid this excess of feeling, since ye are all subject to the same. Yon doleful cry is not the note of the swallow on the carved rafters, nor the song of the variegated bird upon the blossoming tree. The princess has abandoned her home! Know ye in what place she grieves, listening like me to the screams of the wild bird? _Enter President_. PRESIDENT. This day after the close of the morning council, a foreign envoy appeared, bringing with him the fettered traitor Maouyenshow. He announces that the renegade, by deserting his allegiance, led to the breach of truce, and occasioned all these calamities. The princess is no more! and the K'han wishes for peace and friendship between the two nations. The envoy attends, with reverence, your imperial decision. EMPEROR. Then strike off the traitor's head, and be it presented as an offering to the shade of the princess! Let a fit banquet be got ready for the envoy, preparatory to his return. _[Recites these verses_. At the fall of the leaf, when the wild-fowl's cry was heard in the recesses of the palace. Sad dreams returned to our lonely pillow; we thought of her through the night: Her verdant tomb remains--but where shall we seek her self? The perfidious painter's head shall atone for the beauty which he wronged. [Footnote 1: There is nothing in this more extravagant than the similar vision in the tragedy of Richard III.] [Footnote 2: Yengo, a species of wild goose, is the emblem in China of intersexual attachment and fidelity, being said never to pair again after the loss of its mate. An image of it is worshipped by newly married couples.] [Footnote 3: Literally, "dragon person." The emperor's throne is often called the "dragon seat."] 12086 ---- [Transcriber's Note: This book was published as Chinese Love Tales in 1935 (translated from the original of George Souile De Morant --a variation in the spelling of the middle name) with numerous illustrations by Valenti Angelo. It was attacked and acquitted in the courts, winning judicial recognition of its exceptional literary merit.] _EASTERN SHAME GIRL_ _Translated from the French of_ GEORGE SOULIE DEMORANT _Illustrations by_ MARCEL AVOND _New York Privately Printed 1929_ CONTENTS EASTERN SHAME GIRL THE WEDDING OF YA-NEI A STRANGE DESTINY THE ERROR OF THE EMBROIDERED SLIPPER THE COUNTERFEIT OLD WOMAN THE MONASTERY OF THE ESTEEMED-LOTUS A COMPLICATED MARRIAGE _Note:--The original source of the stories appearing in "Eastern Shame Girl" is the classic literature of China in the 17th Century._ EASTERN SHAME GIRL When there is a great peace Under the gold cup of the sun Joy reaches its flowering. In the twentieth year of the period Wan-li, there came, among the thousands of students who gathered at Peking for the examinations, a certain Li, whose first name was Chia and his surname Ch'ien-hsi, or "Purified-a-thousand times." His family were from Shao-hsing fu in Chekiang; his father was Judge of the province of Kang-su; and Li himself was the eldest of three brothers. He had studied in the village school from childhood and, not having yet attained to literary rank, had come, according to custom, to present himself for examination at Peking. While in that city, he consorted, before his springtide, with the young libertines, the "willow twigs" of his country; and, in order to gain experience, frequented the theatres and music-halls. Thus he became acquainted with a famous singing girl called Tu, whose first name was Mei, or "Elegance." As she was the tenth of her family, she was known at the theatre as Shih-niang, "The Tenth daughter." A delicate seduction diffused from her: her body was all grace and perfume. The twin arches of her brows held the black which is blue of distant mountains, and her eyes were as deep and bright as autumn lakes. Her face had the glory of the lotus, and her lips the glory of cherries. By what blunder of the gods had this piece of flawless jade fallen in the windy dust, among the flowers beneath the willow? When she was thirteen years old, Shih-niang had already "broken her claws." Now she was nineteen, and it would not be possible to enumerate the young Lords and Princes whose hearts she had besotted, whose thoughts she had set in a turmoil, whose family treasures she had swallowed without compunction. In the theatres, they had composed an epigram about her: When Tu Shih-niang comes to a banquet The guests drink a thousand great cups Instead of a single small one. When Tu Mei appears upon the stage The actresses look like devils. It must be said that never, in the young passions of his life, had Li Chia experienced the pain of beauty; but, when he saw Shih-niang, emotion was awakened in him, and the feelings of a flowering willow filled his breast. He himself was gifted with rare beauty, and a sweet and gentle nature. He spent his money recklessly, with an unbridled zeal for bestowing gifts. For this reason he held a double attraction for Shih-niang, who considered that falsehood and avarice were opposed to rectitude, and had also by this time made up her mind to return to a life of honor. She appreciated Li Chia's gentleness and generosity, and was drawn toward him. But he was afraid of his father and did not dare to marry her at once, as she wished. Their love was not, on that account, any the less tender. In the joys of dawn and the pleasures of twilight they kept together as do husband and wife, and in their vows they compared their love with the Ocean or with the Mountain, recognizing no other vital motive. In truth: Their tenderness was deeper than the sea For it was past sounding, Their love was as the mountains But even higher. Also, since Chia had been admitted to her favor, rich Lords and powerful Ministers were no longer permitted to see the girl's beauty. At first Li used to give large sums of money, so that the matron to whom Shih-niang belonged, shrugged her shoulders and smiled. But the days went quickly, and the months too; and a year had passed. Chia's coffers had gradually become empty; and now his hand could no longer keep pace with his wishes. But the ancient ma-ma remained patient. In the meanwhile the Judge had learned that his son was frequenting the theatre, and sent him repeated orders to return home. But Chia, who was infatuated, kept on delaying his departure until, hearing that his father was truly furious, he no longer dared to return. It was well said by the ancients: "As long as harmony endures there is unity; when harmony ceases, there is separation." Shih-niang's love was sincere, and her heart only burned the more for him whose hands were empty. The ma-ma frequently ordered her to send her lover away; then, seeing that the young girl was indifferent to her commands, she tried to exasperate Chia with stinging words, hoping thus to compel him to depart. But her visitor's nature was so gentle that his anger could not be provoked, and the only result was to make him more amiable in his behavior to the old woman, who in her impotence ended in reproaching Shih-niang: "We who keep open doors must eat our visitors three times a day, and clothe ourselves with them. We lead out the departing guest by one door, but to receive a fresh one by another. When desire is excited under our roof, our silver and silks mount up like hills. But it is more than a year since this Li Chia began troubling your curtains, and now old patrons and new guests alike have discontinued their visiting. The spirit Chung-k'uci no longer comes to our door; nay, not the littlest devil. Therefore I am angry and humiliated. What will become of us, now that we have no trace of visitors?" Shih-niang restrained herself with difficulty under these reproaches, and answered calmly: "Young Lord Li did not come here with empty hands. He has paid us considerable sums of money." "It was so at one time; but it is now so no longer. Tell him to give me enough to pay for rice for the two of you.... Indeed, I have no luck! Most of the girls I buy claim all the silver, and hardly care whether their clients live or die. But now I have reared a white tiger who refuses riches, opens wide the door, and makes my old body bear the total burden. O miserable child! You wish to keep the poor for nothing. Where will you find clothes and food? Tell your beggar to be wise enough to give me a few ounces of silver. If you will not send him away, I shall sell you and look for another slave. That would be better for both of us." "Do you mean what you say?" asked the girl. "But you know that Li Chia has neither money nor clothes, and cannot procure any." "I am not jesting," answered the old woman. "Then how much must he give to take me away?" "If any one else were in question, I should demand several thousand ounces. Alas! This beggar cannot pay them! So I shall be satisfied with three hundred ounces, with which to buy another 'tinted face.' If he brings them within three days, I will take the silver with my left hand and give the girl with my right. But after three days, it matters not at all to me that three times seven are twenty-one; Lord or no Lord, I shall beat out this young spark with my broom, and you must bear no grudge for it." "In spite of all, he should be able to borrow three hundred ounces. But three days is too little; he will need ten." "Ten days!" cried the other. "A hundred would be more like! Yet so be it. I will wait ten days." "If he cannot get the money, he will not have the face to return. My only fear is that you will go back on your promise, if he does bring the three hundred ounces." "I am nearly fifty-one years old," answered the ma-ma. "Ten times I have offered the great sacrifices. How should I dare not to keep my word? If you mistrust me, let us strike the palms of our hands together to fix the agreement. Nay, if I break my word, may I be changed into a pig or dog!" That same evening, by the pillow-side, Shih-niang explained how her body might be re-bought, and Li Qua said: "That would delight me, but how can I pay so much? My purse is as empty as if it had been washed." "Your slave has arranged all with the ma-ma. She requires three hundred ounces within ten days. Even if you have spent all that your family gave you for your journey, you have still some friends or relations from whom you can borrow. Then you will have me entirely to yourself, and I shall never again have to endure that woman's anger." "Since I became obsessed by our love, my friends and relations have ceased to recognize me. But perhaps, if I asked them to help me to pay for my journey I might make up the sum." In the morning, when he had arranged his hair and, clothed himself, and was about to leave Shih-niang, she said to him: "Do your uttermost, and come back to me with good news." He went to all his relations and friends, pretending that he was taking leave of them before his departure. They all congratulated him; but when he spoke of the expenses of the journey and asked for a loan, all, without exception, told him that they could do nothing. His friends knew the weakness of his character, and that he was besotted with love for some "Flower-in-the-Mist" or other. He had remained in Peking, up to that time, they knew, not daring to face his father's anger. Was this departure genuine, now, or but pretended? If he spent the borrowed money on "tinted faces," would not his father bear a grudge against those who lent it? The most he could get together was from ten to twenty ounces. Ashamed of his failure after a full three days of endeavor, he did not dare to return to Shih-niang; yet, since he used to spend every night with his mistress, he had no other lodging. After the first evening, therefore, he went and asked shelter from his fellow-countryman, the very learned Liu Yu-ch'un. This man, seeing the growing sadness of the young man, at last ventured to question him and learned his story and of his plan of marriage. Liu shook his head: "That is hardly possible. She is the most famous of all the singing girls. Who would be content with three hundred ounces for such a beauty? The old woman has conceived this method of sending you away, and Shih-niang, knowing that your hands are empty, asks you for this sum because she does not dare to tell you to leave her. If you offered the silver, she would laugh at you. It is a common trick. Do not trouble yourself further, but resign yourself to the breaking off of your relations with the girl." Li Chia was speechless for a long time, shaken by his doubts, and Liu added: "Make no mistake about it. If you show that you really mean to take your departure, many will help you. But as for your plan, you would need not ten days, but ten months to find three hundred ounces." "Good Elder-Brother," answered Li, "your judgment is indeed profound." But none the less he continued his vain search for three further days. Shih-niang was most anxious when she did not see her lover come back to her. She sent a little servant to look for him, and the child met Li by chance, and said: "Lord, our Elder-Sister awaits you at the house." In his shame, Li answered: "I have no time to-day. To-morrow I will come to see her." But the boy had been commanded to bring him back, and to die sooner than lose him, so he replied: "It is the absolute wish of the Elder-Sister that you come with me." Li could not refuse, and followed the messenger. Once in Shih-niang's presence he stood still, sobbing mo-mo, mo-mo, without a word. "How is our plan going?" she asked. He only answered with a flood of tears; so she insisted: "Can people have been so hard as to refuse three hundred ounces?" Stifling his sobs, he answered with this verse: It is easier to catch a tiger in the mountains Than to move the world with speech alone. "I have gone about for these six days, and my hands are empty. Shame has kept me away from my perfumed companion, and it is only at her command that I have come back. I have tried my hardest. Alas! such is the spirit of the century." "We will say nothing to the ma-ma. Let my Lord stay here for the night: his slave will propose another plan to him." She served him with a meal and wine, and made him lie down. Then in the middle of the night she asked: "If you cannot find three hundred ounces to free me, what are we to do?" He wept without answering. Shih-niang waited until the fifth watch; then she drew from under her mattress a bag containing a hundred and fifty ounces in small silver, and said: "This is my secret reserve. Since you cannot find the whole sum, I will give you half of it. That should help you; but we have only four days more. Above all, do not come too late!" Astonished and overjoyed, he carried away the bag and went back to Liu, telling him what had happened and showing him the money. Liu exclaimed: "Surely this woman has a loyal heart! Since she acts so, she must not be allowed to suffer. I am going to act as mediator in your marriage." Leaving Li in his house, he went himself to ask for loans on all sides. In two days he had amassed a hundred and fifty ounces. He gave them to the young man, saying: "I have stood guarantor for you, for I am deeply touched by Shih-niang's sentiment." Li took the silver, as delighted as if the money had fallen from the sky, and ran to see his mistress. It was the ninth day. She asked him: "Has it been very difficult? Have you found the hundred and fifty ounces?" He then told her what Liu had done; and both, rejoicing, spent a night of pleasure. Next day she said to him: "When this money is paid, I must follow my Lord. But we have made no preparation for the boats and conveyances of our journey. I have borrowed twenty ounces from my friends. My Lord may take them for travelling expenses." In his uneasiness concerning these expenses, he had not dared to speak of them. He took the money, and was full of joy. At that moment there was a knock on the door, and the old woman entered, saying: "This is the tenth day." "I thank the ma-ma for recalling the fact to us," he answered. "I was on the point of paying her a visit." And, taking up the bag, he poured the three hundred ounces on to the table. The old woman had not supposed he could succeed. She changed color, and seemed on the point of gainsaying her word. So Shih-niang said; "I have stayed in your house for a long time, and have brought in several thousands of ounces. To-day I am marrying. If you do not keep your word, I shall commit suicide before you, and you will lose the money and the girl." The old woman could find no words to express her feeling. She took the money in silence, and finally muttered: "If you mean to go away, you go now. But you shall take none of your clothes or jewels with you." Hustling the two young people along, she led them through the door and shot the bolt. It was then the ninth moon, and the weather was cold. Shih-niang had but just risen from bed, and was not dressed; nor was her hair done. Yet she saluted the ma-ma with two genuflexions. La Chia shook his two hands joined together. Thus the married pair left that not too pleasant old woman: Even as a carp escapes the metal hook, Flirts its tail and shakes its head And returns not. In front of the door La Chia said to his mistress: "Wait a moment! I will call a little palankeen to take you to the house of Liu." She answered: "In this very court are my friends, my sisters, who have always been in sympathy with me. "I must take leave of them; and I cannot neglect to thank them for the money they have lent me." Accompanied by her Lord, she went to each pavilion to greet her friends. Now, one of them, Yuch-lang, was a very close friend of Shih-niang, so, seeing that she had not done her hair, she led her to her own toilet-table, and ran to call another friend, Hsu Su-Su. Then she took from her coffers many ornaments of king-fisher leather and bracelets and jasper pins, even embroidered robes and girdles ornamented with phoenix. She gave them to Shih-niang, over-coming her with gratitude. She also ordered a feast of congratulation, to which all their friends were invited, and finally, at the end of day, offered the pair a bed for the night. When she was alone with Li Chia, Shih-niang asked: "Where shall we go when we have left the capital? Has my Lord made a decision on this point?" "My father," he answered, "is still angry with me. If, in addition, he learns that I have married my Little-Sister, and that I am coming back with her, he will doubtless be carried quite away by rage. I have not found a satisfactory plan." "Your father has feelings from Heaven. He could not break completely with you. Would it not be better for us to go to him, and to keep to our boat while you pray your friends to go and ask for a harmonious reconciliation? After that, leading your slave, you may re-enter your dwelling in peace." "That is an excellent plan," he answered. Next day they thanked Yuch-lang again, and went to the house of Liu. On seeing the learned man, Shih-niang knelt down to express her gratitude to him, saying: "Later we may both know how to return your kindness." Liu hastened to answer, according to the polite formality: "Your admirable sentiment far exceeds my most poor action. You are a heroine among women. Why, then, do you hang such words to your/teeth?" All day the three of them drank wine of joy. Then the pair chose a suitable day for their journey, and obtained horses and palankeens. When the time for their departure drew near, Yuch-lang, Hsu-Su, and all those friends came to bear the couple company. Yuch-lang sent her servants to bring a metal casket, furnished with a golden lock, and gave it to Shih-niang, who placed it in her palankeen without opening it. The porters and servants urged the travelers forward, and they started. Liu and the beautiful women escorted them as far as the other side of the Ch'ung-wen gate, and there they drank a last cup together. They separated with tears. When they reached the river Lu, Li Chia and Shih-niang abandoned the land way and hired a cabin in a large junk which was going to Kua-chow. After he had paid their passage in advance, there was only a single piece of bronze left in Li Chia's bag; the twenty ounces which Shih-niang had given him had vanished as if they had never been. The young man had not been able to avoid giving certain presents, and he had also bought blankets and other necessities for the journey. Sadly he asked himself what to be done, but she said to him: "My Lord may cease to disturb himself. Our friends have given yet more help." She opened her metal casket, while he looked on in shame. She took out a red silk bag and put it on the table, bidding him open it. He found the bag heavy; for, in fact, it contained fifty ounces of silver. Shih-niang had already shut the casket again, without saying what further was in it, now she said smilingly: "Have not our sisters the most desirable instinct? They did not wish us to have any difficulty on our journey, and in this way they enable us to cross mountains and rivers." Li Chia exclaimed in his delight and surprise: "If I had not met such generosity, I should have had no choice but to wander, and at last to die without burial. Even when my hair turns white, I shall not forget such virtue and such friendship." And he shed tears of emotion, until Shih-niang consoled him by, diverting his thoughts. Some days later they reached Kua-chow, where the big junk stopped. But Li Chia was now able to hire a smaller vessel for themselves alone, and in this he stowed their baggage. On the morrow they were to travel across the great river. * * * * * It was then the second quarter of the second month of winter. The moon shone like water. The pair were sitting on the deck of the junk, and the boy said: "Since we left the capital we have not been able to talk freely, because we were in a cabin and our neighbors could hear us. Now we are alone on our own junk. Also, we have left the cold of the North and will to-morrow be on the south side of the river. Is it not a fitting time to drink and rejoice, so as to forget our former sorrows? You to whom I owe so much, what do you say?" "It is now long since your slave was deprived of little pleasantries and laughters, and she had the same sentiment as yourself. Your words prove that we have but one soul." They brought wine on deck; and, seated on a carpet beside his mistress, he offered her cups. So they drank joyously, until they were a little drunk; and at length he said: "O my benefactress, your voice of marvel used to trouble the six theatres. Every time I heard you then, my spirit took wing from me. It is long since you have overcome me in that way. The moon is bright over the shimmering river. The night is deep and solitary. Will you not consent to favor me with a song?" For a little, Shih-niang refused. Then she looked at the moon, and a song escaped her. It was an affecting melody, taken from one of the pieces of the Yuan dynasty, called "The Light Rose of the Peaches." In truth: Her voice took flight to the Milky Way, And the clouds stopped to listen. Its echo fell into the deep water and the fishes hastened. Shih-niang sang. And in a near-by junk there was a young man called Sun; his first name was Fu, Rich, and his surname was Shan-lai, Excellent-in-Promise. His family was one of the wealthiest in Hsin-an of Hui-chow; his ancestors had owned the salt monopoly in Yang-chow. He was just twenty years old, and had moulded his character in accordance with his passion, being a regular visitor at the blue pavilions, where the smiles of painted roses are to be bought. He was making a journey, and had cast anchor for the night at Kua-chow. He was drinking in solitude, bemoaning the absence of companions. Suddenly in the night he heard a voice more sweet than the sighs of the bird of passion, or than the warbling phoenix. No words seemed adequate, he felt, to describe the beauty of this song. Walking out from his cabin, he found that the music came from a junk not very far distant from his own. In his eagerness to know who had enchanted him, he told his men to go and question the boatmen. But he learned no more than that the junk had been hired by Li Chia. He obtained no information concerning the singer. He reflected: "Such a perfect voice could not belong to a woman of good family. How can I manage to see this bird?" He could not sleep that night. In the morning, at about the fifth watch, he heard the wind roaring on the water. The light of day was strangely veiled by cloud, and flakes of snow were whirling madly. It has been said; The clouds are swallowing Countless thousands of trees upon the hill. Footprints disappear on many footpaths. The fisher in the bamboo hat On the frail boat Catches only snow and the frozen river. This snowstorm rendered it impossible to cross the river, and the boats could not be set in motion. Sun, therefore, told his rowers to leave his moorings and to make fast alongside Li Chia's junk. Then, in a sable bonnet and wrapped in his fox-skin robe, he opened his cabin window, pretending to look at the white snow as it fell. Shih-niang had just arranged her hair, and, with her tapering fingers, was pushing back the short curtains to throw out the dregs of tea in the bottom of her cup. The freshened splendor of her rouge shone softly. Sun saw that celestial beauty, that incantation; he scented that perfume; and his soul boiled over. For a long moment he gazed, and his spirit was as if submerged. But he recovered himself and, leaning out of the window, recited, nearly at full voice, the poem of the "Blossom of the Plum Tree": Snow covers the mountain where the Sage abides, Under the trees in the moonlight Beauty advances. Li Chia heard the poem and came out of his cabin, curious to see who was reciting it. In this way he fell into the trap set by Sun, who hastened to salute him, asking: "Old-Elder-Brother, what is your honorable name? And what is your first name which one does not presume to repeat?" Having answered in accordance with the convention, Li Chia had to question Sun in his turn. They exchanged such words as are customary between educated men. Finally the libertine said: "This snowstorm was sent by Heaven to effect our meeting. It is a large piece of fortune for your little brother. I was lonely and without diversion in my cabin. Would it not be my venerable brother's pleasure that we should go to a riverside pavilion and divert ourselves by drinking wine?" Li Chia answered: "The water-chestnuts meet at the caprice of the current. How should I not be glad of this offer?" "Between the four seas all men are brothers." Then Sun ordered his servant to come with him, sheltering Li Chia under a large parasol. The two men saluted each other again, landed on the bank and, after walking a little distance, found a wine pavilion. Having entered, they chose seats by the window and sat down. The attendant brought them hot wine, Sun raised his cup to give the signal, and soon the two were conversing freely and had become friends. At length Sun leaned forward and said in a low voice: "Last night a song arose from your honorable ship. Whose was that voice?" Wishing to pose as a man of leisure making a journey, Li Chia at once told the truth: "It was Tu Shih-niang, the famous singing girl of Peking." "How comes a singing girl to belong to my brother?" Li Chia then ingeniously told his story, and the other said: "To marry such a beauty is exceptional good fortune. But will your honorable father be satisfied?" Li sighed and answered: "There is no lack of anxiety in my humble house. My father is of a very stern disposition, and as yet knows nothing." Sun, developing his hidden traps, continued: "If your honorable father is not placable, where will my Elder-Brother shelter the Beauty whom he has carried away? Have you come to some arrangement with her on this point?" With heavy brows, La answered: "My little wife and I have already discussed the matter." "Your Honorable Favor has doubtless some admirable plan?" "Her ideas," explained La, "is to remain for the time at a place in the country of Su and Hang, whilst I go forward to my family and ask my friends and relations to appease my father." The other gave a deep sigh and assumed a saddened air: "Our friendship is not yet deep enough. I fear that you may consider my words both strange and too outspoken." "When I have the good fortune to receive your learned and enlightening counsel, how could I fail to respect it?" "Your honorable and noble father, being of stern character, is certainly still angry at your conduct in Peking. And now my Elder-Brother marries in the face of convention. How could your prudent relatives and valuable friends fail to share the views of your honorable father? When you rashly ask them to act on your behalf, they will certainly refuse. Then will not the temporary residence of your Honorable Favor become a permanent one? In your position, it will be as difficult to advance as to retire." Li Chia knew that he had only fifty ounces in his purse, and that half this sum would very soon have vanished. He could not help hanging his head. His companion added: "I have yet another thing to say, and it comes from my heart. Will you hear it?" "Having already received your sympathetic advice, I shall be most happy to listen." "Since earliest time," said Sun, "the hearts of women have been as changeable as the waves of the sea. And among the Flowers-in-the-Mist especially there are few who are found faithful. Since the present case concerns a famous singing girl, who knows the whole earth, it is probable that she has some former associate in the regions of the South. She has consequently availed herself of your help to conduct her to the land where this other lives." "I beg to say that that is not certain," protested Li. "Even if it is not, the men of the South are very adroit and very active. You leave a beautiful woman to live there all alone: can you guarantee that none will climb her wall or penetrate her dwelling? After all, the relations between father and son are from Heaven and cannot be destroyed. If you abandon your family for the sake of a singing girl, you will wander until you become one of those incorrect Floating-on-the-Wave individuals. A woman is not Heaven. You must ponder this matter seriously." Hearing this, Li Chia felt as if he were swept away by a torrent. At last he answered: "What, in your enlightened opinion, ought I to do?" "Your servant has a plan which should be very profitable to you. But I fear lest, weakened by die soft pillow of your love, you will not be able to put it into execution, and that my words will therefore be wasted." "If you have a really good suggestion, I shall be forever your debtor. Why do you fear to speak?" "My Elder-Brother, for more than a year you have Fluttered-in-the-Rain, obsessed by your brothel. You have not been able to give your mind to the difficulties which will assail you when you no longer know where to sleep or to eat. Your father's anger is only due to your having become infatuated with Flowers, besotted by Willows, until you poured out gold as if it were simple sand. He tells himself that you will quickly consume the abundant wealth of your family, and not be assured of having children. By returning empty-handed you will justify his anger. If, O my Elder-Brother, you could cut the knot which binds you to your love, I would willingly make you a gift of a thousand ounces. With a thousand ounces of silver to show your father, you could say that, during your stay at the capital, you had rarely left your study chamber and that you had never Skimmed the Waves. He will have confidence in you, and the harmony of the house will be restored. Thus, without idle words, you change your sorrow to joy. Give the matter three thoughts. I do not covet the Beauty! I speak with no idea but of loyally helping a friend." La Chia was a man of naturally weak character; moreover, he was afraid of his father. Sun's fine words troubled his heart. He rose, made a deep bow, and said: "O Brother! Your noble counsel has cleared away the foolish and tangled obstruction of my understanding. But my little favorite has accompanied me for some thousands of li, and it would not be just for me to leave her in this way. I will return to deliberate with her, and to discover whether her mind is favorable to your project. I shall inform you shortly." "In our conversation," answered Sun, "we have abandoned the paths of strict politeness. "That was because my loyal heart could not endure to see the separation of a father and son, and wished to help you to return to your family." They both drank another cup of wine. The wind had dropped, and the snow had ceased to fall. The color of the sky proclaimed the evening. Sun caused his servant to pay for the drinks, and, taking Li Chia by the hand, accompanied him as far as the junk. It is very true that: You meet a stranger and say three words And tear off a piece of your heart. In the morning Shih-niang, on being left alone in her cabin, had prepared a little feast for her friend, wishing to spend the day with him in happiness; but the sun had set before Chia came back. She had lanterns lit to guide him and, when he at last appeared and entered the cabin, raised her eyes to his face and found the color of displeasure. She poured out a cup of hot wine and offered it to him; but he shook his head without a word, and refused to drink. Then he went and threw himself on the bed. Sad at heart, Shih-niang put the cups and dishes in order. She then undid her husband's clothes and, leaning on the pillow, gently asked him: "What news have you heard that has so upset you?" Li Chia sighed, but without answering. She questioned him again three or four times, but he was already asleep. Unable to be indifferent to such lack of regard, she remained for a long time sitting on the edge of the bed, incapable of sleep. In the middle of the night he awoke and gave another deep sigh; and she said to him: "What is this difficult matter with which my Lord is troubled? What are these sighings?" Li Chia threw off the blanket and seemed about to speak, but the words would not come from him. His lips trembled like leaves, and finally he burst out sobbing. She clasped his head with one arm and held it against her breast, trying to comfort him, and saying tenderly: "The love which unites us has lasted for many days, for very nearly two years. We have overcome a thousand hardships and bitter moments, but now we are far beyond all difficulty. Why do you show such grief to-day, when we are about to cross the river and to taste the joy of a hundred years? There must surely be a reason. All things are shared in common between husband and wife, in life and after death. If anything is the matter, we must discuss it Why do you hide your sorrow from me?" Thus urged, the young man mastered his tears and said: "I am crushed beneath the woe which Heaven heaps upon me. In the generosity of your soul, you have not cast me by. You have endured a thousand wrongs for me. That is no merit of mine. But I still think of my father, whose commands I am defying and that against every convention and all laws. He is of inflexible character, and I fear that his wrath will grow double at the sight of me. Where, then, shall we two, floating with the current, come to our anchorage? How shall I ensure our happiness, when my father has broken with me? To-day my friend Sun invited me to drink and spoke to me of my prospects, and what he said has pierced my heart." "What is my Lord's intention?" she asked in great surprise. "I was turning madly in the web of our affairs, when my friend Sun sketched out an excellent plan to me. But I fear that my benefactress will refuse to allow it." "Who is this friend, Sun? If his plan is good, why should I not agree to it?" "His first name is Fu, and his family had the salt monopoly at Hsin-an. He is a man who has Drifted-in-the-Wind and knows life. Last night he was charmed by your pure song. I told him where we came from, and confided the difficulties which beset our return. Then, under the impulsion of a generous thought, he offered to give me a thousand ounces if you will marry him. With these thousand ounces as testimony I shall be able to speak to my father. Also I shall know that you are not without shelter. But I cannot contain my feeling, and that is why I mourn." And his tears fell like a storm of rain. Ceasing to hold his head against her breast, Shih-niang gently pushed him aside. At last she smiled like ice and said to him: "This person must be a hero, a man of courage and virtue, to have conceived a project so advantageous to my Lord. Not only will my Lord have a thousand ounces to take back with him, not only will your slave gain shelter, but your baggage will be lighter also and more easily handled. As a plan it satisfies both convention and convenience. Where are the thousand ounces?" Struggling with his tears, Li Chia replied: "I have not got your consent, so the silver was not given me." "You must demand it first thing to-morrow morning. A thousand ounces is a considerable sum, and it must all be paid into your hand before I enter his cabin. For I am not merchandise which may be bought on credit." It was then the fourth watch of the night. Shih-niang prepared her toilet-table, saying: "To-day I must adorn myself to bid farewell to my former protector and to do honor to my new one. It is no commonplace event. I must therefore take great pains with paint and perfume, and put on my best jewels and embroidered robes." Thereafter, with perfume and paint and jewelry, she added to the splendor of her petalled seduction. The sun had already risen before she completed her preparations. Li Chia was disturbed, and yet seemed almost happy. Shih-niang urged him to insist upon the payment of the money, and he at once carried her answer to the other junk. Then Sun said: "It is easy for me to give the money; but I ought to have the fair one's jewelry as a proof of her consent." Li Chia told this to Shih-niang, who pointed to the casket with the golden lock, and caused it to be taken to Sun, who joyfully counted out a thousand ounces of silver and sent them to Li's ship. The young woman herself verified the weight and standard of the metal; and then, leaning over the bulwarks, half opened her scarlet lips and showed her white teeth saying to the dazzled Sun: "You can now, I think, give me back my casket for a time. The Lord Li's passports are in it, and I must return them to him." The other at once ordered the little chest to be brought back and placed on the bridge. Shih-niang opened it Inside there were several compartments, and she asked Li Chia to help her lift out each in turn. In the first there were jewels in the shape of king-fisher feathers, jasper pins, and precious earrings, to the value of many hundred ounces. Shih-niang took up these things in handfuls and threw them into the river. Li, Sun and the boatmen uttered exclamations of dismay. In the second compartment were a jade flute and a golden flageolet. In a third were antique jewels, gold furnishings and a hundred ornaments worth thousands of ounces each. She threw them all into the river. The stricken onlookers gave voice to their regret. Finally she drew out a box filled with pearls and rubies and emeralds and cats' eyes, whose number and value were beyond computation. The cries of the wondering bystanders beat in the air like thunder. She wanted to throw all these into the river also; but Li Chia held her in his arms, while Sun vehemently encouraged him. So, pushing Li away, she turned to the other and reviled him: "The Lord Li and I suffered many bitter moments before we came to yesterday. And you, to serve a detestable and criminal lust, have undone us and have caused me to hate the man I loved. After my death I meet the Spirit of Retribution, and I shall not forget your vile hypocrisy." Then, turning toward Li Chia, she continued: "During those many years when I lived in a disorder of the dust and breeze, I secretly amassed these treasures, that they might some day rescue my body. When I met my Lord, we vowed that our union should be higher than the mountain, deeper than the sea. We swore that, even when our hair was white, we should have our love. Before leaving the capital, I pretended to receive this casket as a gift from my friends. It contained a treasure of more than a myriad ounces. I intended to deposit it in your treasury, when I had seen your father and mother. Who would have thought your faith so shallow, that, on the strength of a chance conversation, you would consent to lose my loyal heart? To-day, before the eyes of all these people, I have shown you that your thousand ounces were a very little sum of money. These persons are my witness that it is my Lord who rejects his wife, that it is not I who am wanting in my duty." Hearing these sad words, those who were present wept, and called down curses upon Li, and reviled him as an ingrate. And he, being both ashamed and desolate, shed tears of bitter repentance. He knelt down to beg for her forgiveness. But Shih-niang, holding the jewels in each hand, leaped into the yellow water of the river. The onlookers uttered a cry and rushed to save her. But, under a sombre cloud, the waves in the heart of the river broke into boiling foam, and no further trace was seen of that desperate woman. Alas! she was an illustrious singing girl, as beautiful as flowers or jade. She had been swallowed in an instant by the water. The people, grinding their teeth, would have beaten Li and Sun; but these, in terror and dismay, made haste to push their boats out from the bank, and then went each his own way. Li Chia, seeing the thousand ounces of silver in his cabin, unceasingly wept for the death of Shih-niang. His remorse gave birth to a kind of madness in him, of which he could never be healed. Sun was so prostrated that he had to keep his bed. He thought he saw Shih-niang standing in front of him all day and every day. It was not long before he expiated his crime in death. We must now tell how Liu, having left the capital to return to his own village, also halted at Kua-chow. Leaning over the river to take up some water in a bronze basin, he let the thing slip, and therefore begged certain fishermen to drag their net for it. When they drew up, there was a little box in the net. Liu opened it, and it was full of pearls and precious stones. He rewarded the fishermen generously, and placed the box near his pillow. In the night he had a dream. A young woman rose from the troubled waters of the river, and he recognized Shih-niang. She drew near, wishing him ten thousand happinesses. Then she recounted the unworthy ingratitude of Li, and said: "Of your bounty you gave me a hundred and fifty ounces. I have not forgotten your generosity, and I put this little box in the fishermen's net as an offering of recognition." He awoke and, having learned thus of Shih-niang's death, sighed for a long time. Later, those who told me this story declared that Sun, since he thought he could acquire a beautiful woman for a thousand ounces, was evidently not a respectable man. Li Chia, they said, had not understood the sorrowful heart of Shih-niang, and was consequently stupid, without refinement, and not worthy of mention. Shih-niang alone was heroic. She was, in fact, unique since furtherest antiquity. Why could she not meet some charming companion, some phoenix worthy of her? Why did she make the mistake of loving Li Chia? An admirable piece of jade was thrown to him who did not deserve it; so that love turned to hate, and a thousand passionate impulses were drowned in the deep water. Alas! _Tu Shih-niang nu ch'en pai pao hsiang. (Tu Shih-niang, being put to shame drowns herself with her casket of a hundred treasures.)_ _Chin ku chi'i kuan (17th Century.)_ THE WEDDING OF YA-NEI In the reign of the emperor Shen Tsung there lived an official named Wu, who was at that time, Governor of Ch'ang-sha. His wife, Lin, had given him a son named Ya-nei, or "In-the-Palace," who had that year reached the age of sixteen. He was well endowed, although not without tendency to wantonness; yet he had from childhood diligently studied the classics and poetry. He had only one really extravagant failing; to satisfy his appetite he needed more than three bushels of rice every day, and over two pounds of meat. We will say nothing of his drinking. In spite of all this, he ever seemed half starved. About the third Moon of that year, Wu was appointed Governor of Yang-chow, and the equipages and boats of his new post came up to meet him. He packed his belongings, said good-bye to his friends and went on board, following the course of the river. On the second day he had to stop, because of a storm of wind which raised up the waters of the river in great waves. At the point on the river bank where the boat lay moored, there was already another official junk, before the cabin of which stood a middle-aged matron and a charming girl, surrounded by several women slaves. Ya-nei perceived the youthful beauty, and thought her so seductive that he immediately composed the following poem: Her soul has the tenderness of Autumn rivers And her pure bones are made of jade. The rose of the hibiscus lightens her, Her eyebrows have the curve of willow leaves. Is she not an Immortal from the Jasper Lake Or from the Moon Palace? He looked at her so ardently that his troubled soul took flight and alighted upon the maiden's breast. But his intelligence at once conceived a plan, and he said to his father: "Tieh-tieh, why would you not tell the sailors to anchor our junk by the side of that one? Would it not be safer?" Wu was also of this opinion and accordingly gave orders to his men. When the vessel was alongside, he sent to inquire the name of the voyagers, and was informed that they were a certain Ho Chang, the new Governor of Kien-K'ang, going to his post with his wife Ho tsin, and his daughter Elegant, who was just fifteen. Wu had known the excellent man formerly, so he had his name carried to him. Then, clothed in his official robes, he stepped from one ship to the other. His colleague was awaiting him before his cabin, and, having exchanged formal greetings, they sat and talked together, drinking a cup of tea. Wu returned to his boat where, after a few moments, Ho Chang returned his visit. And Ya-nei was present at the meeting. Ho Chang had no son, and took pleasure in seeing this beautiful young man. He questioned him upon certain ancient and modern books, and was satisfied with the ready answers which he obtained. He praised him unreservedly for them, thinking: "This is just the son-in-law that I should like. He would make an unprecedented match with my daughter. But he is going to live at Pien-liang, and I will be at Kien-K'ang which is more than fifteen days' journey to the south of that place." Wu asked him: "How many sons have you, O Old-Man-Born-Before-Me?" "I will not conceal from you the fact that I have only a daughter." Wu considered: "That charming child was his daughter then. She would be an unprecedented wife for my son. But she is his only child, and he certainly would not be willing to marry her at any great distance from himself." He added aloud: "But if you have no son, you have only to take concubines." "I thank you for your suggestion. It had occurred to me." After having talked for some time, Ho Chang withdrew to his cabin, where his wife and daughter were awaiting him. Being a little elated by his cups of wine, he kept speaking of Ya-nei's merit, and of his intention to invite the father and son for the next day. His words sank deeply into his daughter's mind. On the following day the river was still churned by waves, and the storm sent up spray to a height of more than thirty feet. The crash of water was heard on all sides. Early in the morning Ho Chang sent his invitation, and, when the two men arrived, the feast began. Elegant, in the next cabin, could see Ya-nei through the cracks in the bulkhead, and her heart was secretly moved. "If I could have him for my husband, my desire would be satisfied. But I shall not persuade him into a proposal by merely looking at him. How shall I set about making known my thought to him?" Ya-nei, for his part, looked in vain for some means of speaking to his neighbor. When the meal was finished, he returned to his ship and lay down on his bed. But Elegant was so much occupied in thinking of the young man that she could not touch her dinner. Leaving her mother alone, she retired to rest and was on the point of going to sleep, when the sound of a song came to her. It was the voice of Ya-nei, singing: A dream has come to me from the Blue Bowl, But I was not able to speak. I could not tell her of my delight Or appoint an endless alliance. She rose softly, opened her cabin door without sound and went up on to the bridge. Ya-nei was standing on the other ship, and immediately leaped to her side, and boldly took her in his arms. Between joy and alarm, she did not dare to resist. He drew her into her cabin and embraced her. At that moment one of the slaves passed before the cabin and, seeing the door open, cried out: "The door is open! O thieves!" Elegant at once covered her lover with the blanket, but one of the slaves saw the invader's feet. Ho Chang and his wife snatched away the blanket. "How does this wretch dare to dishonor my family?" cried the Governor in a rage. "Ah, throw him into the river!" In spite of the prayers of the culprit and the girl two men seized the former, dragged him away and threw him into the water. She followed him in despair, crying: "I have ruined him! I wish to follow!" And she too threw herself into the water. She woke with a start. It was only a dream. Till morning she lay and thought, wondering if this dream were perhaps an omen that her destiny ought not to be bound up with that of Ya-nei. He also had complicated dreams that night. He rose in the morning and opened the port-hole of his cabin. Ho Chang's ship was touching his own, and the port-hole opposite to him was open. Elegant appeared there, and their eyes met. Surprised, delighted and embarrassed, they smiled, as if they had known each other for a long time. They would gladly have spoken, but were afraid of being heard. Then she made a small sign to him, retired quickly into her cabin, and rapidly wrote some words on a piece of paper ornamented with sprays of rose peach. She rolled it in a silk handkerchief and cleverly threw it to Ya-nei, who caught it in both hands. They saluted each other, and reclosed their port-holes. He unfolded the handkerchief and smoothed out the crinkled leaf. It bore this poem: Brocade characters are on this paper of flowers, And the bowels of my sorris in this embroidery, I have dreamed of a prince And, carried upon a cloud, I come to him. But there was also a little word or two added: "This evening your submissive mistress will await you near the lamp. The noise of my scissors will be the signal for our happiness, and of our meeting." Beyond himself with joy, the lad hastened to take a leaf of golden paper and wrote out a poem on it. Then he took off his embroidered silken girdle, rolled it all together, and opened his port-hole. Elegant had also opened hers; she received the small packet and at once concealed it in her sleeve, for she heard the slaves approaching. These were followed by her mother. At last the time came for her father to cross to the other ship for the return feast given by Wu. Full of cunning, the maiden took a vessel brimming with liquor and gave it to her slaves, who eyed the gift as a thirsty dragon looks upon water. They were half-drunk when Ho Chang came back from the feast, and Elegant told them to go to bed, and that she would do some needle-work. As their faces were red, their ears burning and their legs unsteady, they were only too glad to retire; and soon their snores were heard over the ship. Little by little all other sounds died away in both the junks. Then she gently knocked on her port-hole with her scissors. Naturally Ya-nei was waiting for the signal; as soon as he heard it, his body was as if it had been shaken to pieces. However, he softly opened his shutter, stepped from one ship to the other, and glided into the cabin where the maiden awaited him. She gave him formal greeting, which he returned; but they looked at each other under the lamp, and their passion already raged like fire. They could hardly exchange a word, and Ya-nei's trembling hands were undoing. She offered but very feeble resistance. He ardently embraced her, and with his arms joined himself to the fresh breast that lighted him. At last they were able to speak. She told him of her dream, and of her astonishment on recognizing, in his poem, the verses which she had heard him sing in dream. He turned pale and sat down: "My dream was exactly yours. Before these omens are fulfilled, I shall speak to my father to arrange our marriage." But, even as they talked, they silently fell asleep arm in arm. Now about the middle of the night, the wind fell and the river became calmer. At the fifth watch the sailors untied their moorings and began to haul their anchors, singing at their work. The noise awakened the lovers, who heard the men say: "The ship catches the wind rarely. We shall not be long in getting to Ch'i-Chow." They looked at each other in dismay: "What are we going to do now?" "Hush!" said she. You must remain hidden for the moment. We will at last find a plan." "It is our dream come true." Remembering that the slaves had seen her lover's feet in her dream, Elegant leaned forward and covered them carefully with an ample blanket. At last she said: "I have a plan. During the day you must hide under the couch, and I shall pretend to be ill, and keep in bed, or in the cabin. When we reach Ch'i-Chow, I will give you a little money, and you must escape in the confusion of the disembarkation. You shall rejoin your parents, and we will arrange for our marriage. If, by any chance, my parents were to refuse, we should tell the truth. My family has always loved me excessively; they will certainly accede." As soon as they had determined on their course, Ya-nei slid under the bed, and made himself a place among the baggages. The curtain fell into place in front of him, and the young girl was still in bed when her mother came in, saying: "Aya! Why are you resting like this?" "I do not feel very well. I must have taken cold." "Cover yourself well, my daughter, if that be so." At this moment a slave entered, asking if she should bring breakfast. "My child," said her mother, "if you are not well, you would do better not to take any solid nourishment. I am going to make you an occasional small rice broth until you are recovered." "I am not very fond of broth. Give me some rice. Let them bring it to me here. I shall eat it by and by." "I will keep you company." "Aya! If you do not go and look after this rabble of women, they will do their work most incontestably wrong." Without understanding, the mother did indeed go to the next cabin at that moment when the breakfast was brought in. As soon as she had turned her back, Elegant told the slave to set down the dish on the table. "You may go away. I shall call you when I have finished." Ya-nei was watching, and came out from his hiding. On the dish there were only two small bowls of vegetables mixed with meat, a bowl of cooked green-stuff, and a little rice. Naturally, the young girl was not in the habit of taking large quantities of food; but for her lover, with his three bushels of rice a day, the matter was otherwise. After their meal, he again glided under the bed, nearly as hungry as before. She called the slave, and told her to bring in two more bowls of rice. Her mother heard this, and entered, saying: "My child! You are not well. How is it that you want to eat all that?" "The reason is not far to seek," she answered. "I am hungry, that is all." And her father, who had come to see the invalid, said: "Let her be. She is growing, and needs nourishment." When night came, and the evening meal was finished, she shut the door and told her lover he could get into the bed again. But the poor young man was suffering cruelly from hunger. "Our stratagem," said he, "is admirable. But it is in one respect also grievous. I cannot conceal from you that my appetite is considerable. The three meals which I have had to-day seem scarcely a mouthful. On such a diet, I shall starve before we come to Ch'i-Chow." "Why did you not say so? I shall make them bring me more to-morrow." "But are you not afraid of rousing suspicion?" "That is nothing. I shall see to it. But how much would you need?" "We shall never be able to obtain quite that. Ten bowls of rice at each meal would not be enough." Next day, when her parents came to see her, Elegant complained. "I do not know what is the matter with me," she said. "I am dying of hunger." But her mother began to laugh: "That is not a very serious affair. I will have more rice brought to you." But when the young girl said that she needed about ten bowls, the good woman was startled. She again wished to remain near her daughter. "If you stay here, mama, I shall not be able to take anything. Leave me alone, and I shall eat more comfortably." Everybody indulged her caprice. When the cabin was empty, she shut the door and Ya-nei came out. Hungry as he was, he made the ten bowls vanish like a shooting star, and did not leave a single grain. Elegant watched him with astonishment, and asked him in a low voice: "Is that still too little?" "It will suffice," answered the other, drinking a cup of tea. He hastened back to his hiding-place, while the young girl ate some vegetables. Then she called the slaves, who came running up, wondering whether she had been able to eat all that food. They looked at the empty bowls and at their mistress's slim figure, and murmured as they went away: "What a terrible illness!" One of them, in her anxiety, went to the father and showed him the dish, suggesting that he should call a doctor as soon as possible. And he, for his part, forbade them to give her so much another time, fearing that she would burst. At mid-day he went himself to speak to her. She began to weep: her mother took her part; and they gave way to her. The evening meal was just as large. They were approaching Ch'i-Chow, and Ho Chang, who was really alarmed, ordered his boatmen to cast anchor near the town. Early in the morning he sent his steward to find the best doctor, and when the man arrived, brought him on board and explained the case to him. They then went to examine the invalid and to try her pulse. The doctor at length came back with the father into the central cabin. "Well? What is the illness?" The other coughed, and at last said: "Your daughter is suffering from lack of nourishment." Her father was staggered: "But I have told you that she ate thirty bowls of rice yesterday." "Yet, but your daughter is still a child. She is apparently fifteen years old, but that is equivalent to fourteen in reality, or even to thirteen and some months. Her food accumulates in her stomach, but is not assimilated. From this cause arises the fever which burns her stomach and makes her imagine herself to be always hungry. The more she eats, therefore, the more her stomach burns. In one month it will be too late to cure her, and she will die of hunger." "But how is she to be cured?" "First, I shall make her digest what she eats. Of course, she must eat very little indeed." He wrote his prescription and went away. The servant went to get the drugs, which were dissolved and boiled according to direction, and finally presented to the young girl. She said that she would take them, and as soon as she was alone threw them out of the port-hole. Thereafter she continued to ask for ten bowls of rice for every meal. Every one on the ship was now discussing this extraordinary case. Some said that they ought to call in sorcerers. Others thought that religious men would do better, seeing that she had certainly been possessed by one of those starving spirits which wander without purpose in punishment for their sins, with a needle's eye for a mouth, seeking in vain for food. At the next town, Ho Chang summoned another doctor. After his examination, mention was made of the former diagnosis, and he burst out laughing. "Nothing of the sort. It is an internal consumption." "But what, then, is the reason for this hunger?" "The hot and the cold principles are at variance in her, and the resultant fire gives her continual opsomania. It is easy to understand." "But she has no fever." "Outside she is cool, but she burns within. The malady is inside the bones; and that is why it is not visible. If she had continued to take the drugs which you have been giving her, it would have been difficult to save her. I shall give her something to soothe her bowels. She will then, of her own accord, refuse all food." It need not be said that it was the same in this case as in the other. All the medicines went down the river. Meanwhile the two lovers continued to profit by the silence of the night. Naturally, the young girl was at first, so to speak, passive in the arms of the young man, who was himself bashful. But little by little, penetrating further into the domain of pleasure, their amorous intelligence redoubled with their rapture, and they forgot entirely where they were. One night a slave woke up, and heard a "tsi-tsi-nung-nung" and a "tsia-tsia" coming from within, and then quick breathing. Inwardly surprised, she next day told her mistress, and the mother, seeing that her daughter was always of a brilliantly healthy complexion, began to think this unknown malady a very strange one. She did not inform her husband, however, but ran herself to see her daughter. The child's face seemed to her to be more beautiful and animated even than usual. She went out, without seeing anything which might confirm her suspicion, and, coming back again after breakfast, began gently to question her daughter on her ideas of marriage. As they were talking, there suddenly came a snore from under the bed. Ya-nei, after his efforts in the night and his morning meal, had gone to sleep in his hiding-place. Elegant's mother at once shut the door and, quickly stooping to look under the bed, saw the young man asleep. "Alas, how could you do this thing? And then frighten us with your illness? Now everybody will know of it. Where does he come from? May Heaven strike him dead!" Elegant's face was purple with shame. "It is all your child's fault. He is the son of the Lord Wu." "Ya-nei? But you have never seen him! Besides, he was at the dinner with your father, and we came away at midnight. How can he be here?" Trusting in her mother's indulgence, the young girl confessed everything, and added: "Your unworthy daughter has dishonored our name and lost her innocence. My crime is unpardonable. But it was the will of Heaven. There had to be that storm to make us meet, and then destiny prevented our betrothal. Our strength was too small for the struggle, and we have sworn to love each other until death. I implore you to speak to my father and appease him; for if he makes an uproar; there is nothing left for me but to die." Her tears fell like rain. And, while they were talking, Ya-nei's snores sounded like thunder. "At least make him keep quiet," cried the mother in a fury. "We can no longer hear ourselves speak." And she went out, slamming the door, while Elegant hastened to awaken the sleeper. "Really you might snore less loudly!" she said with impatience. "All is discovered now." When he heard this, Ya-nei's body was frozen with terror as if he had received a drenching in cold water. His teeth chattered. "Do not be afraid. I have asked my mother to speak for us. If my father is angry, there will be time enough for us to die then." The woman meanwhile had hurried to her husband, but there was a slave with him, putting the cabin in order. So she waited, and the tears rolled from her eyes. Ho Chang thought she was anxious about her daughter's health, and reassured her: "She will be better in a few days. The doctor said so. Do not disturb yourself." But she sneered at him: "You have been listening to the flower words of old Wise-Wand. Better in a few days! She would have to be ill first!" "What do you mean?" Since the servant was no longer there, she told him in a low voice what she had seen and heard. Ho Chang's anger was such that his sight was troubled. She begged him to calm himself. "Enough! Enough!" he thundered. "This worthless daughter fouls the very air upon our threshold. We must kill them both in the night, so that none may know." The woman's face became as the earth. "We have already reached a ripe age, and this is the only flesh and bone we have. If you kill her, what will be left to us? As for Ya-nei, he is of a good family, he is intelligent, and well-built. Our stations are identical and our houses equal. His only fault is that he did not make a proposal, but rather forced everything in secret. Yet so the matter is. Would it not be better to send him back with a letter to Wu, requiring gifts of betrothal? We would lose all by making a scandal." Ho Chang's rage was already half spent, and he now let himself be persuaded by degrees. He went out and asked the boatmen where they were. "We are approaching Wu-ch'ang." "You will anchor there." He then called his confidential steward and, explaining all to him, gave him a letter. After this he went to see his daughter, who hid herself under the blanket when she beheld him. He spoke no word to her; but in a stern tone called out Ya-nei, who crept from his hiding-place, saluted the older man, and said: "My crime deserves death." "How could a young man of your education commit such an act? My wife has prevailed upon me to spare your life; but, if you would redeem your fault, you must take my unworthy daughter as your wife. If this is not your intention, do not count upon my pardon." Ya-nei abased himself in ritual prostration. "The honor which you do me is a reward which my conduct does not deserve," he said. "I shall speak to my parents as soon as I return." Ho Chang hurried him away, without leaving him time to speak to the young girl again. She was clinging to her mother, and whispered: "I do not know my father's intention. Could I not have a letter from Ya-nei on his arrival?" Her truly indulgent mother went and spoke to the steward. The latter had already hired a boat, and, as it was night, the intruder would be able to pass from one junk to the other without being observed. They set out, while Elegant wept incessantly for sorrow and uneasiness. We must now return to the family of Wu. After the night of Ya-nei's departure, their boat had proceeded for several leagues before the young man's absence was noticed. But when they called for him, and his cabin was found empty, the souls of his parents left their bodies. They howled their despair, supposing that their child had fallen unobserved into the water. They turned the ship about, hoping at least to recover the body; but all searching was in vain, and they had perforce to resume their journey in despair. They had been at their destination for two days when Ya-nei arrived; you may suppose that their surprise was only equalled by their joy. They read Ho Chang's letter, and understood everything. They scolded their son, and made a feast for Ho Chang's envoy. When the betrothal gifts were ready, they sent them in charge of their steward, to whom Ya-nei entrusted a secret letter for his Elegant. Soon the time came for Ya-nei's examination at the capital, and he was accepted. His father asked for a holiday, and the whole family went to Kien-K'ang, where the marriage was celebrated. The fame of Elegant's wisdom and beauty grew with the years, and the happiness of these two was never dimmed. _Hsing shih heng yen (1627), 28th Tale._ A STRANGE DESTINY In epochs of deep peace When days are lengthening, The flute sounds and songs are heard Among the drunken villages. The Phoenix Car is said to be approaching With the Emperor, And each one turns his eye To the splendor of that procession. In the reign of Hui Tsung of the Sung dynasty, near the capital of the East, on the borders of the Lake of Clearness of Gold, a new wine pavilion had just been opened, under the sign of The Quick Hedge. Fan, the landlord, and his brother Erh-lang, were the proprietors. Neither of them was married; and their business prospered. It was the week when Spring melts into Summer, and men walk abroad in number to enjoy the freshness and beauty of nature. One day Erh-lang roamed the lakeside, delighting in the soft air, and saw, in front of a teahouse, a ravishing girl of about eighteen, in whose face, which was as dreamful as the Night Star, flowered all the blossoms of the time. He stopped, fixed to the ground with admiration and already riotous with love. He could not take his eyes from the rose radiance of this face, peach blossom against flawless jade; from this slender body, from the rare golden lotus of these delicate feet. A scarlet hibiscus in flower framed this phoenix against stirring landscape of the great lake. Alas! our emotions do not depend upon our will. The young girl felt herself looked upon, and raised her eyes; her soul was at once troubled, her child's heart secretly rejoiced. She thought: "If I could marry this beautiful man, I should know many happy moments. But, though he is there now, where will he be tomorrow? How can I tell him how to find me again?" Just then a seller of refreshments came by with his small vessels on his shoulder. She called him: "Have you a little honey-water?" The merchant set down a bronze vase on the ground to serve her; but she, with pretended clumsiness, upset the vase, and said to him: "Never mind! Come to my house and I will pay for all. I will give you my name and address." Erh-lang pricked his ears, as she continued: "I am the daughter of Lord Chou, who lives near the Ts'ao Gate. My little name is Victorious-Immortal. And I pray you do not charge too much, for I am not yet betrothed or married." The young lover trembled with joy, saying to himself: "These words are meant for me, I am sure of that." The merchant was meanwhile protesting, and the young girl added: "My father is not at home just now. But he is terrible, and you will undoubtedly be prosecuted if you try to rob us." Erh-lang earnestly desired to make himself known in his turn, and being unable to think of any other expedient, he did as the girl had done: asked for a bowl of cool water, and pretended clumsily to upset the full jar. He then said: "Aya! Here is another misfortune! But it does not matter. Come to my house, and you shall be well recompensed. I am Erh-lang, brother of Fan. We are proprietors of THE PAVILION OF THE QUICK HEDGE. I am nineteen, and no one has yet cheated me in my business, I can draw a bow, and am not yet betrothed." "Are you not a little mad?" asked the merchant, looking at him in astonishment. "Why do you tell me all that? Do you wish me to act as the go-between for your marriage? I am an honest man, and have never cheated anybody." Hearing her admirer's words, the girl rejoiced in her heart. She suggested to her mother, who was sitting by her, that they should go away; and rising to her feet, said to the merchant: "If you will follow us, we will pay you at once." But her eyes spoke in reality to the young man; who walked slowly behind her, admiring the poise of her gait. In this manner they proceeded until the two women entered their house. But the young girl came back almost at once to draw aside the big door-curtain and to look out at him as he passed. He went on walking to and fro, as if he had lost his senses, and did not return to his house till evening. From that particular day Victorious-Immortal remained so strangely affected that she was quite unable to swallow a grain of rice, or even to touch a cake. At last, one morning, she was too weak to rise. Her mother ran to her bed. "My poor child," she asked, "what is the matter with you?" "I ache all over my body. I have pains in my head and cough a little." Her mother at once thought of calling in a doctor; but, in the absence of the master of the house and his servant, there was no man to go on the errand. But an old female attendant, named Kind-Welcome, was present and observed: "The ancient woman Wang lives, as you know, quite close at hand. She has helped more than a hundred children into the world. She can sew, and she can act as go-between; but she can also feel a pulse and diagnose an illness. Everybody calls her as soon as there is anything the matter." "That is true. Go and fetch her quickly." Some few moments later the healer came and the mother began a long explanation. But the woman interrupted her: "I shall know all about it when I have examined the patient." The sick girl put out a wasted hand, and the woman felt her pulse for a long time. At last she said: "You have pains in the head, and all your body aches. You are in continual agony, and the earth is hateful to you." "That is exactly the case," she answered from her bed. "Also I cough a little." "But what has caused this illness?" As the girl did not answer, this wise old visitor turned to the mother and the attendant, and signed them to go away. They dared not refuse, and left the room. "Now we are going to cure you. The illness lies in your heart, and nowhere else." "In my heart?" questioned the sick girl. "You have seen a handsome young man, and he pleases you. Your suffering rises from that; is it not so?" "There is nothing of the sort," denied the other. "Come, come! Tell me the truth, and I will soon find a means to save your life." Seeing a chance to reach to her desire, little Victorious-Immortal decided to tell everything. When she had finished, the very old woman said: "Do not be troubled. I know one of his relations who has spoken to me of him. He is intelligent and level-headed. I shall go and see his brother, to make arrangements for your marriage, if you finally wish to marry him." "You know very well that I do," said the sick child with a smile. "But will my mother consent?" "Do not be uneasy. I have my methods." She was already out of the room, and saying to the mother: "I know what is the matter with your daughter. If you would like me to make it clear to you, have two cups of wine brought in." Kind-Welcome made haste to arrange all on the table. The healer drank a draught of burning wine and, turning to the mother, repeated word for word what the girl had confessed to her, adding: "And now there is nothing for it but to marry her to Erh-lang, for otherwise her death is certain." "My husband will be away for a long time yet. I cannot decide without him." "You have only to make the arrangements. You need not celebrate the marriage until after my Lord's return. She must be given her desire; there is no other way of saving her." "If the young man is as desirable as all that ..." the mother murmured uneasily. "But how shall we bring the thing about?" "I am going to speak to his elder brother. I will keep you informed." Without further delay, the venerable go-between went straight to The Pavilion of the Quick Hedge, where she found Fan behind his counter, and saluted him: "Ten thousand happinesses!" "You come at the right time," he answered with a bow. "I was about to send to beg you to do so. For some days, I assure you, my brother has not been able to take a morsel of food. He says that his whole body is aching, and now he stays in bed. Will you, please, feel his pulse?" "I will see him. But it is better for me to be alone with him." "Then I shall not come with you." So the old woman went up into the sick man's room, and he said to her feebly: "Mother Wang, it is very long since I saw you. Alas! You come too late! My life is finished!" "In what special way are you so seriously ill?" she asked, sitting near the bed and touching his wrist. After a moment she continued: "Shall I tell you the name of your illness? It is called Victorious-Immortal, little daughter of Chou, and her house is near the Ts'ao Gate." The sick man was startled and sat up: "How do you know that?" "Her family has commissioned me to come and arrange your marriage." Immediate happiness revived the young man. He rose and came down with the wise visitor to his astonished brother. "I am cured," he announced, "And all goes very well." Meanwhile the old woman was saying: "The family of Chou has sent me especially to talk to you about a marriage." All was soon settled, the first gifts were exchanged, and the comforted hearts of the two young people were filled with joy. But they had to wait Lord Chou's return before proceeding with the ceremony. Chou did not come back until eight months later. It is needless to say that, when he did so, all his relations and friends came to drink cups of wine with him to "wash down the dust of the journey." At last his wife told him what had happened, affirming that all was decided. But the eyes of the master of the house became round and white, and he bellowed: "O filthy imbecile, who gave you the right to betroth our daughter to a wine merchant? Is there no son of decent family who would marry her? Do you wish to make us a laughing-stock?" While he was thus cursing his wife, the servant came up to them, crying: "Come quickly and save the child! She was behind the door, and heard your cries. She fell down and is no longer breathing." Stumbling in her haste, the mother ran out. She saw her daughter lying on the ground and was about to raise her, but her husband prevented her, saying: "Leave her! She was bringing dishonor on us! If she is to die, then let her die!" Seeing her mistress held back, Kind-Welcome bent over the girl. But Chou, with a blow that made the air whistle between his fingers sent her against the wall. In his rage, he seized his wife and shook her roughly, and she howled like a dog. The neighbors heard her and ran in, fearing that there was disaster. Soon the room was filled with women, all talking at the same time. But the master of it roughly bade them be silent: "I do not allow any spying upon my private affairs." The neighbors retired in discomfort, and the mother threw herself upon her daughter's body, whose ends were already cold. She sobbed: "You would not have died if I had come to you. O murderer, you have let her die of set purpose. You did not want to give her the four or five thousand ounces which her grandfather left her." He went out, panting like a boar with anger. The mother did not cease to lament her loss: her daughter had been so gentle and so clever. At length the time came to shut down the coffin, and Chou angrily said to his wife: "You pretend that I let her die so as not to lose four thousand ounces? I order you to put all her jewels in the tomb with her. That is more than five thousand ounces, one would think." They brought in the wu-tso, the Inspector of Corpses, and also his assistant, to verify the death and to help in hearsing her. The keeper of the family graveyard and his brother, the two Chang, were also there to assist in the mournful work. The time came for the funeral, and the procession went forth from the town. The coffin was placed in a brick tomb, and the first shovels of earth were thrown upon it. Then all returned home. Three feet of cold insensitive earth covered the body of this young beauty, and it had been full of love. Now the Inspector of Corpses had a worthless fellow named Feng for his assistant. This miserable boy, on coming back from the cemetery in the evening, said to his mother: "An excellent day's work! Tomorrow we shall be rich." "And what successful stroke of business have you concluded?" "Today we buried the daughter of Chou, and all her jewels were put in the coffin with her. Instead of leaving them to enrich the earth, would it not be better to take them?" "Think before you do such a terrible thing!" his mother begged. "This is no matter of a mere whipping. Your father wanted to do the same thing twenty years ago. He opened a coffin, and the corpse began to smile at him. Your father died of that in four or five days. My son, do not do it. It is no easy matter." "Mother," he answered simply, "my mind is made up. Do not waste your breath on me, for that is useless." He bent over his bed, and took out of it a heavy iron tool. "O mother, not each person's destiny is the same. I have consulted soothsayers, and they have told me that I shall become rich this year." He took also an axe, a leather sack, and a dark lantern, which he placed in readiness. Finally he wrapped himself in a great mantle of reeds, for it was the eleventh moon and the snow had begun to fall. He made a sort of hurdle with about ten inter-crossed bamboos, and fastened it behind his mantle, so that it should drag along the ground and efface his foot-prints. The second watch was sounding when he went out, and all was still bustle and gaiety in the town. But beyond the walls both silence and solitude reigned in the growing cold. The snow was already thick. Who would have ventured out there? From time to time he turned his head, but no one followed him. At last he reached the wall of the family graveyard and climbed in. Suddenly a dog ran through the tall grass and leaped at him, barking. The thief had prepared a portion of poisoned meat, and threw it to the dog. The beast, being badly fed, smelt it and swallowed it. He still barked a little, but the venom was potent, and he very soon writhed on the ground. In the keeper's hut, young Chang said to his elder brother: "The dog has started barking, and then has stopped. Is that not strange? Perhaps it is a thief. You ought to go and see." The elder brother rose from his hot bed and took up a weapon, grumbling. Then he opened the door and went out. But he was seized by a whirl of cold snow, and called to the dog: "What are you barking for, O animal of the Gods?" Then he came back and glided under his blankets. "There is nothing at all. But it is very cold." From the distant town came the far sound of the gongs and drums of the third watch. Taking heart, Feng went forward in a snow which deadened his steps. He quickly shovelled the fresh earth from the grave, and then lighted his lantern. Its yellow light lit up but a single point. Forcing two long crowbars between the joints, he loosened one brick, and then another. At last the coffin was uncovered. He inserted his pick under the lid, and pried it off and laid it on one side. The corpse was brought to view. "Small sister," he murmured. "I am only going to borrow a little of your useless wealth. Do not you grudge it me!" He took the veil from that charming face. The head was covered with ornaments of gold, and also with pearls. He took them all. He was tempted by the fine and silken garments of the corpse. He stripped it. But suddenly, the body shook itself and pushed the thief away with violence. He uttered a cry of imbecile terror and shrank back. The corpse had sat up and, in that little light, looked at the open tomb, the scattered tools, and her own unclothed body. The wretched lad, obeying instinctive habit, trembled and lied: "Little sister, I have come to save you." Naturally, when little Victorious-Immortal had heard the foul Chou's violent words, her despair had made her lose all sign of life. It was for this reason that she had been put in her coffin while still alive. Aroused now by the cold, her first thought was to remember her father's anger. Her only refuge then was the house of her betrothed, and she said: "If you will take me to The Pavilion of the Quick Hedge, you may have a heavy reward." "That is easy," answered Feng, seeking in vain for how he should escape. Ought he to kill her? He hardly had the courage after such a shock. He decided to give her back a few clothes. He put the jewels and his implements in the sack, together with the extinguished lantern, and quickly covered the grave with earth again. Then, because the girl was too weak to walk, he took her on his back and went away from that place. But instead of going to Fan's house, he went to his own. His mother opened the door to him, and cried in terror: "Have you stolen the corpse also?" "Do not speak so loud," he answered, setting down his burdens. He went to his bed, and there put little Victorious-Immortal. He drew a knife from his girdle and showed it to the girl: "Little one, I have some business to settle with you. If we come to an agreement, I will take you to Fan's house. If not, you very well behold this knife, and I shall cut you in two pieces." "What do you want with me?" she asked. "You are going to stay here without making a noise and without trying to escape, until I take you to Fan. As for the rest, we will speak of it another time." "I will do so! I will indeed do so!" Then the nasty youth led his mother into the next room to calm her a little. "But what are you going to do?" she asked. "Do you think we can be safe when she has gone to Fan?" "I am not going to take her to Fan." "What are you going to do, then?" He gave a country laugh, full of suggestion. * * * * * Matters so continued until the fifteenth day of the first Moon, the evening of the Feast of Lanterns. Feng went out to see the illuminations, and also to profit by the opportunities for theft which are always afforded in a crowd. The evening wore on, and he had not yet returned, when a shout arose among the neighbors. Feng's mother opened the door to see what was the matter. A fire had broken out near there. In terror, the old woman made haste to carry her furniture into the yard. Profiting by this confusion, the girl slipped through the door; but in the street she did not know which way to turn. At last she found the road to the Ts'ao Gate, and was running in that direction when she lost herself again. However, when at length she asked where The Pavilion of the Quick Hedge might be, she was shown a near way to it. The attendant was before the door, and she asked him very politely: "Ten thousand happinesses! Is not this the house of Fan and Erh-lang?" "Certainly it is, small lady." "Could you not lead me to him?" "Assuredly," he answered. He showed her the way, calling from the door to his masters; but when Erh-lang, in the pale light of the paper lanterns, recognized the white face of his betrothed, he cried out in dismay: "Ghost! Ghost!" Confident in her love, she advanced toward him piteously repeating: "Elder brother! Elder brother! I am alive!" But he kept recoiling in terror, and crying: "Help! Help!" How could he fail to believe himself in the presence of a ghost, when he had witnessed the funeral, and had, that very evening, encountered the wife of Chou in mourning garments? As she was about to touch him and, cringing against the wall, he could retreat no further, his terror redoubled. Not knowing what he did, he picked up a heavy stool and struck his dear visitor on the head with it. She fell back, and her head sounded dully on the stone flags. Fan ran up at the noise of this. He saw the woman on the ground, and his brother holding the stool. "What have you done?" he cried. "What is the matter? Was it you who killed her?" "She is a ghost," the other said. "If she were a ghost, she would not bleed. What have you done?" Already some ten persons had come up to see what was the matter. The street guard came in to them and seized Erh-lang, who kept on saying: "She is the ghost of Chou's daughter. I have killed her." Hearing this name, a neighbor ran to inform Chou, who would not at first believe him. At length he decided to go to the wine pavilion, where he was compelled to recognize her, though he kept on saying: "I buried her long since!" Nevertheless, the guard insisted upon leading Erh-lang to prison. Fan had the doors shut then, and stayed with Chou by the corpse till morning. Early next day the Governor inquired into the matter. The coffin was opened. It was found empty, and the keepers told how their dog had been found dead in the snow on the day after the funeral. In the absence of any completer explanation, they proceeded with their inquiry. Erh-lang, in his prison, was overcome with sorrowful remorse. Sometimes he said that she could not have survived her burial; sometimes he was rent with horror at the thought that she had been alive when he struck her. He recalled her beauty and grace in Spring by the lake side, and bitter tears rolled from him. While he was musing in this way, he saw his cell door open, and the girl appeared. In his emotion and fear, he cried: "Are you not dead, my darling?" "Your blow caused me more grief than harm. Now I have wakened, and have come to see you." She approached the bench where he sat, and he took her hand: "How can I have been so foolish as to fear you?" They were talking thus, and already, in their deep love, they were in each other's arms. His joy was so keen that suddenly he woke. It was a dream. On the second night the same thing happened, and on the third, and his passion grew stronger for her. As she was going away the third time, she said: "My life on earth had come to an end, but my love was so great and so potently called me to you, that the Marshal-of-the-Five-Ways, the Keeper-of-the-Frontier-of-the-Shadows, allowed me to come back to you, for these three nights. I must leave you now. But, if you do not forget, there will yet be something of me bound to your soul." Then she disappeared, and the young man sobbed most bitterly. In the end the matter was cleared up by chance. Feng's mother, having filched a golden trifle from her son's bag, went to sell it to the same jeweler who had made it for Chou. On being denounced before the Governor, mother and son were apprehended, and all the jewels were discovered in their house. Torture found them words, and the whole matter became clear. Erh-lang had actually believed that he saw a ghost, and was released. Feng was sentenced to slow death, and strips were torn one by one from his body by the executioner. His mother was only strangled. As for Erh-lang, his heart stayed faithful to the girl he had so greatly loved. At every feast he went to the temple of the Marshal-of-the-Five-Ways, and burned incense, so that the pleasant smoke of it might ascend to the palace of the soul of little Victorious-Immortal. His fidelity touched even the rough heart of Chou and, when he came to die a few years later, his body was buried in the same tomb with her whom his arms had known only in sleep. _Nao fan lou to ch'ing sheng hsien (Chou Victorious-Immortal, of abundant love, overthrows the Pavilion of the Fan). Hsing shih heng yen (1627), 14th Tale._ THE ERROR OF THE EMBROIDERED SLIPPER The sun is in our eyes And we think we are running out towards joy; Our heart pulls us down And we shall never know the way of the sky Or the end of all things. During the Hung-Chih period of our Dynasty there lived at Hang-chow a young man who was called Chang Loyalty. After his parents died, leaving him a great fortune, he no longer had anyone to guide him, and therefore, throwing away his books, he spent his time with gallants of the sort we name fou-lang-tzu, that is to say "floating-on-the-waves." They do not know how to profit by opportunity. So Chang no longer studied anything but various ball games, he abandoned himself to the pleasures of the theatre, and took his delight in those gardens where the breezes of love blow in the moonlight. In a word, he followed the changing flowers of illusion; and, as he was himself seductive, as impassioned as expert in pleasure, and rich and generous, he became the favorite of all the women of the town. One day, when spring had but just caused all the flowers to come out on the amiable banks of the Lake of the West, Chang invited a company of singing girls and idlers to spend the afternoon on the blue waters. He put on a gauze bonnet with floating wings, after the fashion of the time. His great transparent silk robe was of purple and silver, over a second embroidered one of pure white. White gauze stockings and red slippers completed the elegance of his appearance. He went out, walking unhurriedly, gently waving a fan decorated with paintings. Behind him walked his little slave, Clear-Lute, who carried over his shoulder a mantle in case the weather should freshen, and a long guitar with which to accompany the singing girls. As they were approaching the gate of Ch'ien-t'ang, Chang looked up, for no particular reason. On the first story of a house a maiden held back her window curtain and looked at him. From her whole person emanated so troubling a charm that he stopped in his walk, and felt a tremor in his body. For a long time they remained gazing at each other, until she slowly broke into a smile, and he felt his soul fly from him. At this moment the door of the house opened below, and a man came forth; so Chang hastened to resume his walk, and returned in a few moments. The curtain was drawn back over the window. He waited, but there was no sign. At length he drew away, turning his head, and walking as slowly as if he had already gone a hundred leagues on the mountains. Yet eventually he passed the town gate and rejoined his friends on the boat, which was at once steered to the middle of the lake. The banks were smiling with peach blossom: the willow leaves were a mist of gold and green. Little boats, with brightly-dressed passengers, crossed and re-crossed like ants. In very truth: Hills are heaped upon hills And the pavilions on the pavilions. The songs and dances are never ceasing On the West Lake. The warm breeze fans the drunkenness Of the pleasure walkers. Heaven is above, But here we have Hang-chow and Su-chow Lakes. But Chang carried the picture of that young girl in his soul, and had no heart for pleasure. His companions offered him cups of wine, wondering at his melancholy; but he was far from them. At twilight they returned, and Chang re-entered by the Ch'ien-t'ang gate, passing before the girl's house. The window was shut. He stopped, and forced a cough; but there was no sign. He went to the end of the street, and came back again, but all was silent. Therefore he had no choice but to go away. He returned next morning, and stayed at a shop near by to learn what he could. He was told: "They are people called P'an. Their only daughter is sixteen years of age, and is named Eternal Life. The father has some connection with a certain powerful family which affords him protection. He lives by swindling, and everyone fears him. He is a veritable skin-pinker and bravo." This news made Chang a little thoughtful, but he walked on by the house nevertheless. The young girl was again at her window. They looked at each other; but there were people about, and he had to go away. That evening, as soon as night fell, he went back. The moon was shining as brightly as the sun, and the street was empty. The youthful beauty leaned at her window, wrapped in thought and bathed in the white light. She smiled at him, and he drew from his sleeve his scarlet muslin handkerchief. He made the knot known as "union of hearts gives victory." Rolling it in a ball, he threw it, and she adroitly caught it in two hands. Then she stooped and took off one of her little embroidered slippers. She dropped it into Chang's waiting fingers. Enraptured with this gift, which was a pledge of love and faith, he carried it to his lips and said softly: "Thank you; Thank you, with all my heart!" In tones of maddening sweetness, she replied: "Ten thousand happinesses!" Just then a rough voice was heard within the house. She made another sign to him and closed the window. And he went home drunk through silent streets made silver by the moon. Once in his library, he examined the slipper. It was a golden lotus, so small and so light that a thousand thoughts troubled the lover. He said: "I must find someone to arrange our meeting, or else die from an over-stressing of desire." Early in the morning, he put some pieces of silver in his sleeve and hastened to a little wine booth, not far from the house of P'an. He knew that he would find an old woman there, whom he often met in pleasurable places. In fact, he saw her and called to her. She at once saluted him, saying: "Aya! My uncle, what brings you?" "I happened to be passing," he answered carelessly. "But I should like you to walk a little way with me." "In what can I serve you?" she hastened to ask. Without speaking, he took her into a quiet little tavern. When they were seated, and the attendant had brought them fruit and dishes of food, he poured out a full cup of hot wine and offered it to her, saying: "I have something to ask of you, ma-ma Lu. But I am afraid that you cannot accomplish it." "Without boasting," she answered with a wide smile, "there are few enterprises, however difficult, in which I do not succeed. What is it you desire?" "I want you to arrange a meeting for me with the daughter of P'an, who lives in the Street of the Ten Officials. Here are five ounces of silver to begin with. If you succeed, you shall have quite as much more." "The small Eternal Life? The little witch! I thought her so demure! I should never have imagined she was a wild flower. But the matter is difficult. There are only the parents and the daughter in that house, and the father is dangerous. He keeps a damnably suspicious watch over his door. How could you get in? I dare not promise any success." "You have just boasted that you always succeed. Here are two ounces more." The old woman's eyes gleamed like fire at the sight of the snow-colored metal, and she said: "I will take the risk. If all goes well, it will be your fortune. If not, I shall at least have done my best. But give me a proof, for otherwise she would not listen to me." Not without regret, Chang took from his bosom the little slipper, and gave it to her, wrapped in his handkerchief. The old woman at once slipped it into her sleeve with the pieces of money. As she was leaving him, she said again: "The affair is delicate. You must have patience and not hurry me. That would be dangerous." "I only ask you to do your best. Come and tell me as soon as you have an answer." Eternal Life was profoundly agitated. Since that moonlit night she had had no more taste for food, but had said: "If I married him I would not have lived in vain. But I know neither his name nor where he lives. When I saw him beneath the moon, why had I not wings to fly to him? ... As it is, I had only this red handkerchief." Yet she had to live and speak as usual. But as soon as she was alone she fell again into her musing. Two days later, old Lu entered their house. The father had gone out. The visitor said to mother and daughter: "I received certain artificial flowers yesterday, and have come to show them to you." She took a bunch of a thousand shades out of her basket. "Would you not say they were real?" "When I was young," said the mother, "we only wore ordinary flowers, and did not dream of marvels like these." "Yet these are only considered mediocre. But the price of the finest is so high." "If we cannot buy them, we can at least admire them," the young girl answered dryly. With gathering smiles, the old woman took from the basket a bunch which was indeed incomparable. "And what is the price of that?" questioned the mother. "How should I dare to fix a price? I leave it to you. But if you have a little tea, I would willingly drink of it." "In the admiration caused by your flowers, we have forgotten our manners. Wait for one moment, while I fetch some boiling water." As soon as the mother had left the room, the woman took a slight parcel from her sleeve. "What have you there?" asked Eternal Life. "Something important which you must not see." "Oh, but I must see it then." "I shall not give it to you," said the cunning old woman. "Aya! You have taken it from me by force!" she added, letting the parcel into the girl's hand. Impatiently the child untied the handkerchief, and recognized her slipper. Her face flushed into scarlet, and she said with difficulty: "A single one of these objects is of no use, ma-ma. Why did you show it me?" "I know a certain Lord who would give his life to have the pair. Will you not consent to help me?" Trembling all over, Eternal Life said to her softly: "Since you know all, tell me his name and where he lives." "He is called Chang, and he owns a hundred myriads of ounces. He is very gentle; his love is as deep as the sea. He has lost his soul through thinking of you, and has bidden me arrange a means for his entry." "How can it be done? My father is terrible. When I have blown out my lamp, he often comes to look into the rooms. What is your plan, ma-ma?" The old woman thought for a minute, and then said: "It is not very difficult. You must go to bed early and, as soon as your father has come up and gone down again, you must rise quietly and open the window. You must wait for a signal, and let down a long piece of cloth. He will climb up with the help of this rope, and, if he is careful to go away before the fifth watch, no one will surprise you." "Admirable!" cried the delighted child. "When will he come?" "It is too late to-day. But I will go to him to-morrow morning. Give me a pledge of re-assurance for him." "Assuredly! Take the other slipper. He will give it back to me to-morrow." The old woman hid it in her sleeve, for the mother came in by this time with the tea. Soon after, she took up her basket and went away, accompanied to the door by the two women. She went straight to the house of Chang, but he was out. She offered her flowers to the women of the house, waiting for some part of the day in vain. Next morning she went again to find the young man, but he had not returned. She went away thoughtful. The truth is that Chang had remained three days in the house of a Flower-in-the-Mist. When he returned and heard of the old woman's two visits, he hastened to find her. She said to him: "The pledge of love which you entrusted to me is in her hand. She bade me tell you that her father is dangerous, but that he is to be away for a long time shortly. She will inform us." On his return journey the young man passed by P'an's house. Eternal Life was at her window, and they smiled tenderly at one another. * * * * * Three months had passed. Chang was sitting one morning in his library, when his servants told him that four police officers had come with a summons. He asked himself fearfully whether he had been mixed up in any scandal at a pleasure house; but he had to obey. He questioned the officers. "It is a matter of taxes and duties," they answered. Reassured, he changed his clothes and went with them, followed by several of his servants. He was taken at once to the hall where the Court sat, and, standing before the red table, he saluted the magistrate. The latter looked at him intently, and harshly asked: "How did you enter into an intrigue with P'an's daughter? How did you kill her father and her mother?" Chang was a libertine. That is to say he had neither strength nor energy. Hearing himself thus unexpectedly accused of a double crime, he shook from head to foot, as if a bolt had fallen on him from a calm sky. He stammered: "Although I had the intention of establishing a connection with her, I have not yet succeeded in doing so. As yet I have not known her house." The Governor thundered: "She has just confessed that her relation with you has lasted several months. How dare you deny it?" Just then Chang perceived that the young girl was kneeling close to him. Bewildered and not knowing what to do, he turned to Eternal Life and asked: "How can you say that I have been intimate with you? With what object are you trying to encompass my ruin?" She sobbed without answering. Meanwhile the Governor called upon the officers to apply the buskin of torture to the young man. And they swarmed about him like ants. Unhappily for him, Chang Loyalty had been brought up in muslin and gauze, and had grown to manhood in a brocade. How could he endure such torture? Hardly had he felt the pressure of the buskin before he cried: "I confess everything!" The Governor had a brush and paper given to the accused, that he might himself write out his confession. The unhappy man wept, saying: "What must I write? I know nothing of the matter!" Then he turned to the young girl and added: "Do you at least tell me what you have done, so that I may write my confession." Eternal Life answered in irritation: "Did you not look at me with lecherous eyes under my window? Did you not throw your handkerchief? Did you not match the pair of my embroidered slippers?" "All that is true. But about the rest?" The Governor here interrupted: "If one thing is true, the rest is also. What is the use of arguing it? Since he refuses to write, let him be given thirty strokes of the heavy bamboo, let him be cast into the cell for those who are condemned to death." Happily for Chang, his gaolers knew that he was very rich. They but touched him with their blows, and led him to prison with as much care as they would a butterfly. Each of them cried: "Uncle, how could you do such a thing?" "O my elder brothers," he lamented, "if it is true that I desired this girl, yet have I never met her. Do you believe that I could be a murderer? I know nothing about the murder. Tell me of it." So he learned that, this very morning, Eternal Life on waking up had been surprised by the silence of the house. From the ground-floor room where she had passed the night, she had gone up to the story where her parents slept, and had opened the door of their room. In front of the bed, under the half-drawn curtains, the floor was a tarn of blood. She was so frightened that she tumbled down the stairs and fell upon the street door, sobbing and crying out. Neighbors heard her and ran up, and she said to them: "Yesterday, my parents went up to their room. I do not know who has killed them both." The bolder ones went up the stairs to see. They opened the bed-curtains, and there were the man and his wife, stiff and with their throats cut across. They looked to right and left. The window was shut, and nothing was disturbed. "It is a serious matter," they muttered. "Let us not act hastily." One of them went at once to warn the district chief of police, who came and examined the scene of the crime. He shut and sealed the house, and led Eternal Life to the Governor's Court. The girl knelt down and told all that she knew, and the Governor said: "If the door and windows were closed, and nothing has been stolen, the matter is dubious. Had your father an enemy?" "Not to my knowledge." "That is strange!" murmured the Governor, and thought for a moment. Suddenly he told the officers to take off the silken veil with which the young girl had half-covered her head. He could then see her exceptional beauty. "How old are you? Are you not betrothed?" "I am seventeen, and I am still free." "And you sleep on the ground-floor, while your parents have their room above? That is very curious." "Until quite recently your slave slept above. But fifteen days ago they made a change. I do not know why." The judge again reflected. Then he struck the table violently, crying out: "It is you who have killed your father and mother. Or, rather, it is your lover. Tell me his name." "Your slave never leaves the house. How could she have a forbidden love? Would not the neighbors know it?" The judge made a salacious grimace: "In a case of murder the neighbors know nothing. It is clear that you have had relations with a man. Your parents knew of it, and that is why they changed their room. Your lover killed them in a rage." Hearing these words, she became scarlet and then pale. At a sign from the Governor, the gaolers threw themselves like tigers upon the little girl, closing a cruel pair of iron nippers on her pellucid and delicate jade hand. As the jaws began to crush her fingers, she uttered loud cries: "Mercy, my lord. I have a lover." "What is his name?" "Chang Loyalty." And then she fainted. The Governor knew enough. He summoned the young man and, being convinced of his guilt, had him put in prison, while awaiting further information. It is well said in a certain proverb: "Even while you are sitting in your house with the doors shut, misfortune falls from heaven." In prison, Chang reflected upon this sudden accusation. Could he have committed this double crime in his sleep? In the end he offered his gaolers ten ounces if they would take him to Eternal Life. When they bargained, he promised twenty ounces. Then they led him as far as the grill of the women's prison. The girl was there, weeping without stint. As soon as she saw him, she reviled him between her sobs: "Ungrateful and dishonorable! You made me mad with love for you. Why should you cut my parents' throats, and cause my death?" "Do not make unnecessary noise," he interrupted. "Let us rather try to clear up this mystery. It is certain that I sent the old woman Lu to you with your little slipper. Did you see her?" "Naturally, wretch," she answered disdainfully. Again he interrupted: "She told me that you had kept your pledge, that your father was terrible, and that you were awaiting his departure in order to arrange a meeting. But since then I have known nothing of you, save a few rare smiles." "Forgetful murderer," she groaned, "again you deny it. Did you not confess all before the judge? Why do you come to torment me." "My unfortunate body could not endure the torture. By confessing I gained some days of life. Do not fly into a rage, but answer me: what happened after ma-ma Lu had visited you?" "We arranged everything for the next night. You came and gave me back my slipper. Since then you have climbed up to my room each night. Dare you say it is not true?" Chang thought deeply. The bystanders wondered whether he were guilty and seeking a clever explanation to save himself, or whether he were really innocent. At last he said: "Then if we have met often, you should be very certain of my voice and body. Look at me well, and think." The gaolers exclaimed: "What he says is just. If there were a mistake, would you leave him to die?" Eternal Life was puzzled, and looked at him earnestly. He repeated: "Is it I? Dear heart, speak quickly!" "He who came," she said at last, "was perhaps bigger. But it was always dark, and how can I be sure? But I remember that on your left shoulder you have a scar as big as a copper piece." The bystanders at once exclaimed: "That is easy to verify. There can be no further mistake. Uncle, unclothe yourself quickly. If there is nothing there, we shall inform the Governor." Chang immediately uncovered his shoulder, and the white flesh was as smooth as marble. Eternal Life could not believe her eyes. When the young man had gone back, filled full of hope, to his prison, the gaolers made their report to the Governor, who had already summoned ma-ma Lu. In the audience chamber the old woman knelt down and was quite overcome. The judge began by ordering her forty strokes for having acted as an abettor of corruption. The flesh of her thighs was nothing but a bloody paste. She told the whole story. After coming back from Chang's house without having seen him, old Lu had found her son Wu-han in their little food shop. He had said to her: "You come at the right time. I must kill a pig this morning, and our assistant has gone out for the day." The old woman did not like this work. But she was very much afraid of her son, and did not dare to refuse. "Wait till I have changed my clothes!" was all she said. While she was taking off her outer garment, a parcel fell from the sleeve of it. Thinking that it was money, Wu-han quickly picked it up and opened it. It was the pair of embroidered slippers. He said: "Oh! Oh! Who is the little girl who has such feet? She must be of a very loving nature. If I could hold her to my heart for a whole night, I should not have lived in vain. But how do these slippers come here, for they have already been worn?" "Give them back to me!" she cried. "There is much money in them, which I will hand to you." And she told him the whole matter. But he objected: "It has been a common saying from the earliest times that acts not committed can alone remain unknown. This P'an is a bravo. If he learns of the matter, all the silver which you receive will be too little to buy his silence. Our whole shop would fall into his hands." In dismay the old woman replied: "Your words are full of reason. I am going to give back the silver and the slippers. I am going to let it be understood that I refuse to embroil myself with curtain affairs." "Where is the silver?" he asked. The old woman took it from her sleeve, and he put it into his, saying: "Leave all to me. If they should happen to come and seek a quarrel with us, we shall have proofs against them. And, if nothing comes of it, no one will dare to reclaim the money." "But what shall I say if he asks me for news?" "That you have not had time enough. Or even that the matter cannot be arranged." What could she do, she who was thus deprived of the money and the pledge of love? She was surely obliged to lie. As for Wu-han, he at once went out and spent the money on rich clothes and a fine gauze bonnet. In the evening, when his mother was asleep, he put on his pretty clothes and set the slippers in his sleeve. As the great clock sounded the first watch, he went out softly and made straight for the house of P'an. Light clouds were hiding the moon. It was only half full. He coughed before the house. The window opened, and Eternal Life appeared. She tied a piece of silk to the frame, and let the other end fall. He caught it and climbed up, making use of the projections of the wall with his two feet. Then, with a thousand precautions, he stepped over the sill. Trembling, the girl hastened to draw back the piece of silk and to shut the window. Then he took the child in his arms, and passion leaped up in their two hearts. In the darkness, and in such emotion, how could that mistake be known? The usurper drew her towards him. Even so is the precious scented flower of the nutmeg embraced by the bind-weed. Even so is the plum blossom torn by the hail. Even so is the sparrow's nest most outraged by the cuckoo. When the first clouds of their desire were dissipated by the rain of caresses, Wu-han took from his sleeve the pledges of love. She gave them back to him: "Now that I am happy, I no more wish to go out." About the fourth watch, before daylight, Wu-han arose and climbed stealthily down to the street. Since that time there had to be a storm of rain, or the moon had to be very clear, to prevent Wu-han from hurrying to the small woman. The days, and then the months, passed in this way. One night the deceiver accidentally made some noise as he went away. P'an immediately came up to them, but saw nothing; for Eternal Life succeeded in not betraying herself. Next night she warned her lover, saying to him in her sense: "Do not come for a few days. That will be safer. Let us give them time to forget about it." But her father had his ears on the alert; he heard the window creak, and he ran up, though again too late. In the morning he said to his wife: "This baby is certainly about some villainy. She keeps her mouth as tight as a trap." "I also have a suspicion," replied her mother. "Yet the room opens on to the stairs, which come down into our room." "I am going to give her a good taste of the rod to make her speak." "That is a bad plan, a very bad plan," said her mother. "It is a true proverb that you must not show family blemishes. If you beat her, all the neighbors will know, and who would wish to marry her? Let us rather make her sleep in our room, which has no way out except the door. We will spend the night up the stairs, and see what happens." On being told of this proposal, Eternal Life dared not say anything. And on the higher floor husband and wife slept in peace. One evening Wu-ban felt his heart seething with passion. Fearing that he might be attacked by P'an, he armed himself with a knife, which he used to cut pigs' throats. Under Eternal Life's window, he coughed softly. Nothing stirred. He coughed more loudly, thinking she was asleep. But everything remained quiet. He was going back to his house, in a thoughtful mood, when he saw a ladder left near to a house which was being built. He seized upon it, carried it away, and put it up against Eternal Life's window. The catch was not locked. He pushed it open, climbed over the sill, and silently went toward the bed. Drunken with joy, Wu-ban was already disrobing himself of his clothes, when, in the stillness of the night, his ears caught the sound of two people breathing, instead of one. He listened with controlled breath. Unmistakably the rough breathing of a man was mingled with the softer murmur of a woman. He was suddenly blinded with violent anger: "This is why she did not answer my signal. The vile child has another man within. It was to get rid of me that she told me of her father's suspicion!" In his jealous madness he drew his knife and gently felt for the man's throat. With a clean blow he drove the weapon into the flesh, and before the woman could move, he cut her throat also, almost beheading her. He wiped the knife and his hands on the blanket, opened the window, and descended. He had closed the catches. Once outside, he ran to replace the ladder, and went back to his house. Denounced by his mother and brought before the Court, Wu-ban tried to deny the accusation. But the officers, on uncovering his shoulder, brought a scar to view. Eternal Life recognized his voice and his body. The first tortures overcame his obstinacy, and he confessed all. The murderer was condemned to slow death. Eternal Life was strangled, as was old Lu. Chang, whose lecherous intentions had been the cause of all, was sentenced to a heavy fine. In dismay, and half ruined, he no more left his study chamber. Not long afterwards, he was carried off by a lassitude and a languor. _Lu Wu-han yin liu ho chin hsieh (Lu Wi-han keeps an Embroidered Slipper to his scathe) Hsing Shih heng yen (1627), 16th Tale._ THE COUNTERFEIT OLD WOMAN During the Ch'eng-Hua period of our dynasty, there lived at Shantung a young man named Flowering Mulberry, whose parents possessed a sufficient fortune. He had just bound up his hair beneath his man's bonnet; his fresh and rosy complexion added to the delicate charm of his features. One day, as he was going to visit an uncle in a neighboring village, he was overtaken on the way by a heavy storm of rain, and ran for shelter into a disused temple; and there, seated on the ground waiting for the rain to stop, was an old woman. Flowering Mulberry sat down and, since the storm grew more violent, resigned himself to wait. Finding him beautiful, the old woman began to converse and ingratiate herself with him, until at length she came across to him, and finally her hands wandered gently over his body. He found this an agreeable manner of passing the time, but said after a little while: "How is it that, although you are a woman, you have the voice of a man?" "My son, I will tell you the truth, but you must not reveal it to anybody. I am not really a woman, but a man. When I was little, I used often to disguise myself and mimic the shrill tones of young girls; and I even learned to sew just as well as they. I used often to go to the neighboring market towns, pretending that I was a young girl and offering to do needlework; and my skill was soon much admired by all the dwellers in the houses where I worked. "I used to mingle with the women, and by degrees, according to the licentiousness of their thought, we would enjoy our pleasure. Soon the women found that they had no more occasion to go out for their dalliance; and even the sober-minded girls among them became involved. They did not dare to say anything, for fear of the scandal; and also I had a drug which I applied during the night to their faces, stupefying them so that they allowed me to do as I liked. When they recovered their senses it was too late, and they dared not protest. On the contrary, they used to bribe me with gold and silken stuffs to keep silence and to leave their house. Ever since then--and I am now forty-seven years of age--I have never again put on a man's garments. I have traveled throughout the two capitals and the nine provinces, and always when I see a beautiful woman I contrive to go to her house. In this way I accumulate riches with but little labor; and I have never been found out." "What an astonishing tale!" cried the fascinated Flowering Mulberry. "I wonder whether I could do the like." "One as beautiful as you are," answered the other, "will be taken for a woman by everyone. If you wish me to be your instructor you have only to come with me. I will bind up your feet, and teach you to sew; and we will go into every house together. You shall be my niece. If we find a good opportunity I shall give you a little of my drug, and you will then have no difficulty in achieving your purpose." The young man's heart was devoured by a desire to put this adventure to the proof. Without further hesitation he prostrated himself four times, and adopted the old woman as his master, taking not a moment's thought for his parents or for his honor. Such an intoxicating thing is vice. When it had stopped raining, he set out with the old woman; and as soon as they were beyond the boundaries of Shantung they purchased hair-pins and feminine dresses. The disguise was perfect, and anyone would have sworn that Flowering Mulberry was an authentic woman. He changed his first name for that of Niang "the little girl," though for a few days he was so embarrassed that he did not dare to speak. But his master seemed no longer wishful to look for fresh victims. Every evening he insisted upon his niece sharing his bed; and up to a very late hour would proceed with his instruction and that even to the furthest detail. It was not for this that Flowering Mulberry had disguised himself. One day he declared that thenceforward each should go his own way, and the other was bound to agree; but before leaving him, he gave the boy some further advice: "Two highly important rules are to be observed in our profession. The first is not to stop too long in the same house. If you stayed in the one place more than half a month, you would certainly be discovered. Therefore often change your district, so that from month to month there may be no time for the traces of your passage to become noticeable. The second rule is not to let a man come near you. You are beautiful, young and alone in life, and they will all wish to interfere with you. Therefore always surround yourself with women. One last word: have nothing to do with little girls; for they cry out and weep." So then the two parted. In the first village he came to, Flowering Mulberry perceived through a door the silhouette of a most graceful young woman, and struck upon the door by its copper knocker. The girl opened, and looked at him through eyes filled with fire. A needle-woman was just what they required. But in the evening the boy was disappointed by the arrival of a husband, whose lusty appearance left him small hope for the night. He was forced to wait until the young woman was left alone in the house by day, and came to work in the chamber where he sat. Then he ventured an observation upon the appearance of the countryside, and afterwards congratulated her on her husband. She blushed, and their conversation became more intimate. It was not until the next day, however, that he dared to make an advance. This met with immediate success. Two days afterwards he was forced into a hurried departure; for the husband had taken notice of him, and profited by his wife's momentary absence to suggest caresses. Thenceforward he followed his trade. At the age of thirty-two he had travelled over more than half the empire, and had beguiled several thousand women. Often, he was so bold as to attack more than eight persons at a time, in a single house, and not even the little slaves escaped his attention. The happiness of which he was thus the cause remained unsuspected, and no one suffered by it, since none could dream of its existence. He always remembered his master's rule, and never risked staying for more than a few days in the same place. At last he came to the province West-of-the-River, and was received into an important house, where there were more than fifteen women, all beautiful and young. His feeling toward each of these was of so lively a nature that twenty days had passed before he could make up his mind to go away. Now the husband of one of these girls perceived him and, at once falling in love with him, arranged that his wife should cause him to come to their house. Flowering Mulberry went, suspecting nothing, and hardly had he entered before the man came into the room, took him by the waist and embraced him. Naturally he protested and began to cry out; but the husband took not the slightest notice of that. He pushed him on to the next room and searched him with shameless hands. It was his turn to cry out: the slaves ran in, bound Flowering Mulberry, and led him to the court of justice. In front of the judge he tried to plead that he had adopted his disguise in order to gain his living. But torture drew from him his real name and the true motive of his behavior, together with an account of his latest exploits. The Governor sent a report to the higher authorities, for he had no precedent and knew not to what punishment to condemn him. The Viceroy decided that the case must come under the law of adultery, and also under that which dealt with the propagation of immorality. The penalty was a slow death. No extenuating circumstances were admitted. So ended this story. _Hsing shih heng yen (1627), 10th Tale._ THE MONASTERY OF THE ESTEEMED-LOTUS In the town of Eternal Purity there was once a large monastery dedicated to the Esteemed-Lotus. It contained hundreds of rooms, and its grounds covered several thousand acres. Its wealth and prosperity were due to the possession of a famous relic. The bonzes, who numbered about a hundred, lived in luxury; and visitors were sure to be received by one of them from the moment of entry, and to be invited to take tea and cakes. Now in the temple there was a "Babies' Chapel," which was reputed to possess miraculous virtue. By passing the night in it and burning incense, women who wished to have a son obtained a son: those who wished for a daughter obtained a daughter. Round the main hall were set several cells. Women who wished for children had to be of vigorous age and free from malady. They used to fast for seven days, and then go into the temple to prostrate themselves before Fo, and to consult the wands of divination. If the omens were favorable, they passed a night locked up alone in one of the cells, for the purpose of prayer. If the omens were unfavorable, it was because their prayers had not been sufficiently sincere. The bonzes made this fault known to them; and they began their seven days' fast anew, before returning to make their devotions. The cells had no sort of opening in their walls, and when a penitent entered one of them, her family and attendants used to come and install her. As soon as night came, she was locked in the cell, and the bonzes insisted that a member of her family must pass the night before her door, so that none might entertain the least suspicion of an entry to her. When the woman returned to her home, the child was already formed. It was born fat and beautiful always, and without any blemish. There was, moreover, no household, either of public officials or the common people, which did not send one or even two of its members to pray in the Babies' Chapel. And women came to it even from the provinces. Every day the crowd in the monastery was comparable with mountains or the sea, and the place was filled with the gayest hubbub. They no longer kept any reckoning of the offerings of every kind which flowed in upon them. When the women were asked how, during the night, the P'u-sa had made his answer intelligible, some answered simply that Fo had told them in a dream that they would have a son. Others said that they had dreamed that a lo-han had come and lain beside them. Others asserted that they had had no dream. Others again blushed and declined to answer. Some women never repeated this kind of prayer a second time: others, on the contrary, went to the temple as often as possible. You will tell me that this story of a Fo or of a P'u-sa coming every night to the monastery is in no way short of preposterous. But it must be borne in mind that the people of that district had a greater faith in sorcerers than in doctors, and could not distinguish the true from the false. Consequently they continued to send their wives to the temple. As a matter of course these bonzes, whose outward behavior was so laudable and correct, were wholly and unreservedly gluttons within, both for luxury and debauch. Although the cells were apparently quite close, each really had a secret door. When the women were sound asleep, the bonzes came softly into the cell, and to such purpose that, when their victims were aroused, it was already almost too late. Those who would have wished to protest kept silence for the sake of their reputations. Now the women were young and sound: the bonzes were strong and vigorous. They had, moreover, taken the precaution to cause certain special pills to be administered to their visitors. Consequently it but rarely happened that these prayers were not heard. Sober-minded wives would have died with shame sooner than confess the matter to their husbands; and, as for the others, they kept quiet so that they might be able to do it again. Matters were in this case when a new Governor was appointed to the district, the Lord Wang. Soon after he entered upon his office, he heard tell of the Monastery of the Esteemed-Lotus, and could not help thinking: "Since it is Fo and P'u-sa who are involved, it should be enough simply to pray. Why, then, must the women also go and pass the night in the temple? There must be some questionable artifice in that." But he could do nothing without proof; so he waited until the ninth Sun of the ninth Moon, which was a great festival, and then mixed with the crowd of the faithful who went to the holy place. Passing through the main gate, he found himself beneath great acacias and hundred-year-old pines. Before him stood the temple, brightly painted with vermilion and decorated by a tablet on which was inscribed in gold letters: "Monastery of the Esteemed-Lotus, for Retirement." To right and left was a succession of pavilions, and innumerable visitors were going out and coming in. The first bonze who saw the Governor wished to run and warn his companions. The Lord Wang attempted to stop him, but he broke loose, and soon the drums and bells were sounding to do honor to the magistrate, while the bonzes formed in two ranks and bowed as he passed along. He entered the temple and burned some joss-sticks; after which the Superior made him a low obeisance and begged him to come and rest himself for a moment in the reception hall. Tea was served. Then, concealing his true design, the Governor said: "I have learned of the great reputation of this Holy Retreat, and I intend to ask the Emperor to grant you a tablet of honor inscribed with the names and particulars of all the bonzes of the district." Naturally the delighted Superior wished to prostrate himself in thanks; but the Governor continued: "They have spoken to me also of a miraculous chapel. Is the matter so in truth? And in what manner are these prayers made?" The Superior answered without misgiving that the period of fasting was seven days; but that by reason of the greatness of their desire and the sincerity of their prayers it most frequently happened that the petitions of the suppliants were granted in a dream during the night which they passed at the monastery. The Governor asked carelessly what measures were taken to ensure the preservation of the proprieties; and the other explained that the cells had no other entrance than the door, before which a member of the family had to pass the night. "Since that is the case," said the visitor, "I shall send my wife here." "If you wish for a son, it is only necessary for both of you to pray sincerely in your palace, and the miracle will be accomplished," the Superior assured him hastily; for he was greatly afraid to see the local authorities concerning themselves in this affair. "But why must the wives of the people come here, if my wife need not disturb herself to do so?" "Are you not the protector of our doctrine, and is it not natural that the spirits should pay special attention to your prayers?" answered the astute bonze. "So be it," agreed Wang. "But allow me to visit this miraculous chapel." The hall was filled with women, who fled to right and left. The statue of Kwan-yin was covered with necklaces and pieces of embroidery. She was represented holding a child in her arms, while four or five babies clung to her robe. The altar and the walls were covered with votive offerings, chiefly consisting of embroidered slippers. Candles beyond number were held in branches of candlesticks. The hall was filled with the smoke of incense. To the left was the immortal Chang who gives us children. To the right was the "Officer of the Star of Extended Longevity." Wang bowed before the goddess. Then he went to visit the penitents' cells. Each ceiling was painted over with flowers, a carpet covered each floor and the bed, the table and the chairs were spotlessly clean. He examined the cells carefully all over and found no crack. Not a mouse, not even an ant could have entered in. He went out in perplexity and, after the usual formalities, again stepped into his palankeen, which was accompanied to the gate by all the bonzes. Thinking to the right and musing to the left, as the proverb says, the Governor suddenly conceived a plan. As soon as he arrived at the palace, he summoned one of his secretaries, and said to him: "Go and find me two harlots, and clothe them as honest women. Give one of them a box of black ink and the other a box of vermilion paste, and send them to pass the night at the monastery. If any one approaches them, let them mark his head with the red and the black. I shall go myself to-morrow morning to examine the matter. Above all, let this thing be kept the closest secret." The secretary at once went to seek out two public women of his acquaintance. One was named Mei-chieh, and the other Wan-erh. He took them to his house, explained the Governor's orders to them, and clothed them as matrons of good family. He summoned two palankeens, which he caused the sham penitents to enter, and himself conducted the procession to the monastery. He left the women in their cells, and came back to inform the monk on duty. After his departure, a little novice brought tea to the present visitors, who were more than ten in number. Who would have thought of troubling to examine the two new arrivals? At the sounding of the first watch, all the cells were locked. The members of the various families took up their positions before the doors. The bonzes shut themselves into their own apartments. When Mei-chieh found herself alone, she put her little box of vermilion near the pillow, turned up the lamp, undressed herself, and lay upon the bed. But she was unable to sleep for thinking of her mission, and continually kept looking through the bed curtains. The second watch sounded. On every side the sounds of human life were silenced, and all things were still. Suddenly she heard, under the floor, this noise: Ko-Ko. She sat up, thinking it was a rat, and saw a part of the floor move to one side. A shaven head appeared, and was quickly followed by the whole body. It was a bonze. Mei-chieh was astounded, and thought: "So these rascally priests have been outraging honest women!" But she did not stir. The bonze quietly blew out the lamp, came towards the bed, let fall his robe, and slipped under the blankets. Mei-chieh pretended to be asleep. She felt him gently move her leg to one side, and then she made as though to wake saying: "Who are you who come in the night and insult me?" She pushed him away, but the bonze embraced her in his arms, and whispered: "I am a lo-han with a body of gold, and I have come to give you a son." While speaking, he busied himself in accordance with his salacity. It must be said that all bonzes have no mean talent in the matter of cloud and rain; and this one was full of vigorous manhood. Mei-chieh was a woman of great experience, but she was unable to resist him and had difficulty, at length, in repressing herself. However, she took advantage of his arriving at the supreme point of his emotion to dip her fingers in the box of vermilion and to mark his head without his perceiving it. After a certain time, the bonze glided from the bed, leaving the girl a little packet, and saying: "Here are some pills to assist your prayer. Take three-tenths of an ounce each day in hot water, and you will have a son." Weary in body, Mei-chieh was just dimly closing her eyes, when she was aroused by a fresh touch, and, thinking that the same bonze had returned, said in surprise: "What? Are you able to come back again, when even I am so tired?" But he answered without a pause: "You are making a mistake! I have but just come, and the saviour of my comforts is as yet unknown to you." "But, I am tired...." "In that case, take one of these pills...." And he handed her a packet. But she was afraid that it might be poison and placed it on the bed, contriving in the same movement to dip her fingers in the vermilion and to stroke the newcomer's head. He was even more terrible than the former, and did not cease before cock-crow. As the old song says: In an old stone mortar Where so many pestles have been worn away, There is need of a heavy copper hammer, Or the work is lost. At dawn, another bonze appeared and said to them in a low voice: "Perhaps you have had your fill. Is not my turn coming?" The first bonze gave a chuckle, but rose and went out. The other then got upon the bed, and very gently caressed Mei-chieh. She pretended to repulse him, but he kissed her upon the lips, and said in her ear: "If he has fatigued you, I have here some pills which will restore the Springtime of your thoughts." And he thrust a pill into her mouth, which she could not avoid swallowing. A perfume rose from her mouth into her nostrils, and caused her bones to melt, imbuing her body with delicious warmth. But, even while thinking of herself, Mei-chieh did not forget the Governor's orders. She marked the head of this new assailant also, saying: "What a nice sleek old pate!" The bonze burst out laughing: "I am full of tender and reliable emotions. I am not like the unmannerly people of our town. Come and see me often." And he retired. Meanwhile the Governor had left his yamen by the fifth watch, before the day had yet broken, accompanied by an escort of about a hundred resolute men, carrying chains and manacles. Arriving at the still closed gate of the monastery, he made the greater part of his train hide to the right and left, keeping only some ten men about him. The secretary knocked at the gate, crying that the Governor was there and wished to enter. The first bonzes who heard his shout made haste to arrange their garments and receive the visitor. But the Lord Wang, paying no attention to their salutations, went straight to the apartment of the Superior, who was already up and prepared to begin the ritual of his greeting. But the Governor dryly ordered him to summon all the bonzes, and to show him the Convent register. Somewhat alarmed, the Superior ordered bells and drums to be sounded, and the bonzes, snatched from their sleep, ran up in groups. When the names written on the register had been called, the Governor commanded the astonished monks to remove their skullcaps. In the full light of the morning sun three heads were seen to be marked with vermilion, but, Oh, prodigy, no less than eleven heads were covered with black ink! "It no longer surprises me that these prayers should be so successful," murmured the secretary. "Indeed these bonzes are very conscientious!" Lord Wang pointed out the guilty ones, and caused them to be put in chains, asking: "Whence come these marks of red and black upon you?" But the kneeling monks looked at each other and could not answer, while the whole assembly remained stricken with wonder at this strange event. Meanwhile the secretary had gone into the Babies' Chapel and, by dint of shouting, had roused the two harlots from a heavy sleep. They quickly put on their garments, and came to kneel before the Governor, who asked them: "What did you see during the night? Tell me the whole truth." Since they had agreed to the mission, the two women rendered a plain account of the events of that night, showing the pills which the bonzes had given them, and also their boxes of vermilion and black. The bonzes, seeing that their schemes were brought to light, felt their livers turn and their hearts put out of working. They groaned in their secret despair, while the fourteen culprits beat the earth with their brows and begged for mercy. "Miserable wretches, you dare to preach divine intervention, so that you may deceive the foolish and outrage the virtuous! What have you to say?" But the cunning Superior already had his plan. He ordered all the bonzes to kneel, and said: "These unhappy ones whom you have convicted are without excuse. But they were the only ones who dared to act so. All my other monks are pure. You have been able to discover the shame of the guilty, which I in my ignorance could not, and there is nothing for it but to put them to death." The Governor smiled: "Then it is only the cells which these two women occupied that have secret passages?" "There are only those two cells," answered the unblushing Superior. "We shall question all the other women, and then see." The female visitors, who had already been wakened by the noise, came in turns to give their evidence. They were all in agreement: no bonze had come to trouble them. But the Governor knew that shame would prevent them from speaking, and therefore had them searched. In the pocket of each was found a little packet of pills. He asked them whence these came; but the women, purple in the face and scarlet in the neck, answered no word. While this examination was taking place, the husbands of the penitents came up and took a part in it. And their anger made them tremble like the hemp-plant or leaves of a tree. When the Governor, who did not wish to push his questioning too far, had allowed the visitors to depart, their husbands swallowed their shame and indignation, and led them away. The Superior had not yet given up the fight. He asserted that the pills had been given to the women as they entered the monastery. But the two harlots again affirmed that they at least had received them during the visit of the bonzes. "The matter is quite clear," the Governor cried at length. "Put all of these adulterers in chains!" The bonzes had some thought of resisting; but they had no weapons and were outnumbered. The only ones left free were an old man who kindled the incense, and the two little novices still in childhood. The gate of the monastery was closed and guarded. On his return to the yamen, the Governor took his seat in the Hall of Justice, and had his prisoners questioned in the usual ways. Fear of pain loosened their tongues, and they were condemned to death. They were cast into prison to await the ratification of their sentence. As the Governor of the prison went his rounds to inspect their bonds, the Superior whispered to him: "We have brought nothing, neither clothes, nor blankets, nor food. If you will allow me to return for a moment to the monastery with three or four of my monks, I will willingly give you a hundred ounces of silver." The prison governor knew the wealth of the monastery. He smiled: "My price is a hundred ounces for myself, and two hundred for my men." The Superior made a grimace, but was compelled to promise this larger sum. The warders consulted with each other, and finally, when night came, led the Superior and three of his bonzes back to the monastery. From a secret place among their cells the monks took the promised three hundred ounces, and gave them at once to the warders. While these were weighing them and sharing them among themselves, they collected the rest of their treasure, and secretly laid hold of weapons, short swords and hatchets, which they rolled up in their blankets. Also they brought away wine. Thus heavily laden, warders and bonzes alike returned to the prison, and held a feast. The priests succeeded in making their warders drunk. In the middle of the night they drew forth their weapons and, having first set each other free, proceeded to force the gates. They might perhaps have escaped altogether; but in their rancour against the Governor they went first to attack the yamen. The troops of police were numerous and well armed, and the bonzes were quickly overcome. The Superior gave his men orders to return as quickly as possible to the prison, to lay down their arms and to say that only a few of them had revolted, since this might save the others. But the warders attacked them so hotly that they were all put back in chains. Their crime was grave, and doubly aggravated by rebellion. Next day, when the sun had well risen, the Governor gave his judgment. All the hundred and twelve monks were led straight to the market-place and beheaded. Groups of men provided with torches went to set fire to the monastery, and it was soon a smoking ruin. Joy flowered upon the faces of all the men of that town. But it is said that many of the women wept in secret. _Adapted from Hsing shih heng yen (1627), 39th Tale._ A COMPLICATED MARRIAGE Marriages have from all time been arranged beforehand by Heaven. If such is the will of destiny, the most distantly separated persons come together, and the nearest neighbors never see each other. All is settled before birth, and every effort of mortals does but accomplish the decree of Fate. This is proved by the following story. During the Ching-yu period of the Sung dynasty, there lived at Hang-chow a doctor named Liu. His wife had given him a son and a daughter. The son, who was but sixteen years old, had been called Virgin Diamond, and was betrothed to young Pearl, of the family of Sun. He was brilliant in his studies, and gave every promise that he would one day attain to the highest literary standard, and to the greatest honor. The daughter was named Prudence. She was fifteen years old, and had just received marriage gifts from her betrothed, the son of P'ei, a neighboring druggist. Her eyebrows were like the feelers of a butterfly, and her eyes had the grace of those of a phoenix. Her hips, flexible as willow branches swayed by the wind, wakened the liveliest feeling. Her face was that of a flower; and the nimbleness of her light body brought to mind the flight of swallows. The go-between who had concluded Prudence's betrothal came one day at the instance of the P'ei family to ask that marriage might be hastened. But Liu had determined first to accomplish the ceremonies for his son, and accordingly took customary steps with this object in view, so that a day was at length fixed. But when the appointed time was drawing near, Virgin Diamond fell seriously ill. His father, Liu, wished to postpone the ceremony, but his mother argued that perhaps joy would cure him better than medicine. "But if, by mischance, our son should die?" he insisted. "We will send back the bride and all the gifts, and the family will have nothing to say." The doctor, like many men, was wax in the hands of his wife, and therefore her wish was fulfilled. But it chanced that one of their neighbors had been slightly affronted by them, and had never forgiven them. He heard of Virgin Diamond's illness, and spoke of it to the family of Sun. Sun had no intention of compromising his daughter's future; so he summoned and questioned the go-between who had arranged the betrothal. The poor woman was in a great quandary, fearing to offend either the one family or the other; yet she was compelled to admit the truth. In her anxiety she ran to the house of Liu to obtain a postponement of the marriage until Virgin Diamond's recovery, and hinted that, failing this, Sun would send his old nurse to see the sick bridegroom. Liu did not know what to do, and before he had come to a decision, the nurse arrived. He saluted her, not knowing what excuse to make. At last he said to the go-between: "Be so good as to entertain this venerable aunt for a moment, while I go and find my Old-Thornbush." He hurried into the interior of the house, and in a few words told his wife what was happening. "She is already here and wishes to see our son. I told you that it would have been better to change the day." "You really are a decayed piece of goods. Their daughter has received our gifts, and is already our daughter-in-law. You shall see." Then she said to Prudence: "Make haste and prepare our large room for a collation to the family of Sun." She herself went to the room where the nurse was, and asked: "Has our new daughter's mother something to say to us?" "She is uneasy about the health of your honorable son, and has sent me to see him, thinking that it would be better to postpone the marriage if he were seriously ill." "I am gratified to receive this proof of her consideration. My son has, in fact, taken cold, but it is not a serious indisposition. As for choosing another day, that is not to be thought of. Our preparations are made, and a delay would involve too great a loss. Furthermore, happiness drives away every ill. The invitations are sent out. We might imagine that your family had changed its intention...." "At least, can I see the invalid?" "He has just taken a drug and is asleep. Besides, I have told you that he has caught cold. Are you trying to insult me by expressing a wish to prove my words?" "If the matter stands thus," the nurse politely made haste to answer, "it only remains for me to withdraw." "You cannot go in this way. You have not even taken a cup of tea. If you please, let us go into the new room, for my house is all in disorder." On entering, the nurse observed the excellent arrangement of the young couple's apartment. "Everything is ready, as you see," said the wife of Liu. "And if my son is not quite recovered after the ceremony, I shall take care of him in my pavilion, until he is able to embark upon his conjugal life." Having taken tea, the nurse at last arose and went away. On her return she recounted to her master and mistress what had taken place, and Sun and his wife found themselves in a difficult dilemma. They could not think of allowing their daughter to ruin her life by entering of her betrothed, if he were going to die, and, if the young man were not seriously ill, they stood the risk of losing all their preparation, and of giving occasion for slander. Suddenly their son Yu-lang, who was present, said: "If they have not allowed him to be seen, it means that he is seriously ill. There is no way by which we can go back on our contract; and yet we cannot send my sister to her ruin in this fashion. I have a plan, and you must tell me what you think of it. Let us send the go-between to advise Liu that the marriage will take place on the appointed day, but that the bride's equipment will not be sent until after her husband's recovery. I am sure that they will reject this offer, and then we shall have a good excuse for throwing the blame on them." "But what if they should agree," objected his parents, after a moment's reflection. "They will certainly not agree, or else they would have postponed the marriage. Besides, it is impossible that they should be willing to have another mouth to feed, without any dowry or plenishing." His father said: "Very well, if by any chance they do agree, you shall disguise yourself as a woman and go in your sister's place. You could take a man's clothing with you, and put it on if the sick youth recovered, or matters seemed to take an unfortunate turn. They would not dare to say anything for fear of being ridiculed." "Oh! that is impossible!" cried the young man. "In the first place I would be discovered at once. And what would people say of me afterwards?" "They would say that you had played a trick on these people, and that is all. You are still in the freshness of youth. You are sufficiently like your sister to deceive those who do not know you very well, especially in a wedding garment. You must do it. That is decided. The nurse can go with you to arrange your hair.... And in this way, if our son-in-law dies, Liu will have neither my daughter nor her equipment." When the wife of Liu received Sun's proposal from the mouth of the go-between, she hesitated for a moment. But then she reflected on the false situation in which she would be placed by refusing. So, masking her thoughts beneath a smile, she agreed to the arrangement. On the day fixed for the marriage, Yu-lang was constrained to disguise himself. But two grave difficulties presented themselves. First with regard to his feet: how was it possible for him to imitate his sister's ravishing golden lotuses, so like to sphinx heads, and the balancing of her light steps, a swaying of flowers in the soft breeze? They gave him a petticoat which reached to the ground, and he practised his sister's gait, at which she laughed until she cried. The next question was his ear-rings. It so happened that his left lobe had been pierced; for in his childhood they had made him wear one ring, in order to persuade the evil spirits that he was a girl, whose death would be of no importance. Everybody knows that the Jinn always endeavor to rob us of that which is truly dear to us, and leave untouched that which is of no value. So Yu-lang hung a jewel in his left lobe, and stuck a small piece of plaster over his right ear, so that it might seem it had suffered a slight wound. His great pearl-decorated headdress concealed his head, brow and shoulders. His scarlet robes, embroidered with gold and silver, helped to disguise his figure, and the transformation was complete by rouge on his lips and cheeks. When evening at length drew near, drums and flutes were sounded, the flowered palankeen entered the courtyard, and the hoodwinked go-between, admiring the beauty of the bogus bride, herself opened the scarlet curtains. Not seeing Yu-lang; she remarked upon this circumstance, and they answered carelessly that he was indisposed and kept to his bed. Actually at that moment he was taking leave of his parents and imitating to the best of his ability the sobs which were fitting to the occasion. The procession at last set out and all the bride's equipment was a little leather trunk. At the house of Liu there was considerable discussion: "When the bride arrives, our son will be unable to cross the threshold as ritual demands, and the marriage will not be accomplished. The bride will be left alone to salute the ancestors, and this is impossible. What shall we do?" "It cannot be helped," answered the mother. "So much the worse! Our daughter must make it known that she will take her brother's place. She shall recite the poem of the threshold in his name, and the rites will be thus observed." And Prudence, in her graceful girl's garments, did in fact receive the false Pearl as she got out of the palankeen, pronounced the sacred formulas, and led the new bride before the tablets. The two seeming sisters-in-law knelt down, and several of the bystanders laughed inwardly to see two women perform the marriage ceremony, and then kneel for the purpose of the grand prostration. The wife of Liu led Yu-lang to the invalid's bed; but he had been excited and troubled by the music and noise, and had fainted. They had hastily to revive him by pouring some spoonfuls of hot soup in his mouth. At length the false bride was led to the prepared pavilion, and her great veil was taken off. Then her fresh beauty shone forth, and everybody uttered exclamations of joy: the wife of Liu was alone in feeling a certain compassion, for she thought of all that the new bride would have to lose, and deplored her son's misfortune in falling ill at the moment of tasting so great happiness. As for Yu-lang, the tedium of beholding the hideousness of all the guests was curiously diminished by the pleasure of seeing Prudence's delectable face. He thought: "What a misfortune that I am already betrothed! Here is she whom Fate should have given me." Prudence, on her part, felt herself drawn towards him in an irresistible manner, and said to her mother and the go-between: "Alas! surely my brother has no luck, and my sister-in-law will be very unhappy alone tonight! Is she not charming? If my future husband were like her, my life would be free from all regret." Meanwhile, the marriage feast came to an end, a present was sent to the musicians, and the guests withdrew. The disguised boy, after being conducted to his pavilion, had his nurse's assistance in unmaking the complicated structure of his nuptial adornment. At last he found himself alone, but with no wish for sleep. Now Liu and his wife said to each other: "It seems hard to leave the newly-wed bride alone for her first night under our roof. Would it not be better to tell Prudence to go and keep her company?" As always, the father made certain objections which were not listened to. Prudence insisted, and soon mother and daughter went together to the new pavilion, and approached the bed, the curtains of which were drawn shut. "Here is your sister-in-law come to spend the night with you...." Yu-lang did not know what to say. He was afraid of being discovered, and held the curtains very tightly under his chin, as he put his head through the opening. "I am accustomed to be alone," he stammered. But the mother said: "Aya! You are both of the same age, you are almost sisters. What are you afraid of? If you want to be particular, you have only to keep a blanket between you." During this time, Yu-lang was moved as much by fear as by delight. Was it not strangely fortunate that Prudence's mother should herself have come and let her in this manner to his bed? But if the young girl should call out? On the other hand he thought: "She is fifteen years old, therefore she has been ready for some time; the door of her emotions is ajar. If I take precaution and kindle her heart little by little, there is no need to fear that she will refuse to nibble at my hook." Now the wife of Liu had already retired, and Prudence had shot the bolt of the door. She was laughing all over the bright chrysanthemum of her face: "Sister-in-law, you have taken no refreshment. Are you not hungry? If you wish for anything, tell me, and I will go and fetch it for you." "I am deeply grateful to my sister-in-law for her gentle thought." Prudence noticed that the wick of the lamp had not been trimmed, and was burning long, straight and red. So she exclaimed: "That is for your happiness, sister-in-law!" The other could not restrain a burst of laughter. Prudence blushed and laughed also: "You know how to be merry." So they talked together. At length the maiden, taking the flowers out of her hair, got upon the bed and knelt down to undress herself. He asked her: "On which pillow would you like to sleep? The lower one?" "As my sister-in-law wishes." "Then, if you please, let us sleep on the same." "Very well." Prudence had slipped under the blankets to finish undressing, and the boy did likewise, removing his upper garment. The lamp, placed on a little table beside the bed, dimly lit up the recess through the thin curtains. His emotion began to rise, and he asked: "How many flowering Springtides have you known?" "Fifteen, this year." "Are you betrothed?" But she was seized with unaccountable shyness, and dared not answer. He brought his lips close to the delicate ear lying beside him, and whispered: "Why are you so bashful? We are only two women together." Very low, she answered him: "I am betrothed to the son of P'ei, the druggist, and already they are urging that the ceremony should take place. Happily nothing is yet decided." "You are not very eager, then?" She pushed his head gently away, saying: "It is not nice of you to take hold of my words in this way, and to make fun of me. If I am not eager, you do not seem to be any more so than I." "And how do you know that, maiden? In any case, how could I be so when we are two women." "You speak to me as if you were my mother," the other laughed. "Considering my age, I should rather be your husband," he thoughtlessly said. She burst out laughing: "It is I who am the husband, seeing that I took my brother's place at the wedding." "Well, let us not argue, but rather act as if we were husband and wife." Thus both of them spoke words of meaning. They grew more and more passionate. "Since we are husband and wife," he said impatiently, "why do we not sleep under the same blanket?" As he spoke, he pushed back the thick quilt, and began to observe the garment on the so sweet and smooth, so soft and graceful body. She had kept on an under garment, but her heart was filled with Springtime thoughts, and she offered no resistance to his eye. Then, trembling with desire, he came to her breasts that had so lately dawned, and were so firm. Their tender points were red as a cock's crest, and in all things lovable. Delighted with this game, Prudence put out her hands to return his caresses, and also found his breasts. But there was nothing but quite a little button. She was astonished, and said to herself: "She is as tall as I am. How comes it that she is not further developed?" But by this time Yu-lang was holding her right in his arms, and had his lips glued to her, wantonly thrusting out his tongue. She continued the game by giving it a little nibble, and then thrust out her own tongue. This he so tenderly caressed with his that the girl's body seemed all at once to melt, and she said languorously: "This is no longer a game. We are truly husband and wife!" The false bride, seeing that he had fully awakened the passion of his dupe, made answer: "Not yet. We must take off our under garments." "But I am afraid lest people should talk. It is not good to take them off." He gave a nervous laugh and, without paying attention to her words, undid her girdle and took off her garment. As he advanced toward her, she protected herself with her two hands, saying: "Sister-in-law, sister-in-law, you must not!" But he kissed her again upon the lips. "There is nothing to forbid it, little sister. You may caress me also." In her agitation, and so as not to seem too stupid, she took off his vest, and her timid little hand suddenly stopped short. Her surprise was such that, for a moment, she could not speak. But at last she said: "What man are you who dare to take my sister-in-law's place?" "I am your husband," he answered hugging her to him. She pushed him off, and said seriously: "If you do not tell me in plain truth who you are, I shall cry and call out, and you will be sorry for that." "Do not be angry, little sister," he replied. "I will tell you everything. I am Yu-lang, your sister-in-law's elder brother. My parents heard that your brother was seriously ill, and did not wish my sister to leave our house; but since your parents would not alter the day of the marriage, I had to disguise myself and take my sister's place, until your brother should be healed. I never expected that Heaven would, in its bounty, allow me to become your husband. But we alone must know of our love. Let us not betray it to any." Pressing forward again, he tried to bind her in his arms. Although she had believed she was with a woman, Prudence had loved him from the first; the feeling which she had mistaken for friendship quickly changed to that of love, for it was kindled, as was all of her, by the young man's ardour. Nevertheless she was suffused with shame, and so wavered between one extremity and the other. As for him, in the freshness of his still maiden youth he spoke to her of everlasting vows, of a love higher than the mountain and vaster than the sea, and of a marriage shaped from a boundless happiness. Her betrothed, her parents and her shame were all forgotten. She covered her face with her hand and resisted no longer. When the cloud and the rain of their intoxication had been dispelled, they clasped each other close and went to sleep. Meanwhile, the nurse, being in the secret of this disguise, had been much disturbed at seeing Prudence share the young man's bed. From the adjoining room she had heard their laughter, and then their sighs, and had no further doubt of what had happened. And inwardly she cried: "Woe! Woe!" In the morning, after Prudence had returned to her parents' house to perform her toilet, the woman came in to wait upon Yu-lang, and said to him in a low voice: "O practitioner! You have done a fine thing! What will happen if people come to know of it?" "I did not search her out. Her mother led her to my bed. How could I have avoided this?" "You ought to have resisted with all your might." "With such an adorably beautiful girl? Even a man of iron and stone could not have resisted. Also, if you say nothing, who will know of it?" When the process of disguise was again completed, he went to salute the wife of Liu. Then all the women of the house and the cousins came to see him. Finally Prudence came in, and they two laughed together. For that day, as was the custom, Liu and his wife had invited their relations and friends, and there was a great feast, with music and a dinner lasting until the evening. Then, when the house was quiet again, the girl went, as on the previous night, to keep young Yu-lang company. That night, even more so than the preceding one, the butterflies beat their wings, and the passionate phoenixes were convulsed. In the morning, they kept together. Therefore the scandalized nurse ran out and told everything to Sun said his wife, and they reeled with surprise and emotion. "Alas, misfortune will certainly come of it! We must bring him back as soon as possible." They summoned the go-between and told her that, according to custom, on the third day after the marriage they wished to see their daughter at their house. She therefore went to the home of Liu, and the two lovers trembled when they heard of this request. But the wife of Liu had not forgotten the difficulties which Sun had made with regard to the marriage; and she was afraid of not seeing her daughter-in-law again. So she said: "But my son is still suffering, and the marriage has not been altogether accomplished. We will speak of this again at some later time." This answer had to be sufficient. The nurse was in terror, and watched the approaches of the room all night for fear lest anybody should hear the rapturous exclamation of the lovers. The days passed, and Virgin Diamond gradually grew better. Since he admired the beauty of his young wife, his desire to know her hastened his recovery, and the time came when he was able to get up. Still walking unsteadily, he went into the nuptial pavilion to see her who was his bride, and came before the door, supported by his attendants. The nurse was there, and cried out loud: "My Lord wishes to enter!" Yu-lang was, quite naturally, holding Prudence in his arms. He hastily released her, and went close to the door. "You have succeeded in rising, my elder brother?" said Prudence. "You will fatigue yourself." "That is no matter," he answered, making a deep obeisance before her whom he believed to be his wife. "Ten thousand happinesses be with you!" Yu-lang graciously replied. "What an exquisite pair!" cried the wife of Liu, proud of her son and happy at his fortune. The false bride's beauty was meanwhile strangely reviving the invalid's vitality. And the other lad thought: "He is a fine boy in spite of his illness: there is no need to pity my sister. But if he can get up, he will waste no time in coming to spend the night with me. I must depart as quickly as possible." When evening came, he explained his fears to Prudence. "It is quite necessary to persuade your mother to send me back to my home, that I may change places with my sister. Everything will be discovered if we delay." "You wish to go? But what will become of me alone?" "I have already thought of that. Alas. Alas! But we are both betrothed to another. What can we do?" "If you do not want me living, I must die so that my soul may follow you." And she sobbed and sobbed. He dried her eyes saying to her: "Do not meet trouble in this way, but leave me to find a plan." They clasped each other in their arms, shedding most bitter tears. Now it must be said that the wife of Liu was a little wearied of seeing her daughter night and day inseparable from her sister-in-law. However, she said nothing, because the marriage was not actually accomplished. But passing before the marriage pavilion on that day, she heard a sobbing. She drew near noiselessly and, through a hole in the window paper, saw them close in each other's arms and weeping. "This is very odd," she said. She wished to make an outcry, but remembered that her son was just getting better, and would fall ill again from any sorrow. She gently tried to push the door open, but it was locked. She called out: "It is strange that this door should be locked!" The lovers recognized her voice, and made haste to dry their tears and open the door. She came in. "Why do you lock yourselves in during full daylight, and groan and embrace each other?" They felt the blood flow to their faces, and answered nothing. The mother's hands and feet were trembling with rage. She seized hold of her daughter: "You are playing some pretty trick. Let me talk to you a little." And she dragged her into an empty room. The attendants who saw her asked each other why the girl was being dragged along like that. But by this time the mother had locked the door. When the attendants came and looked through the holes in the paper, they saw her lifting a stick, and heard her crying: "O wretch, tell me the truth, or I shall strike you! Why were you weeping?" At first Prudence thought of denial. Then she said to herself that it would be better to confess and to beg her parents to break off her betrothal with the family of P'ei, so that they might marry her to Yu-lang. If they refused, she would die. That was all. So she told the whole matter without evasion. "We are husband and wife. Our love is boundless, and our vows will endure for at least a hundred years. My brother is recovered, and we fear that we shall be separated. Yu-lang wishes to return to his parents, to send his sister in his place. It seemed, then, to your daughter that a woman cannot have two husbands, and that if Yu-lang cannot marry me, I must die." As she listened to her, her mother's breast opened with rage, and she stamped her feet: "This rotten carrion has sent his son here and has deceived me. And now my daughter is lost. I must beat him unmercifully!" She seized her stick, opened the door and ran forth. Her daughter, forgetting her shame, tried to prevent her; but the old woman pushed her away violently, so that she fell down. Prudence got up and ran after her. The attendants also ran. Now Yu-lang had very well understood that all was discovered when Liu's wife had dragged her daughter away. A moment later, the nurse hurried in. "O my Gods! And, ah unhappiness! All is well lost! Prudence is being questioned with the stick." It seemed to him that two knives were piercing his heart. He burst out into sobbing. But the nurse was already taking out his hair-pins and clothing him as a man. In a state of stupor he let himself be hurried to the main door and through the streets. A few moments later he was back at his parents' house. His father did not fail to say to him: "I told you to play the girl, not the man. Why have you committed acts of which Celestial Reason disapproves?" Yu-lang jostled thus by his father and his mother, no longer knew where he stood. Meanwhile the nurse objected: "But what can they say there? Our young Lord has only to keep himself hidden for a few days, and it will all pass over." But at Liu's house the nurse, as she went away, had unwittingly locked the door, and Liu's wife had come to it and was shaking it violently, stammering with rage and flourishing her stick. "Thief, whom may Heaven strike dead! O very vile rascal! For what did you take me? I am going to show you who I am! I will have your life! If you do not open the door, I shall break it open with a great case." But naturally no one answered. Prudence tried in vain to stay her mother, who loaded her with insults; but at last, in her rage, she succeeded in breaking the lock, and rushed into the room with her stick uplifted. The cage was empty and the bird had flown. She knelt on all fours to look under the bed and under the furniture, crying out all the time: "Thief, you shall die!" But, as she was compelled to admit, there was no trace of the ravisher. Then Prudence said to her, sobbing meanwhile: "And now, after this scandal, the P'ei family is let into the whole secret. I entreat you to have pity on me and let me marry Yu-lang. Otherwise, must I not die in order to redeem my shame?" She fell on her knees, weeping and groaning. "What you say is true," answered her mother resuming some measure of calm. "After this wonderful affair, no one will want you." However, a mother's love cannot be altogether restrained. She drew near to her daughter: "My poor child! All this is not your fault. It is that rotten carrion of a Sun who has caused it. But we cannot, of ourselves, break off the betrothal with P'ei." As Liu came up in the meantime, the matter had to be explained to him. He was nearly half a day without being able to speak, and it may be surmised that his first words were to throw the blame on his wife: "The whole fault is yours! By making me say I do not know what, you arranged all this. Instead of altering the date as you should have done! And to crown all, you insisted upon placing our daughter in his arms! She has very well kept him company, has she not?" His wife's anger was not quite dead, and these remarks rekindled it. Her voice rolled out like thunder: "You old tortoise!" she began.... But on this occasion he also was furious. He advanced, threatening to strike her. Prudence tried to come between them, and all three were nothing but a rolling, striking, shouting and weeping congeries. The servants then ran to inform Virgin Diamond who rose from his bed and unsteadily ran. His mother was moved with pity to see him, and his father also stopped his vituperation. They both went out muttering. Virgin Diamond then asked his sister the cause of all this, and why his young wife was no longer there. She answered only with tears; but his mother, who had returned, told the whole story. Virgin Diamond's anger was so strong that his face became the color of the earth. However, he contained himself, saying: "Let us not publish this family shame abroad. If the news spreads, everybody will laugh at us." As a matter of course, their mischievous neighbor, Li, had heard their shouting and weeping. He had quickly climbed on to his wall, but had been unable to understand what was happening. Next morning he watched for the first of the women slaves who came out, and drew her into his house. Fifty pieces of copper decided the girl to speak, and the delighted Li, letting her depart, ran to the house of P'ei, to whom he told all that he knew. P'ei went straight to the house of Liu: "I know all," he cried. "Give back the gifts, and let no more be said." Liu's face became red and white by turns. He thought: "How does he already know what happened in my house but yesterday?" Then he denied the matter: "Kinsman, whence come these words with which you are trying to sully my family?" "Miserable cheat!" cried the other, "you are in very truth an old tortoise." And he struck him on the face with his hand. "Murderer!" cried Liu in a fury. "Do you dare to come to my house and insult me and strike me?" And he struck P'ei such a violent blow that the old man fell to the ground. Then they began to belabor each other. Virgin Diamond and his mother, hearing their cries, ran up and separated them. Afterward P'ei, pointing with his finger and trembling, cried: "You know how to strike, old tortoise! We shall see whether you are as clever in speaking before the judge." And he went out swearing. Liu exclaimed: "It is all Sun's fault. If I do not bring an action against them, they will even now escape entirely free." In spite of his son's curses, he hurriedly set about writing an accusation, and ran to the Governor s palace. The court was sitting, and Liu, holding his accusation, approached the judge. P'ei was already there, and reviled him as soon as he saw him. Liu retaliated, and the battle began anew. At this interruption, the magistrate sternly ordered the two to kneel and explain themselves. Both spoke confusedly at the same time, but the whole story was none the less made clear. All those who were implicated in the matter were summoned, and they came to fall upon their knees. At length the judge delivered sentence. All the former betrothals were annulled. Yu-lang became betrothed to her whom he had outraged. But the Sun family owed a compensation to the Liu family, which in its turn owed a bride to the P'ei family. So Pearl Sun was given to the son of P'ei, and Virgin Diamond was bestowed upon the former betrothed of Yu-lang. Having settled the affair, the Governor summoned three red palankeens and the three brides were conducted under escort to the homes of their new husbands. The town of Hang-chow talked of this affair for a long time, but in the end forgot it for some new scandal. _Hsing shih heng yen (1627), 8th Tale._ 11754 ---- great-granddaughter of the subject of this biography. FORTY YEARS IN SOUTH CHINA The Life of Rev. John Van Nest Talmage, D.D. by Rev. John Gerardus Fagg Missionary of the American Reformed (Dutch) Church, at Amoy, China 1894 INTRODUCTION. BY REV. T. DE WITT TALMAGE, D.D. Too near was I to the subject of this biography to write an impartial introduction. When John Van Nest Talmage went, my last brother went. Stunned until I staggered through the corridors of the hotel in London, England, when the news came that John was dead. If I should say all that I felt I would declare that since Paul the great apostle to the Gentiles, a more faithful or consecrated man has not lifted his voice in the dark places of heathenism. I said it while he was alive, and might as well say it now that he is dead. "He was the hero of our family." He did not go to a far-off land to preach because people in America did not want to hear him preach. At the time of his first going to China he had a call to succeed Rev. Dr. Brodhead, of Brooklyn, the Chrysostom of the American pulpit, a call with a large salary, and there would not have been anything impossible to him in the matters of religious work or Christian achievement had he tarried in his native land. But nothing could detain him from the work to which God called him years before he became a Christian. My reason for writing that anomalous statement is that when a boy in Sabbath-school at Boundbrook, New Jersey, he read a Library book, entitled "The Life of Henry Martyn, the Missionary," and he said to our mother, "Mother! when I grow up I am going to be a missionary!" The remark made no especial impression at the time. Years passed on before his conversion. But when the grace of God appeared to him, and he had begun his study for the ministry, he said one day, "Mother! Do you remember that many years ago I said, 'I am going to be a missionary'?" She replied, "Yes! I remember you said so." "Well," said he, "I am going to keep my promise." And how well he kept it millions of souls on earth and in heaven have long since heard. But his chief work is yet to come. We get our chronology so twisted that we come to believe that the white marble of the tomb is the mile-stone at which a good man stops, when it is only a mile-stone on a journey, the most of the miles of which are yet to be travelled. The Dictionary which my brother prepared with more than two decades of study, the religious literature he transferred from English into Chinese, the hymns he wrote for others to sing, although himself could not sing at all, (he and I monopolizing the musical incapacity of a family in which all the rest could sing well), the missionary stations he planted, the life he lived, will widen out, and deepen and intensify through all time and all eternity. I am glad that those competent to tell of his magnificent work have undertaken it. You could get nothing about it from him at all. Ask him a question trying to evoke what he had done for God and the church, and his lips were as tightly shut as though they had never been opened. He was animated enough when drawn out in discussion religious, educational, or political, but he had great powers of silence. I once took him to see General Grant, our reticent President. On that occasion they both seemed to do their best in the art of quietude. The great military President with his closed lips on one side of me, and my brother with his closed lips on the other side of me, I felt there was more silence in the room than I ever before knew to be crowded into the same space. It was the same kind of reticence that always came upon John when you asked him about his work. But the story has been gloriously told in the heavens by those who through his instrumentality have already reached the City of Raptures. When the roll of martyrs is called before the Throne of God, the name of John Van Nest Talmage will be called. He worked himself to death in the cause of the world's evangelization. His heart, his brain, his lungs, his hands, his muscles, his nerves, all wrought for others until heart and brain, and lungs and hands, and muscles and nerves could do no more. He sleeps in the cemetery near Somerville, New Jersey, so near father and mother that he will face them when he rises in the Resurrection of the Just, and amid a crowd of kindred now slumbering on the right of him, and on the left of him, he will feel the thrill of the Trumpet that wakes the dead. Allelujah! Amen! BROOKLYN, June, 1894. PREFACE. The accompanying resolution of the Board of Foreign Missions of the Reformed Church in America, November 16, 1892, explains the origin of this volume: "Resolved, That the Board of Foreign Missions, being firmly convinced that a biography of the late John V. N. Talmage, D.D., for over forty years identified with the Mission at Amoy, would be of great service to the cause of Missions, heartily recommend to the family of Dr. Talmage the selection of an appropriate person to prepare such a memoir, and in case this is done, promise to render all the aid in their power in furnishing whatever facts or records may be of service to the author of the book." The writer raised his pen to this task with hesitancy. He had known Dr. Talmage only little more than a year; long enough, indeed, to revere and love him, but not long enough to tell the story of so rich and fruitful a life. Dr. Talmage was a man of unconscious greatness. If he could have been consulted it is doubtful whether a public record of him would have ever seen the light. His life to him would have seemed too commonplace and unworthy. He was exceedingly careful in the use of language. He could not endure exaggeration. Nothing so commanded his admiration as honesty and accuracy of statement. That ought to be sufficient to guard any one who speaks of such a man against indiscriminate eulogy. We have endeavored as far as possible to make this memoir an autobiography. To carry out this purpose has not been without difficulties. Dr. Talmage did not keep a continuous diary. He did not preserve complete files of his correspondence as if anticipating the needs of some possible biographer. The author's enforced retirement from the mission field in the midst of collecting and sifting material, has been no small drawback. It is hoped, however, that enough has been gleaned to justify publication. Sincerest thanks are due to those brethren who contributed to the concluding chapter, "In Memoriam." If these pages may more fully acquaint the Church of Christ with a name which it should not willingly let die, and deepen interest in and hasten by the least hair-breadth the redemption of "China's Millions," the author will feel abundantly rewarded. JOHN G. FAGG. ARLINGTON, NEW JERSEY October 1, 1894. LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS Rev. John Van Nest Talmage Chinese Clan House Buddhist Temple, Amoy Pagoda near Lam-sin Chinese Bride and Groom Traveling Equipment in South China Pastor Iap and Family The Sio ke Valley Glimpse of the Sio-ke River Scene in the Hakka Region Girl's School; The Talmage Manse; Woman's School. (Kolongsu, opposite Amoy) Pastor Iap CONTENTS I. The Ancestral Home II. Call to China and Voyage Hence III. The City of the "Elegant Gate" Description of Amoy and Amoy Island Ancestral Worship Infanticide Is China to be won, and how? Worship of the Emperor IV. Light and Shade The Chiang-chiu Valley Breaking and Burning of Idols The Chinese Boat Race and its Origin The Chinese Beggar System Two Noble Men Summoned Hence V. At the Foot of the Bamboos Opium Romanized Colloquial Chinese Sense of Sin Primitive Lamps Zealous Converts The Term Question What it Costs a Chinese to become a Christian Persecuted for Christ's Sake "He is only a Beggar" Printing under Difficulties Carrier Pigeons VI. The "Little Knife" Insurrection How the Chinese Fight VII. The Blossoming Desert Si-boo's Zeal An Appeal for a Missionary VIII. Church Union The Memorial of the Amoy Mission IX. Church Union (continued) X. The Anti-missionary Agitation XI. The Last Two Decades Forty continuous Years in Heathenism Chinese Grandiloquence XII. In Memoriam Dr. Talmage--The Man and The Missionary By Rev. W. S. Swanson, D.D. Venerable Teacher Talmage By Pastor Iap Han Chiong Rev. John Van Nest Talmage, D.D. By Rev. S. L. Baldwin, D.D. The Rev. J. V. N. Talmage, D.D. By Rev. Talbot W. Chambers, D.D., LL.D. Rev. John Van Nest Talmage, D.D. By Rev. John M. Ferris, D.D. APPENDIX I. THE ANCESTRAL HOME John Van Nest Talmage was born at Somerville, New Jersey, August 18, 1819 He was the fourth son in a family of seven brothers and five sisters. The roots of the Talmage genealogical tree may be traced back to the year 1630, when Enos and Thomas Talmage, the progenitors of the Talmage family in North America, landed at Charlestown, Massachusetts, and afterwards settled at East Hampton, Long Island. Dr. Lyman Beecher represents the first settlers of East Hampton as "men resolute, enterprising, acquainted with human nature, accustomed to do business, well qualified by education, circumspect, careful in dealing, friends of civil liberty, jealous of their rights, vigilant to discover, and firm to resist encroachments; eminently pious." In 1725 we find Daniel Talmage at Elizabethtown, New Jersey. Daniel's grandson, Thomas, during the years between 1775 and 1834 shifts his tent to Piscataway, New Jersey, thence to New Brunswick, thence to Somerville, where the stakes are driven firmly on a farm "beautiful for situation." Thomas Talmage was a builder by trade, and erected some of the most important courthouses and public edifices in Somerset and Middlesex Counties. He was active in the Revolutionary war, holding the rank of major. It was said of him, "His name will be held in everlasting remembrance in the churches." He was the father of seven sons and six daughters. The third son, David T., the father of John Van Nest Talmage, was born at Piscataway, April 21, 1783. He was married to Catharine Van Nests Dec. 19, 1803. David T. Talmage was rather migratory in his instincts. The smoke of the Talmage home now curled out from a house at Mill stone, now from a homestead near Somerville, then from Gateville; then the family ark rested for many years on the outskirts of Somerville and finally it brought up at Bound Brook, New Jersey. Though the family tent was folded several times, it was not folded for more than a day's wagon journey before it was pitched again. The places designated arc all within the range of a single New Jersey county. In 1836 David T. Talmage was elected a member of the State Legislature and was returned three successive terms. In 1841, he was chosen high sheriff of Somerset County. Four of his sons entered the Christian ministry, James R., John Van Nest, Goyn, and Thomas De Witt. James R., the senior brother, rendered efficient service in pastorates at Pompton Plains and Blawenburgh, New Jersey, and in Brooklyn, Greenbush, and Chittenango, New York. He received the degree of Doctor of Divinity from Rutgers College, New Jersey, in 1864. John Van Nest gave his life to China. Goyn, a most winsome man and eloquent preacher, ministered with marked success to the churches of Niskayuna, Green Point, Rhinebeck, and Port Jervis, New York, and Paramus, New Jersey. He was for five years the Corresponding Secretary of the Board of Domestic Missions of the Reformed Church. Rutgers College honored herself and him by giving him the degree of Doctor of Divinity in 1876. Thomas De Witt, the youngest son, still ministers to the largest church in Protestant Christendom. What a river of blessing has flowed from that humble, cottage well-spring. The wilderness and the parched land have been made glad by it. The desert has been made to rejoice and blossom as the rose. The courses thereof have gone out into all the earth, and the tossing of its waves have been heard to the end of the world. In November, 1865, Dr. T. De Witt Talmage preached a sermon on "The Beauty of Old Age"[*] from the words in Eccles. xii. 5, "The Almond Tree shall flourish." It was commemorative of his father, David T. Talmage. He says: "I have stood, for the last few days, as under the power of an enchantment. Last Friday-a-week, at eighty-three years of age, my father exchanged earth for heaven. The wheat was ripe, and it has been harvested. No painter's pencil or poet's rhythm could describe that magnificent sun setting. It was no hurricane blast let loose; but a gale from heaven, that drove into the dust the blossoms of that almond tree. [Footnote *: This sermon gives so graphic and tender a portrayal of the father of one of America's most distinguished ministerial families, that the author feels justified in making so lengthy an extract.] "There are lessons for me to learn, and also for you, for many of you knew him. The child of his old age, I come to-night to pay an humble tribute to him, who, in the hour of my birth, took me into his watchful care, and whose parental faithfulness, combined with that of my mother, was the means of bringing my erring feet to the cross, and kindling in my soul anticipations of immortal blessedness. If I failed to speak, methinks the old family Bible, that I brought home with me, would rebuke my silence, and the very walls of my youthful home would tell the story of my ingratitude. I must speak, though it be with broken utterance, and in terms which seem too strong for those of you who never had an opportunity of gathering the fruit of this luxuriant almond tree. "First. In my father's old age was to be seen the beauty of a cheerful spirit. I never remember to have heard him make a gloomy expression. This was not because he had no conception of the pollutions of society. He abhorred everything like impurity, or fraud, or double-dealing. He never failed to lift up his voice against sin, when he saw it. He was terrible in his indignation against wrong, and had an iron grip for the throat of him who trampled on the helpless. Better meet a lion robbed of her whelps than him, if you had been stealing the bread from the mouth of the fatherless. It required all the placidity of my mother's voice to calm him when once the mountain storm of his righteous wrath was in full blast; while as for himself, he would submit to more imposition, and say nothing, than any man I ever knew. "But while sensitive to the evils of society, he felt confident that all would be righted. When he prayed, you could hear in the very tones of his voice the expectation that Christ Jesus would utterly demolish all iniquity, and fill the earth with His glory. This Christian man was not a misanthrope, did not think that everything was going to ruin, considered the world a very good place to live in. He never sat moping or despondent, but took things as they were, knowing that God could and would make them better. When the heaviest surge of calamity came upon him, he met it with as cheerful a countenance as ever a bather at the beach met the incoming Atlantic, rising up on the other side of the wave stronger than when it smote him. Without ever being charged with frivolity, he sang, and whistled, and laughed. He knew about all the cheerful tunes that were ever printed in old 'New Brunswick Collection,' and the 'Strum Way,' and the sweetest melodies that Thomas Hastings ever composed. I think that every pillar in the Somerville and Bound Brook churches knew his happy voice. He took the pitch of sacred song on Sabbath morning, and lost it not through all the week. I have heard him sing plowing amid the aggravations of a 'new ground,' serving writs, examining deeds, going to arrest criminals, in the house and by the way, at the barn and in the street. When the church choir would break down, everybody looked around to see if he were not ready with Woodstock, Mount Pisgah, or Uxbridge. And when all his familiar tunes failed to express the joy of his soul, he would take up his own pen, draw five long lines across the sheet, put in the notes, and then to the tune that he called 'Bound Brook' begin to sing: 'As when the weary trav'ler gains The height of some o'erlooking hill, His heart revives if, 'cross the plains, He eyes his home, tho' distant still: Thus, when the Christian pilgrim views, By faith, his mansion in the skies; The sight his fainting strength renews, And wings his speed to reach the prize. "'Tis there," he says, "I am to dwell With Jesus in the realms of day: There I shall bid my cares farewell, And he will wipe my tears away." "But few families fell heir to so large a pile of well-studied note-books. He was ready, at proper times, for all kinds of innocent amusement. He often felt a merriment that not only touched the lips, but played upon every fibre of the body, and rolled down into the very depths of his soul, with long reverberations. No one that I ever knew understood more fully the science of a good laugh. He was not only quick to recognize hilarity when created by others, but was always ready to do his share toward making it. Before extreme old age, he could outrun and outleap any of his children. He did not hide his satisfaction at having outwalked some one who boasted of his pedestrianism, or at having been able to swing the scythe after all the rest of the harvesters had dropped from exhaustion, or at having, in legislative hall, tripped up some villainous scheme for robbing the public treasury. We never had our ears boxed, as some children I wot of, for the sin of being happy. In long winter nights it was hard to tell who enjoyed sportfulness the better, the children who romped the floor, or the parents who, with lighted countenance, looked at them. Great indulgence and leniency characterized his family rule, but the remembrance of at least one correction more emphatic than pleasing proves that he was not like Eli of old, who had wayward sons and restrained them not. In the multitude of his witticisms there were no flings at religion, no caricatures of good men, no trifling with things of eternity. His laughter was not the 'crackling of thorns under a pot,' but the merry heart that doeth good like a medicine. For this all the children of the community knew him; and to the last day of his walking out, when they saw him coming down the lane, shouted, 'Here comes grandfather!' No gall, no acerbity, no hypercriticism. If there was a bright side to anything, he always saw it, and his name, in all the places where he dwelt, will long be a synonym for exhilaration of spirit. "But whence this cheerfulness? Some might ascribe it ail to natural disposition. No doubt there is such a thing as sunshine of temperament. God gives more brightness to the almond tree than to the cypress. While the pool putrefies under the summer sun, God slips the rill off of the rocks with a frolicsomeness that fills the mountain with echo. No doubt constitutional structure had much to do with this cheerfulness. He had, by a life of sobriety, preserved his freshness and vigor. You know that good habits are better than speaking tubes to the ear; better than a staff to the hand; better than lozenges to the throat; better than warm baths to the feet; better than bitters for the stomach. His lips had not been polluted, nor his brain befogged, by the fumes of the noxious weed that has sapped the life of whole generations, sending even ministers of the Gospel to untimely graves, over which the tombstone declared, 'Sacrificed by overwork in the Lord's vineyard,' when if the marble had not lied, it would have said, 'Killed by villainous tobacco!' He abhorred anything that could intoxicate, being among the first in this country to join the crusade against alcoholic beverages. When urged, during a severe sickness, to take some stimulus, he said, 'No! If I am to die, let me die sober!' The swill of the brewery had never been poured around the roots of this thrifty almond. To the last week of his life his ear could catch a child's whisper, and at fourscore years his eyes refused spectacles, although he would sometimes have to hold the book off on the other side of the light, as octogenarians are wont to do. No trembling of the hands, no rheum in the eyes, no knocking together of the knees, no hobbling on crutches with what polite society terms rheumatism in the feet, but what everybody knows is nothing but gout. Death came, not to fell the gnarled trunk of a tree worm-eaten and lightning-blasted, but to hew down a Lebanon cedar, whose fall made the mountains tremble and the heavens ring. But physical health could not account for half of this sunshine. Sixty-four years ago a coal from the heavenly altar had kindled a light that shone brighter and brighter to the perfect day. Let Almighty grace for nearly three-quarters of a century triumph in a man's soul, and do you wonder that he is happy? For twice the length of your life and mine he had sat in the bower of the promises, plucking the round, ripe clusters of Eshcol. While others bit their tongues for thirst, he stood at the wells of salvation, and put his lips to the bucket that came up dripping with the fresh, cool, sparkling waters of eternal life. This joy was not that which breaks in the bursting bubble of the champagne glass, or that which is thrown out with the orange-peelings of a midnight bacchanalia, but the joy which, planted by a Saviour's pardoning grace, mounts up higher and higher, till it breaks forth in the acclaim of the hundred and forty and four thousand who have broken their last chain and wept their last sorrow. Oh! mighty God! How deep, how wide, how high the joy Thou kindles" in the heart of the believer! "Again: We behold in our father the beauty of a Christian faith. "Let not the account of this cheerfulness give you the idea that he never had any trouble. But few men have so serious and overwhelming a life struggle. He went out into the world without means, and with no educational opportunity, save that which was afforded him in the winter months, in an old, dilapidated school-house, from instructors whose chief work was to collect their own salary. Instead of postponing the marriage relation, as modern society compels a young man to postpone it, until he can earn a fortune, and be able, at commencement of the conjugal relation, to keep a companion like the lilies of the field, that toil not nor spin, though Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these--he chose an early alliance with one, who would not only be able to enjoy the success of his life, but who would with her own willing hands help achieve it. And so while father plowed the fields, and threshed the wheat, and broke the flax, and husked the corn, my mother stood for Solomon's portraiture, when he said, 'She riseth also while it is yet night, and giveth meat to her household. She layeth her hands to the spindle, and her hands hold the distaff. She is not afraid of the snow for her household, for all her household are clothed with scarlet. Her children arise up and call her blessed, her husband also, and he praiseth her. Many daughters have done virtuously, but thou excellest them all.' So that the limited estate of the New Jersey farmer never foundered on millinery establishments and confectionery shops. And though we were some years of age before we heard the trill of a piano, we knew well about the song of 'The Spinning-wheel.' There were no lords, or baronets, or princes in our ancestral line. None wore stars, cockade, or crest. There was once a family coat of arms, but we were none of us wise enough to tell its meaning. Do our best, we cannot find anything about our forerunners, except that they behaved well, came over from Wales or Holland a good while ago, and died when their time came. Some of them may have had fine equipage and caparisoned postillion, but the most of them were only footmen. My father started in life belonging to the aristocracy of hard knuckles and homespun, but had this high honor that no one could despise. He was the son of a father who loved God, and kept His commandments. What is the House of Hapsburg or Stuarts, compared with being son of the Lord God Almighty? Two eyes, two hands, and two feet, were the capital my father started with. For fifteen years an invalid, he had a fearful struggle to support his large family. Nothing but faith in God upheld him. His recital of help afforded, and deliverances wrought, was more like a romance than a reality. He walked through many a desert, but every morning had its manna, and every night it's pillar of fire, and every hard rock a rod that could shatter it into crystal fountains at his feet. More than once he came to his last dollar; but right behind that last dollar he found Him who owns the cattle on a thousand hills, and out of the palm of whose hand all the fowls of heaven peck their food, and who hath given to each one of His disciples a warrantable deed for the whole universe in the words, 'All are yours.' "The path that led him through financial straits, prepared him also for sore bereavements. The infant of days was smitten, and he laid it into the river of death with as much confidence as infant Moses was laid into the Ark of the Nile, knowing that soon from the royal palace a shining One would come to fetch it. "In an island of the sea, among strangers, almost unattended, death came to a beloved son; and though I remember the darkness that dropped on the household when the black-sealed letter was opened, I remember also the utterances of Christian submission. "Another bearing his own name, just on the threshold of manhood, his heart beating high with hope, falls into the dust; but above the cries of early widowhood and the desolation of that dark day, I hear the patriarch's prayer, commending children, and children's children, to the Divine sympathy. "But a deeper shadow fell across the old home-stead. The 'Golden Wedding' had been celebrated nine years before. My mother looked up, pushed back her spectacles, and said, 'Just think of it, father! We have been together fifty-nine years!' The twain stood together like two trees of the forest with interlocked branches. Their affections had taken deep root together in many a kindred grave. Side by side in life's great battle, they had fought the good fight and won the day. But death comes to unjoint this alliance. God will not any longer let her suffer mortal ailments. The reward of righteousness is ready, and it must be paid. But what a tearing apart! What rending up! What will the aged man do without this other to lean on? Who can so well understand how to sympathize and counsel? What voice so cheering as hers, to conduct him down the steep of old age? 'Oh' said she in her last moments, 'father, if you and I could only be together, how pleasant it would be!' But the hush of death came down one autumnal afternoon, and for the first time in all my life, on my arrival at home, I received no maternal greeting, no answer of the lips, no pressure of the hand. God had taken her. "In this overwhelming shock the patriarch stood confident, reciting the promises and attesting the Divine goodness. O, sirs, that was faith, faith, faith! 'Thanks be unto God who giveth us the victory!' "Finally, I noticed that in my father's old age was to be seen the beauty of Christian activity. He had not retired from the field. He had been busy so long you could not expect him idle now. The faith I have described was not an idle expectation that sits with its hands in its pockets idly waiting, but a feeling which gathers up all the resources of the soul, and hurls them upon one grand design. He was among the first who toiled in Sabbath-schools, and never failed to speak the praise of these institutions. No storm or darkness ever kept him away from prayer-meeting. In the neighborhood where he lived for years held a devotional meeting. Oftentimes the only praying man present, before a handful of attendants, he would give out the hymn, read the lines, conduct the music, and pray. Then read the Scriptures and pray again. Then lead forth in the Doxology with an enthusiasm as if there were a thousand people present, and all the church members had been doing their duty. He went forth visiting the sick, burying the dead, collecting alms for the poor, inviting the ministers of religion to his household, in which there was, as in the house of Shunem, a little room over the wall, with bed and candlestick for any passing Elisha. He never shuddered at the sight of a subscription paper, and not a single great cause of benevolence has arisen within the last half century which he did not bless with his beneficence. Oh, this was not a barren almond tree that blossomed. His charity was not like the bursting of the bud of a famous tree in the South that fills the whole forest with its racket; nor was it a clumsy thing like the fruit, in some tropical clime, that crashes down, almost knocking the life out of those who gather it; for in his case the right hand knew not what the left hand did. The churches of God in whose service he toiled, have arisen as one man to declare his faithfulness and to mourn their loss. He stood in the front of the holy war, and the courage which never trembled or winced in the presence of temporal danger induced him to dare all things for God. In church matters he was not afraid to be shot at. Ordained, not by the laying on of human hands, but by the imposition of a Saviour's love, he preached by his life, in official position, and legislative hall, and commercial circles, a practical Christianity. He showed that there was such a thing as honesty in politics. He slandered no party, stuffed no ballot box, forged no naturalization papers, intoxicated no voters, told no lies, surrendered no principle, countenanced no demagogism. He called things by their right names; and what others styled prevarication, exaggeration, misstatement or hyperbole, he called a lie. Though he was far from being undecided in his views, and never professed neutrality, or had any consort with those miserable men who boast how well they can walk on both sides of a dividing line and be on neither, yet even in the excitements of election canvass, when his name was hotly discussed in public journals, I do not think his integrity was ever assaulted. Starting every morning with a chapter of the Bible, and his whole family around him on their knees, he forgot not, in the excitements of the world, that he had a God to serve and a heaven to win. The morning prayer came up on one side of the day, and the evening prayer on the other side, and joined each other in an arch above his head, under the shadow of which he walked all the day. The Sabbath worship extended into Monday's conversation, and Tuesday's bargain, and Wednesday's mirthfulness, and Thursday's controversy, and Friday's sociality, and Saturday's calculation. "Through how many thrilling scenes had he passed! He stood, at Morristown, in the choir that chanted when George Washington was buried; talked with young men whose grandfathers he had held on his knee; watched the progress of John Adams' administration; denounced, at the time, Aaron Burr's infamy; heard the guns that celebrated the New Orleans victory; voted against Jackson, but lived long enough to wish we had one just like him; remembered when the first steamer struck the North River with it's wheel buckets; flushed with excitement in the time of national banks and sub-treasury; was startled at the birth of telegraphy; saw the United States grow from a speck on the world's map till all nations dip their flag at our passing merchantmen, and our 'national airs' have been heard on the steeps of the Himalayas; was born while the Revolutionary cannon were coming home from Yorktown, and lived to hear the tramp of troops returning from the war of the great Rebellion; lived to speak the names of eighty children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. Nearly all his contemporaries gone! Aged Wilberforce said that sailors drink to 'friends astern' until halfway over the sea, and then drink to 'friends ahead.' So, also, with my father. Long and varied pilgrimage! Nothing but sovereign grace could have kept him true, earnest, useful, and Christian through so many exciting scenes. "He worked unwearily from the sunrise of youth, to the sunset of old age, and then in the sweet nightfall of death, lighted by the starry promises, went home, taking his sheaves with him. Mounting from earthly to heavenly service, I doubt not there were a great multitude that thronged heaven's gate to hail him into the skies,--those whose sorrows he had appeased, whose burdens he had lifted, whose guilty souls he had pointed to a pardoning God, whose dying moments he had cheered, whose ascending spirits he had helped up on the wings of sacred music. I should like to have heard that long, loud, triumphant shout of heaven's welcome. I think that the harps throbbed with another thrill, and the hills quaked with a mightier hallelujah. Hail! ransomed soul! Thy race run,--thy toil ended! Hail to the coronation!" At the death of David T. Talmage the Christian Intelligencer of October 25, 1865, contained the following contribution from the pen of Dr. T.W. Chambers, for many years pastor of the Second Reformed Church, Somerville, New Jersey, now one of the pastors of the Collegiate Church, New York: "In the latter part of the last century, Thomas Talmage, Sr., a plain but intelligent farmer, moved into the neighborhood of Somerville, N.J., and settled upon a fertile tract of land, very favorably situated, and commanding a view of the country for miles around. Here he spent the remainder of a long, godly, and useful life, and reared a large family of children, twelve of whom were spared to reach adult years, and to make and adorn the same Christian profession of which their father was a shining light. Two of these became ministers of the Gospel, of whom one, Jehiel, fell asleep several years since, while the other, the distinguished Samuel K. Talmage, D.D., President of Oglethorpe University, Georgia, entered into his rest only a few weeks since. Another son, Thomas, was for an entire generation the strongest pillar in the Second Church of Somerville. "One of the oldest of the twelve was the subject of this notice; a man whose educational advantages were limited to the local schools of the neighborhood, but whose excellent natural abilities, sharpened by contact with the world, gave him a weight in the community which richer and more cultivated men might have envied. In the prime of his years he was often called to serve his fellow citizens in civil trusts. He spent some years in the popular branch of the Legislature, and was afterwards high sheriff of the County of Somerset for the usual period. In both cases he fulfilled the expectations of his friends, and rendered faithful service. The sterling integrity of his character manifested itself in every situation; and even in the turmoil of politics, at a time of much excitement, he maintained a stainless name, and defied the tongue of calumny. But it was chiefly in the sphere of private and social relations that his work was done and his influence exerted. His father's piety was reproduced in him at an early period, and soon assumed a marked type of thoroughness, activity and decision, which it bore even to the end. His long life was one of unblemished Christian consistency, which in no small measure was due to the influence of his excellent wife, Catherine Van Nest, a niece of the late Abraham Van Nest, of New York City, who a few years preceded him into glory. She was the most godly woman the writer ever knew, a wonder unto many for the strength of her faith, the profoundness of her Christian experience, and the uniform spirituality of her mind. The ebb and flow common to most believers did not appear in her; but her course was like a river fed by constant streams, and running on wider and deeper till it reaches the sea. It might be said of this pair, as truly as of the parents of John the Baptist, 'And they were both righteous before God, walking in all the commandments and ordinances of the Lord blameless.' Hand in hand they pursued their pilgrimage through this world, presenting an example of intelligent piety such as is not often seen. 'Lovely and pleasant in their lives, in their death they were not (long) divided.' Exactly three years from the day of Mrs. Talmage's death her husband received the summons to rejoin her on high. "These parents were unusually careful and diligent in discharging their Christian obligations to their children. The promise of the covenant was importunately implored in their behalf from the moment of birth, its seal was early applied, and the whole training was after the pattern of Abraham. The Divine faithfulness was equally manifest, for the whole eleven were in due time brought to the Saviour, and introduced into the full communion of the Church. Years ago two of them were removed by death. Of the rest, four, James, John, Goyn, and Thomas De Witt, are ministers of the Gospel, and one is the wife of a minister (the Rev. S. L. Mershon, of East Hampton, L.I.). Without entering into details respecting these brethren, it is sufficient to say that, with the exception of the late Dr. John Scudder's, no other single family has been the means of making such a valuable contribution to the sons of Levi in the Dutch Church. "Mr. Talmage was not only exemplary in the ordinary duties of a Christian, but excellent as a church officer. Shrewd, patient, kind, generous according to his means, and full of quiet zeal, he was ready for every good work; one of those men--the delight of a pastor's heart--who can always be relied upon to do their share, if not a little more, and that in things both temporal and spiritual. He was a wise counselor, a true friend, a self-sacrificing laborer for the Master." We find the following allusion to the life and death of his mother, in a sermon by Dr. T. De Witt Talmage: "In these remarks upon maternal faithfulness, I have found myself unconsciously using as a model the character of one, who, last Wednesday, we put away for the resurrection. About sixty years ago, just before the day of their marriage, my father and mother stood up in the old meeting-house, at Somerville, to take the vows of a Christian. Through a long life of vicissitude she lived blamelessly and usefully, and came to her end in peace. No child of want ever came to her door, and was turned away. No stricken soul ever appealed to her and was not comforted. No sinner ever asked her the way to be saved, and was not pointed to Christ. "When the Angel of Life came to a neighbor's dwelling, she was there to rejoice at the incarnation; and when the Angel of Death came, she was there to robe the departed one for burial. We had often heard her, while kneeling among her children at family prayers, when father was absent, say: 'I ask not for my children wealth, or honor; but I do ask that they may all become the subjects of Thy converting grace.' She had seen all her eleven children gathered into the Church, and she had but one more wish, and that was that she might again see her missionary son. And when the ship from China anchored in New York harbor, and the long absent one crossed the threshold of his paternal home, she said, 'Now, Lord, lettest Thou Thy servant depart in peace, for mine eyes have seen Thy salvation.' "We were gathered from afar to see only the house from which the soul had fled forever. How calm she looked! Her folded hands appeared just as when they were employed in kindnesses for her children. And we could not help but say, as we stood and looked at her, 'Doesn't she look beautiful!' It was a cloudless day when, with heavy hearts, we carried her out to the last resting-place. The withered leaves crumbled under wheel and hoof as we passed, and the setting sun shone upon the river until it looked like fire. But more calm and bright was the setting sun of this aged pilgrim's life. No more toil. No more tears. No more sickness. No more death. Dear mother! Beautiful mother! "'Sweet is the slumber beneath the sod, While the pure soul is resting with God.'" II. CALL TO CHINA AND VOYAGE HENCE The known facts in regard to John Talmage's boyhood and youthful days are few. Of the known facts some perhaps are too trivial, others too sacred to bear mention. The sapling grew. Of the inner and outer circles of growth there is but brief record. He spent his boyhood at a quiet country hamlet, Gateville, New Jersey. On the ridge swung the toll-gate, and a little beyond might be heard the hum and rattle of the grist-mill. His father kept the toll-gate. John was a fine horseman, and found great sport in jumping on his horse and chasing the people who had "cheated the gate" by not paying their toll. John knew the law and was not afraid to go for them. He went to a private school under the care of a Mr. Morton at the village of Bound Brook, two miles from home, and generally stood at the head of his class. He early became the judge and counselor among his brothers and sisters. In any little dispute which arose, John's verdict was usually accepted as correct and final. During all his missionary career in China, he was an adviser and arbitrator whom foreigners and Chinese alike sought and from whose advice they were not quick to turn away. In the midst of the tumult among the men of Medina when they met to elect a chief to take the place of Mohammed, who had passed away, the voice of Hohab was heard crying out, "Attend to me, attend to me, for I am the well-rubbed Palm-stem." The figure Hobab used represented a palm-trunk left for the beasts to come and rub themselves upon. It was a metaphor for a person much resorted to for counsel. John Talmage never called attention to himself, but the Arab chief must have counseled many, and well, to have taken a higher place than did this messenger of Christ at Amoy. By the time John Talmage's school days at Bound Brook were completed he had determined to prepare for college. Preparatory schools then were few and far away. They were expensive. John made an arrangement with his senior brother, Rev. James R. Talmage, then pastor at Blawenburgh, New Jersey, to put him through the required course. Here he joined the Church at the age of seventeen. From Blawenburgh his brother Goyn and he went to New Brunswick, New Jersey, joining the Sophomore class in Rutgers College. John and Goyn roomed together, swept and garnished their own quarters and did their own cooking. Father Talmage would come down every week or two with provisions from the farm, to replenish the ever-recipient larder. Both John and Goyn were diligent students and graduated with honorable recognition from Rutgers College in 1842, and from New Brunswick Theological Seminary in 1845. John Talmage had made such substantial attainments in Hebrew and Greek, that when some years afterward the distinguished Dr. McClelland resigned as professor of these languages in the Theological Seminary at New Brunswick, he was talked of as Dr. McClelland's successor, and but for the conviction that he ought not to be removed from the Amoy Mission, his appointment would have been earnestly advocated by the General Synod. John Talmage had read missionary biographies when a boy in the Sunday-school at Bound Brook. He had been specially touched by the life of Henry Martyn. While at college he kept himself supplied with missionary literature. His parents were already interested in foreign missions. In secret before God his mother had devoted John to this very work. John did not know it. The determining word for him was that spoken in a missionary address, by Rev. Elihu Doty, one of the pioneers of the Amoy Mission. It was plain that he must go to the "regions beyond." He must break the news to his mother. John's love of missionary literature and his eager attendance upon missionary meetings had filled the family with a secret fear that he thought of going. One day he invited his younger sister, Catharine, to take a walk with him across the fields. He began to talk about missions to foreign lands. Finally he said, "Catharine, you must help me prepare the way to tell mother that I want to go to China." Too overcome with emotion was the sister to reply. They walked home in silence. John sought opportunity when he could quietly tell his mother. Said he, "Mother, I am going to China." In the intensity of a mother's love she replied, "Oh, John, it will kill me." But the grace of God triumphed and again she said, "I prayed to God for this, how can I object?" In October, 1845, he applied to the American Board of Commissioners for Foreign Missions, through Dr. Thomas De Witt, the Secretary for the Reformed Church. The letter is still in possession. An extract from it reads: "I was twenty-five years of age last August, reside at Somerville, New Jersey, have been blessed with Christian parents and enjoyed an early religious education. By the assistance of friends and the Church, I have been enabled to pursue the usual course of study preparatory in our Church to entering upon the duties of the Gospel ministry. I graduated at Rutgers College in the summer of 1842, pursued my theological studies in our seminary at New Brunswick, and received from the Classis of Philadelphia, July last, 'license' to preach the Gospel. "Owing doubtless in great measure to the religious advantages I have enjoyed, my mind has been more or less under religious impressions from my earliest recollection. About eight years ago I united on confession of faith with the Church (Reformed Dutch) at Blawenburgh, New Jersey, of which my brother, Rev. James R. Talmage, was then and still is pastor. Was living in his family at the time, and studying with him preparatory to entering college. I am unable to decide when I met with a change of heart. My reason for believing that I have experienced such a change are the evidences within me that I love my Saviour, love His cause, and love the souls of men. "My reason for desiring the missionary work is a desire for the salvation of the heathen. My mind has been directed to the subject for a long time, yet I have not felt at liberty to decide the question where duty called me to labor until the last month. In accordance with this decision I now offer my services to the Board to labor in my Master's service among the heathen. As a field of labor I prefer China." Owing to deficiency in funds the Board could not send him that year. He accepted an invitation to assist Dr. Brodhead, then pastor of the Central Reformed Church of Brooklyn. Dr. Brodhead was one of the great preachers of his day. In Philadelphia, an earlier pastorate, "he preached to great congregations of eager listeners, and with a success unparalleled in the history of that city and rare in modern times." John Van Nest Talmage might have been his successor. But no sooner was the Board ready to send him than he was prepared to go. The day for leaving home came. Father Talmage and the older brothers accompanied John. They left the house in three carriages. A younger sister (Mrs. Cone) recently said: "When we saw the three carriages driving down the lane it seemed more like a funeral than anything else." Silent were those who drove away. Silent, silent as they could constrain themselves to be, were mother and sisters as they stood by the windows and got their last look of the procession as it wound down the road. To go to a foreign land in those days signified to those who went, lifelong exile,--to those who tarried, lifelong separation. The only highways to the far East were by way of the Cape of Good Hope or Cape Horn. The voyages were always long and often perilous. When on board the ship Roman, bound for Canton, David Abeel wrote: "To the missionary perhaps exclusively, is the separation from friends like the farewell of death. Though ignorant of the future he expects no further intercourse on earth. To him the next meeting is generally beyond the grave." The hour of departure was not only saddened by parting from parents and brothers and sisters, but the young woman in Elizabethtown, New Jersey, to whom he had given his affection, could not join him. Once it had been decided that they were to go together, but during the last days the enfeebled widowed mother's courage failed her. She could not relinquish her daughter to what seemed to her separation for life. Mr. Talmage had to choose between the call of duty to China and going alone, or tarrying at home and realizing his heart's hopes. He went to China. By a special Providence it was not much more than two years after he set sail that he was again in the United States. The mother of Miss Abby Woodruff had died, and the union was consummated. Mr. Talmage kept a diary of the voyage. A few extracts will prove interesting. "Left Somerville April 10, 1847, via New York to Boston. Sailed from Boston in ship Heber, April 15th. Farewell services on board conducted by Bishop Janes, of the Methodist Episcopal Church. The Heber is a ship of 436 tons, 136 feet long, 27 wide. Among the passengers are Rev. E. Doty and wife, and Rev. Moses C White and wife, and Rev. I. D. Collins. The three latter are Methodist missionaries bound for Foochow (China)." They were the pioneers of Methodist missions in China. On Thursday evening, the cay of sailing, he writes: "I am now upon the bosom of the mighty deep. But I cannot as yet feel any fear. I am in the hands of the Being 'whose I am and whom I serve.' In His hands there is safety. I will not fear though the earth be removed. Besides, there are Christian friends praying for me. Oh, the consolation in the assurance that at the throne of grace I am remembered by near and dear friends! Will not their prayers be heard? They will. I know they will. The effectual fervent prayer of the righteous man availeth much! When I took leave of my friends, one, and another, and another, assured me that they would remember me in their prayers. Yes, and I will remember them." April 17th. Speaking of Mr. Collins, he says: "I think we shall much enjoy ourselves. We shall study, read, sing, and pray together, talk and walk together. From present appearances we shall feel towards each other as David and Jonathan did." Mr. Collins was a man of intense missionary convictions, who declared if there were no means to send him to China he would find his way before the mast, and work his way there. "April 22. We have now been one week on our voyage. We commenced our studies today. Mr. Doty, Collins, and myself have organized ourselves into a Hebrew class. We expect to have a daily recitation in Hebrew, another in Greek, and another in Chinese." "May 8th. Saturday evening. We have been out 23 days. We have had our worship as usual in the cabin. Since then we have spent some time in singing hymns. Have been led to think of home. Wonder where and how my many friends are? Are they happy? Are they well? Are they all alive? Is it strange that sadness sometimes steals over my mind, when I think of those whom I love, and remember their weeping eyes and sorrowful countenances at the time of bidding them farewell, perhaps never again to see them in this world." He had decided to take a text of Scripture for daily meditation, following the order in a little book published by the American Tract Society entitled "Dew Drops." "The text for today is 1 Pet. ii. 21. 'Christ suffered for us, leaving us an example, that we should follow his steps.' "Why should the Christian tremble at the prospect of suffering, or be impatient under its existence? 'The servant is not greater than his Lord.' The 'King of Glory' suffered, and shall a sinful man complain? Besides, the Christian should be willing to suffer for the welfare of others. If he can benefit his fellow-men by running the risk of losing his own life, shall he hesitate to run that risk?" "May 11. Since Sunday noon have made little progress." On examining the record of the voyage which Mr. Talmage kept faithfully every day, we find that the ship had made only twenty seven knots in two days. "June 18. For the last month we have not made rapid progress. We have experienced much detention from head-winds and calms. About a week ago we were put on an allowance of water, one gallon a day to each one on board. This includes all that is used for cooking, drinking and washing." "Have had quite a severe storm this afternoon and evening. The waves have been very high, and the wind--severe almost as a hurricane. This evening about 8 o'clock, after a very severe blow and heavy dash of rain, 'fire balls,' as the sailors termed them, were seen upon the tops of the masts, and also on the ends of the spars, which cross the masts. They presented a very beautiful appearance. "Brother Collins and myself have this week commenced the study of Pitman's System of Phonography." That Mr. Talmage became proficient in the use of it is evident from the fact that much of his journal was written in shorthand. "On the Sabbath Brother Collins and myself spend two hours in the forecastle instructing the sailors. Many of them seem perfectly willing, some of them anxious to receive instruction." "July 17. Saturday evening. Today passed to the eastward of Christmas Island (an island in the Indian Ocean). It is a small island about ten miles square. This is the first land seen since we left Boston. Of course, we gazed with much interest." "July 22. About nine o'clock Tuesday evening we anchored off Angier. This is a village off the island of Java, bordering on the Straits of Sunda. Remained at Angier until Wednesday afternoon. Capt. Patterson laid in a good supply of pigs, geese, ducks, chickens, yams, turtles, water, two goats, and fruits of various kinds in abundance." "Aug. 6. Friday. Wednesday evening arrived at Macao. This morning set sail for Whampoa, twelve miles below Canton." After a few days at Canton and Hongkong, Mr. and Mrs. Doty and Mr. Talmage embarked for Amoy on the schooner Caroline. "Aug 21. The Caroline is a small vessel of about one hundred and fifty tons burthen. She was built, I suppose, for the opium trade. Our passage from Hongkong was not very pleasant. Our quarters were close and our captain was far from being an agreeable companion. He drank freely and was very profane." "We left Brother Collins and Brother White and wife at Hongkong. We had been so long in company with these brethren, that it was trying to part with them. On Thursday, the day before yesterday, we arrived safely at Amoy. The brethren gave us a very hearty welcome. The missionary company at this place consists of Brother Pohlman, of the A.B.C.F.M.; Mr. Alexander Stronach and wife, and Brown, of the Presbyterian Board. Mr. John Stronach also belongs to this station. He is at present at Shanghai." III. THE CITY OF THE "ELEGANT GATE"[*] [Footnote *: the meaning of the two Chinese characters composing the name Amoy.] In a letter to the Sabbath-school of the Central Reformed Church, Brooklyn, Mr. Talmage thus describes the southern emporium of the province of Fukien: "Amoy is situated on an island of the same name. The city proper or citadel is about one mile in circumference. Its form is nearly that of a rhomboid or diamond. It is surrounded by a wall about twenty feet in height, and eight or ten feet in thickness, built of large blocks of coarse granite. It has four gates. The outer city, or city outside of the walls, is much more extensive. Its circumference, I suppose, is about six miles. "The streets are not so wide as the sidewalks in Brooklyn. Some of them are so narrow that, when two persons, walking in opposite directions, meet each other, it is necessary for the one to stop, in order that the other may pass on. The most of the streets are paved with coarse granite blocks, yet on account of the narrowness of the streets, and the want of cleanliness by the great mass of the inhabitants, the streets are usually very filthy. "This part of Amoy island is rugged and mountainous, and interspersed with large granite rocks. Some of them are of immense size. It is in such a place that the city has been built. Many of these rocks are left in their natural position, and overhang the houses which have been built among them. The ground has not been leveled as in Brooklyn, consequently the greater part of the streets are uneven. Some of them are conducted over the hills by stone steps. Near our residences, one of the public streets ascends a hill by a flight of thirty-six steps. On account of this unevenness of the streets as well as their narrowness a carriage cannot pass through the city of Amoy. Instead of carriages the more wealthy inhabitants use sedan chairs, which are usually borne by two bearers. The higher officers of government, called 'Mandarins,' have four bearers to carry them. The greater part of the inhabitants always travel on foot. The place of carts is supplied by men called 'coolies,' whose employment is to carry burdens. The houses, except along the wharves and a few pawn-shops farther up in the city, are one story. "There are no churches here, but there are far more temples for the worship of false gods, and the souls of deceased ancestors, than there are churches in Brooklyn. "Besides these, almost every family has its shrine and idols and ancestral tablets, which last are worshipped with more devotion than the idols. In consequence of their religion the people are degraded and immoral. One-third of all female children born in the city of Amoy are slain. In the villages throughout this whole region, it is supposed that about one-half are destroyed. They do not exhibit sympathy for each other and for those in distress, which is enjoined by the Bible, and which, notwithstanding all its defects, is the glory of Christian communities. I have seen a man dying on the pavement on a street, almost as densely thronged as Broadway, New York, and no one of the passers-by, or of the inhabitants of that part of the street, seemed to notice him or care for him more than if he had been a dog." DESCRIPTION OF AMOY AND AMOY ISLAND Another letter to the same congregation a few months later reads: "The first impression on the mind of an individual in approaching the shores of China from the south, and sailing along the coast, as far north as Amoy, is anything but favorable. So great is the contrast between the lovely scenery and dense vegetation of many of the islands of the Indian Archipelago, and the barren and worn-out hills which line the southern part of the coast of China, that in the whole range of human language it would seem scarcely possible to find a more inappropriate term than the term 'Celestial' whereby to designate this great empire. Neither is this unfavorable opinion removed immediately on landing. The style of building is so inferior, the streets are so narrow and filthy, the countenances of the great mass of the people, at least to a newcomer, are so destitute of intelligent expression, and the bodies and clothing, and habits of the multitudes are so uncleanly, that one is compelled to exclaim in surprise, 'Are these the people who stand at the top of pagan civilization, and who look upon all men as barbarous, except themselves?' Besides, everything looks old. Buildings, temples, even the rocks and the hills have a peculiar appearance of age and seem to be falling into decay. I am happy to say, however, that as we become better acquainted with the country and the people, many of these unfavorable impressions are removed. After passing a little to the north of Amoy, the appearance of the coast entirely changes. Even in this mountainous region we have valleys and plains, which would suffer but little by comparison with any other country for beauty and fertility. I also love the scenery around the city of Amoy very much. The city is situated on the western side of an island of the same name. This part of the island in its general appearance is very similar to the coast of which I have spoken. It is rocky and mountainous and barren. There are, however, among these barren hills many small fertile spots, situated in the ravines and along the watercourses, which on account of their high state of cultivation form a lovely contrast with the surrounding barrenness. Wherever the Chinese, at least in this part of the Empire, can find a watercourse, by cultivation they will turn the most barren soil into a garden. The sides of the ravines are leveled by digging down, and walling up, if necessary, forming terraces or small fields, the one above the other. These small fields are surrounded by a border of impervious clay. The water is conducted into the higher of these terraces, and from them conducted into those which are lower, as the state of the crops may demand. Often a field of paddy may be seen inundated, while the next field below, in which perhaps the sweet potato is growing, is kept perfectly dry. Among the hills there is much of picturesque scenery, and some that is truly sublime. The Buddhists have exhibited an exquisite taste for natural scenery, in selecting such places for the situation of many of their temples." ANCESTRAL WORSHIP "Their respect for ancestors is very great, so much so that the species of idolatry which has by far the strongest hold upon their minds is ancestral worship. This is the stronghold by which Satan maintains his supremacy over the minds of the people, and this we may expect will be the last to give way to the power of the Gospel of Christ. One may hold up their gods to ridicule and they will laugh at his remarks, but they do not love to hear the worship of their ancestors spoken against. This worship, after the period of mourning is over, consists chiefly in offering at stated times various articles of food to the spirits of the deceased, and in burning various kinds of paper, as a substitute for money, by which these spirits are supplied with that most convenient article. Natural affection and selfishness unite to strengthen their attachment to this worship. It is as necessary for the happiness of the souls of the dead, in the opinion of the Chinese, as is the saying of the mass in the opinion of a Roman Catholic. Without these attentions the souls of the deceased are in a sort of purgatory; wandering about in want and wretchedness. But if the desire of rendering their ancestors happy be not sufficient to secure attention to these rites, a still more powerful motive addresses itself to their minds. These wandering spirits are supposed capable of bringing misfortune and inflicting injuries on their ungrateful and impious descendants. Thus if a family meet with reverses, the cause is often attributed to the want of attention to the souls of the deceased ancestors, or to the fact that the sites of their graves have not been judiciously selected, and the dissatisfied spirits are taking vengeance for these neglects or mistakes. Another consideration which seems to exert much influence, is that if they neglect the spirits of their ancestors, their descendants may neglect them. "For the present life they can think of no higher happiness than success in acquiring wealth, and the highest happiness after death consists in having sons to supply the wants of their spirits. These are the two objects that engross the highest aspirations of a Chinaman." INFANTICIDE "This will account in part for the barbarous custom of infanticide which prevails to so lamentable an extent among these heathen. Only female infants are destroyed. While the parents are living the son may be of pecuniary advantage to them, and after their death, he can attend to the rites of their souls, and even after his death, through him the parents may have descendants to perform the ancestral rites. A daughter on the contrary, it is supposed, will only prove a burden in a pecuniary point of view, and after she is married she is reckoned to the family of her husband. Her children, also, except her husband otherwise order, are only expected to attend to the spirits of their paternal ancestors." "Some have denied the existence of the practice of infanticide among the Chinese, or, they have asserted that if it does exist, the practice of it is very unusual. Every village which we visit in this region gives evidence that such persons are not acquainted with this part of the empire. A few days ago a company of us visited the village of Kokia. It is situated on the northern extremity of Amoy Island, and contains, perhaps, two thousand inhabitants. After walking through the village we sat down for a short time under the shade of a large banyan tree. A large concourse of people soon gathered around us to see the foreigners and hear what they had to say. In this crowd we found by counting nearly a hundred boys, and but two or three girls. Also when walking through the village very few girls were to be seen. The custom of binding the feet of the girls, which greatly affects their power of locomotion, would account for more boys being seen than girls, but will not account for the disparity noticed. We therefore inquired the cause of this disparity. They answered with laughter that female children are killed. The same question has been asked again and again at the various villages we have visited and the same answer obtained. This answer is given freely and apparently without any idea that the practice is wicked, until they are taught so by us. The result of this one practice on the morals of the people may readily be imagined. It accustoms the mind to acts of cruelty and it prepares the way for impurity and wickedness in forms that are never dreamed of in Christian countries." In this connection an extract from Dr. David Abeel's[*] diary may be of value. [Footnote *: David Abeel was the founder of the American Reformed Mission at Amoy in 1842.] "Today had a conversation with one of the merchants who come to Kolongsu for trade, on the subject of female infanticide. Assuming a countenance of as much indifference as possible, I asked him how many of his own children he had destroyed: he instantly replied, 'Two.' I asked him whether he had spared any. He said, 'One I have saved.' I then inquired how many brothers he had. 'Eight,' was the answer. I asked him how many children his eldest brother had destroyed. 'Five or six.' I inquired of the second, third and all the rest; some had killed four or five, some two or three, and others had none to destroy. I then asked how many girls were left among them all. 'Three,' was the answer. And how many do you think have been strangled at birth? 'Probably from twelve to seventeen.' I wished to know the standing and employment of his brothers. One, he said, had attained a literary degree at the public examinations; the second was a teacher; one was a sailor; and the rest were petty merchants like himself. Thus, it was evidently not necessity but a cold inhuman calculation of the gains and losses of keeping them, which must have led these men to take the lives of their own offspring. "Mr. Boone's teacher's sister with her own hand destroyed her first three children successively. The fourth was also a girl, but the mother was afraid to lay violent hands on it, believing it to be one of the previous ones reappearing in a new body." "The names of the five districts in the Chinchew prefecture are Tong-an, An-khoe, Chin-kiang, Hui-an and Lam-an. Amoy is situated in the Chin-chew prefect. "From a comparison with many other parts of the country, there is reason to believe that a greater number of children are destroyed at birth in the Tong-an district than in any other of this department, probably more than in any other of this department, probably more than in any other part of the province of equal extent and populousness. In the Tong-an district I have inquired of persons from forty different towns and villages. The number destroyed varies exceedingly in different places, the extremes extending from seventy and eighty percent to ten percent. The average proportion destroyed in all these places amounting to nearly four-tenths or exactly thirty-nine percent. "In seventeen of these forty towns and villages, my informants declare that one-half or more are deprived of existence at birth. "From the inhabitants of six places in Chin-kiang, and of four places in Hui-an, if I am correctly informed, the victims of infanticide do not exceed sixteen percent. "In the seven districts of the Chiang-chiu prefecture the number is rather more than one-fourth or less than three-tenths. "There is reason to fear that scarcely less than twenty-five percent are suffocated almost at the first breath." It is altogether probable that this vice is just as prevalent now. The scarcity of girls in nearly all the towns and villages and the exorbitant rates demanded for marriageable daughters in some districts, only render sad confirmation to what Drs. Abeel and Talmage wrote two score and more years ago. IS CHINA TO BE WON, AND HOW? Mr. Talmage continues: "I cannot close this letter without saying a word in reference to our prospects of success. The moral condition of this people, their spiritual apathy, their attachment to the superstitious rites of their ancestors, together with the natural depravity of the human heart, and at the same time their language being one of the most difficult, perhaps the most difficult of acquisition of any spoken language, all combine to forbid, it would seem, all hope of ever Christianizing this empire. But that which is impossible with men is possible with God. He who has commanded us to preach the Gospel to every creature, has connected with it a promise that He will be always with us to the end of the world. The stone cut out without hands, we are told by the prophet, became a great mountain and filled the whole earth. The kingdom which the God of heaven has set up 'shall break in pieces and consume all these kingdoms and it shall stand for ever.' Thus, whatever may be the prospect before us, according to human reasoning, we have 'a more sure word of prophecy.' Resting upon this we can have no doubt in reference to the complete triumph of the cause of Christ, even over the land of Sinim. In connection with such prophecies and promises we have many facts to encourage us. The people are accessible and friendly, and willing to listen to our doctrines. The superiority of Christianity to their systems of religion, sometimes from conviction and sometimes perhaps only from politeness, they often admit. "Already a few converts have been gathered into the visible Church, and there are others who are seeking to know the way of life more perfectly. Those who have been received into the Church are letting their light shine. The conduct of some who have heard the truth, reminds us forcibly of the conduct of the woman at the well of Samaria, and of the conduct of Andrew and Philip when they first found the Messias. "It is thus that this empire and most other heathen countries must be evangelized. The work must be done by the natives. The Church in Christian lands, by her missionaries, can only lay the foundation and render some little assistance in rearing the superstructure. She can never carry forward the work to completion. She can never furnish the heathen nations with missionaries of the cross in sufficient numbers to supply them with pastors, neither is it necessary that she should. The Christian is a light shining in a dark place. Especially is it true among the heathen, that every disciple of Christ is as 'a city set on a hill which cannot be hid.' His neighbors and acquaintances must observe the change in his conduct. He no longer worships their gods. He no longer observes any of their superstitious rites. He is no longer a slave to their immoralities. his example must tell. But many of the converts will have gifts to make known the Gospel, and will eagerly embrace these gifts in order to rescue their dying countrymen. Already have we examples of this. Such converts, also, in some respects, may be more efficient than the missionary. They can go where we cannot, and reach those who are entirely beyond our influence. They are better acquainted with the language. They understand the customs of the people more thoroughly. They remember what were the greatest difficulties and objections which proved the greatest obstacles to their reception of the Gospel, and they know how these difficulties were removed and these objections answered. Besides, they have all the advantages which a native must be expected to possess over a foreigner arising from the prejudices of the people. "Perhaps it may be necessary to guard against a wrong inference, which might be hastily deduced from the facts just stated. The fact that the natives are to be the principal laborers in evangelizing this empire, does not in the least remove the obligation of the Church to quicken and redouble all her efforts, or supersede the necessity for such efforts. It will be many years before this necessity will cease to exist. The Churches in Christian lands, in resolving to undertake the evangelization of this empire, have engaged in great work. In obedience to the command of their Master they have undertaken to rear a vast superstructure, the foundation of which is to be laid entirely by themselves, and on the erection of which they must bestow their care and assistance. This work has been commenced under favorable auspices, but the foundation cannot yet be said to be laid. More laborers must be sent forth. They should be sent out in multitudes if they can be found. They must acquire the language so that they can communicate freely with the people. They must proclaim the message of the Gospel from house to house, in the highways and market-places, wherever they can find an audience,-until converts are multiplied. Schools must be established, and the doctrines of the Gospel be instilled into the minds of the children and youth. We must have a native ministry instructed and trained up from their childhood according to the doctrines of the Gospel before they will be capable of taking the sole charge of this work. Until all this has taken place the churches may not slacken any of their efforts; nay, to accomplish this there must be an increase of effort beyond all that the churches have ever yet put forth." During the year 1848 he sent a letter to the Society of Inquiry of the Theological Seminary, New Brunswick, New Jersey. "It is yet a 'day of small things' with us. Our work thus far has been chiefly of a preparatory nature. This will probably be the case for some time to come. There have been just enough conversions to teach us that God is with us and will own the instrumentality which He Himself has appointed for the salvation of men, and to encourage us not to faint in our work. We have a vast amount of prejudice and superstition to remove--prejudice and superstition which has been growing and consolidating for forty centuries, and has become an essential ingredient in the character of the people and part of almost every emotion and conception of their minds. At present both officials and people are very friendly, and we are permitted to preach the Gospel without hindrance. But we cannot tell how long this state of things will continue. When the operation of the leaven has become manifest, we must expect opposition. We cannot expect that the great adversary of God and men will relinquish this the strongest hold of his empire on earth, without a mighty struggle. We must yet contend with 'principalities and, powers and spiritual wickedness in high places.' WORSHIP OF THE EMPEROR. "The system of idolatry is as closely connected with the civil government of China, I suppose, as ever it was with ancient Rome. The emperor may be called the great High-priest of the nation. He and he only is permitted to offer sacrifice and direct worship to the Supreme Being. The description which Paul has given of the 'man of sin,' with but little variation may be applied to him. "'He exalts himself above all that is called God or that is worshiped, so that he as God, sitteth in the temple of God, shewing himself that he is God.' He has arrogated to himself the title which expresses the highest thought of divinity known to the conceptions of the Chinese mind. He is superior to all gods, except the great Supreme. All others he appoints, designates their business and dethrones them at his pleasure. In the city of Amoy is a temple dedicated to the worship of the emperor and containing a tablet as representative of his person. On certain days of the year the officers of government are required to repair to this temple, and offer that religious homage which is due to God alone. Now to remove these prejudices and superstitions and to carry to the final triumph this warfare, which we must wage with those in 'high places,' will not be the work of a few years. We might well despair of ever possessing the land, where such 'sons of Anak' dwell, were it not that the ark of God is with us and His command has been given, 'Go up and possess it.' But we look to you, my brethren, for assistance and reinforcement in this the cause of our common Lord, not only to fill the places of those who fall at their post or are disabled in the conflict, but also that we may extend our lines and conduct the siege with more effect. If you desire a field where you may find scope and employment for every variety of talent, and where you may prove yourselves faithful soldiers of Jesus Christ, I know of no place whence can come to you a more urgent call than from this vast empire." IV. LIGHT AND SHADE. THE CHIANG-CHIU VALLEY. Among the jottings in Mr. Talmage's diary for 1847-1848 we find mention of a tour to Chiang-chiu on September 23, 1847, in company with Messrs. Pohlman, Doty and Lloyd. Chiang-chiu is a large city of 200,000 inhabitants, situated on a wide river, 30 miles west of Amoy. He writes: "Wherever we went we were accompanied by an immense throng of people. The most of them I suppose had never seen a white face. But few Europeans have visited the city. The city has an extensive wall, wider and I think more cleanly streets, and is larger than Amoy. In the rear of the city there are three watch towers. They are situated on very elevated ground. From these we had a very delightful view of the city and surrounding country. The scenery, it seemed to me, was the most beautiful I had ever witnessed. Within the circle of our vision lay that immense city with its extensive walls, its temples and pagoda, its river, bridges and boats, its gardens, its trees and shrubbery, and its densely crowded streets. Surrounding the city was spread out an extensive valley of some ten or fifteen miles in width and some twenty or twenty-five in length, covered with luxuriant vegetation. Through the midst of the valley might be marked the meandering track of the Chiang-chiu river, the whole region beautifully variegated with fruit trees, shade trees, and villages. Still further on, in every direction, our view was bounded by lofty hills whose cloud capped tops seemed as pillars on which the heavens rested. Nature had done her best to make this region a terrestrial paradise." On a subsequent trip to Chiang-chiu, Mr. Talmage writes: "The valley of the Chiang-chiu river is one of the most beautiful regions I ever saw. It is densely populated. In every direction are villages, I might almost say without number, rendered most beautiful by their plentiful supply of large banyans and various other trees of luxuriant foliage. The intermediate spaces between the villages are fields covered with vegetation most dense and beautiful. Through the centre of this scene may be traced the course of the river with its numberless canals, like the Nile of Egypt, giving fertility wherever nature or the art of man conducts its waters." BREAKING AND BURNING OF IDOLS. "Feb. 27, 1848. Today an old lady and her two sons declared themselves to be worshipers of Jesus by presenting their idols to Bro. Pohlman. On the evening of the last day of their last year they had burnt their ancestral tablets. It was an interesting sight, said Bro. Pohlman, to see the old lady, supported by one of her sons, breaking her idols and making a voluntary and public surrender of them at the chapel. "March 1st. When the old lady returned from the chapel on Sunday evening she was full of zeal, and began preaching to her neighbors on the folly of idolatry. She was so successful that another old lady living in the same house with her has made a bonfire and burned all her idols except one. This, being made of clay, was not combustible. This she presented to Pohlman today. He asked her whether she gave it up willingly. She said she rejoiced to do it. She said she had not yet destroyed her ancestral tablets. Pohlman told her he did not wish her to do it rashly. She must reflect on the subject, and when she became convinced that the worship of them was a sin against God she must give them up immediately. "March 29th. This afternoon Bro. Hickok and wife and Bro. Maclay arrived at Amoy on their way to Foochow. They had a long passage from Hongkong, having been out twenty-nine days." The distance from Hongkong to Amoy is less than three hundred miles, and is made in twenty-four hours by an ordinary coast steamer. THE CHINESE BOAT RACE AND ITS ORIGIN. "June 5th. Monday. To-day being the fifth day of the fifth month (Chinese), was the festival of dragon boat-racing. Several dragon boats filled with rowers, rather paddlers, were contesting this afternoon in the harbor. The water was thronged with boats filled with Chinese to see the sport. Many of these boats, and almost all the junks in the neighborhood, were decked with green branches, also with streamers flying. The origin of this festival is said to be as follows: In very ancient times one of the first officers, perhaps Prime Minister of government, gave offense to the emperor. The emperor banished him. He was so downcast on account of the emperor's displeasure that he went and drowned himself. The emperor afterwards repented of his act, and on inquiry after the man learned that he had drowned himself. He sent out boats in every direction to search for his body, and also to make offerings to his spirit. His body was not found. But from that time to this his body is thus searched for every year and his spirit thus appeased. This celebration is universal throughout the empire and wherever there are colonies of Chinese, throughout the islands of the (East Indian) Archipelago. "The same good feeling continues to exist at Amoy as formerly. We are on the best of terms, so far as we can judge, with all classes, the officials and people. The mandarins receive our calls and return their cards. All of them but one have visited us at our houses. Some of them call on us quite frequently. This places us on a high vantage ground. The people will not fear to listen to us, attend our meetings, and visit us at our houses, as they would if the mandarins kept aloof from us. The same good feeling towards foreigners seems to extend far into the interior. At least we go from, village to village wherever we please without hindrance, and are always treated with kindness." THE CHINESE BEGGAR SYSTEM. "I have to-day been making some inquiries of my teacher concerning the system by which the beggars of Amoy are governed. The truth seems as follows: There are very many beggars in the city. In each ward there is a head-man or chief called 'Chief of the Beggars.' He derives his office from the 'Hai-hong,' or the superior local magistrate. Sometimes the office is conferred as an act of benevolence on an individual, who from sickness or other causes has met with reverses of fortune. Sometimes it is purchased. There being eighteen wards in the city of Amoy, of course there are eighteen such head-men. Their office is not honorable, but there is considerable profit connected with it. The head-men hold their office for life, or until removed for bad behavior. They get certificates of office from the 'Hai-hong,' and on the change of that functionary it is necessary to get the stamp of his successor attached to their certificates. Their income is derived from various sources. Monthly they call on the merchants and shopkeepers, who by paying down a sufficient amount are freed from the annoyance of beggars during the month. If a beggar enters one of these establishments he is pointed to a card which is posted up in some conspicuous place, and is a certificate from the 'chief of the beggars' of that ward that a sufficient amount of beggar money has been paid down for the month. The 'chiefs of the beggars' also receive money from a man or his family when he is about to marry, also from the family of the bride. They also receive money after the death and burial of the parents or any old member of a family; also from men who are advanced to literary honors, or who receive official promotion In any of the above cases, if any individual fail to agree with the 'chief of the beggars' of his ward and pay what is considered a sufficient amount of money (the amount varies with the importance of the occasion and the wealth of the parties), he may expect a visit from a posse of beggars, who will give him much annoyance by their continual demands. The 'chiefs of the beggars' give a part of the money which they receive to the beggars under them. My teacher thinks there are about two thousand beggars in the city of Amoy. There is a small district belonging to the city of Amoy called 'The Beggars' Camp.' The most of the inhabitants of this place are beggars. These beggars go about the city seeking a living, clothed in rags and covered with filth and sores, the most disgusting and pitiable objects I ever saw." TWO NOBLE MEN SUMMONED HENCE. On the 6th of December Rev. John Lloyd, of the American Presbyterian mission, died of typhus fever after an illness of two weeks. Mr. Talmage makes this record of him: "Dec. 8, 1848. Rev. John Lloyd was born in the State of Pennsylvania on the first of Oct., 1813, which made him thirty-five years, two months, and five days at the time of his death. He was a man of fine abilities. His mind was well stored with useful knowledge and was well disciplined. He was most laborious in study, very careful to improve his time. He was mastering the language with rapidity. His vocabulary was not so large as that of some of the other brethren, but he had a very large number of words and phrases at his command, and was pronounced by the Chinese to speak the language more accurately than any other foreigner in the place. They even said of him that it could not be inferred simply from his voice, unless his face was seen, that he was a foreigner. He was a man of warm heart, very strong in his friendship, very kind in his disposition, and a universal favorite among the Chinese. I never knew a man that improved more by close intimacy. His modesty, which may be called his great fault, was such that it was necessary to become well acquainted with him before he could be properly appreciated. But it has pleased the Master of the harvest to call him from the field just as he became fully qualified to be an efficient laborer. What a lesson this, that we must not overestimate our importance in the work to which God has called us. He can do without us. It seems necessary that He should give the Church lesson upon lesson that she may not forget her dependence upon Him." Early in 1849 the brethren were called to mourn the loss of one of the most devoted pioneers of the Amoy mission, the Rev. William J. Pohlman. Mr. Talmage writes: "Feb. 8th. On Monday night at twelve o'clock I was called up to receive the sad intelligence that our worst fears in reference to Pohlman were confirmed. He perished on the morning of the 5th or 6th ult. He embarked on the 2d ult. from Hongkong in the schooner Omega. On the morning of probably the 5th, at about two o'clock, she struck near Breaker Point, one hundred and twenty miles from Hongkong. A strong wind was blowing at the time, so that every effort to get the ship off was unavailing. She was driven farther on the sand and fell over on her side. Her long boat and one quarter boat were carried away, and her cabin filled with water. The men on board clung to the vessel until morning. The remaining boat was then lowered. Those of the crew who were able to swim were directed to swim to the shore. The captain, first and second officers, and Pohlman entered the boat end those of the crew who could not swim also received permission to enter. But a general rush was made for the boat, by which it was overturned, and those who could not swim, Pohlman among the number, perished. The captain attempted to reach the shore by swimming, and would have succeeded, but was met by the natives. They were eager for plunder, and seized the captain to plunder him of his clothes. While they were stripping him of his clothes they dragged him through the water with his head under, by which he was drowned. About twenty-five of the crew succeeded in reaching the shore in safety. After being stripped of their clothes, they were permitted to escape. Afterwards, on arriving at a village they were furnished with some rags. After suffering much from fatigue and hunger they arrived at Canton, overland, on the 17th ult. This event has cast gloom again over our small circle. But one month previous to his death, Pohlman with myself had closed the eyes of dear Lloyd. Oh, how deeply we do feel, and shall for a long time feel this loss." "Feb. 11th. On Sunday afternoon our new church was consecrated to the worship of the only true God, the first building built for this purpose in Amoy. Mr. Young preached the sermon. It was also a funeral sermon for Mr. Pohlman. The house was crowded with people. Very many could not get into the building. There was some noise and confusion. I think the majority, however, were desirous to hear." In a letter to Drs. Anderson (Dr. Anderson was one of the early Secretaries of the American Board of Commissioners for Foreign Missions.) and De Witt, speaking of Pohlman's death, he says: "Our hearts bleed. God has seen fit to send upon us stroke after stroke. Oh, when will He stay His hand? But we will not murmur. It is God who hath done this. His ways are inscrutable. We gaze upon them in mute astonishment. We may quote as peculiarly applicable to our present circumstances the remarks which this brother made at the grave of him who was called away a month previous. 'Death,' said he, 'is always a sad event, and is often peculiarly distressing. It is so in the instance before us. There is a sad breach in our little circle at this station. Situated as we are here, every member of our small society tells upon the happiness of the whole. Our number is limited and less than a score. We have few bosom friends, few to cheer and encourage us, few to whom to tell our sorrows and our joys. Here we are far away from those we love, away from dear friends and kindred and those tender associations which make society so delightful at home. Hence we feel deeply any breach made in our little circle. In proportion as our number is diminished in the same proportion is there a decrease in the endearments of friendship and love. More especially is this the case when the departed was possessed of social virtues and qualified to make all around him agreeable and happy. We mourn also for these poor deluded heathen. They have sustained an incalculable loss. I feel it impossible to give an adequate description of his character. He felt that in laboring for the heathen he was engaged in a work of the highest moment. Thereto he bent every energy of mind and body. That which, by receiving the word of God, we are made theoretically to acknowledge, by the dispensations of His Providence-we are made practically to feel, that man is nothing-that God is All in All.' "God's dealings with this mission would seem to be enough to arouse our Church. Heretofore He has given success to His servants. He has given us favor with the authorities and with the people. The Church has seemed to be satisfied with this. She has thanked God for His smiles, but has made little effort to increase the number of her laborers as fast as the demand for them increased. Now God is trying another plan. Her laborers are dying off and the question comes to her, not merely whether she will advance or not, but, whether she will retain that which she has already gained. She has volunteered in a glorious warfare. Will she hold the positions she has won, and make further conquests, or will she permit her soldiers to die at their posts without being replaced, and thus retire from the field? Important interests are at stake. The honor of our Church is at stake. The salvation of souls is at stake. It is a crisis with our mission. We cannot endure the thought that the labors of those faithful servants who have been called home shall be in a great measure lost by neglect. We have received lately impressive lessons of the uncertainty of human life. The thought steals over us that we, too, are liable at any moment to be cut down in the midst of our labors. This liability is increased by the amount of labor which necessarily devolves upon us. Now we are only two in number. As for myself I am only beginning to stammer in this difficult language. This, too, in a field where there is labor enough to be done to employ all the men you can send us. You will not think it strange then that we plead earnestly. "Our new church edifice was completed soon after Brother Pohlman left for Hongkong. As he had done so much of the work in gathering the congregation and had originated the idea of the building and had watched its erection with so much interest, we were desirous that he should be present at its consecration. We therefore delayed opening the building for worship until we received the definite news of his death." In an address on "Reminiscences of Missionaries and Mission Work," delivered by Dr. Talmage during his later years, he refers to the early missionaries at Amoy in these words: "The men God gave the Church were just the men needed to awaken her missionary spirit and shape her mission work. So for laying the foundation and shaping the plan of the structure He would have us erect at Amoy He gave us three men, just the men needed for the work,-David Abeel, William J. Pohlman and Elihu Doty. The more I meditate on what they said and wrote and did and suffered in the early days of that work, and see whereunto it is growing, the more am I impressed with the fact that they were wonderful men, just the men for the time, place, and circumstances, and therefore evidently God's gift. "Dr. Abeel was the pioneer of the Amoy Mission. During the greater part of the years of his manhood, he struggled with disease, and his whole life on earth was comparatively short, yet the Lord enabled him to accomplish more work than most men accomplish during a much longer life. His last field of labor was Amoy, entering it in January, 1842, when the port had just been thrown open and while the British army was still there, and leaving it in January, 1845. In that short time, notwithstanding interruptions from sickness and of voyages in search of health, or rather to stave off death till others were ready to take his place, he laid a good foundation, doing a work that told and was lasting. I met him only once. It was at his father's house in New Brunswick, after his work at Amoy-after all his public work was done and he was only waiting to be summoned home. When I afterwards went to Amoy, I found his name very fragrant, not only among Europeans and Americans, but also among the Chinese. He had baptized none, but a goodly number of those afterwards baptized had received their first impressions concerning Christianity and their first instructions therein from him." "Messrs. Doty and Pohlman with their families came from Borneo to Amoy, arriving in June, 1844, about six months before Dr. Abeel was compelled to leave. We have heard of places so healthy, that it is said there was difficulty to find material wherewith to start cemeteries. Amoy, rather Kolongsu, where all the Europeans then resided, in those days was not such a place. It is said that of all the foreign residents only one escaped the prevailing fever. The mortality was very great. In a year and a half from the time of their arrival at Amoy, Mr. Doty was on his way to the United States with two of his own and two of Mr. Pohlman's little ones. The other members of their families--the mothers and the children, all that was mortal of them--were Iying in the Mission cemetery on Kolongsu; and to 'hold the fort,' so far as our Mission was concerned, Pohlman was left alone, and well he held it. He had a new dialect to acquire, yet when health allowed, he daily visited his little mission chapel, and twice on the Sabbath, to preach the Gospel of Christ. He was a man of work, of great activity. When I arrived at Amoy in 1847, he was suffering from ophthalmia. Much of his reading and writing had to be done for him by others. I was accustomed to read to him an hour in the morning from six to seven. Another read to him an hour at noon from twelve to one. He was still subject to occasional attacks of the old malarial fever. Besides all this he was now alone in the world, his whole family gone, two of his little ones in his native land, then very much farther away from China than now, and the others, mother and children, sleeping their last sleep. "Yet he was the life of our little mission company. Do you ask why? He lived very close to God, and therefore was enabled to bow to the Divine will, to use his own language, 'with sweet submission.' Pohlman's term of service, too, was short. He was called away in his thirty-seventh year. His work at Amoy was less than five years. It, too, much of it, was foundation work, though he was permitted to see the walls just beginning to rise. Two of the first converts were baptized by him, and many others received from him their early Christian instruction. The first, and still by far the best church-building at Amoy, which is also the first church building erected in China expressly for Chinese Protestant Christian worship, may be called his monument. It was specially in answer to his appeal that the money, $3,000, was contributed. It was under his supervision that the building was erected. To it he gave very much toil and care. The house was nearly ready when he took his last voyage to Hongkong, and he was hastening back to dedicate it when God took him. His real monument, however is more precious and lasting than church-buildings, as precious and lasting as the souls he was instrumental in saving, and the spiritual temple whose foundation he helped to lay. There were many who remembered him with very warm affection long after he was gone. Among them I remember one, an old junk captain, who in his later years, speaking of heaven, was wont to say, 'I shall see Teacher Pohlman there; I shall see Teacher Pohlman there.'" V. AT THE FOOT OF THE BAMBOOS The sad and sudden departure of Mr. Pohlman so affected a maiden sister, Miss Pohlman, then at Amoy, as to unsettle her mind and necessitate an immediate return to the United States. No lady friend could accompany her. It was decided that Mr. Talmage take passage on the same ship and act as guardian and render what assistance he could. The ship arrived at New York August 23, 1849. Mr. Talmage made an extensive tour on behalf of Missions in China among the Reformed churches in New York, New Jersey, and Pennsylvania. "Jan. 15, 1850. Was married at twelve M. in First Presbyterian Church at Elizabeth, New Jersey, by Dr. N. Murray, to Miss Abby F. Woodruff. Started immediately with my wife on a trip to Seneca County, New York." "March 16, 1850. In the forenoon accompanied by many dear friends we embarked on board the ship Tartar from New York bound for China." "July 16th. Arrived safely at Amoy, for which our hearts are full of gratitude to Him who has watched over us on the deep and conducted us safely through every danger." Though the entire Reformed Mission at Amoy then consisted of only three members, Mr. Doty and Mr. and Mrs. Talmage, still they believed in colonizing. Mr. Talmage secured a Chinese house and shop a mile or more away from the original headquarters and this became the missionary's home and preaching place. It was on the north side of the city in a densely populated neighborhood known as "Tek-chhiu-Kha," or "At the Foot of the Bamboos." It fronted one of the main thoroughfares of the city. It was near the water's edge at the mooring-place of junks from the many-peopled districts of Tong-an and Lam-an. The house and shop were renovated and capped with another story. Here Mr. Talmage prayed and studied and preached and planned for nearly twenty years. On this spot to-day stands a flourishing Chinese church. In a letter to Drs. Anderson and De Witt, dated Dec. 17, 1850, Mr. Talmage thus describes their new home: "Our house is pleasantly situated, having a good view of the inner part of the harbor, and of several small islands in the harbor. We also have a pleasant view of the mainland beyond the harbor. From our house we can count a number of villages on the mainland, beautifully situated among large banyans. We hope the situation will prove a healthy one. I like the situation most of all because I think it well adapted to our work. We are near the northern extreme of the city along the water's edge, while the other missionaries are near the southern extreme. Thus on entering the harbor from Quemoy and other islands, near the mouth of the harbor or from the cities and villages on the seacoast, the first foreign residence at Amoy, which meets the eye, is the residence of missionaries. On coming to Amoy from the cities and villages which are inland, again the first foreign residence which meets the eye is the residence of missionaries. We are in a part of the city where the Gospel has not yet been preached." In the same letter he refers to the Opium habit--and to the initiatory steps toward the formation of a Romanized alphabet for the Amoy Vernacular. The Chinese character is learned with great difficulty. It requires years of close application. In Southern Fukien not more than one man in a hundred can read intelligently. It is doubtful whether one woman in ten thousand can. Protestant Christianity wants men to be able to give a reason for the hope that is in them. It urges our Lord's command, "Search the Scriptures." It demands not only the hearing ear, but the reading eye. Hence this early effort on the part of the missionaries to prepare a version of the Scriptures and a Christian literature in a form more readily learned by the people. Those early efforts were doubtful experiments even to some of the missionaries. The Chinese converts at first looked quite askance at what appeared to them an effort to supersede their highly venerated Chinese character. The Romanized system was gradually perfected. The Chinese were gradually disabused of their prejudices. To-day the most ardent advocates of the system are Chinese pastors and elders. The whole Bible has been translated into Amoy Romanized colloquial. An extensive literature adapted to Christian homes and Christian schools has grown up through the years and is contributing to the strength and progress of the Chinese Church to-day. OPIUM. "Independent of the reproach which the opium traffic casts on the Christian religion, we find it a great barrier in the way of evangelizing this people. We cannot put confidence in an opium smoker. A man who smokes it in even the smallest degree we should not dare to admit into the Christian church. More than one-half of the men at Amoy are more or less addicted to the habit. Of this half of the population the missionary can have comparatively but little hope. We know the grace of God can deliver from every vice and there have been examples of reformation even from this. Yet from experience when talking to an opium smoker we always feel discouraged. Although this be a discouraging feature in our operations here, it should only be a stimulus to the Church to send more laborers and put forth greater efforts to stem the tide of destruction which the Christian world is pouring in upon the heathen. Independent of the principles of benevolence, justice demands of Christendom that the evil be stayed, and reparation if possible be made for the injury already done. If nothing more, let there be an equivalent for whet has been received from China. It is a startling fact, that the money which Christian nations have received from China for this one article, an article which has done to the Chinese nothing but incalculable injury, far, far exceeds all the money which has been expended by all Protestant churches on all Protestant missions in all parts of the heathen world since the days of the Reformation. ROMANIZED COLLOQUIAL. "The question whether there is any way by which this people can be made a reading people, especially by which the Christians may be put in possession of the Word of God, and be able to read it intelligently for themselves, has occupied much thought of the missionaries here. At present most of the church members have no reading for the Sabbath and for private meditation. They may have family worship, but they cannot at their worship read the Holy Scriptures. Some of us are now trying an experiment whether by means of the Roman alphabet the Sacred Scriptures and other religious books may not be given to the Christians and to any others who cannot read, but who take enough of an interest in Christianity to desire to read the Scriptures for themselves. By the use of seventeen of these letters we can express every consonant and vowel sound in the Amoy dialect, and by the use of a few additional marks we can designate all the tones. Dr. James Young, an English Presbyterian missionary physician, has commenced teaching the colloquial, as written with the Roman alphabet, in his school, a school formerly under the care of Mr. Doty. From his present experience he is of opinion that boys who are at all apt in acquiring instruction, in less than three months may be prepared for reading the Scriptures, with understanding. I have a class of three or four adults an hour an evening four evenings in the week, receiving instruction in the colloquial. They have taken some half dozen lessons and are making good progress. At present we have no printed primers or spelling-books, and are compelled to teach principally by blackboard. We are of opinion that almost every member of the church can soon learn to read by this system. Arrangements have been made to print part of the history of Joseph in colloquial. These are but experiments. If they succeed according to our present hope, it may be worth while to have the whole Bible and other religious books printed in this manner. A little more experience will enable us to speak with more confidence for or against the plan." "Dec. 23. Yesterday morning my chapel was opened, according to appointment. I preached to the people my first regular sermon from the text, 'There is one God and one Mediator,' etc. The room was crowded. It will seat about one hundred comfortably." CHINESE SENSE OF SIN. March 17, 1851. To his brother, Goyn. "I think the Chinese are very different in their religious feelings from many other (perhaps from the most of other) heathen people. We have often heard of the great sacrifices which the heathen of India will make and the great sufferings they will impose on themselves in order to make atonement for their sins and appease the anger of the gods. There may occasionally be something of the kind among the Buddhists of China. But I rather suppose that where there are any self-mortifications imposed (which is very rare in this part of China), they are imposed to secure merit, not to atone for sin. I do not remember ever to have met with an individual among the Chinese who had any sense of sinfulness of heart, or even any remorse for sinfulness of conduct except he was first taught it by the Gospel. It is one of the most difficult truths to convey to their minds that they are sinners against God. We have had a few inquirers who have expressed a deep sense of sinfulness. But this sense of sinfulness has come from hearing the Gospel. The way the most of those, whom we doubt not are true Christians, have been led on seems to be as follows: They hear the Gospel, presently they become convinced of its truth. Their first impulses then seem to be those of joy and gratitude. They are like men who were born blind, and had never mourned over their blindness, because they had no notion of the blessing of sight. Presently their eyes begin to be opened and they begin to see. They only think of the new blessings which they are receiving, not of the imperfections which still remain in their vision. A sense of these comes afterwards. Was not this sometimes the case in the days of the apostles? It was not so on the day of Pentecost. The multitude were 'pricked in their hearts' because the moment they were convinced that Jesus was the Christ they were filled with a sense of their wickedness in crucifying Him. So it is with persons in Christian lands when their minds become interested in the truth; they are made to feel their wickedness in so long resisting its influences. But the case seems to have been different when Philip first carried the Gospel to Samaria. The first effect there seems to have been that of 'great joy.' "It seems to be thus in Amoy. The conviction of deep sinfulness comes by meditating on the Gospel, the work of Christ, etc. "It is the doctrine of the cross of Christ, after all, which should be the theme of our discourses." March 18, 1851. To his brother, Goyn. "They say in regard to preaching, that when a man has nothing more to say he had better stop. If this rule were carried out in conversation and letter-writing, there would be much less said and written in the world, than is now the case. "You seem to think that we missionaries can sit down at any time and write letters, always having enough matter that will be interesting to you at home. This is a good theory enough, but facts do not always bear it out. "Our missionary work moves on usually in the same steady manner without many ups and downs or interesting episodes (rather a mixture of figures you will say), which we think worthy of note. I wish you folks at home could send us more men to drive on the work a little faster. The door of access at Amoy still continues as wide open as ever, and now seems to be the time for the Church to send her men and occupy the post, which the Master offers to her. But the Church at home cannot, it seems, look at this matter as we who are on the ground.... PRIMITIVE LAMPS "We have no good lamps yet for the church, consequently cannot open it in the evening. But I have prepared some lamps for my chapel. I think you would laugh to see them. They are four in number. Two of them are merely small tumblers hung up by wires and cords. By means of another wire a wick is suspended in each tumbler and the tumbler filled with oil. The other two are on the same principle, but the tumblers are hung in a kind of glass globe which is suspended by brass chains. These look considerably more ornamental than the first two. Whether you laugh at them or not, they answer a very good purpose. They do not make the room as light as would be required in a church, in as large a city as Amoy is, in the United States, but by means of them my chapel is open on Sunday evenings and on every other evening in the week except one. The church and chapel are both open almost every afternoon in the week, and sometimes in the mornings. One, two, three, or more of the converts are always ready to hold forth almost every afternoon and evening. Besides this, they go to other thoroughfares frequently and preach the Gospel as well as they are able. For much of the work these converts are perhaps better adapted than ourselves. They understand the superstitions of the people in their practical working, better than we probably will ever be able to learn them." ZEALOUS CONVERTS. "April 14, 1851. There are now in connection with our church thirteen converts. In connection with the church of the London brethren there are eight. Two of our members, although compelled to labor with their hands for the sustenance of themselves and their families, yet devote the afternoons and evenings of almost every day in the week, in making known the way of salvation to their countrymen. They spend the Sabbath also, only omitting their labors long enough to listen to the preaching of the missionary and to partake of their noonday meal, from early in the morning until bedtime, in the same way, publishing the Gospel to their countrymen." THE TERM QUESTION. It was at this time that the translation of the Bible into the Classic Chinese Version, or "Delegates' Version" as it was afterwards called, was going on. A long and heated controversy had arisen as to the proper terms in the Chinese language to be used in translation of the words "God" and "Spirit." Missionaries in different parts of the empire took most opposite views and held them with the greatest tenacity. The Missionary Boards and Bible Societies in Great Britain and America were deeply interested spectators. The American Board of Commissioners for Foreign Missions and the American Bible Society became participators. On what they considered satisfactory evidence they declared in favor of certain Chinese words and characters to be used in preaching the Gospel and in translating the Scriptures. They advised their missionaries and Bible distributors of their decision. The missionaries at Amoy, Messrs. John and Alexander Stronach, London Mission, and Messrs. Doty and Talmage, had very strong convictions on this subject. Their views agreed. Rev. John Stronach was one of the Committee who prepared the "Delegates' Version." The views of the brethren at Amoy were diametrically opposed to the decisions of the American Board and American Bible Society. In a long letter of eighty four pages, addressed to Drs. Anderson and De Witt, Oct. 31, 1851, Mr. Talmage sets forth their side of the question. No man can read that document, weighty with learning and charged with moral earnestness, but must feel the profoundest respect for the writer, however he may dissent from his arguments. He concludes as follows: "Such are our views concerning the use of the words 'Shin' and 'Ling' as translations of the words 'God' and 'Spirit.' While we hold ourselves open to conviction, if it can be proved that we are wrong, we at present hold these views firmly. We may not have succeeded in convincing the Prudential Committee that our views are correct, yet we trust we have convinced them that we have given due attention to the subject. We now ask, Can the Prudential Committee expect of us, while we hold such views, to conform to their decision? Would they respect us if we did? We could not respect ourselves. If we could thus trifle with conscientious views on subjects of such importance, we certainly should regard ourselves as being unworthy to be called missionaries of the A. B. C. F. M. or any other Protestant association, and we think the Prudential Committee would also lose confidence in us. We now feel called upon to state our views in reference to the propriety of the various missionary societies and Bible societies and other institutions deciding for us what terms we shall use and what terms we shall not use in preaching the Gospel to the heathen. We shall state our views with the utmost kindness and with all due deference to those from whom we differ. We cannot doubt that the Prudential Committee are willing also and desire us to state our views with the utmost frankness. If our views are incorrect, we desire that others use the same freedom in pointing out our errors. Our views are these:--The societies in the United States and England are not called upon, at least at the present time, to decide this question for us. Those societies which have made such decision have acted prematurely. In deciding this question authoritatively, they are assuming a responsibility which we think they are not called upon to assume. This responsibility belongs properly to the missionaries, and they, we say it with all due respect, are much better qualified to bear this responsibility; for they are better qualified to judge of the evidence and discover the truth in the case. If they are not, then they are not qualified to be missionaries. But whether better qualified or not, they are accountable to a higher power than that of any society under whose patronage they may labor. Whatever be the decision of such society, they are still bound, in preaching the Gospel, to conform to their conscientious views of truth. The only way to produce agreement among Protestant missionaries is not by authoritative decisions or even by compromise, but by producing evidence sufficient to convince the judgment. We must have evidence. In selecting men for China or any other heathen field, missionary societies should first examine whether they have mental ability to acquire the language of the people to whom they are going. If they are deficient in this respect they should not be sent, and if missionaries on the ground are found deficient in this respect they should be recalled." The "term question" has not been settled to this day. Jan. 22, 1852. To Dr. Anderson. "I made another effort to extend our influence by going out towards evening into the streets and selecting eligible situations from which to preach to those who would assemble. In this manner I often had opportunity to publish the glad tidings more widely than we can do in our houses of worship. I found much encouragement in this work. If we had the physical strength we might thus preach day after day, from morning to night, and find multitudes ready to listen." WHAT IT COSTS A CHINESE TO BECOME A CHRISTIAN. In the same letter, speaking of ten converts received, he says: "One of them was gaining a mere living from the profits of a small shop, in which he sold paper and candles to be used in idolatrous worship. As he became acquainted with the Gospel, he soon found that his business was opposed to the doctrines of Christianity. A hard contest ensued, but the power of the Gospel finally triumphed. He gave up his business and with it his only prospect of making a livelihood and for some months had no other prospect before him and his family but beggary or starvation, except such a hope as God afforded. Another held a small office of government, the requirements of which were inconsistent with obedience to the Gospel, but the perquisites of which were his only means of sustaining his family, including an aged father. In his case the conflict seemed yet more fearful and lasted a much longer time. We hoped that the truth had taken a deep hold on him, but we began to tremble for the result. The love of Christ, as we trust, finally gained the victory. He gave up his office, gave up his living, gave up the world, that he might find the salvation of his soul and confess Christ before men. So also with the most of the others. They were called to sacrifice their worldly prospects, in order to embrace the Gospel. Christians in our beloved land hardly know what it is to take up the cross and follow Christ. The ridicule and obloquy with which they meet, if indeed they meet with any, is not a tithe of that to which the native convert here is exposed. Besides, they are seldom called to suffer much temporal loss for the sake of Christ, but it is very different with him. If he belong to the literary class, he must give up all hope of preferment. If he be in the employ of the government, he may expect to be deprived of his employment, if indeed he be not compelled to give it up from conscientious motives. If he be a shopkeeper, his observance of the Lord's day will probably deprive him of many of his customers, and if he be in the employ of others the same reason will render it very difficult for him to retain his situation." PERSECUTED FOR CHRIST'S SAKE. April 6, 1852. To his brother, Goyn. "I promised to give some account of the young man who was baptized on the Sabbath before the last. His name is Khi (pronounced like the letter 'X' of the Greek alphabet). Early last year I noticed a young man who began to be quite regular in attending service at my chapel. I inquired of him where he lived and why he came. He said he was employed in burning lime at a lime-kiln not far off from my house. That I had met him in the street and invited him to come to the chapel. Of this I remembered nothing, but I often thus invite persons to come and hear the Gospel. He said he came in consequence of that invitation. But having heard the doctrine, he found it to be good, and had embraced it. This man has since been baptized. I soon learned that he had been persuading his fellow-workmen to come along with him. One of these workmen was Khi. He soon determined to obey the doctrines of the Scriptures. One of these doctrines brought him into immediate collision with his employer. This doctrine was, 'Remember the Sabbath day to keep it holy.' He refused to work on the Sabbath day. His employer told him if he did not work he would discharge him. Khi was not to be moved from his determination and was finally dismissed. After a few ineffectual efforts to get employment, he returned to visit his father's family; They reside a day's journey from Amoy. While home he was taken ill. It was two or three months before he returned again to Amoy. When he came back I conversed with him concerning his conduct while away. He had as yet but little knowledge of the doctrines of the Bible. But I was much gratified at the simplicity of piety which his narration manifested. He had not only endeavored to serve God himself, but had endeavored to persuade others also to turn unto God. After his return, all his efforts to get employment failed. I spoke to a mason who has done much work for us, and who employs many workmen, and requested him to employ Khi for the carrying of bricks and mortar and such work, if he had an opening for him. He consented to do so and employed him for a short time. But Khi's fellow workmen did not like his religion and succeeded in getting him discharged. In consequence of the dampness of the climate, it is not safe for foreigners to live on the first floor. We always live above stairs. Therefore I have rooms in the lower part of my house unoccupied. Khi asked me if he might sleep in one of these rooms. I of course consented. He had no bed or bedding. I had some empty boxes in the room. He put these together, and laid some straw and a straw mat on them for his bed. After he was discharged by the mason, he endeavored to make a living by carrying potatoes about the street for sale. His profits were from two to four cents a day. He made no complaint. He lived on potatoes. Winter came on; he had no means of buying clothing, or better food. The consequence was that he became ill. The room in which he slept was directly under my study. Almost every night I would hear his voice engaged in prayer, before he retired to his straw. Sometimes he would pray for a long, long time. The first thing in the morning again I would hear his voice in prayer. I knew that he was destitute, but as he never complained, I knew not how great his destitution was, and did not dare to help him lest it would throw out inducements for others to profess Christianity. We are continually compelled to guard against this danger. Many of these poor people would profess Christianity for the sake of a living. One Sabbath evening I heard his voice in prayer, much earlier than usual, and therefore it attracted particular attention. Presently word came to me that Khi was ill. I went down to see him. It made my heart bleed to see a fellow-creature in such destitution, one, moreover, who I hoped was a brother in Christ Jesus. I had had no idea that his destitution was so great. He seemed to be suffering under a severe attack of colic. On inquiry as to how he usually fared, I did not wonder that he was ill. I gave him a little medicine, took means to get him warm and he was soon relieved. "I then had some good food prepared for him. I was peculiarly struck with the meekness and patience wherewith he bore his sufferings. There was not a murmuring word from his lips, but many words of an opposite character. The next day I called him into my study to give him a little money with which to buy clothing and food. But I had great difficulty in persuading him to take it. He said his sufferings were of no consequence. They were much less than he deserved. The sufferings of this world were all only for a short time. They were sent upon us to teach us not to love the world. Much more he said to this effect. I had to call upon one of the native converts to intercede with him, before he would take the money. But I must not dwell on this subject longer. From what I have said about our missionary work, you will understand why the missionary loves his work and why he would not leave it for any other work, unless duty compels him." "HE IS ONLY A BEGGAR." Nov. 27, 1852. To the Sunday-school of the Reformed Church at Bound Brook, New Jersey. "There is very much poverty and misery among the heathen. They do not pity each other and love each other as some Christians do. Those who have the comforts of life seem to have very little pity for those who are destitute. Therefore they have no poorhouses where the poor may be taken care of. Consequently very many steal, very many beg, and very many starve to death. In going from my house to church on the Sabbath I have counted more than thirty beggars on the streets. The most of them were such pitiable looking objects as you never saw. I have seen persons who are called beggars in the United States, but I never saw a real beggar till I came to Amoy. Some of them are covered with filth and a few filthy rags. Some of them are without eyes, some without noses, some without hands, and some without feet. Some crawl upon their hands and feet, some sit down in the streets and shove themselves along, and some lie down end can only move along by rolling over and over. On Sunday before last, while I was preaching, a blind girl came into the chapel. She was led by a string attached to a boy going before her. He could see, but could not walk. He crept along on his hands and knees. A month or two ago, during a cold storm, late in the evening, just as I was going to bed, I heard some one groaning by my front door. I went out to see what was the matter. I found an old man with white beard Iying in the mud and water, and with very little clothing. He was shivering from cold. He was unable to speak. I had him carried into my house, and covered over with some mats. We prepared some warm drink and food for him, as speedily as possible, hoping that thus we might save his life. But before we could get it ready he died. He had probably been carried by some persons and laid at my door to die, that they might be free from the trouble and expense of burying him. "A week or two ago when walking through the streets I saw a beggar Iying a little distance off. I inquired whether he was already dead. Some men, who stood near, said 'Yes.' I then asked why they did not bury him. 'Oh, he is of no use.' I inquired, 'Is he not a man ?' 'No,' they said, 'he is only a beggar.' 'But,' I asked again, 'is he not still a man?' They laughed and answered, 'Yes.' A few days after, walking with Mrs. Talmage by the same place, we saw another beggar Iying nearly in the same spot. I inquired of the persons who were near whether he was dead. They answered, 'Yes.' Close by sat a beggar who was still alive. He was scarcely grown up. But his face was so deformed from suffering that we could not guess his age. He held out his hands for alms. We gave him a few cash and went on. The next day we passed that way again. We saw two beggars lying together, both dead. We went to them. One was the lad to whom we gave the cash the day previous. On Sunday in coming from church we again passed by that sad spot, and there was still another beggar lying dead directly in the road. This gives you, in part, a picture of what heathenism is." Parts of two letters written in 1852 to his sister Catharine will prove interesting. PRINTING UNDER DIFFICULTIES. "Our work here is continually growing on our hands. Besides our usual missionary work, I do a little teaching, a little book-making, and a little printing. You did not know, perhaps, that I am a printer. We are teaching a few persons to read the colloquial (or spoken) language of Amoy. But in order to teach this, it is necessary that this spoken language be committed to writing. It is necessary to have books printed in it. We have no printing press at Amoy. I have had some types cut on bone or horn. With these I print a copy. This is handed to the carver. He pastes it upside down on a block and carves the words on the block. This block is then inked and is made to print other copies. It is a slow process, but the only one we have at Amoy at present. I have thus prepared a spelling-book in the Amoy colloquial. It is not all completed yet. The carver is busy with the last two or three sheets. A few of the first sheets were struck off some weeks ago and made up into small books, which we have been using to teach those who are learning to read, until the whole book is complete. Our printing is not very pretty. When the caners get more experienced in their work, they will be able to do their part better. Our plan of teaching is as follows: On Monday afternoon we have a meeting for women at our house. Before and after the service we teach them (those of them who wish to learn) to spell. On Tuesday afternoon, Mrs. Doty meets those who wish to learn, in a room connected with the church. On Wednesday, Mrs. Doty has a meeting for women at her house. She also spends a little time then in teaching them. On Friday, Abby and I go to the church and spend about an hour in teaching. We cannot expect them to make very rapid progress in this manner of teaching, but it is the best we can do for them at present. There are two little girls who have been coming to our house every day for more than a month. They are beginning to read." "I must tell you a little of what I have been doing to-day. This forenoon, among other things, I doctored a Yankee clock. I bought it in Amoy nearly a year ago for three dollars. Sometimes it goes, and sometimes it stands still. But it stands still much more than it goes. This morning I took it all apart, every wheel out, rubbed each wheel off, and put the clock together again. It has been running ever since, but how long it will continue to run, I cannot tell. CARRIER PIGEONS. "Our cook, 'Lo,' takes care of our pigeons. Some have died and a few have been stolen, but they have continued gradually to increase. They now number twenty. They are very pretty, and very tame. They spend much of the time on the open veranda in front of our house. Some of them are of a dark brown color, some are perfectly white, some are black and white. We shall soon have enough to begin eating pigeon pies, but I suppose we shall be loth to kill the pretty birds. Some of them are of the Carrier pigeon species. We might take them to a good distance from Amoy and they would doubtless find their way home again. The Chinese have a small whistle which they sometimes fasten on the back of the pigeons near the tail. 'Lo' has some attached to some of our pigeons. When they fly swiftly through the air, you can hear the whistle at a great distance. The noise often reminds us of the whistle of a locomotive. "The gold-fish in the lamp continue much as when I wrote before. We have made some additions to our flower-pots and flowers this spring. Our open veranda is being turned into a sort of open garden. We now have from sixty to seventy pots, from the size of a barrel down to the size of a two-quart measure. Some of them are empty and some of them are not. Besides flowers, we have parsley, onions, peppers, mint, etc., etc. Our garden does not flourish as well as it would, if I had time to attend to it. Besides this, the pigeons are very fond of picking off the young sprouts. Lest you should think us too extravagant, I ought to tell you the cost of the flower-pots. Those which were presented to us, did not cost us anything. Those we bought, cost from a cent apiece to sixpence. Some two or three cost as high as fifteen or twenty cents apiece. But you will never understand how nice and how odd we have it, unless you step in some day to look for yourself." VI. THE "LITTLE KNIFE" INSURRECTION China has maintained her integrity as an empire for hundreds of years. But not without struggle. There have been rebellions and dynastic overthrows that threatened to cleave the empire to its foundations. Indeed rebellion has often had the sanction of religion in China. Let a government be unsuccessful; let a dynasty see the gaunt hand of famine, or the poison hand of pestilence laid on the land, that is the mute voice of Heaven speaking against those who rule. And what nobler than to be self-chosen executors of Heaven's vengeance. Green-eyed envy in imperial pavilion and courtrooms has often stood sponsor to the wildest lawlessness. A base and extortionate government has often driven men in sheer self-defence to tearing down yamens and hunting down the "tiger" mandarin. The present Manchu dynasty seized the Dragon throne in 1644. For one hundred and fifty years China enjoyed comparative peace and prosperity. The emperor Kang-hi and his grandson Keenlung, each reigned sixty years, to the Chinese a manifest token of Heaven's favor. The past one hundred years have been troublous. There has been internal strife. There have been momentous issues to settle in the opening of China's gates to the outside world. When she needed Emperors of the broadest statesmanship, she has had to blunder along with mediocre men or bend an unwilling neck under the sway of puppets. Had it not been for her great Prime Ministers, such as Prince Kung and Li Hung Chang, the days would have been fuller of dark-presaging omens and their disastrous fulfillment. The beginning of this century found a secret society in existence known as the "Triads," whose avowed object was the expulsion of the Manchus and the restoration of the Mings. In 1803 the emperor Kiaking was attacked in open day while being carried in a chair of state through the streets of Peking. He was saved by his attendants, several of whom lost their lives. In 1851 the Tai-ping Rebellion began. The fuel that fed the flame was various. It was reaction against oppressive government. It was iconoclasm inspired by a spurious Christianity. It was pride of race that would not tolerate a Manchu on the throne. For fourteen years China staggered under this awful scourge. Whole provinces were devastated and almost depopulated. For a long time the issue was uncertain. At length the united strength of foreigners and Chinese battered the serpent's head and destroyed its vitals. While the boa of rebellion was stretching itself across the heart of the empire a whole brood of little serpents were poisoning and devouring other outlying provinces. An insurrection was organized in the neighborhood of Amoy early in 1853. Mr. Talmage writes fully concerning it. THE "LITTLE KNIFE" INSURRECTION. Jan. 25, 1853. To the Sunday-school, Flushing, New York. "The streets of Amoy are very narrow. The widest are only a few yards wide. At very short distances apart, there are gates across the streets. The object of these gates, and the principal cause of the streets being so narrow, are to protect the inhabitants from gangs of thieves. In the winter season, when men have more leisure and more temptation to plunder, these gates are closed every night. During the present winter the people seem to have had more fear of robbers than usual. Old gates have been repaired and many new gates have been built. The inhabitants of a Christian land, like America, do not fear to live alone in the country without any near neighbors. But in this region a house standing alone in the country is scarcely ever seen. The people always collect together in villages or towns or cities. The villages are usually provided with small watchtowers, built of stone or brick, in which a few men may sleep as sentinels to give notice of the approach of robbers, and to fire on them. Even in the towns and cities you seldom see a dwelling-house with an outside window. If there be such a window, it is usually guarded by slabs of granite, or by mason-work with only small openings, like the windows of a prison, so that a person cannot pass through." June 3, 1853. To Dr. Anderson. "In March last one of the members of our church, Chheng-choan, requested that he might be sent in company with the colporteur on a trip to the city of Chiangchiu to preach the Gospel and distribute tracts. He said that his heart was very ardent to go and make known the Gospel. He was willing to give the time and bear his own expenses. He is a native of the city of Chiangchiu." "They made two visits, one in company with Rev. W. C. Burns. Many of the people requested them to establish a permanent place. Houses were offered them for rent. A few days after their return to Amoy two men who had been much interested in their preaching came down and spent several days with us in order that they might learn the way of the Lord more perfectly." "On the 3d of May we called a meeting of the male members of our church, to take into consideration the subject of immediately sending two of their number to Chiangchiu, to commence permanent operations. The members were unanimous in the opinion that the Master had opened the way before us, and was calling us to go forward. It was decided that if two men qualified for the work would volunteer, they should immediately be sent. It was then suggested that if two more men were ready perhaps it would be well to appoint them for the region north of us, to carry the Gospel to the villages and towns between Amoy and Chinchew and see whether the way might not be open to begin operations in that city. Chinchew is an important city near the seacoast, about one-third of the way from Amoy to Foochow. The suggestion concerning the appointment of men for Chinchew was new to us. Everything seemed favorable for adopting the new suggestion. Four men immediately offered themselves for the work, two for Chiangchiu, and two for the region of Chinchew. They were men whom we thought well qualified for the work, probably just the men we would have chosen. "The evangelist U, and the colporteur Lotia, left Amoy on their mission to Chiangchiu, May 12th. A few days after their arrival, about midnight on the 17th of May, the insurrection broke at Chiangchiu, which interrupted their labors. The evangelist thought that quiet would soon be restored and therefore resolved to remain a few days. The people rushed upon the insurgents, wrested their arms from them, and slew many of them. The insurgents finding themselves overpowered attempted to flee. The gates of the streets were closed against them. The people along the streets attacked them by throwing missiles from the tops of the houses. All strangers in the city were in great danger of being suspected and treated as insurgents. The evangelist in leaving the city was seized by some of the mob. Some said he was one of the insurgents, others said he was not. He succeeded in making his escape to the house of a friend outside of the city walls. The colporteur made his escape over the wall of the city and fled to the house of some friends in the suburbs near the river-side. By my letter of May 19th, it will be seen that Amoy was attacked by the insurgents on the morning (May 18th), after they entered the city of Chiangchiu. The insurgents are members of a secret society. For very many years there has existed in this region a society by the name of 'Thian-te-hoe,' Heaven and Earth Society. This is the name by which the members designate their society. But as the members are generally provided with knives or small swords, the society is designated by the people as 'Sio-to-hoe,' Small Sword Society. The professed object of this society has been the overthrow of the present Tartar dynasty. Between this and Chiangchiu the members of this society are very numerous. After the breaking out of the insurrection at Hai-teng, and Chioh-be (cities fifteen and eighteen miles from Amoy, half way to Chiangchiu), the whole populace appeared to sympathize with the movement. Large bodies of the insurgents moved up the river to Chiangchiu, others came down the river to Amoy. At the same time there was a rising of the insurgents at Tong-an and An-khoe, districts to the north of Amoy. At the first outbreak the officials and soldiers fled. The people of Amoy have been in continual excitement and fear. They are afraid to engage in business. On Sabbath morning we went to our chapels as usual. Shortly after commencing services, news came that a fleet of war junks under the command of the Admiral was anchoring a short distance from the city. Soon the whole city was in commotion. About noon a detachment of a thousand soldiers was landed from the junks. They marched with very little opposition through the town to the gates of the city. They were attacked simultaneously by the insurgents from within, and by those in ambush without. The insurgents were victorious. "By three o'clock in the afternoon the city was comparatively quiet, and we repaired to our church. Most of the church members were assembled. Our church edifice is situated on the great thoroughfare which had been the principal scene of excitement. It was thought best to suspend the usual exercises, to close the street doors, and hold if possible a quiet prayer-meeting. It was a solemn time. The 'confused noise' of war had just been heard, human blood had been flowing, the angry passions of men were not yet calmed, and we knew not what the end would be. We felt it a suitable time to draw near to God and make Him our refuge. This afternoon we received tidings from Chiangchiu. The evangelist was arrested by twelve men, delivered to an official and beheaded." "June 10, 1853. The state of affairs through the whole of this region remains very unsettled. The insurgents are endeavoring to regain possession of the city of Chiangchiu. They have command of the whole region, between this place and that city. They still are in possession of Amoy. We are almost daily expecting an attack by the government authorities. "Amoy is cut off from all trade with the large towns around. The insurgents probably would not permit goods to be carried to Chiangchiu and other places with which they are at war. Besides, this whole region is infested with pirates. It is only at great risk that any merchant junk can at present come to or depart from Amoy. We cannot yet form any definite opinion as to the final result of this movement. The forces of the insurgents are none of them drilled soldiers. Their appearance is that of an armed mob. Their weapons are mostly spears, and knives and matchlocks. "At the time the insurrection broke out in our neighborhood and while we were expecting an attack on our city by the insurgents, we felt some anxiety. We had no means of deciding how they would feel towards foreigners. We supposed they would feel it to be for their own interest not to meddle with foreigners. They knew that they would have enough to do to contend with their own government, without at the same time involving themselves with foreign powers. More than all this, we had the doctrines and promises of God's word on which to rely. These we feel at all times give us the only unfailing security. They are worth more than armies and navies. It is only when God uses armies and navies for the fulfillment of His own promises that they are worth anything to us." HOW THE CHINESE FIGHT. July 28, 1853. To his brother, Daniel. "I suppose you will feel more desirous to learn about the state of politics and war at Amoy. At present everything is quiet. Three weeks ago another attempt was made by the Mandarins to retake Amoy. They landed a body of troops on the opposite side of the island. These were to march across the island (about ten miles) and attack the city by land. Simultaneously an attack was to be made on the city from the water side by the Mandarin fleet. It is said that the land forces amounted to about 10,000. The fleet consisted of about forty sail. On Wednesday morning (July 6th), about daybreak, the troops were put in motion. They were met with about an equal number of rebel troops. They fought until the Mandarin soldiers became hungry (about eight or nine o'clock). Not being relieved at that time, as they expected, they withdrew to cook their rice. The Mandarin in command considering that his life was much more important than that of the soldiers, kept himself at a safe distance from the scene of action. At about breakfast-time he started to go down in his sedan chair nearer the scene of action. When he saw that his troops were retiring to cook their breakfast, he supposed that they were giving way before the enemy. Prudence being the better part of valor, he ordered his chair-bearers to face about and carry him in the other direction. The soldiers, finding that their chief officer had fled, thought there was no further need of risking their lives, so they all retired. I cannot vouch for the truth of the whole of the above statement. Such, however, is the story soberly related by some of the Chinese. We could see the smoke and hear the reports of the guns from the top of our house. The fighting commenced very early. We thought that the Mandarin troops were gradually approaching the city, until about Chinese breakfast-time (eight to nine o'clock), when the firing ceased. We know not how many lives were lost in the engagement. The rebels brought into the city some seventeen or eighteen heads which they had decapitated. I know not whether these were all killed in the fight or whether they were the heads of some villagers on whom the rebels took vengeance for assisting the Mandarins." "Now for the engagement on the water. The rebel forces on the water were much inferior to the Mandarin forces, but the Chinese say they fought more desperately. The engagement opened on Wednesday about noon and lasted until nearly evening. Towards evening the Mandarin fleet withdrew a few miles and came to anchor. On Thursday at high-tide (about noon) the engagement was renewed. Towards evening the Mandarin fleet again withdrew as before. On Friday the engagement was again renewed with similar results. On Saturday the Mandarin fleet withdrew entirely and left the harbor. "During the three days of the fight, as you would expect, there was much excitement in Amoy. The tops of the houses and the hills around about, at the time of the engagement, were thronged with people, and there was a continual discharge of cannon. But I have not given the number of the killed and wounded in the three days' naval action. Reports, you know, are often much exaggerated on such occasions. According to the most reliable statements (and I have not yet heard of any other statement), the list stands thus: "Killed-None! "Wounded-None! "Prisoners-None! "It is said that one ball from a Mandarin junk did strike a rebel junk, but did not hurt any one. During the fighting the vessels kept so far apart that the balls almost always fell into the water between them. On the second day of the fight, a boat from the city in which were three men, who were not engaged in the fight, was captured by the Mandarin fleet, and the three men were beheaded. War is too serious a matter to be laughed at, but the kind of war we have thus far seen at Amoy is only like children's play." Nov. 1, 1853. To his brother, Daniel. "Our war still continues, fighting almost every day. The day I sent off my last package to you, two more balls struck our house. One came through the roof of an unoccupied part of the premises. I did not weigh it, but suppose it was about a six-pounder. The other struck against a pillar in the outside wall and fell down and was picked up by some one outside of the house, so that I do not know the size of it. It was a merciful Providence that it struck the pillar. If it had struck on either side of the pillar, it would have come into a room in which many Chinese were collected. On Sunday last there was much fighting again. A small ball came into our veranda. A small ball entered Mr. Doty's house, one entered Mr. Alexander Stronach's house, several entered Dr. Hirschberg's house; other houses also were struck. Dr. Hirschberg's house has been the most exposed. We have all been preserved from harm thus far. He, who has thus far preserved us, I trust will continue to preserve us. The fighting is more serious than at first. A little more courage is manifested and more execution is done. But I do not see any prospect of either party being victorious. The party whose funds are completely used up first, will doubtless have to yield to the other. I cannot tell which that will be. I shall be heartily glad when one of the armies withdraws from Amoy. The country around Amoy is becoming desolated. Houses and whole villages are plundered and burned. In Amoy suffering abounds, and I suppose is increasing. When I go out into the street I usually put a handful of cash into my pocket to distribute to the beggars." In November, 1853, Imperial authority asserted itself. "The Imperial forces having collected from the neighboring garrisons, appeared in such overwhelming strength that the insurgents hastily put off to sea. Many succeeded in escaping to Formosa and Singapore. The leader was accidentally shot off Macao. The restoration of Imperial authority was followed, however, by terrible scenes of official cruelty and bloodthirstiness. The guilty had escaped, but the Emperor Hienfung's officials wreaked their rage on the helpless and unoffending townspeople. Hundreds of both sexes were slain in cold blood, and on more than one occasion English officers and seamen interfered to protect the weak and to arrest the progress of an undiscriminating and insensate massacre." VII. THE BLOSSOMING DESERT. "In tropical lands, when the rain comes, what was barren baked earth, in a day or two is rich meadow, all ablaze with flowers, and the dry torrent beds, where the stones lay white and glistening ghastly in the hot sunshine, are foaming with rushing streams and fringed with budding oleanders." Such a spiritual transformation it was the glad privilege of our missionaries to witness in the region of Amoy during the years 1854 and 1855. Until then, to the eye of man only an occasional seed had burst its way through the stone-crusted earth and given a shadow of harvest hope. The first four years of prayer and testimony from 1842-1846 were definitely and visibly rewarded with only two converts. When Mr. Talmage arrived at Amoy in 1847 the total church membership was three. By 1850 it had grown to five. By the end of 1851 the seed had brought forth nearly fourfold. There were nineteen converts. This was the harbinger of brighter days. Even during the troublous times of 1853 signs of awakening appeared. In the midst of war and rumors of war the native brethren had proposed to enter the "regions beyond" Chiangchiu and Chinchew. The faithful preaching of Doty and Talmage in the chapels and on the streets of Amoy city, among the towns and villages of Amoy Island and the mainland; the apostolic labors of William Burns, whose joy it was to sow beside all waters,-these had found acceptance with God and with the people. Inquirers multiplied at the chapels. They came from among the shopkeepers and boatmen of Amoy, from cities and towns along the arms of the sea and up the inland rivers, from remote country hamlets beyond the mountains. Mr. Talmage's letters during 1854 and 1855 tell of the great awakening. "This year (1854), thus far, has been one of unusual blessing, a year 'of the right hand of the Most High.' Early in January, knowing that there were a few individuals desirous of receiving Christian baptism, we appointed a meeting for the examination of such, and also for personal conversation with all others who might feel an especial interest in Christianity. We were agreeably surprised to find the number of inquirers and candidates for baptism much greater than we had supposed. We also found among the inquirers an unusual tenderness of conscience, and sense of sinfulness, and anxiety for the salvation of the soul. Seeing such evidence that the Holy Spirit was shedding abroad His quickening influences among this people, we appointed a similar interview for the week following. "These meetings for the examination and instruction of inquirers we have continued almost every week, and occasionally twice a week, till the present time. Sometimes the inquirers present have numbered thirty or forty, perhaps more. At times, moreover, the depth of feeling manifested has been such that the eyes of every one present have been suffused with tears. These meetings, we trust, have been very profitable, as well as interesting." "On Sabbath, March 26th, we were permitted to receive into the fellowship of the Christian Church ten individuals, eight men and two women, the eldest a widow woman aged sixty-eight, the youngest a young man aged twenty." "On the last Sabbath in May, we again received nine persons, six men and three women, the eldest an old man aged seventy-four, the youngest a young man aged twenty-three." "On the thirtieth of July (Sabbath), we again baptized nine others, four men and five women, the eldest a widow aged fifty-one, the youngest a girl aged sixteen. Thus the whole number of adults baptized by us at Amoy during the present year, thus far, is twenty-eight." He cites individual cases. Speaking of an aged widow he says: "She lives at a village some fifteen miles or more from Amoy. Boats coming from that place to this place land at a wharf near my house. On one occasion, when she arrived here a few months ago, she resolved to come to my house, and see how the foreigners lived. On entering, she was met by the Christian who has charge of the chapel. He asked her business. She said that she only came for amusement. He replied, 'This is not a place to visit for amusement, but to hear the doctrine.' 'Well,' says she, 'then I will hear the doctrine.' He explained to her something of the truths of Christianity. He told her also that after breakfast I should be in the chapel for morning worship. She went back to the neighbor's house whence she had come, to wait until after breakfast. But the new doctrine which she had heard, took so deep a hold on her mind, that she desired no breakfast for herself. Soon she again came to hear more. She was deeply impressed with the truth and importance of the things which she heard. She reasoned with herself thus: 'The myriads of people I meet with do not know what is in my heart, but these people tell me what is in my heart and in my bones. This doctrine cannot be of man. It must be the great power of God.' She was poor and lived at a distance from Amoy. She learned that the Christian who had charge of the chapel was of the same surname with herself. She inquired whether she might not come down next Saturday, and lodge with his family. She said she would bring with her some dried potatoes for her food. Of course her request was readily granted. From that time to the present, she has come the whole distance from her village to Amoy almost every week, in order to hear the Gospel. She has two sons and one daughter. She has brought both her sons with her, desiring that they also may become Christians. The eldest, aged seventeen, is among our inquirers. She has also brought some of her neighbors with her to hear the Word. She has met with much opposition and persecution; but so far as we can learn, she has borne all with the meekness of a true disciple of Christ. Since her baptism, she has rented a room in Amoy, that she may live within sound of the Gospel. When she told me of this, I asked her how she expected to maintain herself, and whether she thought she should be able to earn a living at Amoy. She replied that she trusted in God. If she could not get as good food as others, she would eat coarser food. "There is still a goodly number of inquirers at Amoy. In our meeting for conversation with them to-day; we met with two very affecting cases. They are lads, the elder being in his seventeenth year, and the younger in his thirteenth. Their parents and friends bitterly oppose them in their determination to follow Christ. "They have been severely beaten. The elder was severely scourged yesterday. This morning he was again tied up in a very painful manner, and beaten by his cruel father. He carried the marks of his sufferings on his arms, which we saw. We were told that he had scars also on other parts of his body. We trust that they are 'the marks of the Lord Jesus.' A brother, still younger than themselves, we are told, also worships Jesus. If they are, indeed, lambs of Christ's flock, the blessed Saviour will take care of them; but their severe afflictions should call forth much sympathy and prayer in their behalf. "The conduct of our church members continues to give us much comfort. They are not free from faults. They need much careful oversight and exhortation and instruction. In consequence of this, our cares, anxieties, and labors must necessarily increase as the converts increase. But if allowance be made for their limited knowledge, only a short time having elapsed since the most of them first heard the Gospel, there are probably but few churches, even in our own beloved country, compared with which the Christian character of this little flock would suffer. Were it not for the Christian activity of our members, so many of them abounding in good works, our operations here would necessarily be confined within much narrower limits. Almost every one seems to be impressed with the truth, that he or she is to improve every opportunity to speak a word for Christ. Many of them are quite effective speakers. The heathen are often astonished to hear men from the lower walks of life, who previously had not had the benefit of any education, and are yet perhaps unable to read, speak with such fluency, and reason with such power concerning the things of God, as to silence all their adversaries, even though they be men of education." Speaking of the awakening at Peh-chui-ia, a market-town once under our care, now under the care of the English Presbyterians, Mr. Talmage continues: "We have been specially interested in their lively faith, their praying spirit, their earnestness in the study of the Holy Scriptures, and, as a consequence of all this, their joy in the Holy Ghost. "The house first rented was found too small and uncomfortable for our work. The adjoining house, of about the same size, and the upper part of the next house, have since been rented, and doors opened through the walls. Thus we have several rooms for lodging and conversation, and also for holding more private meetings than we could in the chapel. The members and inquirers spend the greater part of the Sabbath at the mission premises studying the Scriptures, listening to the preaching of the Word, and in religious conversation and prayer. They go home only for their meals, and some not even for that. A part of them spend much of their time there in similar employments on other days of the week. When we have been with them, we have been much gratified by seeing their earnestness in the study of the Scriptures. They are continually coming to us for explanation of passages which they cannot understand. Often the voice of prayer will be heard from all parts of the house at once. They are but babes in Christ; yet their knowledge of the Scriptures is remarkable. We feel it good for our own souls to be among them." This market-town owed much to the earnest labors of Rev. W. C. Burns, whose words and manner of life are still a fragrant memory among the brethren there. He was the first English Presbyterian missionary to China. He arrived in 1847. For the first four years he carried on evangelistic work at Hongkong and Canton. He came to Amoy in 1851. Mr. Talmage alludes to a family at Peh-chui-ia who had endured much for Christ's sake. "This family have been twice plundered. Once their house was set on fire by a band of robbers, and everything was destroyed, themselves only escaping with their lives by a remarkable providence." (So intense is the hatred of some of the officials against Christianity that bold robberies will take place with their connivance, sometimes at their instigation.) "These afflictions seem to have been employed by the Spirit of God in preparing their hearts for the reception of the Gospel. On the first announcement of the Word, they were deeply impressed with its truth. The father, however, had a hard struggle; and the opposition from his neighbors was too much for him at the first. At one time, he resolved to run away from the place altogether. At another time he meditated drowning himself. While in this state of mind, he derived much benefit from the counsel and earnest entreaties of his wife. She exhorted and besought him to exhibit the meekness and endurance taught by the meek and suffering Saviour. He who never suffers His people to be tempted above that they are able to bear, at length raised him above the fear of man, and established his goings. On one occasion, when we were conversing with him, it was suggested that he might again be robbed. He replied that he did not believe he should be, for he now trusted in God. We suggested, 'Perhaps the very fact that you have turned from idols to the service of the true God, may lead the enemies of the Gospel to band together and plunder you.' He answered, 'I do not believe that they will. They will not, except it be the will of God. If it be His will, I also am willing.' On one occasion it was suggested that he might even be brought before magistrates because of the Gospel. He answered that he had no anxiety on that subject. When the time came the Holy Ghost would teach him what to speak. He has since had his faith put to the test, but his confidence was not disappointed. The enemies of the Gospel banded together to demand of him money as his share of the expenses of some idolatrous celebration, resolving, if he refused to pay the money, to plunder his establishment. A crowd collected at his door to carry the resolution into effect. They made their demand for the money. But he was enabled to speak to them with such power that they trembled in his presence, it is said, and were glad to leave him alone." Mr. Talmage writes of the great change in a man notoriously wicked, who at fifty-one years of age yielded to Christ. "For thirty-one years he was addicted to the smoking of opium. When the brethren first saw him, he seemed just ready to fall into the grave. He also had a bad reputation throughout the town, being accustomed to meddling with other people's business. He was a man of good natural abilities, and the people feared him. He has given up his opium and his other vile practices. His whole character seems to have undergone a change. He also has been called, as have all the others in that town, to experience persecution. His enemies are those of his own house. His opium-smoking, and all his other wickedness, they could endure; but they cannot endure his Christianity, his temperance, his meek and quiet spirit. One of my visits to Peh-chui-ia was on the day after his friends had been manifesting, especial opposition to him. I found him greatly rejoicing that he had been called to suffer persecution for Christ's sake, and that he had been enabled to bear it so meekly. He said the Holy Scriptures had been verified, referring to Matthew v.11, 12. He said that he had been enabled to preach the Gospel to those who had met to oppose him for two hours, until his voice failed him. He was still quite hoarse from his much speaking. He had told them of the change which he had experienced through the power of the Holy Spirit on his heart; but he also said he knew they could not understand his meaning, when he spoke of the work of the Holy Spirit in the heart. If they would worship Jesus, however, and pray to the Holy Spirit to change their hearts, as his had been changed, then they would understand him." SI-BOO'S ZEAL. An interesting case narrated in the life of W. C. Burns is that of Si-boo, who afterwards went as an evangelist among his own countrymen at Singapore. "On Mr. Burns' first visit to Pechuia, he found amongst the foremost and most interesting of his hearers, a youth of about eighteen or twenty, called Si-boo. "Of stature rather under the average of his countrymen, with an eye and countenance more open than usual, and a free and confiding manner, he soon attracted the attention of the missionary. His position in life was above the class of common mechanics, and his education rather good for his position. His occupation was to carve small idols in wood for the houses of his idolatrous countrymen, of every variety of style and workmanship, some plain and cheap, and some of the most elaborate and costly description. Had Si-boo been of the spirit of Demetrius, he would have opposed and persecuted Mr. Burns for bringing his craft into danger. But instead of that, he manifested a spirit of earnest, truthful inquiry, although that inquiry was one in which all the prepossessions, and prejudices, and passions of mind and heart were against the truth--an inquiry in which all the influence of friends, and all his prospects in life, were cast into the wrong balance. By the grace of God he made that solemn inquiry with such simplicity and sincerity, that it soon led to an entire conviction of the truth of our religion, and that to a decided profession of faith at all hazards; and these hazards, in such a place as Pechuia, were neither few nor small-far greater than at Amoy, where the presence of a large body of converts, and a considerable English community, and a British flag, might seem to hold out a prospect of both protection and support in time of need, though such protection and temporal aid have never been relied on by even our Amoy converts, still less encouraged. "One of the first sacrifices to which Si-boo was called was a great one. His trade of idol-carver must be given up, and with that his only means of support; and that means both respectable and lucrative to a skillful hand like his. But to his credit he did not hesitate. He at once threw it up and cast himself on the providence of God, and neither asked nor received any assistance from the missionary, but at once set himself to turn his skill as a carver in a new and legitimate direction. He became a carver of beads for bracelets and other ornaments, and was soon able to support himself and assist his mother in this way. One advantage of this new trade was, that it was portable. With a few small knives, and a handful of olive-stones, he could prosecute his work wherever he liked to take his seat, and he frequently took advantage of this to prosecute his Master's work, while he was diligent in his own. Sometimes he would take his seat on the 'Gospel Boat' when away on some evangelistic enterprise; and while we were slowly rowing up some river or creek, or scudding away before a favorable wind to some distant port, Si-boo would be busy at work on his beads; but as soon as we reached our destination, the beads and tools were thrust into his pouch, and with his Bible and a few tracts in his hand, he was off to read or talk to the people, and leave his silent messengers behind him." During the same year (1854), Mr. Doty wrote a letter to Mr. Burns while in Scotland, in regard to the awakening at Chioh-be, a large town of 30,000 inhabitants, eight miles northwest of Peh-chui-ia. An extract reads as follows: "But what shall I tell you of the Lord's visitation of mercy at Chioh-be? Again, truly, are we as those that dream. The general features of the work are very similar to what you witnessed at Pechui-ia. The instrumentality has been native brethren almost entirely. Attention was first awakened in one or two by I-ju and Tick-jam, who went to Chioh-be together. "This was two or three months ago. This was followed up by repeated visits of other brethren from Pechui-ia and Amoy. Shortly the desire to hear the Word was so intense, that there would be scarcely any stop day or night; the brethren in turns going, and breaking down from much speaking in the course of three or four days, and coming back to us almost voiceless." AN APPEAL FOR A MISSIONARY. On the 30th of August, 1854, Mr. Talmage wrote, enclosing the subjoined appeal of the church at Peh-chui-ia for a missionary. It is addressed to the American Board, which these brethren call "the Public Society." A duplicate letter was sent at the same time to Mr. Burns to be presented to the Board of Foreign Missions of the English Presbyterian Church. "They tell us," says Mr. Talmage, "that every sentence has been prayed over. According to their own statement, they would write a sentence, and then pray, and then write another sentence, and then pray again." "By the mercy and grace of God, called to be little children of the Saviour Jesus, we send this letter to the Public Society, desiring that God our Father, and the Lord Jesus Christ, may bestow grace and peace on all the saints connected with the Public Society. We desire you to know the boundless grace and favor of God towards us, and in behalf of us, little children, heartily to thank God because that the announcement of God's grace has been conveyed by your nation to our nation, and to our province, even to Amoy, and to our market-town Peh-chui-ia. We desire the Public Society to be thoroughly informed, so that they may very heartily thank God and the Lord Jesus Christ; for we at Peh-chui-ia originally dwelt in the region of death and gloomy darkness, a place under the curse of God, and were exposed to God's righteous punishment. But many thanks to God's compassion and mercy, the Holy Spirit influenced the pastors of your nation to send holy brethren (Amoy native Christians), in company with the English pastor, the teacher, William Burns, unto our market town, to unfold the holy announcement of grace, and preach the Gospel. Many thanks to God, whose grace called several brethren, by day and by night, to listen to the preaching of the Gospel, for the space of four months. Many thanks to the Holy Spirit, who opened our darkened hearts, and led us unto the Saviour Jesus, whose precious blood delivers from sin. By the grace of God five persons were received into the Church and baptized. Again, two months afterwards four persons were received into the Church and baptized. There are still some ten persons and more, from different quarters, not yet baptized, who have been operated on, so that they listen to the preaching with gladness of heart. "By the will of God, the English pastor has been called to return to his own nation. Our place is distant from Amoy by water, several tens of 'lis,' [One li is about one-third of a mile] so that it is difficult to come and go. The two pastors of your nation at Amoy (Messrs. Doty and Talmage) have not a moment to spare from labor, for the holy brethren there are many; and it is difficult for them to leave home. "We, the brethren of the church at our market town, with united heart pray, earnestly beseeching God again graciously to compassionate us, and send a pastor from the Public Society of your nation, that he may quickly come, and instruct us plainly in the Gospel. "It is to be deplored-the brethren having heard the teacher William Burns preach the Word for a few months, their spiritual nature only just born again, not yet having obtained firmness in the faith, that just at this time, in the seventh month, the pastor should be separated from us. "Day and night our tears flow; and with united heart we pray, earnestly beseeching God graciously to grant that of the disciples of the Lord Jesus a pastor hastily come, and preach to us the Gospel, this food of grace with its savoriness of grace, in order to strengthen the faith of us, little children. Moreover, we pray God to influence the saints of your nation that they may always keep us little children in remembrance. Therefore, on the 28th day of the seventh month (August 21, 1854) the brethren with united heart have prayed earnestly beseeching God that this our general letter may be conveyed to the great Public Society, that you may certainly know these our affairs, and pray God, in behalf of us, that this our request may be granted. Please give our salutation to the brethren. KONG-BIAU, TEK-IAM, TEK-EIAN, U-JU, SI_BU, JIT-SOM, KI-AN, LAM-SAN, KIM KOA, "The disciples of Jesus at Peh-chui-ia. "Presented to the Public Society that all the disciples may read it." Mr. Talmage concludes a letter speaking of the "times of refreshing" in these words: "This remarkable work may well fill our hearts with gratitude and encouragement. Heretofore, we have always been obliged to wait a long time before we were permitted to see much fruit of our labor; and we were almost led to the conclusion that such must always be the case, in carrying the Gospel to a heathen people. Now we see that such need not be the course of events. We should preach the Gospel with larger expectations, and in the hope of more immediate fruit. He who commanded the light to shine out of darkness, can shine into the darkest minds, 'to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Christ Jesus' on the first announcement of the truth as it is in Jesus. When the proper time comes, and His Church is made ready for the great accession, it will be an easy thing for Him to accomplish the expectation that a nation shall be born at once." VIII. CHURCH UNION. Missionary work in its initial stage has only to do with first principles. Given shelter, food, power of utterance in a foreign tongue, a preaching spot, a company of hearers, and you have bounded the horizon for the present. No sooner, however, is a goodly company of believers gathered, but problems, numerous and weighty, confront the missionary. How shall the company of believers be organized and governed? Shall it be exactly on the model of the church which the missionary represents? If not, what modifications shall be made? Shall the seedling ten thousand miles away be roped to the mother tree or shall it be encouraged to stand alone? What advantages in independence? What perils? What shall be the status of the foreign missionary before the native church just organizing? What relation shall he sustain to the home church? The answers to these questions have been as various as the denominations represented in Oriental lands. The answers of missionaries representing the same denomination have not even tallied. After the gracious awakening and ingathering at Amoy and in the region about, had taken place, the question of church organization became foremost. The missionaries gave the subject earnest thought. Men like Elihu Doty and John Van Nest Talmage and Carstairs Douglas, were not likely to come to conclusions hastily. But they were born pioneers. Conservative enough never to lose their equilibrium, they had adaptability to new circumstances. Quite willing to follow the beaten path so long as there was promise of harvest returns, they were prepared nevertheless to blaze a new road into the trackless forest if they were sure some of God's treasure-trove could be brought back on it. There was no divergence of view as to what the foundation of the new church-structure must be. 'For other foundation can no man lay than that which is laid, which is Jesus Christ.' So long, however, as the general proportions were the same, there was no fear that the new edifice would topple over if it did not conform exactly in height and length and breadth, in column and pilaster and facade, to the venerated model in the mother countries. The brethren expressed their views to the churches in the home land. They did more. They plead their cause and hoped for endorsement. The following is part of a lengthy but very interesting communication written by Mr. Talmage and sent to the Synod of the Reformed Church in 1856: "Amoy, China, Sept. 17, 1856. "To the General Synod of the Reformed Protestant Dutch Church. "Fathers and Brethren: We your missionaries at Amoy, China, have, by the blessing of the Head of the Church on our labors, arrived at a stage of progress in our work which imposes on us weighty responsibilities, and we feel the need of counsel and advice. It will be proper for us to give a brief account of our Mission, of our work, of the blessing of God on our labors, of our peculiar circumstances, and of the principles on which we have acted hitherto, and which we think should still guide us in our efforts to establish the Kingdom of Christ in this land, that you may praise God in our behalf and in behalf of this people, and assist us by your sympathies, prayers, and counsels. Our Mission was commenced at Amoy by the late Rev. David Abeel, D.D. Mr. Abeel arrived at Amoy in company with the Rev. (now Bishop) Boone, on the 24th of February, 1842. On the 22d of June, 1844, Rev. E. Doty and Rev. Wm. J. Pohlman arrived at Amoy from Borneo. In Dec., 1844, Mr. Abeel in consequence of continued and increasing ill health left Amoy on his return to the United States. Mrs. Pohlman and Mrs. Doty having been removed by death, Mr. Doty left Amoy for the United States, Nov. 12, 1845, with his own and Mr. Pohlman's children. Rev. J. V. N. Talmage accompanied Mr. Doty on his return to Amoy, arriving Aug. 19, 1847. Mr. Pohlman was lost at sea Jan. 5, or 6, 1849. Mr. Talmage was away from Amoy from March 24, 1849 to July 16, 1850. Rev. J. Joralmon arrived at Amoy, April 21, 1856. "Mr. Boone, of the Episcopal Church of the United States, was at Amoy but a short time. After him there have been no missionaries of that church at Amoy. The mission of the American Presbyterian Board at Amoy was commenced by the arrival of Rev. T. L. McBryde, in June, 1842. He left Amoy in January, 1843. James C. Hepburn, M.D., arrived in 1843, and retired in 1845. Rev. John Lloyd arrived in Dec., 1844. Rev. H. A. Brown arrived in 1845 and left Amoy for the United States in Dec., 1847. Mr. Lloyd died in Dec., 1848. Since then that mission has not been continued at Amoy. "W. H. Cumming, M.D., a medical missionary, but not connected with any missionary society, arrived at Amoy, June, 1842, and left Amoy in the early part of 1847. The London Missionary Society's Mission at Amoy was commenced by the arrival of Rev. Messrs. J. Stronach and William Young, in July, 1844. Since then other agents of that society have arrived, some of whom have again left and some still remain. They now number three ministers of the Gospel and one physician. "The Mission of the English Presbyterian Church at Amoy was commenced by the arrival of James H. Young, M.D., in May, 1850. Rev. W. C. Burns arrived in July, 1851. Rev. James Johnston arrived in Dec., 1853. Dr. Young and Mr. Burns left Amoy in August, 1854. Mr. Johnston left Amoy in May, 1855. Rev. C. Douglas arrived at Amoy in July, 1855. He is now the only member of that Mission at Amoy. All the members of this Mission, although sent out by the English Presbyterian Church, were originally members of the Free Church of Scotland. "The present missionary force at Amoy are three ministers and one physician of the London Missionary Society (in their ecclesiastical relations they are Independents), one minister of the English Presbyterian Church, and ourselves, three ministers of the Dutch Reformed Church. "The first converts received into the Christian Church at Amoy were two old men, baptized by Mr. Pohlman in April, 1846. The next converts received were two men baptized by Mr. A. Stronach, of the London Missionary Society, in March, 1848. A few months later Mr. Stronach baptized one more. Since then every year has witnessed additions to the church. We received into our church by baptism in 1849 three persons; in 1850 five; in 1851 eight; in 1852 two; in 1853 six; in 1854 including those baptized at Peh-chui-ia, fifty-three; in 1855 including Peh-chui-ia and Chioh-be, seventy-two; during the present year thus far, also including Pehchui-ia and Chioh-be, fifty. The whole number now connected with our church at Amoy is one hundred and twenty-one. The number at Peh-chui-ia is forty-two. The number at Chioh-be is thirty-one. In all, the number is one hundred and ninety-four. The London Mission has also been greatly blessed. They now have in connection with their church at Amoy and in vicinity one hundred and fifty-one members. After acquiring the language of this people, we have felt that our great work is to preach the Gospel. Every other department of labor must be entirely secondary to this. The Scriptures are clearly in favor of these views, and our own experience has confirmed these views until they have become very decided. We have already mentioned the name of Mr. Burns as uniting in labors with our church members. The brethren of the English Presbyterian Church, in the providence of God, have been brought very near to us. We have rendered each other much assistance and often have labored together almost as one Mission. "When Mr. Burns arrived at Amoy, providentially he found and secured a room not far from our church edifice, and near to the residences of several of our church members. As soon as he was able to use the dialect of Amoy, many of our church members and inquirers were glad of the privilege of meeting with him daily for the study of the Scriptures and for prayer. Mr. Burns came to Amoy for the simple purpose of preaching the Gospel. He did not wish to take the responsibility of organizing a separate church. He was ready to co-operate with us or with the London brethren. He often rendered them assistance likewise. When he became able to use the language with freedom, he often preached in our church. When he went out for street preaching, or went out to visit the towns and villages around, he always took with him native Christians, usually the members of our church, having been providentially placed among them. Early in the year 1854, Mr. Burns with some of our church members visited the region of Peh-chui-ia. Much interest was awakened in that region in the subject of Christianity. A goodly number, we trust, were born of the Spirit. Mr. Burns did not wish to take the responsibility of a pastor, desiring to keep himself free for evangelistic labors wherever a door might be opened before him. He requested us to examine the candidates for baptism and receive those whom we deemed worthy, and take the pastoral care of them. We yielded to the desires of Mr. Burns and took charge of Pehchui-ia. "Mr. Burns continued to spend much of his time in that place and vicinity until he was called to leave Amoy. Shortly after the departure of Mr. Burns, learning that the English Presbyterians would have been glad to retain Peh-chui-ia, and Mr. Johnston (E. P.) being willing to take charge there as far as he was able, we very willingly relinquished it to them. He was still unable to use the language with freedom, so we continued to visit the place as often as we could. Before Mr. Johnston's knowledge was sufficient to relieve us of the pastoral care of that interesting church, his ill-health compelled him to return to his native land. His place was soon supplied by the arrival of Mr. Douglas. We have continued the same pastoral care of that church. Lately our visits to the place have become less frequent, as Mr. Douglas has become better acquainted with the language. "In the latter half of the year 1851, some of the Christians from Peh-chui-ia went to the large town of Chioh-be on business and preached the Gospel as they had opportunity. They found a few persons who listened to their message with interest and manifested a desire to hear more. When this fact, on their return, was reported to the churches of Peh-chui-ia and Amoy, other Christians went to Chioh-be. A great interest was awakened. A small house was rented for a chapel. This house was thronged every day throughout the day and evening. Soon as we had opportunity we visited the place to converse with inquirers and examine candidates for baptism. In January, 1855, the first converts at that place were baptized. The interest continued to increase. We found the premises we had rented entirely too small. As soon as a larger and more suitable place could be found it was secured. Soon after this a violent persecution broke out. The immediate effect was greatly to hinder the work. Only those who were sufficiently interested in the Gospel to raise them above the fear of man dared attend the place of worship. Still there has been constant progress. "If the churches gathered by us are to be organized simply with respect to the glory of God and their own welfare, there is a fact in our circumstances which should have great weight in forming this organization. This fact is the intimate relation and hitherto oneness of the churches under our care and under the care of the missionaries of the English Presbyterian Church. In the foregoing short history of our work it will be seen that we have been and are closely connected with the missionaries of that Church. From the first we have had the pastoral care of their church gathered at Peh-chui-ia and in the surrounding region. They have not attempted the organization of any church at Amoy. By far the greater proportion of their influence and labors at Amoy has been in the direction of assisting us in our work. They have acted as though they thought it was of no importance whatever whether converts were received into church fellowship by us or them. Doubtless the church members, although perfectly aware that we and our English Presbyterian brethren are of different Churches and different countries, suppose that they form but one Church. When the time had arrived for a regular organization of our church in Amoy, the question presented itself: Shall we invite Mr. Douglas, then and still the only English Presbyterian missionary at Amoy, to unite with us in our deliberations? By the providence of God our missions had been brought closely together. We had been laboring together in the work of the Lord, were one in sympathy, held the same views in theology, and did not differ in regard to church polity. But one answer could be given to this question. We cordially invited him. He as cordially accepted of our invitation, and heartily engaged with us in our church meetings, held in reference to the election of church officers. He voted with us and our church members. He united with us in setting apart the officers-elect to their respective offices, and since then has usually united with us in our deliberations in our consistorial meetings. Surely in this matter we have acted according to the leadings of Providence and the spirit and instructions of the Gospel of Christ; for in Christ Jesus there is no distinction of nationalities. Our labors having thus far been so intermingled and our churches so intimately related and united together, we can see no sufficient reason for separation. If there be any advantage in the association of churches by the organization of Classes or Presbyteries, why should we deprive these churches in their infancy and weakness of this advantage? We have always taught our people to study the Word of God and make it their rule. Can we give them a sufficient reason for such separation? Doubtless if we were to tell them, that the churches by which we are sent out and sustained desire separate organizations, and therefore should recommend such organizations to them, they would acquiesce. They know that they cannot stand alone. Gratitude, also, and ardent affection for those churches by whose liberality they have been made acquainted with the Gospel, would lead them to do all in their power to please those churches. We can hardly suppose, however, that such separation would accord with their judgment, or with those Christian feelings which they have always exercised towards each other as members of the same Church. But we do not suppose that either our Church or the English Presbyterian Church will recommend such a separation. The Dutch Church in North America has always manifested an enlarged Christian spirit, and therefore we cannot doubt but that she will approve of an organization by which the churches here, which are one in doctrine and one in spirit, may also be one in ecclesiastical matters. Neither do we doubt but that the English Presbyterian Church will also approve of the same course. We do not know as much of that Church as we hope to know in the future. Yet we know enough of her already to love her. But if separation must come, let not our Church bear the responsibility. "Another question of importance may arise. What shall be our relation as individuals to the Dutch Church in America? We see no reason and desire not to change the relation we have always sustained. We were set apart by that Church to do the work of evangelists. This is the work in which we still wish to be engaged. We must preach the Gospel. As God gives success to our labors we must organize churches, and take oversight of them as long as they need that oversight. When we find suitable men, we must 'ordain elders in every city.' Such is the commission we hold from our Church, and from the great Head of the Church. Theoretically, difficulties may be suggested. Practically, with the principles on which we have thus far acted, we see no serious difficulties in our way. We must seek for Divine guidance, take the Scriptures for our rule, and follow the leadings of Providence. We are all liable to err. But with these principles, assisted by your counsels, and especially by your prayers, we have reason to believe, and do believe, that the Spirit of truth will guide us in the way of truth." Dr. Talmage also sent a communication to Dr. Thomas De Witt, then Corresponding Secretary for the Reformed Church in co-operation with the American Board. It reads: "Oct. 1, 1856. There are some other facts arising out of the circumstances of this people, and of the nature of the Chinese language, which have a certain importance and perhaps should be laid before the Church. No part of the name of our Church, peculiar to our denomination, can be translated and applied to the church in Chinese without inconvenience or great detriment. The words, Protestant and Reformed, would be to the Chinese unintelligible, consequently inconvenient. The only translation we can give to the name Dutch Church, would be Church of Holland. This, besides conveying in part an incorrect idea, would be very detrimental to the interests of the Church among the Chinese. The Chinese know but little of foreign nations and have for ages looked upon them all as barbarians. Of course the views of the native Christians are entirely changed on this subject. But our great work is to gather converts from the heathen. We should be very careful not to use any terms by which they would be unnecessarily prejudiced against the Gospel. It is constantly charged upon the native Christians, both as a reproach and as an objection to Christianity, that they are following foreigners or have become foreigners. The reproach is not a light one, but the objection is easily answered. The answer would not be so easy if we were to fasten on the Christians a foreign name." At the meeting of the General Synod, held in the village of Ithaca, New York, June, 1857, the following resolutions recommended by the Committee on Foreign Missions, Talbot W. Chambers, D.D., Chairman, were adopted: THE MEMORIAL OF THE AMOY MISSION. "Among the papers submitted to the Synod is an elaborate document from the brethren at Amoy, giving the history of their work there, of its gradual progress, of their intimate connection with missionaries from other bodies, of the formation of the Church now existing there, and expressing their views as to the propriety and feasibility of forming a Classis at that station. In reply to so much of this paper as respects the establishment of individual churches, we must say that while we appreciate the peculiar circumstances of our brethren, and sympathize with their perplexities, yet it has always been considered a matter of course that ministers, receiving their commission through our Church, and sent forth under the auspices of our Board, would, when they formed converts from the heathen in an ecclesiastical body, mould the organization into a form approaching, as nearly as possible, that of the Reformed Protestant Dutch Churches in our own land. Seeing that the converted heathen, when associated together, must have some form of government, and seeing that our form is, in our view, entirely consistent with, if not required by the Scriptures, we expect that it will in all cases be adopted by our missionaries, subject, of course, to such modifications as their peculiar circumstances may for the time render necessary. The converts at Amoy, as at Arcot and elsewhere, are to be regarded as 'an integral part of our Church,' and as such are entitled to all the rights and privileges which we possess. And so in regard to the formation of a Classis. The Church at home will undoubtedly expect the brethren to associate themselves into a regular ecclesiastical organization, just as soon as enough materials are obtained to warrant such measure, with the hope that it will be permanent. We do not desire churches to be prematurely formed in order to get materials for a Classis, nor any other exercise of violent haste, but we equally deprecate unnecessary delay, believing that a regular organization will be alike useful to our brethren themselves and to those who, under them, are in training for the first office-bearers in the Christian Church on heathen ground. As to the difficulties suggested in the memorial, respecting the different Particular Synods to which the brethren belong, and the delays of carrying out a system of appellate jurisdiction covering America and China, it is enough to say: "1. That the Presbyterian Church (Old School) finds no insuperable difficulties in carrying into operation her system, which comprehends Presbyteries and Synods in India as well as here; and, 2. That whatever hindrances may at anytime arise, this body will, in humble reliance upon the Divine aid and blessing, undertake to meet and remove them as far as possible. The Church at home assumes the entire responsibility of this matter, and only ask the brethren abroad to carry out the policy held steadily in view from the first moment when our Missions began. "The following resolutions are recommended: "Resolved, 1. That the Synod view with great pleasure the formation of churches among the converts from heathenism, organized according to the established usages of our branch of Zion. "2. That the brethren at Amoy be directed to apply to the Particular Synod of Albany to organize them into a Classis, so soon as they shall have formed churches enough to render the permanency of such organization reasonably certain." IX. CHURCH UNION (CONTINUED). This utterance of the General Synod, while made with the best intentions, fell with exceedingly painful echo on the ears of the missionaries at Amoy. Was the flock they had gathered with so much prayer and effort, and reared with such sedulous care, to be thus summarily divided and perhaps in consequence scattered? The missionaries felt persuaded that their brethren in the United States could not fully appreciate the situation or there would be no such action. Mr. Talmage again took up his pen in behalf of his Chinese flock. If it had been dipped in his own blood his utterances could not have been more forceful-could not have palpitated with a heartier affection for his Chinese brethren's sake. On Dec. 23, 1857, he wrote to Dr. Isaac Ferris, who, since the separation from the A.B.C.F.M. at the last Synod, had become the Corresponding Secretary for the Board of Foreign Missions of tile Reformed Church. "So far as we can judge from the report of the proceedings of General Synod as given in the Christian Intelligencer, one of the most important considerations, perhaps altogether the most important mentioned, why the church gathered by us here should not be an integral part of the Church in America, was entirely overlooked. That consideration relates to the unity of Christ's Church. Will our Church require of us, will she desire that those here who are altogether one,-one in doctrine, one in their views of church order, and one in mutual love,-be violently separated into two denominations? We cannot believe it. Suppose the case of two churches originally distinct, by coming into contact and becoming better acquainted with each other, they find that they hold to the same doctrinal standards, and they explain them in the same manner; they have the same form of church government and their officers are chosen and set apart in the same way; they have the same order of worship and of administering the sacraments; all their customs, civil, social, and religious, are precisely alike, and they love each other dearly; should not such churches unite and form but one denomination? Yet such a supposition does not and cannot represent the circumstances of the churches gathered by us and by our Scotch brethren of the English Presbyterian Church. Our churches originally were one, and still are one, and the question is not whether those churches shall be united, but shall they be separated? Possibly the question will be asked, why were these churches allowed originally to become one? We answer, God made them so, and that without any plan or forethought on our part, and now we thank Him for His blessing that He has made them one, and that He has blessed them because they are one. "Our position is a somewhat painful one. We desire to give offense to no one, and we do not wish to appear before the Church as disputants. We have no controversy with any one. We have neither the time nor inclination for controversy. We are 'doing a great work,' and cannot 'come down.' Yet our duty to these churches here and to the Church at home and to our Master demands of us imperatively that we state fully and frankly our views. We have the utmost confidence in our church. We have proved this by endeavoring to get our views fully known." The subject did not come up again for discussion before the General Synod until 1863. Meanwhile the churches grew and multiplied. The Amoy church, which in 1856 had been organized by "the setting apart of elders and deacons," was separated into two organizations in 1860, "preparatory to the calling of pastors." Two men were chosen by the churches in 1861. In 1862 an organization was formed called the "Tai-hoey," or "Great Elders' Meeting," consisting of the missionaries of both the English Presbyterian and Reformed Churches and the delegated elders from all the organized congregations under their united oversight. The two men chosen as pastors were examined, ordained, and installed by this body. During that year Mr. Talmage was called to stand by the "first gash life had cut in the churchyard turf" for him. His beloved wife, Mrs. Abby Woodruff Talmage, was called to her reward, leaving Mr. Talmage with four motherless little ones. He was compelled to go to the United States to secure proper care for his children. He came in time to attend the General Synod of 1863. There he advocated most earnestly the course which the brethren at Amoy had taken. Dr. Isaac Ferris brought the subject before the Synod in these words: "In 1857 the Synod met at Ithaca, and a most remarkable Synod it was. According to the testimony of all who were present the Spirit of God unusually manifested His gracious presence. A venerable minister on his return remarked, 'It was like heaven upon earth.' That Synod, under this extraordinary sense of the Divine presence and unction, judged that the time had arrived for the Church to take the responsibility of supporting its foreign missionary work upon itself, and, accordingly, in very proper resolutions, asked of the American Board to have the compact which had been in operation since 1832 revoked, and the Mission transferred to our Foreign Board. "It was at that meeting that a memorial of our brethren at Amoy on the subject of organization, very ably drawn, and presenting fully their views and reasonings, was read and deliberated on. Their work had been wonderfully blessed, and the whole Church was called to thanksgiving, and the time seemed at hand to realize the expectations of years. The brethren asked advice, and the Synod adopted the carefully-drawn report of a committee of which the President was chairman, advising the organization of a Classis at as early a day as was practicable. Our brethren at Amoy were not satisfied with this advice, and considered the subject as not having had a sufficient hearing. "In the progress of their work they have deemed it proper to form a different organization from what the Synod advised, and which was in harmony with the constant aim of our Church on the subject. The Board of Foreign Missions, when the matter came before them, could only kindly protest and urge upon the brethren the action of the Synod of 1857. Not having ecclesiastical power, they could only argue and advise. They would have it remembered that all has been done in the kindest spirit. They have differed in judgment from the Mission, but not a ripple of unkind feeling has arisen. "The question now before the Synod is, whether this body will recede from the whole policy of the Church and its action in 1857 or reaffirm the same. This Synod, in its action on this case, will decide for all its missions, and in all time, on what principles their missionaries shall act, and hence this becomes probably the most important question of this session. It is in the highest degree desirable that the Synod should give the subject the fullest the most patient and impartial examination, and that our brother, who represents the Amoy Mission, be fully heard." Mr. Talmage next addressed the Synod and offered the following resolution: "Resolved, That the Synod hear with gratitude to God of the great progress of the work of the Lord at Amoy, and in the region around, so that already we hear of six organized churches with their Consistories, and others growing up not yet organized, two native pastors who were to have been ordained on the 29th of March last, and the whole under the care of a Classis composed of the missionaries of our Church and of the English Presbyterian Church, the native pastors, and representative elders of the several churches. It calls for our hearty gratitude to the great Head of the Church that the missionaries of different Churches and different countries have been enabled, through Divine grace, to work together in such harmony. It is also gratifying to us that these churches and this Classis have been organized according to the polity of our Church, inasmuch as the Synod of the English Presbyterian Church has approved of the course of their missionaries in uniting for the organizing of a church after our order; therefore, this Synod would direct its Board of Foreign Missions to allow our missionaries to continue their present relations with the missionaries of the English Presbyterian Church, so long as the present harmony shall continue, and no departure shall be made from the doctrines and essential policy of our Church, or until the Synod shall otherwise direct." There were speeches for and against, by distinguished men in the Church. Dr. T. W. Chambers, President of the Synod, made the concluding address, as follows: "If there be any one here who has a deep and tender sympathy with our brother Talmage and his senior missionary colleague (Mr. Doty), I claim to be the man. "Mr. Doty was my first room-mate at college thirty-one years ago, and ever since we have been fast friends. As to the other, his parents-themselves among the most eminent and devoted Christians ever known-were long members of the church in New Jersey, of which I was formerly in charge. For several years I was his pastor. I signed the testimonials of character required by the American Board before they commissioned him. I pronounced the farewell address when he left this country in 1850. I have watched with intense interest his entire career since, and no one welcomed him more warmly when he returned last year, bearing in his face and form the scars which time and toil had wrought upon his constitution. It is needless to say, then, that I love him dearly for his own sake, for his parents' sake, for his numerous friends' sake, but, more than all, for that Master's sake whom he has so successfully served. Nor is there anything within reason which I would not have the Church do for him. He shall have our money, our sympathy, our prayers, our confidence-the largest liberty in shaping the operations of the Mission he belongs to. "But when we come to the matter now at issue, I pause. Much as I love our brother, I love Christ more. Nor can I surrender, out of deference to our missionaries, the constitution, the policy, the interests of our Church,--all of which are involved in this matter. Nay, even their own welfare, and that of the mission they are so tenderly attached to, demand that we should deny their request. What is this request? That we should allow our brethren at Amoy, together with the English Presbyterian missionaries there, to form with the native pastors and the delegates from the native churches, an independent Classis or Presbytery, over whose proceedings this body should have no control whatever, by way of appeal, or review, or in any other form. Now, the first objection to this is, that it is flatly in the face of our constitution and order. A 'self-regulating Classis' is a thing which has never been heard of in the Dutch Church since that Church had a beginning. It is against every law, principle, canon, example, and precedent in our books. Perhaps the most marked feature of our polity is the subordination of all parts of our body, large or small, to the review and control of the whole as expressed in the decisions of its highest ecclesiastical assembly. I submit that this Synod has no right to form or to authorize any such self regulating ecclesiastical body, or to consent that any ministers of our Church should hold seats in such a body. If we do it, we transcend the most liberal construction which has ever been known to be given to the powers of General Synod. How, then, can we do this thing? Whatever our sympathies, how can we violate our own order, our fundamental principles, the polity to which we are bound by our profession, by our subscription, by every tie which can bind religious and honorable men? "Moreover, the thing we are asked to do contravenes our missionary policy from the beginning. As far back as 1832, when we made a compact with the American Board, one essential feature of the plan was that we should have 'an ecclesiastical organization' of our own. Without this feature that plan would never have been adopted; and the apprehension that there might be some interference with this cherished principle was at least one of the reasons why the plan, after working successfully for a quarter of a century, was at length abrogated. And so when, in 1857, we instituted a missionary board of our own, this view was distinctly announced. "It was my privilege to draw up the report on the subject which has been so often referred to. That report did not express merely my view, or that of the committee, but the view of the entire Synod. Nor from that day to this has there been heard anywhere within our bounds even a whisper of objection from minister, elder, or layman in regard to the positions then taken. It is our settled, irreversible policy. Deep down in the heart of the Church lies the conviction that our missionaries, who carry to the heathen the doctrine of Christ as we have received it, must also carry the order of Christ as we have received it. Certain unessential peculiarities may, from the force of circumstances, be left in abeyance for a time, or even permanently, but the dominant features must be retained. It is not enough to have genuine Consistories, we must have genuine Classes. And, under whatever modifications, the substantive elements of our polity must be reproduced in the mission churches established by the blessing of God upon the men and means furnished by our Zion. "Further, Mr. President, it is to be remembered that we are acting for all time. It is not this one case that is before us. We are settling a precedent which is to last for generations. Relax your constitutions and laws for this irregularity and you open a gap through which a coach and four may be driven. Every other mission, under the least pretext, will come and claim the same or a similar modification in their case, and you cannot consistently deny them. The result will be an ecclesiastical chaos throughout our entire missionary field. Let us begin as we mean to hold out. Let us settle this question now and settle it aright. We direct our missionaries what Gospel to preach, what sacraments to administer, what internal organization to give to single churches. Let us, in the same manner and for the same reasons, say what sort of bonds shall unite these churches to each other and govern their mutual relations and common interests. "I know we are told that the hybrid organization which now exists is every way sufficient and satisfactory; that it is the fruit of Christian love, and that to disturb it would be rending the body of Christ. Here one might ask how it came to exist at all, seeing that this Synod spoke so plainly and unambiguously in 1857. And I for one cordially concur in the remark of the Elder Schieffelin, that the brethren there 'deserve censure.' We do not censure them, nor do we propose to do so, but that they deserve it is undeniable. But the point is, how can our disapproval of the mongrel Classis mar the peace of the Amoy brethren? There is already a division among their churches. Some are supported by our funds, others by the funds of the English Presbyterians. Would it alter matters much to say, and to make it a fact, that some of those churches belong to a Classis and others to a Presbytery? Some have an American connection and others an English. But this would break Christian unity! Would it, indeed? You observed, Mr. President, the affectionate confidence, blended with reverence, with which I addressed from the chair the venerable Dr. Skinner. The reason was that we both belong to an association of ministers in New York which meets weekly for mutual fellowship, enjoyment, and edification in all things bearing on ministerial character and duties. Ecclesiastically we have no connection whatever. I never saw his Presbytery in session, and I doubt if he ever saw our Classis; yet our brotherly, Christian, and even ministerial communion is as tender, and sacred, and profitable as if we had been copresbyters for twenty years. Now, who dare say that this shall not exist at Amoy? Our brethren there can maintain precisely the same love, and confidence, and co-operation as they do now, in all respects save the one of regular, formal, ecclesiastical organization. "But I will not detain the Synod longer. I would not have left the chair to speak, but for the overwhelming importance of the subject. It is painful to deny the eager and earnest wishes of our missionary brethren, but I believe we are doing them a real kindness by this course. Union churches here have always in the end worked disunion, confusion, and every evil work. There is no reason to believe that the result would be at all different abroad. A division would necessarily come at some period, and the longer it was delayed, the more trying and sorrowful it would be. I am opposed, therefore, to the substitute offered by Brother Chapman, and also to that of Brother Talmage, and trust that the original resolutions, with the report, will be adopted. That report contains not a single harsh or unpleasant word. It treats the whole case with the greatest delicacy as well as thoroughness, but it reaffirms the action of 1857 in a way not to be mistaken. And that is the ground on which the Church will take its stand. Whatever time, indulgence, or forbearance can be allowed to our brethren, will cheerfully be granted. Only let them set their faces in the direction of a distinct organization, classical as well as consistorial, and we shall be satisfied. Only let them recognize the principle and the details shall be left to themselves, under the leadings of God's gracious providence." The report of the Committee on Foreign Missions, E. S. Porter, D.D., chairman, was adopted. Part of it reads as follows: "The missionaries there have endeared their names to the whole Christian world, and especially to that household of faith of which they are loved and honored members." .... "No words at our command can tell what fond and flaming sympathies have overleaped broad oceans, and bound them and us together. "'Words, like nature, half reveal, And half conceal the soul within.' .... "Your committee are unable to see how it will be possible to carry the sympathies and the liberalities of the Church with an increasing tide of love and sacrifice in support of our missionary work, if it once be admitted as a precedent, or established as a rule, that our missionaries may be allowed to form abroad whatever combinations they may choose, and aid in creating ecclesiastical authorities, which supersede the authorities which commissioned them and now sustain them." "The committee are not prepared to recommend that any violent and coercive resolutions should be adopted for the purpose of constraining our brethren in Amoy to a course of procedure which would rudely sunder the brotherly ties that unite them with the missionaries of the English Presbyterian Church. But a Christian discretion will enable them, on the receipt of the decision of the present Synod, in this matter now under consideration, to take such initial steps as are necessary to the speedy formation of a Classis. "Much must be left to their discretion, prudence and judgment. But of the wish and expectation of this Synod to have their action conform as soon as may be to the resolutions of 1857, your committee think the brethren at Amoy should be distinctly informed. They therefore offer the following: "'I. Resolved, That the General Synod, having adopted and tested its plan of conducting foreign missions, can see no reason for abolishing it; but, on the contrary, believe it to be adapted to the promotion of the best interests of foreign missionary churches, and of the denomination supporting them. "'II. That the Board of Foreign Missions be, and hereby is, instructed to send to our missionaries at Amoy a copy or copies of this report, as containing the well-considered deliverance of the Synod respecting their present relations and future duty. "'III. That the Secretary of the Foreign Board be, and hereby is, directed to send to the Rev. Dr. Hamilton, of London, Convener of the Presbyterian Committee, a copy of this report, with a copy of the action of 1857, and that he inform him by letter of the wishes and expectations of the Synod respecting the ecclesiastical relations which this body desires its churches in Amoy to sustain to it.'" In the report of the Foreign Committee of the English Presbyterian Church for 1863, the following language is used in reference to the Union Chinese Church of Amoy: "We are hopeful, however, that on further consideration our brethren in America may allow their missionaries in China to continue the present arrangement, at least until such time as it is found that actual difficulties arise in the way of carrying it out. 'Behold, how good and pleasant it is for brethren to dwell together in unify,' and there are few brethren towards whom we feel closer affinity than the members of that Church, which was represented of old by Gomarus and Witsius, by Voet and Marck, and Bernard de Moore, and whose Synod of Dort preceded in time and pioneered in doctrine our own Westminster Assembly. Like them, we love that Presbyterianism and that Calvinism which we hold in common, and we wish to carry them wherever we go; but we fear that it would not be doing justice to either, and that it might compromise that name which is above every other, if, on the shores of China, we were to unfurl a separate standard. We would, therefore, not only respectfully recommend to the Synod to allow its missionaries to unite presbyterially as well as practically with the brethren of the Reformed Dutch Church; but we would express the earnest hope that the Synod of the sister Church in America may find itself at liberty to extend to its missionaries a similar freedom." These sentiments were unanimously adopted by the Synod of the English Presbyterian Church. The cause which Mr. Talmage was advocating was too near his heart, and his convictions were too strong to permit silence. He prepared a pamphlet, setting forth more clearly the position of the Mission at Amoy, as well as answering objections made to it. [The exact standing of missionaries in the Union Chinese Church of Amoy was also explained by Dr. Talmage in a later pamphlet, for the contents of which see Appendix.] A few quotations read: "In reference to it, i.e., the report of the Committee on Foreign Missions, we would make three remarks: (1) It (Resolution III.) seems rather a cavalier answer to the fraternal wish of the Synod of the English Presbyterian Church, as expressed in their action. (2) The action of Synod is made to rest (Res. I.) on the fact that Synod had 'tested' this 'plan of conducting foreign missions.' If this be so, and the plan had been found by experiment unobjectionable, the argument is not without force. But how and where has this test been applied and found so satisfactory? Our Church has three Missions among the heathen-one in India, one in China, and one in Japan. Has it been tested in Japan? No. They have not yet a single native church. Has it been tested in China? If so, the missionaries were not aware of it. The test applied there has been of an opposite character and has been wonderfully successful. The test has only been applied in India, and has only begun to be applied even there. There, as yet, there is but one native pastor. Their Classis is more American than Indian. We must wait until they have a native Classis before the test can be pronounced at all satisfactory. (3) No consideration is had for the feelings, wishes or opinions of the native churches. The inalienable rights of the native churches, their relation to each other, their absolute unity-things of the utmost consequence-are not at all regarded, are entirely ignored." In reply to the advantages claimed to flow from the plan advocated by General Synod, Mr. Talmage says: "1. The most important advantage is, or is supposed to be, that there will thus be higher courts of jurisdiction to which appeals may be made, and by which orthodoxy and good order may be the better secured to the Church at Amoy. "Such advantages, if they can be thus secured, we would by no means underrate. There sometimes are cases of appeal for which we need the highest court practicable-the collective wisdom of the Church, so far as it can be obtained; and the preservation of orthodoxy and good order is of the first importance. Now, let us see whether the plan proposed will secure these advantages. Let us suppose that one of the brethren feels himself aggrieved by the decision of the Classis of Amoy and appeals to the Particular Synod of Albany, and thence to General Synod. He will not be denied the right to such appeal. But, in order that the appeal may be properly prosecuted and disposed of, the appellant and the representative of Classis should be present in these higher courts. Can this be secured? Is the waste of time, of a year or more, nothing? And where shall the thousands of dollars of necessary expense come from? Now, suppose this appellant to be a Chinese brother. He, also, has rights; but how, on this plan, can he possibly obtain them? Suppose that the money be raised for him and he is permitted to stand on the floor of Synod. He cannot speak, read, or write a word of English. Not a member of Synod can speak, read, or write a word of his language, except it be the brother prosecuting him. I ask, is it possible for him thus to obtain justice? But, waiving all these disadvantages, the only point on which there is the least probability that an appeal of a Chinese brother would come up before the higher courts, are points on which these higher courts would not be qualified to decide. They would doubtless grow out of the peculiar customs and laws of the Chinese, points on which the missionary, after he has been on the ground a dozen years, often feels unwilling to decide, and takes the opinion of the native elders in preference to his own. Is it right to impose a yoke like this on that little Church which God is gathering, by your instrumentality, in that far-off land of China? But it is said that these cases of appeal will very rarely or never happen. Be it so; then this supposed advantage will seldom or never occur, and, if it should occur, it would prove a disadvantage." In regard to keeping the Church pure in doctrine: "Sure I am that the Church in China cannot be kept pure by legislation on this, the opposite side of the globe. But we expect Christ to reign over and the Holy Spirit to be given to the Churches, and the proper ecclesiastical bodies formed of them in China, as well as in this land. Why not? Such are the promises of God. The way to secure these things is by prayer and the preaching of the pure Gospel, not by legislation. Let the Church be careful in her selection of missionaries. Send only such as she has confidence in-men of God, sound in faith, apt to teach-and then trust them, or recall them. Don't attempt to control them contrary to their judgment. Strange if this, which is so much insisted on as the policy of our Church, be right, that she cannot get a single man, of all she sends out to China, to think so. Can it be that the missionary work is so subversive of right reason, or of correct judgment, or of conscientiousness, that all become perverted by engaging in it? "2. Another supposed advantage is the effect it will have in enlisting the sympathies of the Church in behalf of the Mission at Amoy. Our people do not first ask whether it be building ourselves up, before they sympathize with a benevolent object. We believe the contrary is the exact truth. It requires a liberal policy to call forth liberal views and actions. As regards the enlisting of men, look at the facts. Every man who has gone out from among you to engage in this missionary work begs of you not to adopt a narrow policy. So in regard to obtaining of funds. Usually the men who are most liberal in giving are most liberal in feeling. .... "However powerful the motive addressed to the desire to build up our own Church, there are motives infinitely more powerful. Such are the motives to be depended upon in endeavoring to elevate the standard of liberality among our people. If our people have not yet learned, they should be taught to engage in the work of evangelizing the world, not for the sake of our Church in America, but for the sake of Christ and His Church, and when the Church thus built up is like our own they should be fully satisfied. We believe they will be satisfied with this. "Now let us consider the real or supposed evils of carrying out the decision of Synod. "1. It will not be for the credit of our Church. She now has a name, with other Churches, for putting forth efforts to evangelize the world. Shall she mar this good name and acquire one for sectarianism, by putting forth efforts to extend herself, not her doctrines and order-they are not sectarian, and her missionaries esteem them as highly as do their brethren at home-but herself, even at the cost of dividing churches which the grace of God has made one? The decision of the last Synod may not be the result of sectarianism among the people of our Church. We do not think it is. But it will be difficult to convince our Presbyterian brethren and others that it is not so. By way of illustration I will suppose a case. A. is engaged in a very excellent work. B. comes to him, and the following dialogue ensues: "B. 'Friend A., I am glad to see you engaged in so excellent a work. I also have concluded to engage in it. I should be glad to work with you. You know the proverbs, 'Union is strength,' and 'Two are better than one.' "A. 'Yes, yes, friend B., I know these proverbs and believe them as thoroughly as you do. But I have a few peculiarities about my way of working. They are not many, and they are not essential, but I think they are very useful, and wish to work according to them. Therefore, I prefer working alone.' "B. 'Yes, friend A., we all have our peculiarities, and, if they be not carried too far, they may all be made useful. I have been making inquiries about yours, and I am glad to find they are not nearly so many, or so different from mine, as you suppose, and as I once supposed. The fact is, I rather like some of them, and though I may not esteem them all as highly as you do, still I am willing to conform to them; for I am fully persuaded that, in work of this kind, two working together can do vastly more than two working separately, and the work will be much better done. Besides this, the social intercourse will be delightful.' "A. 'I appreciate, friend B., your politeness, and am well aware that all you say about the greater efficiency and excellence of united work and the delights of social intercourse is perfectly true. But--but--well, I prefer to work alone.' "2. It will injure the efficiency of the Church at Amoy. Besides the objection furnished by the increase of denominations, which the heathen will thus, as readily as the irreligious in this country, be able to urge against Christianity, it will deprive the churches of the benefit of the united wisdom and strength of the whole of them for self-cultivation and for Christian enterprise, and will introduce a spirit of jealous rivalry among them. We know it is said that there need be no such result, and that the native churches may remain just as united in spirit after the organization of two denominations as before. Such a sentiment takes for granted, either that ecclesiastical organization has in fact no efficiency, or that the Chinese churches have arrived at a far higher state of sanctification than the churches have attained to in this land. Do not different denominations exhibit jealous rivalry in this land? Is Chinese human nature different from American? "In consequence of such division the native Churches will not be so able to support the Gospel among themselves. Look at the condition of our Western towns in this respect. Why strive to entail like evils on our missionary churches? .... "But may not the Church change or improve her decisions? Here is one of the good things we hope to see come out of this mistake of the Church. Jesus rules, and He is ordering all things for the welfare of His Church and the advancement of His cause. Sometimes, the better to accomplish this end, He permits the Church to make mistakes. When we failed in former days to get our views made public, it gave us no anxiety, for we believed the doctrine that Jesus reigns. So we now feel, notwithstanding this mistake. The Master will overrule it for good. We do not certainly know how, but we can imagine one way. By means of this mistake the matter may be brought before our Church, and before other Churches, more clearly than it would otherwise have been for many years to come, and in consequence of this we expect, in due time, that our Church, instead of coming up merely to the standard of liberality for which we have been contending, will rise far above anything we have asked for or even imagined, and other Churches will also raise their standard higher. Hereafter we expect to contend for still higher principles. This is the doctrine. Let all the branches of the great Presbyterian family in the same region in any heathen country, which are sound in the faith, organize themselves, if convenient, into one organic whole, allowing liberty to the different parts in things non-essential. Let those who adopt Dutch customs, as at Amoy, continue, if they see fit, their peculiarities, and those who adopt other Presbyterian customs, as at Ningpo and other places, continue their peculiarities, and yet all unite as one Church. This subject does not relate simply to the interests of the Church at Amoy. It relates to the interests of all the missionary work of all the churches of the Presbyterian order in all parts of the world. Oh, that our Church might take the lead in this catholicity of spirit, instead of falling back in the opposite direction-that no one may take her crown! But if she do not, then we trust some other of the sacramental hosts will take the lead and receive, too, the honor, for it is for the glory of the great Captain of our salvation and for the interests of His kingdom. We need the united strength of all these branches of Zion for the great work which the Master has set before us in calling on us to evangelize the world. In expecting to obtain this union, will it be said that we are looking for a chimera? It ought to be so, ought it not? Then it is no chimera. It may take time for the Churches to come up to this standard, but within a few years we have seen tendencies to union among different branches of the Presbyterian family in Australia. In Canada, in our own country, and in England and Scotland. In many places these tendencies are stronger now than they have ever before been since the days of the Reformation. "True, human nature is still compassed with infirmities even in the Church of Christ. But the day of the world's regeneration is approaching, and as it approaches nearer to us, doubtless the different branches of the Presbyterian family will approach still nearer to each other. God hasten the time, and keep us also from doing anything to retard, but everything to help it forward, and to His name be the praise forever. Amen." So strong was the feeling of the entire Amoy Mission, that in September, 1863, the following communication was sent to the Board of Foreign Missions: "Dear Brethren: We received from you on the 22d ultimo the action taken by the General Synod at its recent session at Newburgh with regard to the proposed organization of a Classis at Amoy. Did we view this step in the light in which Synod appears to have regarded it, we should need in this communication to do no more than signify our intention to carry out promptly the requirements of Synod; but we regret to say that such is not the case, and that Synod, in requiring this of us, has asked us to do that which we cannot perform. We feel that Synod must have mistaken our position on this question. It is not that we regard the proposed action as merely inexpedient and unwise; if this were all, we would gladly carry out the commands of Synod, transferring to it the responsibility which it offers to assume. But the light in which we regard it admits of no transfer of responsibility. It is not a matter of judgment only, but also of conscience. "We conscientiously feel that in confirming such an organization we should be doing a positive injury and wrong to the churches of Christ established at Amoy, and that our duty to the Master and His people here forbids this. Therefore, our answer to the action of General Synod must be and is that we cannot be made the instruments of carrying out the wishes of Synod in this report; and further, if Synod is determined that such an organization must be effected, we can see no other way than to recall us and send hither men who see clearly their way to do that which to us seems wrong. "We regret the reasons which have led us to this conclusion. We have thought it best that each member of the Mission should forward to you his individual views on this subject, rather than embody them in the present communication. "We accordingly refer you to these separate statements which will be sent to you as soon as prepared. "Commending you, dear brethren, to our common Lord, whose servants we all are, and praying that He will guide us into all truth, we are as ever, "Your brethren in Christ E. DOTY, A. OSTROM, D. RAPALJE, LEONARD W. KIP, AUG. BLAUVELT. "AMOY, Sept. 16, 1863." The last action taken by the General Synod was in June, 1864, and reads as follows: "Resolved, That while the General Synod does not deem it necessary or proper to change the missionary policy defined and adopted in 1857, yet, in consideration of the peculiar circumstances of the Mission of Amoy, the brethren there are allowed to defer the formation of a Classis of Amoy until, in their judgment, such a measure is required by the wants and desires of the Churches gathered by them from among the heathen." At the Centenary Conference on the Protestant Missions of the World, held in Exeter Hall, London, 1888, Rev. W. J. K. Taylor, D.D., for many years a most efficient member of the Board of Foreign Missions of the Reformed Church in America, read a paper on "Union and Cooperation in Foreign Missions," in which he said: "Actual union has been happily maintained at Amoy, China, for more than a quarter of a century between the missionaries of the Reformed (Dutch) Church in America and those of the Presbyterian Church of England. Having labored together in the faith of the Gospel, gathering converts into the fold of Christ, and founding native churches, these brethren could not and would not spoil the unity of those infant churches by making two denominations out of one company of believers nor would they sow in that virgin soil the seeds of sectarian divisions which have long sundered the Protestant Churches in Europe and America. The result was the organization of the Tai-Hoey, or Great Council of Elders, which is neither an English Presbytery nor a Reformed Church Classis, but is like them both. It is not an appendage of either of these foreign Churches, but is a genuine independent Chinese Christian Church holding the standards and governed by the polity of the twin-sister Churches that sent them the Gospel by their own messengers. The missionaries retain their relations with their own home Churches and act under commissions of their own Church Board of Missions. They are not settled pastors, but are more like the Apostolic Evangelists of New Testament times,--preachers, teachers, founders of Churches, educators of the native ministry, and superintendents of the general work of evangelization. "This Tai-Hoey is a child of God, which was 'born, not of blood, nor of the will of the flesh, nor of the will of man, but of God.' It is believed to be the first ecclesiastical organization for actual union and co-operation in mission lands by the representatives of churches holding the Reformed faith and Presbyterial polity. Its history has already been long enough to give the greatest value to its experience." For seven years, by tongue and pen, Mr. Talmage advocated the establishment of an independent Chinese Union Church of the Presbyterian order. Even then the Reformed Church was not fully persuaded and did not give her hearty assent. The resolution of 1864 was only tentative. It was a plea for toleration. This was not strange. It was one of the earliest efforts, if not the earliest, for church union and separate autonomy on heathen soil. It was a new departure. But the battle was really won. The question was never broached again. The strongest opponents then are the warmest friends of union and autonomy now. Thirty years of happiest experience, of hearty endorsement by native pastors and foreign missionaries are sufficient testimony to the wisdom of the steps then taken. In November, 1864, Mr. Talmage married Miss Mary E. Van Deventer, and forthwith proceeded to China, where he arrived early in 1865. In 1867, Rutgers College, New Jersey, recognized Mr. Talmage's successful and scholarly labors in China for a period of full twenty years, by giving him the degree of Doctor of Divinity. X. THE ANTI-MISSIONARY AGITATION. Prince Kung, at Sir Rutherford Alcock's parting interview with him in 1869, said: "Yes, we have had a great many discussions, but we know that you have always endeavored to do justice, and if you could only relieve us of missionaries and opium, there need be no more trouble in China." He spoke the mind of the officials, literati, and the great masses of the people. Heathenism is incarnate selfishness. How can a Chinese understand that men will turn their backs on the ancestral home, travel ten thousand miles with no other object but to do his countrymen good? The natural Chinaman cannot receive it. He suspects us. And he has enough to pillow his suspicion on. Let him turn the points of the compass. He sees the great North-land in the hands of Russia. He sees the Spaniard tyrannizing over the Philippine Islanders. He sees Holland dominating the East Indies. He sees India's millions at the feet of the British lion. "What are these benevolent-looking barbarians tramping up and down the country for? Why are they establishing churches and schools and hospitals? They are trying to buy our hearts by their feigned kindness, and hand us over to some Western monarch ere long." So reasons our unsophisticated Chinese. He is heartily satisfied with his own religion or utterly indifferent to any religion. He has no ear for any new doctrine except as a curiosity, to give momentary amusement, and then to be thrown to the ground like a child's toy. The missionary appears on the scene in dead earnest. "Agitation is our profession." We are among those "who are trying to turn the world upside down." The Spirit of God touches and dissolves the apathy, melts the ice, breaks the stone, and we see men alive unto God; "old things are passed away, behold all things are become new." What a change in the recipient of God's grace. A change, too, takes place in him who resists. Icy apathy becomes burning, bitter hatred. The whole enginery of iniquity is set in motion to sweep off this strange foreign propaganda. Malicious placards are posted before every yamen and temple. Basest stories are retailed. "The barbarians dig out men's eyes and cut out men's hearts to make medicine of them." The thirst for revenge is engendered, until, like an unleashed tiger, the mob springs upon the missionary's home, and returns not till its thirst has been slaked with the blood of the righteous. That is the dark shadow hanging over missionary life in nearly every part of the Chinese Empire. We have had no name to add to the foreign missionary martyr list, from the region of Amoy. Chinese martyrs there may have been. Men who have endured the lifelong laceration of taunt and sneer and suffered the loss of well nigh all things, there have been not a few. Though the fires of persecution have burned with fiercer intensity in other parts of China, yet we have not escaped having our garments singed in some of their folds. Perhaps the most widespread anti-missionary uprising in China occurred during the years 1870 and 1871. It was during the summer of 1870 that Dr. Talmage was compelled to go to Chefoo, North China, for much-needed rest and change. On August 8th he wrote to Dr. J. M. Ferris: "The next day after my arrival at Chefoo the news was received of the terrible massacre at Tientsin on June 21st. (Tientsin is the port of Peking, and has a population of upwards of one million.) Nine Sisters of Charity, one foreign priest, the French consul and other French officials and subjects, and three Russians--in all, twenty-one Europeans--were massacred. Many of them were horribly mutilated. Especially is this true of all the Sisters. Their private residences and public establishments, as well as all the Protestant chapels within the city, were destroyed." Not long after, the American Presbyterian Mission at Tung chow, Shantung Province, North China, was broken up, for fear of an intended massacre. The missionaries were helped to Chefoo by two vessels sent by the British Admiral, Sir Henry Kellet. At Canton, vile stories about foreigners distributing poisonous pills were gotten up, and such was the seriousness of the crisis that two German missionaries had to flee for their lives, one having his mission premises utterly destroyed. A people whose credulity is most amazingly developed by feeding on fairy tales and demon adventures from their childhood, are prepared to believe anything about the "ocean barbarians" whose name is never spoken without mingled fear and hatred and suspicion. The ferment, started at Canton, spread along the coast. The people of Amoy were inoculated with the virus. On the 22d of September, 1871, Dr. Talmage addressed a letter to General Le Gendre, U. S. Consul at Amoy, informing him of the state of affairs in and about Amoy. The missionary knowing the language and having constant dealings with the people would be more likely to know the extent and gravity of any conspiracy against foreigners than the Consul. A part of the letter reads: "In July last inflammatory placards were extensively posted throughout the region about Canton, stating that foreigners had imported a large quantity of poison and had hired vagabond Chinese to distribute it among the people; that only foreigners had the antidote to this poison and that they refused to administer it, except for large sums of money or to such persons as embraced the foreigner's religion. In the latter part of July some of these placards and letters accompanying them were received by Chinese at Amoy from their Canton friends. They were copied, with changes to suit this region, and extensively circulated. The man who seems to have been most active in their circulation was the Cham-hu, the highest military official at Amoy under the Admiral. He united with the Hai-hong, a high civil official, in issuing a proclamation, warning the people to be on their guard against poison, which wicked people were circulating. This proclamation was not only circulated in the city of Amoy, but also in the country around. "It did not mention foreigners, but the people by some other means were made to understand that foreigners were meant. The district Magistrate of the city of Chiang-chiu issued a proclamation informing the people of the danger of poison, especially against poison in their wells. Two days later he issued another proclamation, reiterating his warnings, and informing the people that he had arrested and examined a man who confessed that he, with three others, had been employed by foreigners to engage in this work of poisoning the people. "Their especial business was to poison all the wells. This so-called criminal was speedily executed. "A few days afterwards a military official at Chiang-chiu also issued a proclamation to warn the people against poison, and giving the confession of the above-mentioned criminal with great particularity. The criminal is made to say that a few months ago he had been decoyed and sold to foreigners. In company with more than fifty others--he was conveyed by ship to Macao. There they were distributed among the foreign hongs, one to each hong. (Hong is pigeon English for business house.) "That afterwards he with three others was sent home, being furnished with poison for distribution, and with special direction to poison all the wells on their way. They were to refer all those on whom the poison took effect to a certain individual at Amoy, who would heal them gratuitously, only requiring of them their names. This, doubtless, is an allusion to the hospital for the Chinese at Amoy, where the names of the patients are of course recorded and they receive medicine and medical attendance gratuitously. "In this confession foreigners are designated by the opprobrious epithet of 'little'--that is, contemptible--'demons.' This, by the way, is a phrase never used to designate foreigners in this region except by those in the mandarin offices. Besides the absurdity of charging foreigners with distributing poison, the whole confession bears the evidence not only of falsehood, but, if ever made, of having been put into the man's mouth by those inside the mandarin offices and forced from him by torture, for the express purpose of exciting the intensest hatred against foreigners. "In consequence, excitement and terror and hatred to foreigners, and consequently to native Christians, became most intense, and extended from the cities far into the country around. Wells were fenced in and put under lock and cover. People were called together by the beating of gongs to draw water. The buckets were covered in carrying water to guard against the throwing in of poison along the streets. At the entrances of some villages notices were posted warning strangers not to enter lest they be arrested as poisoners. In various places men were arrested and severely beaten on suspicion, merely because they were strangers. The native Christians everywhere were subjected to much obloquy and sometimes to imminent danger, charged with being under the influence of foreigners and employed by them to distribute poison. "Even at the Amoy hospital, which has been in existence nearly thirty years, the number of patients greatly decreased; some days there were almost none." In the large cities of Tong-an and Chinchew placards were posted in great numbers. They averred that black and red pills were being sold by the agents of foreigners under presence of curing disease and saving the world. Instead they were causes of terrible diseases which none but the foreign dogs or their agents could cure. And to get cured, one must join the foreign religion or else give great sums. It was asserted that all this poison emanated from the foreign chapels, was often thrown into wells, and secretly put into fish or other food in the markets. A preacher, sixty miles from Foochow, one hundred and fifty miles north of Amoy, barely escaped with his life. He was pounded with stones while the bystanders called out, "Kill the poisoner, the foreign devils' poisoner!" The whole object of this diabolical calumniating was to kindle the people into a frenzy against foreigners, especially missionaries, and to make foreign powers believe that the people are so anti-foreign that the authorities cannot secure a foreigner's safety outside of the treaty ports. Even when these reports were traveling like wildfire there were those among the Chinese who knew better, and it was often said, "It cannot be the missionaries and native Christians, for have they not been going in and out among us all these years and they never did us any harm?" Speaking of the "Political State of the Country," Dr. Talmage says: "With the atrocities committed at Tientsin the world is acquainted, though many seem still to be under the grievous error that these atrocities were designed only against Romanism and the French nation. "If this were the fact, it would be no justification. Others are under an error equally grievous, that the Chinese Government has given reasonable redress. It has given no proper redress at all. Instead of reprobating the massacre, it has almost, and doubtless to the ideas of the Chinese, fully sanctioned it. The leaders in the massacre have not been brought to justice. The Government has readily given life for life--a very easy matter in China--but it has so highly rewarded the families of the victims thus sacrificed to placate the barbarians, and put so much honor on the corpses of these martyrs to foreign demands, that it has encouraged similar atrocities whenever a suitable time shall arrive for their perpetration. The Imperial proclamation stating even this unsatisfactory redress, which the Government solemnly promised should be published throughout the land, has not been published except in a few instances where foreigners have compelled it. The massacre at Tientsin is known throughout the empire, but it is not known generally that any redress at all has been given. "Instead of the publication of this proclamation the vilest calumnies--too vile to be even mentioned in Christian ears--have been circulated secretly, but widely throughout the land. Throughout the coast provinces of this southern half of the empire the people have been warned of a grand poisoning scheme gotten up by foreigners for the destruction of the Chinese. "Because the foreign residents in China report the truth in regard to the feeling of hatred to foreigners, and warn the nations of the West of the coming war and designed extirpation of all foreigners, for which China is assuredly preparing with all its might, we are charged as being desirous of bringing on war. We know that the Church will not impute such motives to her missionaries. But the testimony of missionaries agrees in this respect with that of other foreign residents. We see the evidence, as we walk the streets, in the countenances and demeanor of the literati and officials, and somewhat in the countenances and demeanor of the masses. "We see it in the changed policy of the local magistrates toward the Christians; we learn it from rumors which are circulated from time to time among the people; we see it in the activity manifested in forming a proper navy and in preparing the army. "We learn it from the secret communications, some of which have reached the light, passing to and fro between the Imperial Government and the higher local authorities, and we fear that we have another proof in the barbarous treatment of a shipwrecked crew some two weeks ago along the coast a little to the north of Amoy. "A British mercantile steamer ran ashore in a fog. She was unarmed. The natives soon gathered in force and attacked the vessel. The people on board attempted to escape in their boats. These boats were afterwards attacked by a large fleet of fishing-boats and separated. "One boat's company were taken ashore, stripped naked, wounded, and robbed of everything. They finally made their way overland to Amoy. The other three boats, after the crew and passengers had been stripped and robbed, were let go to sea. They providentially fell in with a steamer which took them to Foochow. Such atrocities were once common here. "We do not believe that any large proportion of the foreign residents in China wish war. We do wish, however, the rights secured to us by treaty. These, with a proper policy, can be secured without war. We wish most heartily to avoid war. Besides all its other evils it would be a sad thing for our work and our churches. We still hope that God in His providence will ward it off. He will do it in answer to our prayers if so it be best for His cause. This is our only hope, and it is sufficient." The threatening war cloud did blow over, and a restraint, at least temporary, was laid upon the officials and the people in their treatment of foreigners. XI. THE LAST TWO DECADES. Dr. Talmage was a man of strong convictions, at the same time possessed of a spirit of genuine catholicity. The brethren connected with the London and English Presbyterian Missions recognized him as a true friend. In his later years he became the Nestor of the three Missions, the venerated patriarch, the trusted counselor. It will not be inappropriate to give two letters expressive of his good-will toward his fellow laborers. The one was written on the occasion of Rev. John Stronach's return to England: FORTY CONTINUOUS YEARS IN HEATHENISM. "March 16, 1876. Today we said farewell to the veteran missionary, Rev. John Stronach. "He has been laboring many years at this place in connection with the London Missionary Society. This morning he left us for his native land by a new route. "Each of the three Missions has one or more boats employed exclusively in carrying missionaries and native preachers on their trips to and from the various outstations accessible by water. These boats are called by the native Christians 'hok-im-chun,' which means 'Gospel boat.' Mr. Stronach embarked on one of these 'Gospel boats.' He expected to land at one of the Mission stations on the mainland northeast from Amoy, and then travel overland on foot or by sedan-chair to Foochow. He will spend the remaining nights of this week and the Sabbath at various stations under the care of the Missions at Amoy, and say some parting words to the native Christians. "He expects early next week to meet one of the Methodist missionaries of Foochow, and in company with him to pass on to that city, spending the nights at stations under the care of the Foochow Missions. We may now travel overland from Amoy to Foochow (a distance of one hundred and fifty miles) and spend every night, sometimes take our noonday meals, at a Christian chapel. Does this look as if missions were a failure in this region? At Foochow Mr. Stronach will take steamer for Shanghai, thence to Yokohama and San Francisco. "All the missionaries of Amoy and many Chinese Christians accompanied Mr. Stronach to the boat. It is very sad to say farewell to those with whom we have been long and pleasantly associated. "Mr. Stronach left England in 1837, thirty-nine years ago, to labor as a missionary in the East Indies. "He came to Amoy in 1844, shortly after this port was opened to foreign commerce and missionary labor. He was soon sent to Shanghai as one of the Committee of Delegates on the translation of the Scriptures into the Chinese language. If he had done nothing more for China than his share in this great work, the benefit would have been incalculable. After the completion of this work in 1853, he returned to Amoy, where he has labored continuously, with the exception of a short visit a few years ago to Hongkong and Canton, and a shorter one last year to Foochow. Very rarely has he been interrupted in his work by illness. In the history of modern missions few instances can be found of missionaries who have been permitted to labor uninterruptedly for nearly forty years, not even taking one furlough home. "In the case of Mr. Stronach the language concerning Moses may be literally applied, 'His eye is not dim, nor his natural force abated.' He does not yet have occasion to use spectacles, and the route he has taken proves him still full of mental and physical vigor. Think of the discoveries and inventions during the last forty years! Will Mr. Stronach recognize his native land? The good hand of the Lord be with him and make his remaining years as happy as his past ones have been useful." The other letter, to Rev. John M. Ferris, D.D., was written on the occasion of the death of the Rev. Carstairs Douglas, LL.D., one of the most accomplished and scholarly men ever sent to any mission field: "AUGUST 8, 1877. "By this mail we have sad news to send. It relates to the death of Rev. Carstairs Douglas, LL.D., of the English Presbyterian Mission at Amoy. He was the senior member of that Mission, having arrived at Amoy, July, 1855, twenty-two years ago. "Dr. Douglas, two weeks ago to-day, was in apparent good health. On that day he made calls on several members of the foreign community. To some of them he remarked, concerning his health, that he had never felt better. That evening he was in his usual place in our weekly prayer-meeting. The next morning at four o'clock he began to feel unwell, but did not wish to disturb others, so called no one until about half past six. Then some medicine was given him and he sat down at his study-table for the morning reading of his Hebrew Bible. About an hour after this he became much worse and the doctor was sent for. On his arrival the physician pronounced his disease to be cholera of the most virulent type, and the case to be almost without hope of recovery. "In consequence of our long and close intimacy word was soon sent to me. I hastened to see him. He was already very weak and could not converse without great effort. Everything was done for him that could be done. But he continued failing until about a quarter before six in the afternoon, July 26th, when he breathed his last. He knew what his disease was and what would probably be its termination, but evidently the King of Terrors had no terror for him. His end was peace. He retained his consciousness nearly to the last. "He was to have preached in our English chapel to the foreign community on the following Sabbath morning. He told us his text was Romans vi. 23, 'The wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord.' The text was so suitable to the occasion that I took it, and in his place on the next Sabbath morning preached his funeral sermon from his own text. "By overwork he had worn himself out, and made himself an old man while he was yet comparatively young in years. He came to China quite young and at the time of his death was only about forty-six years of age, and yet men who had recently become acquainted with him thought him over sixty. Is any one inclined to blame him too much for this, as though he wore himself out and sacrificed his life before the time? If so, he did it in a good cause and for a good Master. Besides this, he did more work during the twenty-two years of his missionary life than the most of men accomplish in twice that time. And then, he reminds us of One, who when only a little over thirty years of age, from similar causes, seems to have acquired the appearance of nearly fifty (John viii. 57). "Recently, especially during the last year, it was manifest, at least to others, that his physical strength was fast giving way. Yet he could not be prevailed upon to leave his field for a season for temporary rest, or even to lessen the amount of his work. "I never knew a more incessant worker. He was a man of most extensive general information. I think I have never met with his equal in this respect. He was acquainted with several modern European languages and was a thorough student of the original languages of Holy Scripture, as witness the fact of his study of the Hebrew Bible, even after his last sickness had commenced. As regards the Chinese language, he was already taking his place among the first sinologues of the land. We were indebted more to him, perhaps, than to any other one man for the success of the recent General Missionary Conference (at Shanghai). [At this first General Conference of the Protestant missionaries of China, held at Shanghai in May, 1877, Dr. Talmage preached the opening sermon and read a paper, the title of which was, "Should the native churches in China be united ecclesiastically and independent of foreign churches and societies?"] "As a member of the Committee of Arrangements he labored indefatigably by writing Ietters and in other ways to make it a success, and though comparatively so young, he well deserved the honor bestowed on him in making him one of the presidents of that body. 'Know ye not that there is a prince and a great man fallen this day in Israel?' "This is a great blow to the English Presbyterian Mission in this place. It is also, because of the intimate relations of the two missions and the oneness of the churches under our care, a great blow to us. It is a great blow to the whole mission work in China--greater, perhaps, than the loss of any other man. You will not wonder that I, from my long intimacy with him, feel the loss deeply, more and more deeply every day and week, as the days and weeks pass away without him." CHINESE GRANDILOQUENCE. An episode in connection with the visit to China in 1878 of Dr. Jacob Chamberlain, of the Arcot Mission, is described in a letter to Dr. Goyn Talmage, as follows: "Dear Goyn: I suppose I told you about the pleasant visit we had from Dr. Chamberlain and family. The Doctor went with me to Chiang-chiu. While there his carpet-bag was stolen out of the boat. We reported the case to a military officer, and told him that we wanted the bag very much, and if he could get it for us, we should make no trouble about having the thief punished. In a few days after our return to Amoy the bag was sent to us with all its contents complete. We bought an umbrella--a nice silk one--and sent it up to the officer as a present. Perhaps you would like to see a translation of the letter he sent in reply. It will illustrate Chinese politeness. The letter reads as follows: "'When the flocks of wild geese make their orderly flight,--the glorious autumnal season deserving of laudation,--my thoughts wander far away to you, Teacher Talmage, whose noble presence is worthy to be saluted with bow profound, and whose dignified manners invite to close intimacy. Alas, that our acquaintance should have been formed at this late day!--and that, too, when, by wafting and by the plying of oars, having arrived at 'the stream of the fragrant grain fields' (poetic name for the region of Chiang-chiu), you met with the mishap of doggish thieves taking advantage of your want of watchfulness! Truly, the blame of this rests on me. How, then, can I have the hardihood to receive from you a present of value! A reward of demerit, how can I endure it! During the three stages of life, (youth, middle age, and old age,) I shall not be able to repay. It is only by inheritance (not by my own merit) that I obtained the imperial favor of office. Thus, my deficiency in the knowledge of official laws and governmental regulations has subjected you to fear and anxiety. Shame on me in the extreme! shame in the extreme! Only by the greatest stretch could I hope to meet with forbearance, how then could you take trouble and manifest kindness by sending a present. Writing cannot exhaust my words, and words can not exhaust my meaning. It will be necessary to come and express my thanks in person. Such are my supplications and such is my sense of obligation. May there be golden peace to you, Teacher Talmage, and will your excellency please bestow your brilliant glance on what I have written!' "Is not that a specimen of humility? The stealing was because of his neglect of duty, and his neglect of duty was because of inability, having obtained his office through the merit of his father or grandfather. Of course he kept the umbrella." August 18, 1887, marked the fortieth anniversary of Dr. Talmage's arrival in China. He said so little about it, however, that it was not known by the friends of the other missions until the very day dawned. The members of the English Presbyterian Mission--ladies and gentlemen--immediately concluded to secure some suitable memento expressive of their regard for Dr. Talmage and his work. A set of Macaulay's History of England, bound in tree calf, and a finely bound copy of the latest edition of the Royal Atlas, were sent for. In connection with the presentation the following letter from Rev. W. McGregor was read: "Amoy, April 3, 1888. "Dear Dr. Talmage: "When on the 18th of last August we learned that that day was the fortieth anniversary of your arrival in China, the news came upon us unexpectedly. We wished we had had more forethought and kept better count of the years, so that we might have made more of the occasion. Each of us felt a desire to present you with some token of our regard, and it seemed to us for many reasons best that we should do so unitedly as members of the English Presbyterian Mission in Amoy. We had at the time nothing suitable to offer you, but we agreed on certain books to be sent for,--not as having any special relations to the work in which you have been engaged, but as being each a standard work of its kind. The books have now arrived, and I have much pleasure in sending them to you as something that may be kept in your family as a memorial of the day and a small token of our high esteem for yourself personally and of the great value we attach to the work you have done in the service of our common Lord. "I am, yours truly, "Wm. McGregor. "On behalf of the members of the English Presbyterian Mission, Amoy." Dr. Talmage was blessed with a most vigorous physical constitution, but years of struggle with one of the complaints peculiar to the tropics, finally compelled his retirement from the Mission field. In the summer of 1889, Dr. and Mrs. Talmage embarked on the steamship Arabia for the United States. Dr. Talmage turned his face to the old home-village, Bound Brook, New Jersey, all the time cherishing the hope of one more return to China and his laying down the shepherd's crook and robe among the flock he had gathered from among the heathen. That hope was not to be realized. Though he had left Amoy, yet he ceased not to do what he could for the work there. Though compelled to lie on his back much of the time, making writing difficult, he sent letters to the Chinese Monthly Magazine and to not a few of the pastors, encouraging them in their labors. Chiefly did he devote himself to the completion of a Character Colloquial Dictionary in the Amoy language, intended to be of special service to the Chinese Christian Church. It was intended to facilitate the study of the Chinese Character, especially those Characters used in the Chinese Bible. It was also calculated to promote the study of the Romanized Colloquial Version of the Scriptures as well as other Romanized Colloquial literature. In the midst of multiplied duties and many distractions he had wrought on it for upwards of a score of years. He was eager to make it thoroughly reliable. He spared no pains to that end. He always felt very much out of patience with any one who would give to the public an inaccurate book; and it was the desire to make his dictionary as accurate as possible that kept him from having it published some years since. He consulted Chinese literary men. He pored over Chinese dictionaries. He brought it home with him, requiring, as he thought, still further revision, and his last labors were the completion of it with the valued assistance of the Rev. Daniel Rapalje, of the Amoy Mission. It is now going through the press and will soon be at the service of missionaries and native brethren who have eagerly awaited its appearance for many years. His strength gradually failed and on August 19, 1892, in his seventy-third year, he quietly breathed his last at Bound Brook, New Jersey. The mortal tent loosened down and folded was laid away in the family plot near Somerville, New Jersey. Most of his living, working years he had spent far away from the ancestral home. It was God's will that his dust should find a place next to the kindred dust of father and mother, sister and brother, in the peaceful God's acre but a few miles from the old homestead. Dr. Talmage left a wife, two daughters and three sons, and a goodly circle of relatives and friends to mourn his departure. Mrs. Talmage has since returned to the Talmage Manse at Amoy and taken up afresh her chosen work in educating the ill-privileged and ignorant women of China. The two daughters, Miss Katharine and Miss Mary, are rendering most faithful and efficient service, too, among China's mothers and daughters. Rev. David M. Talmage fills a pastorate with the Reformed Church of Westwood, New Jersey. Mr. John Talmage is a rice merchant at New Orleans, Louisiana. Rev. George E. Talmage ministers to the Lord's people at Mott Haven, New York. When the sun of Dr. Talmage's life set, it was to the Chinese brethren at Amoy, like the setting of a great hope. The venerable teacher had left them two years before, but he had not spoken a final farewell. They and he looked for one more meeting on earth. He was known to the whole Chinese Church in and about Amoy for a circuit of a hundred miles. He sat at its cradle. He watched its growth until within two years of the day when it went forth two bands united in one Synod with twenty organized, self-supporting churches, nineteen native pastors, upwards of two thousand communicants and six thousand adherents. In the many breaks that occur in the missionary constituency, his life was the one chain of continuity. The Churches had come to feel that whoever failed them, they had Teacher Talmage still. His departure was like the falling down of a venerable cathedral, leaving the broken and bleeding ivy among the dust and debris. The Chinese Christians had leaned hard upon him. They loved and revered him as a father. Since he passed away his name has seldom been mentioned in any public assembly of the Church by any of the Chinese brethren without the broken and trembling utterance that has called forth from a listening congregation the silent, sympathetic tear. Great and good man, fervent preacher, inspiring teacher, wise and sympathetic counselor, generous friend, affectionate father,--farewell, till the morning breaks and we meet in the City of Light. "And behold these shall come from far, and lo, these from the north, and from the west, and these from the land of Sinim." "Oh then what raptured greetings, What knitting severed friendships up, Where partings are no more." XII. IN MEMORIAM. DR. TALMAGE-THE MAN. BY REV. W. S. SWANSON, D.D. [Dr. Swanson was for twenty years a valued member of the English Presbyterian Mission at Amoy, and subsequently Secretary of the Board of Foreign Missions of the Presbyterian Church of England until his death, November 24, 1893] My first meeting with Dr. Talmage took place in the early days of July, 1860, and from that day till the day of his death he was regarded as not only one of the best and most valued friends, but I looked up to him as a father beloved and respected. One cannot help recalling now the impressions of those early days. There was a marked individuality about this man that made you regard him whether you would or not. You felt that he was a man bound to lead and to take the foremost place amongst his brethren and all with whom he came in touch. There was a firmness of tread, and the brave courage of conviction, united with a womanly tenderness, that were unmistakable. You saw he had made up his mind before he spoke, and that when he did speak he spoke with a fullness of knowledge that few men possessed. He was every inch of him a man. And what touched us very much, who were young men, was the tender forbearance with which he always treated us. We saw this more clearly as the years passed on, and learned how much, perhaps, he had to bear from some of us whose assertiveness in some matters was in the inverse ratio of our knowledge. The reference here is to matters and methods regarding our work as missionaries to the Chinese. He bore with us, and knew well the day would come when, with increasing knowledge, there would come increasing hesitation in pronouncing too hastily on the problems we had to face; and he knew well that day would come if there was anything in us at all. In my own study of the Chinese language he and another who also has gone to the "better land"--the Rev. Dr. Douglas--assisted in every possible way; and to both in this line am I indebted for what was the most important furnishing in the first instance for every missionary to China. I can well remember the plane upon which Dr. Talmage placed this study of the language. It was our work for Christ, at this stage a far more important one than any other. He encouraged us to use whatever vocables we had got, no matter whether we were met with the wondering smile of the Chinaman in his vain endeavor to understand us, or to keep from misunderstanding us. "Use whatever you have got, be glad when you are corrected, but use your words." To some of us the advice was invaluable. And in other ways the same spirit was manifest. He did all he could to get us to attend every Christian gathering, to sit and listen to the business of the Sessions, and to show the Chinese as soon as possible that we were one with them, and he succeeded. There was an enthusiasm and warmth distinguishing these early days of the Amoy church that were formative in a very high degree, and that are now a precious memory. Then Dr. Talmage was a scholar, with a very wide range of scholarship. We looked up to him and we respected him, with an esteem few men have ever won. And in conjunction with his scholarly furnishing there was an absorbing, consuming zeal for Christ and His kingdom, and an intense love for the Chinese people. If he had not this latter, he could not have been the unmistakably influential and successful missionary he was. These, coupled with a Christian walk and devotion, formed the furnishing of this man of God. He was also a true gentleman, a Christian gentleman in every sense of the word. The best proof of this was that we loved him, and if the foreign ladies in Amoy who knew him were asked what they thought of him--many of them have gone to rest--they would hardly get words to tell out all their respect and love for him. His visits in our houses were most welcome, and when he spent an evening with us there was always sunshine where he was. He was essentially a happy man, and nothing pleased him more than to see all happy around him. There is still one point to which reference must here be made. Missionaries were not the only foreign residents in Amoy. There was also a considerable number of American and European merchants. Unfortunately the missionaries and the merchants did not always see eye to eye. Dr. Talmage was a favorite with every one of them. They esteemed him, they would have done anything to serve him; and at no cost of principle or testimony he won this place with them. And to those who know the conditions of life in China, it will be at once understood what a man he must have been to win such a position. It may not be generally known that in Amoy we have a "Union English Church," with regular Sabbath services in English. These services were conducted by the missionaries in turn. And we fear it may also not be known what Dr Talmage's powers as a preacher were. He was a very prince among English preachers; and if he had remained in America this would very soon have been acknowledged. There were no tricks or devices of manner or words employed by him for winning the popular ear. He never seemed to forget the solemnity and responsibility of his position in the pulpit. He hesitated not "to declare the whole counsel of God." He stands before me now as I listen with bated breath to the fire of his eloquence, denouncing where denunciation was needed, contending with a burning earnestness that never failed to carry us with him, for "the faith once delivered to the saints," and then with exquisite tenderness seeking to draw his hearers to Him who is Saviour and Brother. He never failed to think and speak as much about temptation as about sin. It was a real feast to attend the English service when it was conducted by him. And during all my time in Amoy, there was always a large congregation when Dr. Talmage was the preacher. He was not all tenderness. He would only have been a one-sided man if this were all. He was as strong as he was tender; a keen and powerful opponent in discussion. And we often had very warm and keen discussions; keener and warmer than I had ever seen before I went to Amoy, or have ever seen since. We had to discuss principles and methods of translation, hymnology, Church work, Church discipline, and many other subjects. And there was no mincing of matters at these discussions. Foremost amongst us was Dr. Talmage, tenaciously and persistently advocating the view he happened to have taken on any question. There were men of very strong individuality among us, and these gave as good as they got. I can recall these scenes, but I cannot recall a single word he said that involved a personal wound or left a barb. When it was all over he was the same loving brother, and not an atom of bitterness was left behind. By us, the brethren of the English Presbyterian Mission, he was looked up to as a revered father, just as much as he was by the brethren of his own Mission. This will be seen more fully further on, and a simple statement of the fact is all that is necessary here. There is another and most sacred relation--his position as the head of a family,--the veil of which it seems almost sacrilege to uplift. But it must be said, and it is only a well-known fact, that few happier homes exist than his home was. He was there what he was elsewhere, the man of God. Dr. Talmage was not perfect. He was essentially a humble man, and he would be the first to tell us that of every sinner saved by grace, he was the most unworthy. And when he said it, he felt it. And he had not the very most distant idea how great a man he was. Sometimes one fears that this very modesty pushed to an extreme prevented others who did not know his life and his work from accurately gauging his real work. Better perhaps, he would say, that it should be so; better to think of the work than of the workers. To hold up Christ and to be hidden behind Him is the highest privilege of those engaged in the service of this King. And this, his uniform bearing, made him all the greater. DR. TALMAGE-THE MISSIONARY. It would be useless speculation to lay down here what should be the special qualifications of a missionary to the Chinese. The better way is to find them in the concrete, so far as you can do so in an individual, and set Him forth as an example for others. The friend of whom we write would deprecate this, but it is the only way in which we can see him as he was and account for the singularly prominent place he occupied amongst us. I do not need to say here that he was a man of faith and prayer, earnest and zealous for the spread of Christ's Kingdom; in the face of difficulties and dangers, of disappointments and failures, maintaining an unwavering faith that the Kingdom must come and would yet rule over all. He had both an intense love for his work and enthusiasm in carrying it on. He came with a definite message to the people to whom the Master had sent him. There was no apologizing for it, no watering it down, no uncertain sound about it with him. Christ and Christ alone can meet the wants and woes of humanity,--Chinese or American or British. He had no doubt about it whatever; and hereby some of us learned that if we had not this message it would have been far better for us to have stayed at home. And this feature marked him all over his course. You felt as you listened to his pleadings that sin and salvation were terms brimful of meaning to him. He had traveled this road, and all his pleadings seemed to be summed up in the one yearning cry, "Come with us and we will do thee good." "This is a faithful saying and worthy of all acceptation, that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners." And he would have gone to the end, "of whom I am chief." Then he had a great love for the people. He made himself acquainted with the family and social conditions of the people. He had not come to Americanize but to Christianize the Chinese. And for this he equipped himself. I never saw him so happy as when he was surrounded by them. He was then in his real element, answering their questions, solving their difficulties, opening up to them the Scriptures, and meeting them wherever he thought they needed to be met. And go to his study when you liked, you almost always found some Chinese Christians there. He was the great referee, to whom they carried home difficulties and family trials, assured that his sympathy and advice would never be denied them. This endeared him to them in an extraordinary manner. We never on such occasions found a trace of impatience with him. What would have annoyed others did not seem to annoy him, and the consequence was that the whole church loved him. There was an inexhaustible well of tenderness in the man's nature, and it was sweetened by the grace of God in his heart. We sometimes thought he erred by excess in this particular. He was unwilling to think anything but good of them, and was thus apt to be influenced too much by designing and astute Chinamen. Often we have heard it said, "Well, if you won't listen to us, Dr. Talmage will." But, looking back to-day over it all, if it was a fault, it was one that leant to virtue's side. He was wonderfully unsuspicious: and so far as his fellow men were concerned, Chinese or Westerns, the mental process which he almost invariably employed was to try to find out what good there was in a man. And now one loves him all the more for such a Christlike spirit. Dr. Talmage was thoroughly acquainted with the spoken language of Amoy. Few men, if any, had a more extensive knowledge of its vocables. He spoke idiomatically and beautifully as the Chinese themselves spoke, and not as he thought they should speak. There was no slipshod work with him in this particular. Here was the indispensable furnishing and he must get it. And he did get it in no average measure. This was the prime requisite, and through no other avenue could he get really and honestly to work. There is no royal road to the acquisition of the Chinese language. It is only by dint of hard, plodding, and persevering study one can acquire an adequate acquaintance with it. And till the last he never gave up his study of it. He was not satisfied, and no true missionary ever will be satisfied with such a smattering of knowledge as may enable him to proclaim a few Christian doctrines. Such superficiality was not his aim or end. And when he first acquired Chinese, it was more difficult to do so. There were no aids in the way of dictionaries or vocabularies. It may be his knowledge of the language was all the more accurate on this account. He got it from the fountain-head, and not through foreign sources. He was thus qualified to take a prominent place in all the varied work of a mission--in translation, in revision, and in hymnology--departments as important and as influential for attaining the end in view as any other possible department in the Mission. As a preacher to the Chinese he was unrivaled. The people hung on his lips and never seemed to lose a word. He was in this respect a model to every one of us younger men. The ideal of the church in China which he had set before him, the goal he desired to reach, was a native, self-governing, self-supporting, and self-propagating church. This is now axiomatic. It was not so in those early days. The men in Amoy then were men for whom we have to thank God--men ahead of their time, with generous and far-reaching ideas; not working only for their own present, but laying the foundation for a great future. Side by side with him were the brethren of the English Presbyterian Mission, with whom he had the fullest sympathy, and they had the fullest sympathy with him. It is difficult to say who were foremost in pressing the idea of an organized native church. All were equally convinced and strove together for the one great end. After many years of waiting the church grew. Congregations were formed and organized with their own elders and deacons, and in this he took the first steps. He was a born organizer. And then came the next great step, the creation of a Presbytery and the ordination in an orderly manner of native pastors. Some congregations were ready to call and support such pastors, and the men were there, for the careful training of native agents had always been a marked feature of the Amoy Mission. But how was it to be done? Common sense led to only one conclusion. This church must not be an exotic; it must be native, independent of the home churches. And there must be kept in view what was a fact already--the union between the Missions of the "Reformed Church" and of the "English Presbyterian Church." It must be done, and done in this way, and so it was done. The Presbytery was created with no native pastor in the first instance, but with native elders and the missionaries of both Missions. Then came a struggle that would have tried the stoutest hearts. The "Reformed Church" in America declined to recognize this newly-created Presbytery. Dr. Talmage went home and fought the battle and won the day. To its great honor be it said, the General Synod of the "Reformed Church" rescinded its resolution of the previous year, and allowed their honored brethren, the missionaries, to take their own way. So convinced were the missionaries of the wisdom, yea, the necessity, of the course they had taken, that they were prepared to resign rather than retrace their steps. But that painful step was not necessary. The Synod of the English Presbyterian Church gave their missionaries a free hand. There is this, however, to be said for the General Synod of the "Reformed Church." It was only love for their agents and deep interest in this Mission that prompted their original action. They feared that by the creation of this native and independent church court, the tie that bound them to the men and the work might be loosened; and when they saw there was no risk of that, they at once acquiesced. But it was Dr. Talmage's irresistible pleadings that won their hearts. The native church has grown. About twenty native pastors have been ordained, settled, and entirely supported by their own congregations. The Presbytery has grown so large that it has to be divided into two presbyteries; and these, with the Presbytery of Swatow, where brethren of the "English Presbyterian Church" are working, will form the Synod of the native Presbyterian Church in those regions of China. In connection with all this we must mention another name--the name of one very dear to Dr. Talmage, and of one to whom he was very dear. They were one in heart and soul about this. We refer to the Rev. Dr. Douglas, of the English Presbyterian Mission. They stood side by side during all their work in Amoy. Dr. Talmage was by a good many years the predecessor in the field. They were both great men, men of very different temperament, and yet united. Not on this point, but on many another, they failed to see eye to eye, but they were always united in heart and aim. True and lasting union can only exist where free play is given to distinct individualities. And so it has always been with this union, the first, I believe, between Presbyterian Churches in any mission field. And when the history of the Amoy Mission comes to be written, these two men will have a leading place in it; for to them more than to any others do we owe almost all that is distinctive there in union and in methods of work. And when our beloved father Talmage passed from earth to heaven, what thankfulness must have filled his heart. In the night of his first years in China there were labor and toil, but there was no fruit for him. The dawn came and the first converts of his own Mission were gathered in. When he went to rest, there was a native church; there were native pastors; orderly church courts; a well equipped theological college, the common property of the two Missions; successful medical missionary work, woman's work in all its branches, and a native church covering a more extensive region than he had in the early days dreamt of. And there was another honored Mission in Amoy--that of the London Missionary Society, whose operations have been followed by abundant and singular success. To this Mission he was warmly attached; and he never, so far as we can remember, ceased to show the deepest interest in its work, and the heartiest rejoicing at its success. And now he has gone, the last, we may say, of the men who began the work of the Presbyterian Mission of Christ in China; but ere he passed away, he knew that men of God were still there with the old enthusiasm and the old appetite for solid and substantial work. We cannot part with him now without one fond and lingering look behind. Burns, Sandeman, Doty, Douglas, and Talmage; what a galaxy these early pioneers in Amoy were. Few churches have had such gifts from God, few fields more devoted, whole-hearted missionaries. It was a privilege to know them, to work with them, to learn at their feet, unworthy though some of us may be as their successors. May the Lord of the Harvest rouse His own Church by their memories to greater energy and self denial in the spread of His Kingdom. Their memories will never die in China. Those who have lately visited Amoy tell us that they who knew them among the Chinese Christians speak lovingly and fondly of those early heroes. And they will tell their children what they were and what they did, and so generation after generation will hear the story, and find how true it is that workers die, but their work never dies. "Their works do follow them." VENERABLE TEACHER TALMAGE. TRIBUTE OF PASTOR IAP HAN CHIONG. [Pastor Iap was the first pastor of the Chinese Church] Teacher Talmage was very gentle. He wished ever to be at peace with men. If he saw a man in error he used words of meekness in convincing and converting the man from his error. Whether he exhorted, encouraged or instructed, his words were words of prudence, seasoned with salt, so that men were glad to receive and obey. Teacher Talmage was a lover of men. When he saw a man in distress and it was right for him to help, he helped. In peril, he exerted himself to deliver the man; in weakness, in danger of falling, he tried to uphold; suffering oppression, he arose to the defense, fearing no power, but contending earnestly for the right. Teacher Talmage was very gracious in receiving men, whether men of position or the common people. He treated all alike. If they wished to discuss any matter with him and get his advice, he would patiently listen to their tale. If he had any counsel to give, he gave it. If he felt he could not conscientiously have anything to do with the affair, he told the men forthwith. He could pierce through words, and see through men's countenances and judge what the man was, who was addressing him. Teacher Talmage had great eloquence and possessed great intelligence. His utterance was clear, his voice powerful, his exposition of doctrine very thorough. Men listened and the truth entered their ears and their hearts understood. Teacher Talmage was grave in manner. He commanded the respect and praise of men. His was a truly ministerial bearing. Men within and without the Church venerated him. Sometimes differences between brethren arose. Teacher Talmage earnestly exhorted to harmony. Even serious differences, which looked beyond healing, were removed, because men felt constrained to listen to his counsel. Teacher Talmage was exceedingly diligent. When not otherwise engaged, morning and afternoon found him in his study reading, writing, preparing sermons, translating books. He preached every Sabbath. He conducted classes of catechumens. He founded the Girls' School at the Church "Under the Bamboos." He founded the Theological Seminary. Others taught with him, but he was the master spirit. He was ten points careful that everything relating to the organization and administration of the Church should be in accordance with the Holy Book. Only at the urgent request of two physicians did he finally leave China. He was prepared to die and to be buried at Amoy. And this was not because he was not honored in his ancestral country, or could find no home. No, he had sons, he had a brother, he had nephews and nieces, he had many relatives and friends who greatly reverenced and loved him. But Teacher Talmage could not bear to be separated from the Church in China. Surely this was imitating the heart of Christ. Surely this was loving the people of China to the utmost. REV. JOHN VAN NEST TALMAGE, D.D. BY REV. S. L. BALDWIN, D.D., [Recording Secretary of the Missionary Society of the Methodist Episcopal Church.] My memory of Dr. Talmage dates back to the year 1846. I was then but eleven years old, but I remember distinctly the earnestness of his manner, as he preached early in that year in the Second Reformed Church of Somerville, New Jersey. His missionary zeal was of the most intense character. I was present at the Missionary Convention, at Millstone, New Jersey, August 26, 1846, and saw him ordained. The Rev. Gabriel Ludlow preached from 2 Timothy ii. I, and the charge to the candidate was given by the Rev. Elihu Doty, of Amoy. Mr. Doty, at a children's meeting in the afternoon, asked us whether we would come to help in the missionary work, and asked us to write down the question and think and pray about it, and when we had made up our minds to write an answer underneath the question. I did "think and pray about it," and some weeks afterward, under a sense of duty, wrote "Yes" under it. From that time on, it was not a strange thought to me, to go to China as a missionary; and when the call came in 1858, I was ready. In 1860, on my first visit to Amoy, I renewed old acquaintanceship, and during my twenty-two years in China was several times a guest in Dr. Talmage's family. He was in the very front rank of missionaries. For ability, for fidelity, for usefulness, he had few equals. As a preacher, he was clear, forceful, fearless. As a translator, his work was marked by carefulness and accuracy. In social life, old-fashioned hospitality made every one feel at home, and one would have to travel far to find a more animated and interesting conversationalist. He held his convictions with great tenacity, and was a powerful debater, but always courteous to his opponents. Many missionaries fell by his side, or were obliged to leave the field; and in the providence of God he remained until he was the oldest of all the American missionaries in China. His was a most pure and honorable record, and his death was universally lamented. From little beginnings, he was privileged to see one of the most flourishing of the native communions of China arise and attain large numbers and great influence among the Christian churches of the empire. Such a history and such a record are to be coveted. May the Head of the Church raise up many worthy successors to this true and noble man! THE REV. J. V. N. TALMAGE, D.D.. BY REV. TALBOT W. CHAMBERS, D.D., LL.D., [Pastor of the Collegiate Reformed Church, New York City.] My acquaintance with Dr. Talmage began at a very early period. During the years 1842-5 his father was Sheriff of Somerset Co., N. J., and resided at Somerville. While there he and his wife were members in communion of the Second Reformed Dutch Church, of which I was pastor; and from them I heard frequently of their son John, who was then a student in New Brunswick. He prosecuted his studies in the College and Theological Seminary with zeal and success, and was duly licensed, and then, while awaiting the arrival of the period when he would be sent to join the mission in China, he accepted the position of assistant to the Rev. Dr. Brodhead, who at that time was minister of the Central Church of Brooklyn. Here his services were very acceptable, and the training under such an experienced man of God was of great value to him. His course was what might have been expected of one reared in a peculiarly pious household. His father was a cheerful and exemplary Christian, and his mother was the godliest woman I ever knew. Her religion pervaded her whole being, and seemed to govern every thought, word, and deed, yet never was morbid or overstrained. The robust common sense which characterized her and her husband descended in full measure upon their son John. His consecration to the mission work was complete, and his interest in the cause was very deep, but it never manifested itself in unseemly or extravagant ways. So far as I can recall, there was nothing particularly brilliant or original in the early sermons or addresses of the young missionary--nothing of those wondrous displays of word-painting, imagination, and dramatic power which have made his brother, Dr. T. De Witt Talmage, famous. But there was a mental grasp, a force and a fire which often induced the remark that he was too good to be sent to the heathen, there being many at that time who labored under the mistake that a missionary did not require to be a man of unusual ability, that gifts and acquirements were thrown away on a life spent among idolaters. Still, while this was the case, none of his friends expected that he would develop such marked and varied power as was seen in his entire course at Amoy. I remember the surprise with which I heard the late Dr. Swanson, of London, say from his own observation during ten years of the closest intercourse at Amoy, that Dr. Talmage was equally distinguished and efficient in every part of the missionary's work, whether in preaching the Word, or translating the Scriptures, or creating a Christian literature, or training native workers. Nothing seemed to come amiss to him; everywhere he was facile princeps. I suppose that the explanation is found in his thorough and unreserved consecration. He was given heart and soul to the work. Whatever he did was done with his whole mind. There was no vacillation or indecision, but a deliberate concentration of all his faculties upon the task set before him. Nor did he work by spurts or through temporary enthusiasm, but with a steady, unyielding determination. So he went on through life without haste and without rest, doing his best at all times and in every species of service, and thus earning the brilliant reputation he acquired. The same qualities rendered him as wise in counsel as he was efficient in working. He was able to look on both sides of a given problem, was not inclined to snap judgments, but preferred to discriminate, to weigh, and, if need be, to wait. Yet, when the time came, the decision was ready. He perceived earlier than his brethren at home the true policy as to churches in heathen lands, that is, that they should not be mere continuations of the denomination whose missionaries had been the means of founding them, but should have an independent existence and grow upon the soil where they were planted, taking such form and order as Providence might suggest. When the proposal was made in accordance with these views to build up a native Chinese Church strictly autonomous, there was an immediate revulsion. The General Synod in 1863 emphatically declined to consent, not, however, from denominational bigotry, but on the ground that the new converts must have some standards of faith and order, and, if so, why not ours, which had been tested by centuries? And, moreover, if they were to be regarded as an integral part of the Church at home, that fact would prove to be a powerful incitement to prayer and liberality on the part of our people. But the rebuff did not dishearten Dr. Talmage. He renewed the appeal the next year, and had the satisfaction of seeing it succeed. Full consent was given to the aim to build up a strong, self-governing, and, as soon as might be, self-supporting body of native churches in China, who should leave behind the prejudices of the past, and form themselves under the teaching of God's Spirit and Providence in such way as would best meet the demands of the time and be most efficient in advancing the Kingdom of God upon the earth. The consequences have been most happy. The missionaries of the Presbyterian Church have cordially co-operated in renouncing all denominational interests and giving all diligence to the forming of what might be called a Chinese Christian Church, freed from any external bond and at liberty to shape its own character and course under the guidance of the Divine Spirit. The experiment has been entirely successful, and stands conspicuous as a testimony to the true policy of carrying on missionary work in countries where there is already an antique civilization and certain social habits which need to be taken account of. Dr. Talmage always kept himself in touch with the Church at home by correspondence or by personal intercourse. His visits to America were in every case utilized to the fullest extent, save when hindered by impaired health. It is matter of joyful congratulation that he was permitted to finish the usual term of man's years in the missionary field. Others of our eminent men, such as Abeel, Thompson, Doty, and Pohlman, were cut off in the midst of their days. But he spent a full lifetime, dying not by violence or accident, but only when the bodily frame had been worn out in the natural course of events. Our Church has been signally favored of God in the gifts and character and work of the men she has sent into the foreign field--and this not merely in the partial judgment of their denominational brethren, but in the deliberate opinion of such competent and experienced observers as the late Dr. Anderson, of the American Board, and the late S. Wells Williams, the famous Chinese scholar; [One remark of Dr. S. Wells Williams is worth reproducing: "I think, myself, after more than forty years' personal acquaintance with hundreds of missionaries in China, that David Abeel was facile princeps among them all."--Presb. Review, II. 49.] but I think that none of them, neither Abeel nor Thompson, surpassed Dr. Talmage in any of the qualities, natural or acquired, which go to make an accomplished missionary of the cross. I enjoyed the personal acquaintance of them all, having been familiar with the progress of the work from the time when (October, 1832) our Board of Foreign Missions was established, and therefore am able to form an intelligent opinion. Our departed brother can no more raise his voice, either at home or abroad, but his work remains, and his memory will never die. For long years to come his name will be fragrant in the hearts of our people; and his lifelong consecration to the enterprise of the world's conversion will prove an example and a stimulus to this and the coming generation. The equipoise of his mind, the solidity of his character, the strength of his faith, the brightness of his hope, the simple, steadfast fidelity of his devotion to the Master, will speak trumpet-tongued to multitudes who never saw his face in the flesh. The unadorned story of his life, what he was and what he did by the grace of God, will cheer the hearts of all the friends of foreign missions, and win others to a just esteem of the cause which could attract such a man to its service and animate him to such a conspicuous and blessed career. REV. JOHN VAN NEST TALMAGE, D.D. BY REV. JOHN M. FERRIS, D.D., [Editor of the "Christian Intelligencer" and ex-Secretary of the Board of Foreign Missions of the American Reformed Church.] Circumstances which tested character, ability, and attainments brought me into intimate relations with Rev. Dr. John V. N. Talmage. The impressions I received are these: He was eminently of a sunny disposition. A smile was on his face and laughter in his eyes almost all day long. He was conspicuously cheerful and hopeful. The strength of his character was unusual and would bear victoriously very severe tests. Mental and moral ability of a very high order marked his participation in public exercises and his demeanor in social life. It seemed to me that in mind and heart there were in him the elements of greatness. Greatness he never sought, but avoided. Still, from the time succeeding the opening years of his ministry, he was a leader among men until seized with the long illness which terminated his useful life. Those who knew him appointed him one of their chief counselors and guides, and in any assembly where he was comparatively unknown he was accepted as a leading mind as soon as he had taken part in its discussions. A wide range of knowledge was his. It was surprising how he had maintained an acquaintance with the research and discovery of his day while secluded in China from the life of the Western nations. With all this his intercourse with men was marked by modesty and the absence of ostentatious display. The deference with which he treated the opinions of others and of his manner in presenting his knowledge and convictions to an audience was extraordinary. He was courteously inquisitive, seeking from others what they knew and thought, and this oftentimes, perhaps habitually, with men much his inferiors. Such a man would be expected to be tolerant of the opinions of others, and this he was eminently, although his own convictions were clear, strongly held, earnestly presented and advocated. How often we heard him say, "So I think," or "So it seems to me, but I may be wrong." Accuracy in statement was sought for by him constantly, sometimes to the detriment of his public addresses. When we who were familiar with him were humorous at his expense, it was almost invariably in relation to this constant endeavor to be accurate, which led now and then to qualifications of his words that were decidedly amusing. He was animated, earnest, and strong in public addresses. His mind was active; apt to take an independent, original view, and vigorous. His sermons were often very impressive and powerful. Few who heard in whole or in part his discourse on the words, "The world by wisdom knew not God"--an extemporaneous sermon--will forget the terse, vigorous sentences which came from his lips. It was, I believe, the last sermon he prepared in outline to be delivered to our churches in this country. It was full of power and life. Dr. Talmage was a Christian and a Christian gentleman everywhere and always. It seemed as natural to him to be a Christian as to breathe. Conscientious piety marked his daily life. He was a delightful companion through his gentleness, sympathy, wide range of knowledge, cheerfulness, animated and earnest speech, vigor of thought and expression, deference for the opinions and rights of others, and unselfishness. He asked nothing, demanded nothing for himself, but was alert to contribute to the enjoyment of those around him. The work of his life was of inestimable value. He was abundant in labors. Only the life to come will reveal how much he accomplished which in the highest sense was worthy of accomplishment. Those who knew him best, esteemed, loved, and trusted him the most. APPENDIX. Ecclesiastical Relations of Presbyterian Missionaries, especially of the Presbyterian Missionaries at Amoy, China. BY REV. J. V. N. TALMAGE, D.D. We have recently received letters making inquiries concerning the Relations of the Missionaries of the English Presbyterian Church, and of the American Reformed Church to the Tai-hoey [Presbytery, or Classis,] of Amoy; stating views on certain points connected with the general subject of the organization of ecclesiastical Judicatories on Mission ground; and asking our views on the same. We have thought it best to state our answer so as to cover the whole subject of these several suggestions and inquiries, as (though they are from different sources) they form but one subject. Our views are not hasty. They are the result of much thought, experience and observation. But we are now compelled to throw them together in much more haste than we could wish, for which, we trust, allowance will be made. As preliminary we remark that we have actual and practical relations both to the home churches, and to the churches gathered here, and our Ecclesiastical relations should correspond thereto. 1. Our Relation to the Home Churches. We are their agents, sent by them to do a certain work, and supported by them in the doing of that work. Therefore so long as this relation continues, in all matters affecting our qualifications for that work,--of course including "matters affecting ministerial character,"--we should remain subject to their jurisdiction. In accordance with this we retain our connection with our respective home Presbyteries or Classes. 2. Our Relation to the Church here. We are the actual pastors of the churches growing up under our care, until they are far enough advanced to have native pastors set over them. The first native pastors here were ordained by the missionaries to the office of "Minister of the Word," the same office that we ourselves hold. In all subsequent ordinations, and other ecclesiastical matters, the native pastors have been associated with the missionaries. The Tai-hoey at Amoy, in this manner, gradually grew up with perfect parity between the native and foreign members. With these preliminary statements we proceed to notice the suggestions made and questions propounded. "To extend to the native churches on mission ground the lines of separation which exist among Presbyterian bodies" in home lands is acknowledged to be a great evil. To avoid this evil and to "bring all the native Presbyterians," in the same locality, "into one organization," two plans are suggested to us. The first plan suggested (perhaps we should say mentioned for it is not advocated), we take to be that the missionaries become not only members of the ecclesiastical judicatories formed on mission ground, but also amenable to those judicatories in the same way, and in every respect, as their native members, their ecclesiastical relation to their home churches being entirely severed. This plan ignores the actual relation of missionaries to their home churches, as spoken of above. Surely the home churches cannot afford this. Perhaps we should notice another plan sometimes acted on, but not mentioned in the letters we have now received. It is that the missionaries become members of the Mission Church Judicatories as above; but that these Judicatories be organized as parts of the home churches, so that the missionaries will still be under the jurisdiction of the home churches through the subjection of the Mission Judicatories to the higher at home. This plan can only work during the infancy of the mission churches, while the Mission Church Judicatories are still essentially foreign in their constituents. Soon the jurisdiction will be very imperfect. This imperfection will increase as fast as the mission churches increase. Moreover this plan will extend to the native churches the evil deprecated above. The second plan suggested we take to be that the missionaries, while they remain the agents of the home churches, should retain their relation respectively to their home churches, and have only an advisory relation to the Presbytery on mission ground. This is greatly to be preferred to the first plan suggested. It corresponds to the relation of missionaries to their respective home churches. It takes into consideration also, but does not fully correspond to the relation of the missionaries to the churches on mission ground, at least does not fully correspond to the relation of the missionaries to the native churches at Amoy. Our actual relation to these churches seems to us to demand that as yet we take part with the native pastors in their government. The peculiar relationship of the missionaries to Tai-hoey, viz., having full membership, without being subject to discipline by that body,--is temporary, arising from the circumstances of this infant church, and rests on the will of Tai-hoey. This relationship has never been discussed, or even suggested for discussion in that body, so that our view of what is, or would be, the opinion of Tai-hoey on the subject we gather from the whole character of the working of that body from its first formation, and from the whole spirit manifested by the native members. Never till last year has there been a case of discipline even of a native member of Tai-hoey. We do not know that the thought that occasion may also arise for the discipline of missionaries, has ever suggested itself to any of the native members. If it has, we have no doubt they have taken for granted that the discipline of missionaries belongs to the churches which have sent them here. But we also have no doubt that Tai-hoey would exercise the right of refusing membership to any missionary if necessary. It is suggested as an objection to the plan that has been adopted by the missionaries at Amoy, that "where two Presbyteries have jurisdiction over one man, it may not be always easy to define the line where the jurisdiction of the one ends and the other begins; and for the foreign Presbyter to have a control over the native Presbyter which the native cannot reciprocate, would be anomalous, and contrary to that view of the parity of Presbyters which the Scriptures present." From our last paragraph above it will be seen that the "line" of demarcation alluded to in the first half of the above objection has certainly never yet been defined by Tai-hoey, but it will be seen likewise that we have no apprehension of any practical difficulty in the matter. The last half of the objection looks more serious, for if our plan really involves a violation of the doctrine of the parity of the ministry, this is a very serious objection--fatal, indeed, unless perhaps the temporary character of the arrangement might give some sufferance to it in a developing church. It does not, however in our opinion, involve any such doctrine. It does not touch that doctrine at all. The reason why Tai-hoey does not claim the right of discipline over the missionaries is not because these are of a higher order than the other members, but because the missionaries have a most important relation to the home churches which the other members have not. The Tai-hoey respects the rights of those churches which have sent and are still sending the Gospel here, and has fullest confidence that they will exercise proper discipline over their missionaries. Whether they do this or not, the power of the Tai-hoey to cut off from its membership, or refuse to admit thereto, any missionary who might prove himself unworthy, gives ample security to that body and secures likewise the benefits of discipline. If time allowed us to give a full description of our Church work here it would be seen that the doctrine of the parity of all who hold the ministerial office so thoroughly permeates the whole, that it would seem impossible for mistake to arise on that point. In connection with this subject it is also remarked "that where two races are combined in a Presbytery, there is a tendency to divide on questions according to the line of race." With gratitude to God we are able to bear testimony that at Amoy we have not as yet seen the first sign of such tendency. We have heard of such tendency in some other mission fields. Possibly it may yet be manifested here. This, however, does not now seem probable. The native members of Tai-hoey, almost from the first, have outnumbered the foreign. The disproportion now is as three or four to one, and must continue to increase. It would seem, therefore, that there will now be no occasion for jealousy of the missionaries' influence to grow up on the part of the native members. But, it may be asked, if the native members so far outnumber the foreign, of what avail is it that missionaries be more than advisory members? We answer: If we are in Tai-hoey as a foreign party, in opposition to the native members, even advisory membership will be of no avail. But if we are there in our true character, as we always have been, viz., as Presbyters and acting pastors of churches, part and parcel of the church Judicatories, on perfect equality and in full sympathy with the native Presbyters, our membership may be of much benefit to Tai-hoey. It must be of benefit if our theory of Church Government be correct. Of the benefit of such membership we give one illustration, equally applicable also to other forms of government. It will be remembered that assemblies conducted on parliamentary principles were unknown in China. By our full and equal membership of Tai-hoey, being associated with the native members in the various offices, and in all kinds of committees, the native members have been more efficiently instructed in the manner of conducting business in such assemblies, than they could have been if we had only given them advice. At the first, almost the whole business was necessarily managed by the missionaries. Not so now. The missionaries still take an active part even in the routine of business, not so much to guard against error or mistake, as for the purpose of saving time and inculcating the importance of regularity and promptitude. Even the earnestness with which the missionaries differ from each other, so contrary to the duplicity supposed necessary by the rules of Chinese politeness, has not been without great benefit to the native members. Instead of there being any jealousy of the position occupied by the missionaries on the part of the native members, the missionaries withdraw themselves from prominent positions, and throw the responsibility on the native members, as fast as duty to Tai-hoey seems to allow, faster than the native members wish. We now proceed to give answers to the definite questions propounded to us, though answers to some of them have been implied in the preceding remarks. We combine the questions from different sources, and slightly change the wording of them to suit the form of this paper, and for convenience we number them. 1. "Are the missionaries members of Tai-hoey in full and on a perfect equality with the native members?" Answer. Yes; with the exception (if it be an exception) implied in the answer to the next question. 2. "Are missionaries subject to discipline by the Tai-hoey?" Answer. No; except that their relation to Tai-hoey may be severed by that body. 3. "Is it not likely that the sooner the native churches become self-governing, the sooner they will be self-supporting and self-propagating?" Answer. Yes. It would be a great misfortune for the native churches to be governed by the missionaries, or by the home churches. We think also it would be a great misfortune for the missionary to refuse all connection with the government of the mission churches while they are in whole or in part dependent on him for instruction, administration of the ordinances, and pastoral oversight. Self-support, self-government, and self-propagation are intimately related, acting and reacting on each other, and the native Church should be framed in them from the beginning of its existence. 4. "Is it the opinion of missionaries at Amoy that the native Presbyters are competent to manage the affairs of Presbytery, and could they safely be left to do so?" Answer. Yes; the native Presbyters seem to us to be fully competent to manage the affairs of Presbytery, and we suppose it would be safe to leave them to do this entirely by themselves, if the providence of God should so direct. We think it much better, however, unless the providence of God direct otherwise, that the missionaries continue their present relation to the Tai-hoey until the native Church is farther developed. 5. "Is it likely that there can be but one Presbyterian Church in China? or are differences of dialect, etc., such as to make different organizations necessary and inevitable?" Answer. All Presbyterians in China, as far as circumstances will allow, should unite in one Church organization. By all means avoid a plurality of Presbyterian denominations in the same locality. But differences of dialect and distance of separation seem at present to forbid the formation of one Presbyterian organization for the whole of China. Even though in process of time these difficulties be greatly overcome, It would seem that the vast number of the people will continue to render such formation impracticable, except on some such principle as that on which is formed the Pan-Presbyterian Council. One Presbyterian Church for China would be very 12344 ---- Produced from images provided by the Million Book Project. [Illustration: _Sir Robert Hart, G.C.M.G._] SIR ROBERT HART _THE ROMANCE OF A GREAT CAREER_ TOLD BY HIS NIECE JULIET BREDON SECOND EDITION 1910 CONTENTS A WORD OF INTRODUCTION CHAPTER I EARLY YEARS CHAPTER II FIRST YEARS IN CHINA--LIFE AT NINGPO--THE ALLIED COMMISSION AND SIR HARRY PARKES--RESIGNATION FROM THE CONSULAR SERVICE CHAPTER III THE BEGINNINGS OF THE IMPERIAL CHINESE CUSTOMS--A VISIT TO SIR FREDERICK BRUCE--THE SHERARD OSBORNE AFFAIR--APPOINTED INSPECTOR-GENERAL CHAPTER IV ORDERED TO LIVE AT SHANGHAI--FIRST MEETING WITH "CHINESE GORDON"--THE RECONCILIATION BETWEEN GORDON AND LI HUNG CHANG--THE TAKING OF CHANG-CHOW-FU--DISBANDMENT OF "THE EVER-VICTORIOUS ARMY"--REWARDS FOR GORDON CHAPTER V ORDERED TO LIVE IN PEKING--"WHAT A BYSTANDER SAYS"--A RETURN TO EUROPE--MARRIAGE--CHINA ONCE AGAIN--THE BURLINGAME MISSION--FIRST DECORATION--THE "WASA" OF SWEDEN AND NORWAY CHAPTER VI BIRTH OF A SON--THE MARGARY AFFAIR AND THE CHEFOO CONVENTION--A SECOND VISIT TO EUROPE--THE PARIS EXHIBITION OF 1878 CHAPTER VII YUAN PAO HÊNG SUGGESTS PROHIBITION OF OPIUM SMOKING IN CHINA--NEW BUILDINGS FOR THE INSPECTORATE--THE FIRST INFORMAL POSTAGE SERVICE--THE FRENCH TREATY OF 1885--OFFERED POST OF BRITISH MINISTER CHAPTER VIII AN IMPORTANT MISSION TO HONGKONG AND MACAO--THE BEGINNING OF A PRIVATE BAND--DECORATIONS, CHINESE AND FOREIGN--THE SIKKIM-THIBET CONVENTION--FORMAL ESTABLISHMENT OF THE POST OFFICE--WAR LOANS CHAPTER IX THE PROLOGUE TO THE SIEGE--BARRICADES AND SCALING LADDERS--THE SIEGE PROPER--A MESSAGE FROM THE YAMÊN AND AN IMPORTANT TELEGRAM--RELIEF AT LAST--NEW QUARTERS--NEGOTIATIONS--THE CONGRESS OF PEKING--AN IMPERIAL AUDIENCE CHAPTER X SOME QUIET YEARS--A CHANGE OF MASTERS--INSOMNIA--A FAREWELL AUDIENCE--AN HONOUR AND ITS ADVERTISEMENT--AH FONG AND OTHERS--DEPARTURE FROM PEKING--"A SMALL, INSIGNIFICANT IRISHMAN" LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS SIR ROBERT HART THE CANAL: THE ROUTE BY WHICH SIR ROBERT HART FIRST CAME TO PEKING A VIEW OF OLD PEKING SHOWING CONDITION OF ROADS A ROAD IN OLD PEKING DURING THE RAINY SEASON SIR ROBERT HART ABOUT 1866 UNDER THE PEKING CITY WALL TOWARDS TUNGCHOW--ALONG THE GRAND CANAL A PICNIC IN OLD PEKING--TOWARDS YUEN MING YUEN WELL NEAR THE CANAL, BRITISH LEGATION, BEFORE 1900 SIR ROBERT HART IN 1878 OUTSIDE SIR ROBERT HART'S HOUSE BEFORE 1900 PEKING: A MESSENGER CARRYING MAILS IN THE RAINY SEASON A SECRETARY GOING TO THE INSPECTORATE OFFICES DURING THE RAINY SEASON STABLES OF SIR ROBERT HART IN THE RAINY SEASON THE INSPECTORATE STREET BEFORE 1900 ENTRANCE TO THE INSPECTORATE OF CUSTOMS BEFORE 1900 SIR ROBERT HART'S BAND IN THE EARLY 'NINETIES SIR ROBERT HART'S CHINESE BAND SIR ROBERT HART'S STABLES IN 1890 SIR ROBERT HART'S PRIVATE CART THE IMPERIAL CHINESE POST OFFICE ENTRANCE ON A RAINY DAY IN THE 'NINETIES A GARDEN PARTY GIVEN BY SIR ROBERT HART TO GOVERNOR TRÜPPEL (OF KIAOCHOW) AND PARTY LADY HART SIR ROBERT HART IN HIS PRIVATE OFFICE SIR ROBERT HART AND A GROUP OF CUSTOMS PEOPLE SIR ROBERT HART AND MISS KATE CARL PEKING PEACE PROTOCOL, 1901 A CORNER OF SIR ROBERT HART'S GARDEN: A WINTER VIEW ANOTHER WINTER VIEW OF SIR ROBERT HART'S GARDEN TING'RH, OR CHINESE PAVILION, IN SIR ROBERT HART'S GARDEN, PEKING SIR ROBERT HART AND HIS STAFF (FOREIGN AND CHINESE), PEKING, 1903 SIR ROBERT HART WISHING MISS ROOSEVELT "BON VOYAGE" ON HER DEPARTURE FROM PEKING, SEPTEMBER 16, 1906 FRONT DOOR OF SIR ROBERT HART'S HOUSE, PEKING FRONT VIEW OF SIR ROBERT HART'S HOUSE A WORD OF INTRODUCTION Seventy-three years ago a little Irish boy lay in his aunt's lap looking out on a strange and mysterious world that his solemn eyes had explored for scarcely ten short days, while she, to whom the commonplaces of everyday surroundings had lost their first absorbing interest, was busily engaged in braiding a watch-chain from her splendid, Titian-red hair. These chains were the fashion of the hour, and the old family doctor, friend as well as physician, paused after a visit to the boy's mother, to joke her about it: "You're making a keepsake for your sweetheart, I see." "No, indeed," she answered gaily with a toss of her bonny head, "I'm making a wedding present for this new nephew of mine when he marries your daughter." It was a long-shot prophecy. The doctor was even then a man past his first youth; the neighbours looked upon him as a confirmed bachelor; he seemed as unlikely ever to possess a daughter as a diamond mine. Yet, all these improbabilities notwithstanding, he had taken to himself the luxury of a wife within a very few years, and soon children were climbing on his knees. I cannot say whether this red-haired young woman had the gift of second sight or whether, by some subtle power of suggestion, she willed the doctor to carry out her prophecy. I only know that the prophecy _was_ startlingly fulfilled, for among his children was one little girl who, when she grew to womanhood, _did_ marry the nephew and _did_ get the watch-chain as a wedding gift. The doctor's daughter was an aunt of mine, and her romantic marriage, by tying our two families together, gave me some slight claim on her husband's affection. Propinquity afterwards ripened what opportunity had begun; we lived long side by side in a far-away corner of the world, and from the formal relationship of uncle and niece soon slipped into that still better and warmer companionship of friend and friend. For me the friendship has ever been, is, and always will be, a thing to take pride in, a thing to treasure. Nor will you wonder when I confess that he of whom I speak is none other than the great Sir Robert Hart, the man whose life has been as useful as varied, as romantic as successful. The story of it can be but imperfectly written now. There are many shoals in the form of diplomatic indiscretions to steer clear of; there is much weighing and sifting of political motives for serious historians to do, but the time has not come for that. Much of the romance of his long career in China lies over and above such things, and of the romantic and personal side I here set down what I have gathered from one and from another--chiefly from those who have had the opportunity to collect their information at first hand, who either knew him sooner than I or were themselves concerned in the events described--in the hope that some readers may sufficiently enjoy the romance of a great career to forgive any imperfections in the telling for the sake of the story itself. CHAPTER I EARLY YEARS Robert Hart began his romantic life in simple circumstances. He was born on the 20th day of February, 1835, in a little white house with green shutters on Dungannon Street, in the small Irish town of Portadown, County Armagh, and was the eldest of twelve children. His mother, a daughter of Mr. John Edgar, of Ballybreagh, must have been a delightful woman, all tenderness and charity, judging from the way her children's affections became entwined around her. His father, Henry Hart, was a man of forceful and picturesque character, of a somewhat antique strain, and a Wesleyan to the core. The household, therefore, grew up under the bracing influence of uncompromising doctrines; it was no unusual thing for one member to ask another at table, "What have you been doing for God to-day?" and so rigidly was Sunday observed that, had the family owned any Turners, I am sure they would have been covered up on Saturday nights, just as they were in Ruskin's home. When the young Robert was only twelve months old the Harts moved to Miltown, on the banks of beautiful Lough Neagh, remaining there barely a year. Then they moved again--this time to Hillsborough, where he attended his first school. It came about in this way. One afternoon he was called into the parlour by his father. Two visitors--not by any means an everyday occurrence in Miltown--were within. One was a stoutish man with sandy hair, the other a very long person like a knitting-needle. The stout man called the boy to him, passed his hand carefully over the bumps of his head, and then, turning to the father, said, "From what I gather of this child's talents from my examination of his cranial cerebration, my brother's system of education is exactly the one calculated to develop them," The men were two brothers named Arnold, who proposed to open a little school in Hillsborough and were tramping the country in search of pupils. At the impressionable age of six or thereabouts an aunt fired the boy's imagination with stories of the departed glories of the Hart family. She used to tell him how their ancestor, Captain van Hardt, came over from Holland with King William, fought at the Battle of the Boyne and greatly distinguished himself; how afterwards, in recognition of his gallant services, the King gave him the township of Kilmoriarty as a reward; how the gallant captain settled himself down there, kept his horses, ate well, drank deep, and left the place so burdened with debt that one of his descendants was obliged to sell it. "When I'm a man," the little fellow would say solemnly after hearing these things, "I'll buy back Kilmoriarty--and I'll get a title too." Of course she laughed at him quietly, thinking to herself how time and circumstances would separate the lad from the goodly company of his ambitions. Yet, after all, he saw clearer than she; he never wavered in the serious purpose formed before he reached his teens, and he actually did buy back Kilmoriarty when it came on the market years afterwards. As for a title, he gained a knighthood, a grand cross and a baronetcy--thus fulfilling the second part of his promise grandly. From the care of the phrenologist brothers Arnold, Robert Hart was taken over to a Wesleyan school in Taunton, England, by his father. This journey gave him his first sight of the sea and his first acquaintance with the mysteries of a steamer. The latter took firm hold of his imagination; he long remembered the name of the particular vessel on which they crossed, the _Shamrock_, and many years later he was destined to meet her again under the strangest circumstances. In England he stayed only a year, just long enough to make his first friend and learn his first Latin. The friend he lost, but recovered after an interval of forty years; the Latin he kept, added to, and enjoyed all his life long. When the summer holidays came, one of the tutors, a North of Ireland man himself, agreed to accompany the lad back to Belfast; but in the end he was prevented from starting, and the Governor of the school allowed the eleven-year-old child to travel alone. He managed the train journey safely as far as Liverpool, betook himself to a hotel, and called, with a comical man-of-the-world air, for refreshment. Tea, cold chicken and buns were brought him by the landlady and her maids, who stood round in a circle watching the young traveller eat. His serious ways and his solemn air of responsibility touched their women's hearts so much that when the time came for him to sail they took him down to the dock and put him on board his ship. Henry Hart met his son at Belfast, and was so angry, at finding he had been allowed to travel alone that he vowed the lad should never go back to Taunton, and therefore sent him to the Wesleyan Connexional School in Dublin instead. Here his quaint, merry little face, his ready laugh, and above all his willingness to perform any trickery that they suggested, made him a favourite among the boys at once. To the masters he must have been something of a trial, I imagine, with his habit of asking the why and wherefore of rules and regulations and his refusal to submit to them without a logical answer. One day, for instance, when a certain master spoke somewhat sourly and irritably to him, Robert Hart then and there took it upon himself to deliver him a lecture which, in its calm reasoning, was most disconcerting. "It is wonderful the way you treat us boys," he said, "just as if you were our superior; just as if you were not a little dust and water like the rest of us. One would think from your manners you were our master, whereas you are really our servant. It is we who give you your livelihood--and yet you behave to us in this high-handed manner." That tirade naturally made a pretty row in the school, but the obdurate young orator melted under the coaxings and cajolings of the Governor's gentle and distressed wife, and duly apologized. The slightest of excuses served to turn him suddenly from a clever, scatterbrained imp of mischief into a serious student. It happened that the whole school met on an equality in one subject--Scripture History. The head of that class, therefore, enjoyed a peculiar prestige among his fellows, and it was clearly understood that a certain Freckleton, a senior and the good boy of the school, should hold this pleasant leadership. What was more natural, since he was destined to "wag his head in a pulpit?" But Robert Hart could not see the matter in this light. Some spirit of contradictoriness rising in him, he thought a little dispute for first place in Scripture would add spice to a naughty boy's school life and both amuse and amaze. So on Sundays, while the rest of the boys were otherwise occupied, he would walk up and down the ball alley secretly studying Scripture. When the examination day came the whole school was assembled; questions flew back and forth. Now one boy, now another dropped out of the game; at last only Freckleton and Hart were left, the big boy prodigiously nervous, rubbing his hands on his knees, the small one aggravatingly cool and collected. At last the examiner called for a list of the Kings of Israel. Freckleton stumbled. The question passed to Hart, and, while the boys sat tense with excitement, he answered fluently and correctly. The first place was his, and a hearty cheer greeted his unexpected success. After this little victory the Governor of the school remarked to him: "Now you see what you can do when you try, Hart; why don't you try?" Why not, indeed? Here was a new idea. He accepted it as a challenge, took it up eagerly, and from that day on devoted himself to study with an enthusiasm as thorough as sudden. Everything there was to study, he studied--even stole fifteen minutes from his lunch hour to work at Hebrew--till the boys laughingly nicknamed him "Stewpot" and the "Consequential Butt." The result was that at fifteen he was ready to leave the school the first boy of the College class, and his parents were puzzled what to do with him next. His father considered it unwise to send such a young lad away to Trinity College, Dublin, where he would be among companions far older than himself; and the end of the matter was that he went to the newly founded Queen's College at Belfast instead because that was nearer Hillsborough and the family circle. He passed the entrance examinations easily, and of the twelve scholarships offered he carried off the twelfth--nothing, however, to what he was to do later. The second year there were seven scholarships, and he got the seventh; the third there were five, and he got the first. He heard the news of this last triumph one afternoon in a little second-hand book-store where the collegians often gathered. It was a gloomy day wrapped in a grey blanket of rain, and he was not feeling particularly confident--his besetting sin from the first was modesty--when suddenly a fellow-student rushed up and said, "Congratulations, Hart. You've come out first." "What," retorted Hart, astonished, "is the list published already?" They told him where it was to be seen, and he hurried off to look for himself. Quite likely they were playing a joke on him, he thought. But it was no joke after all; his name stood before all the others--though he could scarcely believe his own eyes, and did not write home about it till next day, for fear that the good luck might turn to bad in the night. Unfortunately these successes left him little time for the sports which should be a boy's most profitable form of idling. He ran no races after he left Taunton, where he was known for the fleetest pair of heels in the school; he played no games, neither cricket nor football, not even bowls or rounders--but these amusements he probably missed the less as they were not popular at Belfast, the College being new and without muscular traditions, and the students chiefly young men of narrow means and broad ambitions. On the rare occasions when he had time for recreation, he either made a few friends in the world of books--Emerson's "Essays" influenced him most--or tried his own hand at literature. Once he even went so far as to write a poem and send it to a Belfast newspaper, signing it "C'est Moi." It was printed, and, being short of money at the time, he wrote his father that his first published writing had appeared, and received from his proud parent £10 by way of encouragement. But his literary success was short-lived. When he tried the same editor with another effusion signed with the same pen-name, the unfeeling man actually printed in his columns: "'C'est Moi's' last is not worth the paper it is written on." Alas! for the prophet in his own country. Years afterwards he got another criticism just as harsh from another Irish paper. It was a review of his book "These from the Land of Sinim," and the Irish reviewer for some unknown reason rated the book thoroughly, declared its opinions were ridiculous, its English neither forcible nor elegant, and concluded with the biting remark, "We hear that the writer has also composed poems which were lost in the Peking Siege, thank God." In 1853 Hart was ready to pass his final Degree Examinations. They were held in Dublin, where the three newly established Irish Colleges--Cork, Galway and Belfast--took them together. Belfast had been fortunate the year before in carrying off several "firsts," and the men were anxious to do as well as, or even better than on the previous occasion. So they arranged amongst themselves that each should cram some particular subject and try for honours in it. Young Hart, with his character compounded of energy and ambition, agreed to take two as his share. One was English, the other Logic, which he had studied under the famous Dr. McCosh, which he delighted in, and which undoubtedly developed his natural talent for getting directly at the point of an intricate matter. He worked eighteen hours a day during the last three weeks before the Literature Examination, and when it came he did well--at least, so he supposed. The rule was that only those in each class who had shown marked ability and knowledge of their subject at the "pass" examination should be recommended for re-examination for honours. But to his surprise, when the list was read out, Hart's name was not even amongst the successful candidates. The Belfast students were thoroughly angry. They felt the honour of the College was at stake; he had not done his share in upholding it, and they did not hesitate to tell him so. Hart listened to their reproaches and answered never a word, but quietly went on, in the week that intervened between the pass examination and the final, with his preparations for the latter. The ability to do so showed courage and character--and he hath both in an unusual degree. The very night before the "final" his reward came. Some one hurried up his stairs and burst into his little sitting-room. It was the Professor--the famous George Lillie Craik--who had set the papers for the Literature class. "I come to apologize to you for a mistake," he said very kindly, "and to explain why you have not been chosen for re-examination. The truth is you answered so well at the 'pass' that I wrote your name on the first sheet, and nobody else's--as nobody came near you. Unfortunately this page, almost blank, was mislaid, and that is how it happened that you, who should have been chosen before all the rest, were overlooked. Now I want to ask you to come up for re-examination to-morrow, and, at the same time, wish you the best of luck." Robert Hart went--and won. He received a gold medal and £15 for this subject, a gold medal and £15 also for Logic and Metaphysics, and sufficient honour and glory besides to turn a less well-balanced head. Meanwhile the choice of a future career naturally filled the young man's thoughts. First he seriously debated whether he should become a doctor, but gave up the idea when he found he came home from every operation imagining himself a sufferer from the disease he had just seen treated. Next there was some talk of putting him into a lawyer's office--talk which came to nothing; and finally a lecture he heard on China at seventeen almost decided him to become a missionary to the heathen, but he soon abandoned this plan like the others. After taking his B.A., he went instead to spend a post-graduate year at Belfast, and read for a Master's degree--this in spite of the fact that he was worn out with the strain of eighteen hours' work a day, and used to see authors creeping in through the keyhole and wake in the night to find illuminated letters dancing a witches' dance around his bed. Then, just at the critical moment of his life--in the spring of 1854--the British Foreign Office gave a nomination for the Consular Service in China to each of the three Irish Queen's Colleges, Belfast, Cork and Galway. He immediately abandoned all idea of reading for a fellowship, and applied. So did thirty-six others. A competitive examination was announced, but when the College authorities saw Hart's name among the rest, they gave the nomination to him, _without examination_. Two months later he presented himself at the Foreign Office in London and saw the Under-Secretary of State, Mr. (afterwards Lord) Hammond, who gave him some parting advice. "When you reach Hongkong," said he, "_never_ venture into the sun without an umbrella, and never go snipe shooting without top boots pulled up well over the thighs." As no snipe have ever been seen on Hongkong, the last bit of counsel was as absurd as the first was sensible. He actually started for China in May 1854. It is not easy to imagine in these feverish days of travel what that journey must have meant to a young Irish lad brought up in a small town lad to whom even London probably seemed very far away. But the mothers of other sons can give a pretty shrewd guess at how the mere thought of it must have terrified those he was leaving behind. "Will he come back a heathen?" one might ask, and another--but never aloud--"Will he come at all?" But, whatever they felt, none would have selfishly held him back; on the contrary, they were all encouragement, and the last thing his father did was to put into the young man's hand a roll of fifty sovereigns--a splendid piece of generosity on the part of one whose whole income at the time did not amount to more than a few hundreds a year--and later, splendidly repaid. It is interesting to review the curious series of incidents that guided Robert Hart towards the great and romantic career before him. Had it not been for the tutor's detention, the subsequent move from Taunton to Dublin, and the sudden awakening there of his mischievous ambition over Scripture History, he would probably never have developed into the ardent student he did at a very early age, or left school so young. Again, had it not been for his extreme youth, his family would probably have sent him to Dublin instead of to Belfast--and Dublin received no nomination for the Consular Service in China. Such nominations were not usually given to Colleges, and the only reason that the three colleges comprising the Queen's University in Ireland received them was because the University was new, and the Foreign Office (at which, by the way, the Chief, Lord Clarendon, was also Chancellor of the Queen's University) desired to give it some recognition and encouragement. Surely if ever a boy was "led," as the Wesleyans say, to do a certain work, Robert Hart was that boy. CHAPTER II FIRST YEARS IN CHINA--LIFE AT NINGPO--THE ALLIED COMMISSION AND SIR HARRY PARKES--RESIGNATION FROM THE CONSULAR SERVICE The journey out to Chinn in 1854 was not the simple matter that it is now. No Suez Canal existed then, and the _Candia_ that took Robert Hart from Southampton left him at Alexandria. Thence he had to travel up the Mahmudi Canal to the Nile, push on towards Cairo, and finally spend eighteen cramped and weary hours in an omnibus crossing the desert to Suez, where he got one steamer as far as Galle, and another--the _Pottinger_ from Bombay--which called there took him on to his destination. He remained three uneventful months in Hongkong as Student Interpreter at the Superintendency of Trade, awaiting the return of Sir John Bowring, H.B.M.'s Minister to China, who was away at Taku trying to open negotiations with the Peking Government. It was this same Sir John Bowring, by the way, who first aroused Robert Hart's interest in Chinese life and customs--subjects on which so many foreigners in China remain pitifully ignorant all their lives. "Study everything around you," said he to the young man. "Go out and walk in the street and read the shop signs. Bend over the bookstalls and read titles. Listen to the talk of the people. If you acquire these habits, you will not only learn something new every time you leave your door, but you will always carry with you an antidote for boredom." When the Minister came back in September, Robert Hart was appointed to the British Consulate at Ningpo, and started off immediately, travelling up to Shanghai in a trim little 150-ton opium schooner called the _Iona_. The voyage should have taken a week; it took three. At first a calm and then the sudden burst of the north-east monsoon made progress impossible; the schooner tacked back and forth for a fortnight, advancing scarcely a mile, and all this time her single passenger could just manage to take seven steps on her little deck without wetting his feet. Then, to make matters worse, provisions gave out, and the ship's company was reduced for twelve days to an unsavoury diet of water-buffalo and peanuts--all they could get from a nearby island. Was it any wonder that Hart could never afterwards endure the taste of peanuts, or that at the mere sight of a passing water-buffalo his appetite was clean gone for the day? He found Shanghai in the hands of the Triads (rebels), and a friend, one of the missionaries, took him to see their famous chief, who was said to have risen, not from the ranks, but from the stables of an American merchant. With Mr. (afterwards Sir Rutherford) Alcock he also went into the other camp to visit the commander of the Imperialist forces, a Mongol, the Governor of the Province and a man of fine presence. He was the first specimen of the Mandarin class that Robert Hart had seen, and consequently the details of the interview remained in his memory. In later years he would sometimes describe what interested him most as, silent and inconspicuous, he observed the doings of his seniors. It was not the crowd of petty officials standing about, though they were curious enough to a newcomer in their long official robes and hats decorated with peacock's feathers; it was not the conversation going on between Alcock and the Governor; it was simply the way the latter, by his excessive dignity and dramatic manner, turned a simple action into a ceremony. What he did was to draw carefully from his official boot a wad of fine white paper, detach one sheet, and solemnly blow his nose upon it. The action was nothing, the method everything. He then proceeded to fold the paper into a cocked hat, and, calling a servant to him, gave it into his hands with a grand bow, just as if he were presenting the man with some specially earned honour. As for the servant, he took his cue excellently well, received the paper like a sacred relic, and, still as if he were taking part in some ceremony; opened the flap of the tent and threw it away. [Illustration: THE CANAL: THE ROUTE BY WHICH SIR ROBERT HART FIRST CAME TO PEKING.] Still more adventures awaited Robert Hart on the short trip from Shanghai to Ningpo; indeed I think the best and the most romantic adventures took a certain pleasure in following him always. At any rate, this time he was to have such a one as even Captain Kettle might have envied; he was to be chased by a pirate junk, a Cantonese Comanting, with a painted eye in the bow, so that she might find her prey, with a high stern bristling with rifles and cutlasses, so that she might destroy it when found, and with stinkpots at her mastheads and boarding-nets hung round her. Of course he was to escape in the end, but so narrowly that all possible sail had to be crowded on to his little ship, and the whole crew set to work the big oar at the stern, while every soul on board shivered and shook as men should when pirates are after them. Ningpo itself in 1854 was the quietest place under the sun. A handful of merchants lived there, buried without the trouble of dying; one or two consulates had been built, but roads were non-existent, and the few houses were separated from one another by a network of paddy (rice) fields. The new consular assistant shared his house with a man called Patridge, for whom he had conceived a liking, a jolly fellow and a capital messmate, yet not without certain peculiarities of his own. I believe he took a special delight in posing for fearful and radical ideas like the abolition of the House of Lords, and could never be made to see why a man should not sit in the presence of his Sovereign, or wear his hat either if he felt so inclined. The other youngsters laughed at his notions; one or two even went so far as to accuse him of being a snob and to twit him on having changed the spelling of his name and dropped the first "r" for the sake of a stylishness he pretended to despise. He protested hotly; they stuck to their assertion. He declared his name was Patridge, always had been Patridge, and never could be anything else; they disbelieved him, and so the dispute remained a drawn battle for want of an umpire till long afterwards, when Robert Hart himself proved the point in a very curious way. A word or two about Patridge's early history must be told in order to show how he did it. Patridge, as a young boy, was on board a vessel carrying opium along the coasts of China, when in 1842 she and another engaged in the same trade were wrecked on the island of Formosa, and both crews--175 Bengalis and 13 white men in all--were captured by the natives and taken to the capital, Tai-Wan-Foo. The Bengalis were beheaded immediately. It was touch and go whether the white men would suffer the same fate, when a brilliant idea struck the ship's carpenter. Why not seek to soften the hearts of his captors by a _kotow_ as profound as it was novel; why not stand on his head? He did, with the happiest results. The Formosans, delighted with this feat of submission, spared the lives of himself and his companions and kept them in prison instead of decapitating them. But for a long time it was doubtful whether they would ever regain their liberty, and, as a record for friends who might later search for them in vain, they made a schoolboy's calendar on the walls of their cramped and dirty prison, ticked off each day, and signed their names below. It is nice to know that they got away free at last, though their fate has little to do with my story. The record remained. More than twenty years afterwards, when Robert Hart, then Inspector-General of the Chinese Customs, had occasion to go to Formosa on business, he found it in an old rice hong (shop), and Patridge's name among the rest, spelled with two "r's" (Partridge), whereupon he could not resist the temptation of cutting off the list with his penknife and, on his return to Shanghai, triumphantly handing it to his old messmate. In 1855, owing to a dispute with his Portuguese colleague, the British Consul at Ningpo was suspended from duty, and young Hart put in charge of affairs for some months. His calm judgment and good sense during this first period of responsibility gained him favourable notice with the "powers that be," for a little later at Canton, when the British General Van Straubenzee remarked, on introducing him to Mr.(afterwards Sir Frederick) Bruce, "This young man I recommend you to keep your eye on; some day he will do something," the latter answered, "Oh, I have already had my attention called to him by the Foreign Office." The Portuguese were much in evidence in the Ningpo of those days. They were numerous; they had power, and they abused it: with the result that retribution came upon them so sure, so swift, so terrible that not only Ningpo but the whole of China was deeply stirred by the horror of it. I am thinking now of that dreadful massacre of June 26th, 1857, the culmination of years of trouble between the Cantonese and the Portuguese lorchamen, who with their fast vessels--the fastest and most easily managed ships in the age before steam--terrorized the whole coast, exacted tribute, refused to pay duties, and even fell into downright piracy, burning peaceful villages and killing their inhabitants. Rumours of Cantonese revenge began in the winter of 1856, when news came that all the foreigners in Ningpo would be massacred on a certain night. Some one thereupon invited the whole community to dine together; but Robert Hart refused, thinking that men who sat drinking hot whiskey punch through a long evening would be in no condition to face a disturbance if it came. Thus, while the others kept up their courage in company, he slept in a deserted house--the terrified servants had fled--with a revolver under his pillow, and beside his bed an open window, through which he intended to drop, if the worst came to the worst, and try to make his way on foot to Shanghai. Nothing happened then, however; but the talk of the tea-shops had not been unfounded--only premature. The 26th of June saw the vengeance consummated. With great bravery and determination the Cantonese under Poo Liang Tai swept the Portuguese lorchas up the entire coast and into Ningpo. The fight began afloat and ashore. Bullets whistled everywhere; the distracted lorchamen ran wildly about, hoping to escape the inevitable. Some of the poor wretches reached the British Consulate, alive or half alive, clamouring for shelter; but Mr. Meadows, then Consul, refused to let them in, fearing to turn the riot from an anti-Portuguese disturbance into an anti-foreign outbreak, and the unfortunate creatures frantically beat on the closed gates in vain. Perhaps much of their fate was well deserved--some historians say so--but it was none the less terrible when it came; and I can imagine that the predicament of Meadows and young Hart, standing behind the barred gates of the Consulate, could have been little worse, mentally, than that of the wretches outside praying to them in the name of Heaven and the saints for shelter. All were hunted down at last, dragged out of their hiding-places in old Chinese graves among the paddy fields, butchered where they stood defending their lodging-house, or taken prisoners only to be put on one of their own lorchas, towed a little way up the river and slowly roasted to death. Then, "last scene of all," the Cantonese stormed the Portuguese Consulate, pillaged and wrecked the building, and were just climbing on to the flat roof to haul down the flag when a stately white cloud appeared far down the river, serenely floating towards the disturbed city. It was the French warship _Capricieuse_, under full sail. She had come straight from South America and put in at Ningpo after her long voyage, all unconscious of the terrible events passing there. Was ever an arrival more providential? I greatly doubt it; for had she not appeared in this miraculous fashion, who knows what would have come to the handful of white men left in that last outpost of civilization? Such was Robert Hart's first experience of a fight, but it was by no means to be his only one. Bugles have sounded in his ears from first to last, and a wide variety of military experiences--he was present at the taking of one city and during the siege of another--has come to him without his seeking it. From Ningpo he was transferred to Canton in March 1858, and made Secretary to the Allied Commission governing that city. Life was very different there from what it had been in Ningpo. Instead of the small community to which he had been accustomed, he found himself in a town filled with troops--British and French. Instead of living alone or with one companion, he occupied quarters in a big yamên full of officers and men--a change which probably benefited a character too given to seriousness and introspection. The work in Canton was exceedingly interesting. He was much more in the centre of affairs than he had been before, and he had the opportunity of serving under Sir Harry Parkes. With some of the erraticness that is said to belong to genius, Parkes enjoyed doing things at odd hours. He liked to fall asleep after dinner, for instance, with a big cigar in his mouth, then wake refreshed and energetic at midnight, and work till morning. But he never expected his staff to follow his example, and was consideration itself to those under him--especially to young Hart, whom he liked from the first, and whom he always took with him on his expeditions around or outside the city. There was no lack of these, since he was a man of indomitable energy, matured his plans with astonishing rapidity, and often had them carried out before any one suspected they were maturing. The story of one particular little _coup d'état_ is well worth the telling. A new Viceroy was expected in Canton, and Parkes heard that the man who was filling the Acting Appointment was anxious to go out of the city to meet his successor. At the same time he was told that if the official left the city, the occasion would be taken to make a disturbance, so he determined to use a sudden and vigorous stratagem to keep the Acting Viceroy within the walls, willing or no. Accordingly one morning he invited all the officials to discuss matters at the said Viceroy's yamên, and went himself to the rendezvous with Hart and an escort of military police. He greeted the assembled officials cordially, and, after some preliminary remark, went on to say: "I hear that you are all anxious to go and meet the new Viceroy. Very natural, I'm sure; very natural and obviously your duty. But we really do not want you to leave Canton just at this particular moment. Ugly rumours are floating about which only your presence here keeps in check. Therefore, as we realize that if you do not go to meet your colleague, you will be accused in Peking of lack of courtesy towards him, that none of your excuses will be believed, I have brought a few men with me to keep guard outside your rooms here. You can consequently say with truth that you were _prevented from fulfilling_ your duty." Astonished and angry as they were at the turn of events, the Chinese were shrewd enough to see they were helpless. The soldiers stayed. Hart went every day to inquire after the prisoners, and listened to their complaints about the ceaseless tread of the sentries under their windows all night. "They never seem to sit down like other people," one of the Chinese said pathetically. "They walk all night, all night, and we cannot sleep." Parkes sent sympathetic messages, but he remained courteously firm. Perhaps he thought a few wakeful hours were not too high a price to pay for keeping Canton quiet. There was one official, however, who had not been caught with the rest. He was Fantai, or Provincial Treasurer, who remained quietly hidden in a temple in one of the western suburbs till Parkes ferreted him out. He and Hart and the mounted police then made a second expedition. As soon as they reached the outer door of the place, Parkes jumped off his pony and rushed in with such impetuosity that the crowds of servants running before him had no time to warn their master of the intruders' arrival. Parkes continued his rapid career straight into the inner room, where the Fantai himself sat at a table strewn with papers, absolutely calm, serene and unmoved. Parkes began to talk; the Fantai remained silent. No matter, Parkes was very adroit at carrying on a one-sided interview, and conversation did not flag. "I've come to pay you a visit," said he; "and though you have not mentioned your pleasure at meeting a new acquaintance, I am sure it is none the less deep. Ah," he went on, looking over the paper-strewn table, "you have even been kind enough to lay aside your work on my account. Let us see. You were writing letters," and Parkes thereupon read the finished and unfinished despatches under the Fantai's very eye, then profusely thanked him for the useful information. The Chinese sat superbly contemptuous through it all, and finally spat over his shoulder, putting enough scorn into the action to freeze the boldest. Yet Parkes had the gift of looking unconscious the whole time, and babbled on gaily: "You don't seem very talkative to-day--but of course, sometimes one feels more in the mood for conversation than others. Besides, there is no need for you to tell me any of your news. I have found out everything I wanted to know from these papers here." He had indeed; they contained the most important revelations as to the prospective movements of the Chinese troops outside the city, and also showed exactly how far the officials inside were co-operating with them. There was no further need to prolong the interview, and Parkes began to make his adieus. In China, these are not the slight things they are with us. Host and guest have mutual obligations; the former, unless he is willing to risk being thought uncivil, must escort a visitor of rank to the outer gate himself. But the Fantai cared little whether he was thought civil or not, and he sat stolidly in his chair when Parkes made a move to go. He reckoned without his--guest, who was not the man to be slighted. "I am sorry to take you away from your pressing business," said Parkes affably, "but if you should neglect to s'ung (literally, bid farewell in the ceremonial manner) me, people might think that we are not the good friends we are; people might even suspect that our political relations are unsatisfactory. Therefore I must with great reluctance trouble you." The Fantai, helpless, accompanied him grudgingly to the door of the inner courtyard, whence he was about to beat a retreat when Parkes said again, insinuatingly and half under his breath, "Oh, come a little farther, please do; there are not enough people here to see our good-byes." The same scene was gone through at each successive courtyard, and in a big Chinese temple they are neither few nor small. Hart, who was behind the other two, could scarcely stifle his amusement at the half-snarling, half-contemptuous face of the Fantai as Parkes in one phrase insisted _sotto voce_ on his coming farther, and in the next, spoken a little louder for the benefit of listening servants and secretaries, thanked him profusely for his great courtesy and hospitality in seeing a humble guest so far. Only at the outermost gate, around which a crowd had collected, all, in Chinese fashion, asking who was within and what he had come about, was the irate Fantai permitted to return to his interrupted labours--after he had satisfied every canon of the elaborate courtesy. Hart left his work under Sir Harry Parkes with real regret in October 1858, when he was promoted and appointed interpreter at the British Consulate in Canton under Sir Rutherford Alcock; but in May 1859 he resigned to enter the Chinese Imperial Maritime Customs. It was the Viceroy Laou Tsung Kwang who invited him to do so, for he was one of Hart's special friends, a shrewd judge of men, clever enough himself and progressive for his day. He had been quick to notice the success of the new Custom House at Shanghai, and presently asked young Hart if he could not draw up a set of regulations for the collection of duty at Canton, and undertake the work of supervision. To this invitation Hart replied that Mr. H.N. Lay was in charge of the Customs; that he, Hart, knew nothing about the business, having had no experience of the sort, and could not therefore agree to the proposals. But what he did agree to do was to write to Mr. Lay and see if something could not be done to bring Canton into line with Shanghai. The result of the correspondence, briefly put, was that Mr. Lay first offered Robert Hart a position as interpreter, which he refused, and later the post of Deputy-Commissioner of Customs at Canton, which he accepted. Of course he had meanwhile asked the British Government if he might resign from the Consular Service. Their reply gave the desired permission, but stipulated at the same time that he must not expect the acceptance of his resignation to imply that he might return to the British service whenever he pleased. Neither they nor he guessed then that he was beginning a work from which he would have no wish to turn back, or that it would be they who would finally beg him to return to their service, not as Consul, but as Envoy Extraordinary and Minister Plenipotentiary. CHAPTER III THE BEGINNINGS OF THE IMPERIAL CHINESE CUSTOMS--A VISIT TO SIR FREDERICK BRUCE--THE SHERARD OSBORNE AFFAIR--APPOINTED INSPECTOR-GENERAL When Robert Hart joined the Chinese Imperial Maritime Customs, the service was already four years old. 1854--the very year he passed through Shanghai on his way to Ningpo--saw its beginning as an international institution. A Chinese Superintendent had hitherto collected duties for his Government, but, owing to the capture of Shanghai by the rebels, affairs became so disorganized that he appealed to the three Consuls of Great Britain, France and the United States for help, and they responded by each appointing one of their nationals to assist him in securing an honest and efficient administration. As far as the Chinese Government was concerned, the triumvirate gave immediate and entire satisfaction. Duties increased, smuggling diminished--all as a result of the new system, which was continued, by the express desire of the Chinese officials, even after the city was recaptured by the Imperial troops. But the merchants on their side had no praise for an arrangement that cut large slices off their profits. They found it exceedingly annoying to be obliged to give the correct weight of their tea and silk under penalty of forfeiture; as for calmly landing and shipping their goods without permits, this was now out of the question. Yet what could they do to circumvent these innovations? Nothing--but put every conceivable difficulty, large and small, ingenious and obvious, in the way of the new inspectors. The Frenchman presently withdrew, the American, a consular official, resigned in 1856, and the Englishman, Mr. (afterwards Sir Thomas) Wade, a sensitive man, unable to endure the social boycott imposed on him, did likewise. Mr. H.N. Lay, Vice-Consul and Interpreter in the British Consulate at Shanghai, was then appointed to succeed Mr. Wade, and, as the two other Powers concerned did not appoint successors to their original nominees, he thereafter managed Chinese Customs business alone. Such, briefly told, is the history of the service which Robert Hart joined as Deputy-Commissioner at Canton in 1859 at the suggestion of the Canton Viceroy, Laou Tsung Kwang--which he was to build up and in which he was to make his great name and reputation. From the first he did better than well. He set to work at once on a series of regulations for Custom House management. They were greatly needed--all the internal arrangements of the infant service were in a chaotic condition--and they were also greatly praised. The Viceroy himself was delighted. Here was his own young _protégé_, by his diligence, by his practical business capacity, by his unusual willingness to accept responsibility and by the promises of administrative ability he was giving, proving himself the very man to make the newly organized Customs a success. The Viceroy had chosen better than he knew. Two years--from 1859 to 1861--Robert Hart spent in Canton setting affairs in order and working very hard in a hot, damp climate. Curiously enough he was never ill, though many men of far greater physical strength, of far tougher build, wilted in that steaming atmosphere; he himself was always too busy, I think, for symptoms and sickness. During those years he had an unexpected meeting with an old friend. Word having been brought to him that a ship from Macao was expected to load teas at Komchuk--a place inland not open to trade--he started off with a posse of tidewaiters on the revenue cruiser _Cumfa_, to seize her. She was a shabby little vessel; her paint was scratched, her name almost obliterated. Almost, but not quite; he was able to make out the word _Shamrock_ at her bow, and on careful inquiry identified her as the very vessel on which he had travelled to England as a boy; but alas! a _Shamrock_ fallen on evil days, dilapidated by doubtful adventures in distant seas, and debased to the low company of smugglers. In 1861 chance, luck, or Providence--call it what you will--once again interfered in the humdrum routine of events to give Hart the opportunity he had come half-way across the world to meet. A riot broke out at Shanghai, and Mr. Lay, as he was walking down the main street, was attacked by a man with a long knife and so severely wounded that he was obliged to go to England on two years' leave in order to recover his health. Two of his subordinates were made Officiating Inspector-Generals in his place: Fitzroy, formerly private secretary to Lord Elgin, at that time Shanghai Commissioner, and Robert Hart. Both men had excellent qualities; but while Fitzroy, who knew no Chinese, was content to remain at Shanghai, his more active and energetic colleague travelled to and fro establishing new offices. The Tientsin Treaties having recently opened more ports to trade, and the Chinese Government having repeatedly approved of the golden stream of revenue pouring into their Treasury, Customs administration was extended up and down the coasts as fast as the ports could be declared "open"--to Ningpo, Foochow, Amoy, Swatow, Chinkiang, even so far north as Tientsin, and British, French or German Commissioners put in charge of each, in order that the original international character of the service might be preserved. Most of these ports welcomed the new order of things; but at one, notably Hankow, difficulties arose, and Hart promptly started to clear them up. At the time of his going both Wuhu and Nanking, two cities on the Yangtsze, were still in the hands of the rebels, and the river-steamer captain warned his passengers that the ship would stop at Wuhu to get her papers from them. "Take my advice," said he, "and remain quietly in your cabin from the time we stop until we leave, for the rebels have the habit of coming on board, and were they to find a man like yourself, a Government agent on Government business, they would certainly take you ashore. They usually only look about the saloon, however, and do not examine the cabins, so you will be safe enough if you stay in yours." Robert Hart gratefully accepted the advice, and, sitting on the edge of his bunk, listened to the rebels talking in the saloon outside, till, with a sigh of relief, he heard them leave the ship and allow her to proceed on her way. That the danger had been real enough the deserted river proved; terror of these same revolutionaries had swept the usually busy waterway clean of craft, and nothing further disturbed the quiet but the hoarse honk of wild geese and the whirring of ducks' wings. At Hankow the Viceroy, Kwan Wen, was as friendly personally as he was obstinate officially. He did not desire to see the new system enforced. Again and again he politely told Robert Hart that he was wasting his time--that it was quite useless his remaining longer. But as Robert Hart listened with equal politeness and remained, the Viceroy's patience finally began to wear thin. He then sent a subordinate official to make one last effort to persuade the Officiating Inspector-General to go. This failed, just as the other attempts at persuasion had failed. Hart simply told the man that he was acting under orders, and further hinted that when he reported to Peking and the Emperor Tung Chih heard that difficulties had been made about the establishment of the Customs at Hankow, it would not look well. "But the Emperor's name is not Tung Chih," remarked the Taotai scornfully. "You should know that as well as I." "To me," retorted Robert Hart calmly, "it seems equally strange that you as a Chinese official do not know the name of your own Emperor." He thereupon went to a drawer, took out a new _Peking Gazette_ announcing the famous _coup d'état_ of November 2nd, 1861, when Prince Soo Sun's party was absolutely overthrown by the party of Prince Kung and the Emperor's official style altered from Chi Hsiang ("Lucky") to Tung Chih ("Pull Together"), and handed it to him. The man was utterly surprised. This was the very first news of the important event to reach Hankow, and as soon as it became generally known all the officials who had hitherto shaped their actions to please Prince Soo were quick to change their attitude. Even the Viceroy promptly sent for Hart and begged him, with every expression of cordiality, to do just as he pleased about everything; above all, to proceed with his business immediately. A few weeks later, all being in working order, the Officiating Inspector-General was on his way down the river again. He had a message for the other Yangtsze Viceroy, Tseun Kuo Fan, and accordingly paid five hundred taels (£70) to stop the little steamer _Poyang_ for two hours at Nanking in order to deliver it. This message was comparatively prosaic, concerning as it did nothing more interesting than the Viceroy's views relative to some unimportant trade matters. But the Viceroy's answer is worth recording. "You have asked me my opinion on many matters," said old Tseun. "Some of these must be settled direct with the Wai-Wu-Pu (the Foreign Office at Peking). But I will tell you this much now. Whatever is good for Chinese and foreigners I will support; whatever is good for foreigners and does not harm Chinese I will approve; but whatever is bad for Chinese, no matter how good it is for foreigners, I will die rather than consent to." In this grand old statesman's confession of his political faith it is good to find a convincing answer to the arguments of those who pretend that there are no patriots in China. Robert Hart's next mission was to Peking itself, the grey, wall-ringed mediæval city where he was afterwards to spend so many years, and where he stayed with Sir Frederick Bruce at the British Legation--then, as now, housed in a fine old Chinese building. [Illustration: A VIEW OF PEKING SHOWING CONDITION OF ROADS.] Sir Frederick Bruce was a most striking type of man, like a straight, healthy tree, most cordial in manner, with a beautiful voice that made even oaths sound like splendid oratory, a keen intelligence flavoured with a pinch of humour, and a great gift of diplomatic suavity. Between himself and young Robert Hart a bond of friendship rapidly grew--strong enough to bear the lapse of time and even the occasional bursts of frank criticism to which the host treated his guest. At least on one occasion it was very sharp indeed. Hart and another young man (afterwards Sir Robert Douglas) had gone riding in the outer city of Peking on the fifth of the fifth moon--a feast day--when, on their way home, a yelling mob collected around them, shouting disrespectful names and even throwing things at them. True, they did it all in a spirit of playfulness, but a moment or a trifle might easily have turned mischief into malice, and, realizing this, Hart pulled up at one of the shops in the big street and asked the shopkeeper, a respectable greybeard, to tell the crowd not to pass his shop door. "But," said the old fellow, "we have nothing to do with these people." "I know that," was the reply, "but if they misbehave themselves I shall not be able to report them, because they are vagabonds who will disappear into the holes and corners of the city. They would be impossible to find again, but you are a man with a fixed place of residence; it will be easy enough to find you. I see, by the way, your shop is called 'Renewed Affluence' on the signboard. And if you plead that the affair was no business of yours, people will never believe that a word from a respectable man like yourself would not suffice to control a crowd of ragamuffins." Hart's use of this argument, so peculiarly Chinese in its reasoning, showed how well he already understood the character of the people--how well he appreciated the underlying principle of their community life, the responsibility of a man for his neighbour's behaviour. The shopkeeper was, of course, duly impressed. He spoke to the crowd and they melted away. But when at luncheon Hart told his host how narrowly he had escaped rough treatment, all the satisfaction he got was: "Served you right, you two young fools, riding about where you were not wanted. Served you right, I say. If I had been there I'd have had a shy at you myself." This remark was characteristic of Sir Frederick Bruce, who, either from character or experience, or both, took a conservative view of everything--even of trifles. I know Robert Hart afterwards attributed some of his own caution to his friend's example. "In all things go slowly," Bruce was wont to say in his booming, bell-like tone. "Never be in a hurry---especially don't be in a hurry about answering letters. If you leave things long enough and quiet enough they answer themselves, whereas if you hurry matters balanced on the edge of a precipice, they often topple over instead of settling and remaining comfortably there for ever." During Hart's visit to Peking a very important question arose concerning the policing of the China Seas. Great Britain had hitherto been doing the work, but the arrangement was considered unsatisfactory. The first idea that China should invest in a fleet of her own came up in the course of a friendly conversation between the British Minister and the Officiating Inspector-General. Later, when they had talked the subject over at length, and Bruce asserted that Great Britain would probably be willing to lend officers and sell ships of war to China for the nucleus of the proposed navy, Hart laid the matter before Prince Kung. There were endless negotiations, the difficulty and delicacy of which cannot be exaggerated. But they ended satisfactorily. [Illustration: A ROAD IN OLD PEKING DURING THE RAINY SEASON.] Prince Kung memorialized the Throne, with the result that £250,000 was directed to be set aside for the purpose. Then, at Robert Hart's suggestion, the money was sent to the Inspector-General--Mr. Lay--to be spent by him in England, together with a long letter of instructions (written by Prince Kung) urging Lay to purchase everything as soon as possible, and to see that the "work put into the vessels should be strong and the materials genuine." This delicious phrase, a true touch of human nature, is solemnly recorded in one of the despatches, and may still be seen in the correspondence on the subject in the Blue Book for the year. It is only fair to point out that it was Robert Hart who stated that "the ability of the Inspector-General is great; that he possesses a mind which embraces the minutest details, and is therefore fully competent to make the necessary arrangements with a more than satisfactory result," when he might so easily have used his great and growing personal influence with the Chinese (he was a _persona grata_ with them from the beginning) to undermine his chief. How the fleet "of genuine materials" came out with all despatch under the celebrated Captain Sherard Osborne and various other officers lent by the Admiralty, is a matter of history. The reputations of its commanders--for all were men of distinction--should have ensured its success if anything could have done so. But from the very moment the fleet reached Shanghai there were misunderstandings. Captain Osborne found himself subject to local officials whose control he resented. The truth was Lay had somewhat altered the regulations drawn up by Robert Hart and approved by Prince Kung, and had then told Captain Osborne that of course the Chinese would agree to anything he wished. Subsequent events proved him wrong, and showed that he had made the fatal mistake of committing his employers too far. Perhaps this was not unnatural considering that he was just then receiving the most flattering notice from the British press and a C.B. from the British Government for his services--yet it was none the less disastrous. In May 1863 Lay returned to Shanghai, and, Robert Hart's acting appointment having come to an end, he was made Commissioner at Shanghai, with charge of the Yangtsze ports, the position being specially created for him by Prince Kung in order to give him more authority than would belong to the simple Commissioner of a port. That same autumn the Sherard Osborne affair came to a crisis. Returning from a trip up the Yangtsze, Hart found Lay and Li Hung Chang at daggers drawn. The former had just peremptorily demanded a large sum of money to provision the fleet, and the latter had flatly refused to put his hand in his pocket without official orders to do so, Robert Hart, who very shrewdly guessed at the real cause of the misunderstanding, offered to go and see Li and explain. Very tactfully he told Li that all Lay and Captain Osborne wanted was his formal sanction to present at the bank, as without this the transaction would not have the necessary official character. Li agreed readily enough when the matter was presented in this light; what he had objected to was Lay's abrupt demand to pay so many thousand taels out of his own pocket immediately. But no small manoeuvre such as this, however successful, could arrange the larger matter. The fleet had been an utter failure. Osborne himself was disgusted; the Chinese were dissatisfied. They therefore made the best of a bad bargain, and sent the ships back to be sold in England in order to prevent their falling into the hands of the independent and quarrelsome Daimios of Japan, or, as Mr. Burlingame, the United States Minister, greatly feared, into the hands of the Confederates. Thus ended a very curious incident which, by closing as it did, undoubtedly set back the clock of reform in China. It may be that from the political point of view this was as well; that, had the venture been an unqualified success, the Chinese might have thrown themselves too much into the arms of foreign Powers and tried to reform too fast by slavish imitation instead of slowly working out their own salvation. As far as he was personally concerned the disastrous and expensive failure long preyed upon Robert Hart's mind. He reproached himself bitterly for the mistake. But the Chinese never attached the least blame to him; they showed him no diminution of respect, rather an increase. It was on the Inspector-General H.N. Lay that their wrath fell. They considered that he had treated the whole matter too high-handedly, and within three months they had dismissed him and offered the post to Robert Hart. Of course the change gave rise to much discussion, and Sherard Osborne went frankly to Hart and told him how ill-natured people were hinting that he had intrigued against Lay. The malignity of idle gossip, however, could not turn him back. Knowing that he had worked as loyally for his chief as for himself, he simply replied that if the public looked at it in that way, instead of refusing he would certainly accept the post. I wonder if any instinct told him that the great day of his life was when he _did_ accept it, or if he had any premonition of the useful and romantic career before him? The characters of the two Inspector-Generals, the one outgoing, the other incoming, contrasted very strangely. Lay was inclined to be dictatorial and rather impatient of Chinese methods; an excellent and clever man, but with one point of view and one only. Hart, on the other hand, was tactful, patient, and, above all else, tolerant of other people's prejudices. "To grow a little catholic," says Stevenson, "is the compensation of years." But Robert Hart was catholic in this broad sense even when he was young. He would sometimes say that the habit of toleration he acquired at college, and through the most simple incident. Seven or eight of the Belfast students were one day asked to describe what would seem to be the simplest thing in the world to describe--a packing-case. And yet every man, after stating the simple fact that he saw a packing-case, had something different to say about it. One, who stood on the right, described an address written in black letters; another, who stood at one end, dwelt on the iron hoops that bound the box; a third gave prominence to the long nails studding a corner. Thus each, according to his view-point, saw that same commonplace packing-case in a different way. After this practical demonstration Robert Hart never in his life could grow impatient with a man who did not see exactly what he saw when both were standing on opposite sides of a question. CHAPTER IV ORDERED TO LIVE AT SHANGHAI--FIRST MEETING WITH "CHINESE GORDON"--THE RECONCILIATION BETWEEN GORDON AND LI HUNG CHANG--THE TAKING OF CHANG-CHOW-FU--DISBANDMENT OF "THE EVER-VICTORIOUS ARMY"--REWARDS FOR GORDON The first order transmitted by Prince Kung to the new Inspector-General--or the I.G., as he was always familiarly called--was that he should live at Shanghai. This gave him the opportunity of meeting and working with the famous "Chinese Gordon," to whom the suppression of the Taiping Rebellion was so largely due. For the history of that rebellion--how one soldier of fortune after the other attempted to suppress it; how the picturesque American Burgevine, on changing masters and seeking to better his fortune with the rebels, was succeeded by the prosaic failure Holland; how at last, on General Staveley's recommendation, Charles Gordon was lent with several other young officers to the Imperialist cause--the reader must go (and will thank me for sending him) to some of the many historians who have immortalized the struggle. Nothing remains to be told about that terrible war--except the part that Robert Hart accidentally played in it. His first meeting with Gordon was planned for October 1863, when Major-General Brown, commanding the troops at Hongkong, came up to Shanghai for the express purpose of seeing the brilliant young commander of what was already known as "The Ever-Victorious Army." Gordon sent the _Firefly_ to take the General and the Inspector-General up the Soochow Creek to Quinsan, where he then was, and on a certain Sunday morning they intended to have started. Fortunately, as it afterwards turned out, Fate interfered at this point. The English mail arrived suddenly on Saturday night with important despatches; the General sent his A.D.C. to say that he could not possibly leave until they were answered; and so, reluctantly, the visit was postponed--as the two men thought, for a few days, but in reality for much longer. Next morning the A.D.C. hurried round again almost before Hart was out of bed, and this time with the most sensational news--the _Firefly_ had been boarded as she lay at her moorings by foreign friends of the rebels, carried up stream, and burnt. Both her European engineers had mysteriously disappeared. The whole affair, of course, was a plot as deep laid as diabolical, hatched by the rebels for the purpose of getting rid of General Brown, who they feared was about to reinforce Gordon. But for the timely arrival of those pressing despatches it would have succeeded, and he and the I.G. would have been trapped and quietly murdered. Not till the spring of 1864 did the delayed meeting finally take place. There had been a serious difference of opinion between Gordon and Li Hung Chang--a difference which arose over the taking of Soochow. When the city, thanks to Gordon's co-operation, was captured, certain of the Taiping princes agreed to surrender. General Ching went to interview them outside one of the city gates, taking Gordon with him. His idea was that if the great General Gordon showed the rebels that he had actually been concerned in the successful operations against them, they would be the more likely to consider further resistance hopeless. Gordon, on the other hand, thought his presence would be taken by them to mean surety for their safety. It was not an unnatural misunderstanding, seeing that Gordon spoke no Chinese, that neither the rebels nor General Ching understood English, and that there was no interpreter present. In the end the rebellious princes surrendered, not from any feeling that Gordon's presence would ensure the sparing of their lives, but because they believed--just as General Ching shrewdly guessed they would--that his presence in Soochow made it useless to continue the struggle. Had they only been wise enough to retire gracefully from the field, all would have been well. But they swaggered into Li's presence. "They appeared"--so an eyewitness described the scene--"rather like leaders in a position to dictate terms than men sharing in an act of clemency." They even had the audacity to suggest that Li should pay their soldiers--_their_ soldiers, who had fought _him_, mind you--and divide the city of Soochow by a great wall, leaving half of it in rebel hands. Naturally he refused to do either of these things; how could he possibly agree to such quixotic demands? But through his refusal, he found himself face to face with the problem of what to do with the surrendered Wangs. He might keep them prisoners--that would be difficult; or he might summarily behead them--and that would be easy. The latter action must certainly be open to the ugly suspicion of treachery, but he had as his excuse that the city was under martial law, and that prompt and vigorous measures might be the means of saving more bloodshed in the end. Accordingly he ordered the immediate execution of the surrendered chiefs. When Gordon heard of it he was as angry as only a passionate nature such as his could be. The idea that his unspoken word of honour to helpless prisoners had been broken for him made him mad with fury. Out into the city he went, revolver in hand, to look for Li, and to avenge what he called the "murder." His sense of his own guilt was certainly morbid; morbid too was his treatment of the head of the Na Wang, which he found exposed in an iron lantern on one of the city gates. He brought it home, kept it for days beside him, even laying it on his bed, and kneeling and asking forgiveness beside it. The Na Wang's son he adopted into his bodyguard. No father could have treated his own child more tenderly. I believe not once but a dozen times in an afternoon he would turn to the boy and ask wistfully, "Who are you?" receiving the same soft answer, "I am your son," each time with the same pleasure. Almost immediately after the decapitation of the Wangs, Gordon, still fuming with rage, suddenly determined to break off all relations with Li, to retire to Quinsan, and to take his "Ever-Victorious Army" with him. Though his friends, singly and in company, did their best to dissuade him from this rash course, and pointed out the consequences, he would not listen, and he went. The Chinese Government took fright at Gordon's dramatic move--there was no knowing what he might do next--(I wonder if in the back of their minds they had a sneaking fear he might join the rebels like Burgevine?)--and consequently they thought it wisdom to send the I.G. to make peace--since peace was so badly needed. Robert Hart, in his new rôle of military arbitrator, left Shanghai on January 19th by boat, creeping slowly through the canals. The desolation along both banks was pitiful; every village had been burned, every field trampled; not a living thing was in sight--not even a dog--but the creeks were choked with corpses. No man could pass through such a dreary waste unmoved, least of all one who had the slightest power to alter the sad conditions, and Robert Hart met Li at Soochow with his determination to do all in his power to reconcile him with Gordon, and so end the war quickly, greatly strengthened. Li promptly explained his action by justifying his policy from his own point of view, and finally ended by saying, "Do tell Gordon I never meant to do it; I meant to keep my word as to the Princes' safe-conduct; but when I saw those fellows come in with their hair long, the very sign of rebellion, and only wearing the white badge of submission in their buttonholes, I thought it such insolence that anger overcame me, and I gave the order for their execution. But it was my doing, not Gordon's; my safe-conduct, not Gordon's, that had been violated. Tell him that I am ready to proclaim far and wide that he had nothing to do with it, so that he loses no reputation by it. Can you not make peace with him for me?" To find Gordon at that time was no easy matter. He was moving about very rapidly. With his wonderful eye for country, he saw at a glance--almost by instinct--a point that ought to be taken in order to command other points, and wasted no time over the taking of it. Thus he was never long in any particular spot, and Robert Hart had a week's search before he came up with him at Quinsan. Truly that was an exciting week's journey, I can promise you, dodging up and down canals, expecting every moment to run round a corner into a rebel camp--yet fortunately never doing it--in fact, doing nothing at all more exciting than listening to the cries of startled pheasants. Gordon greeted the I.G. very cordially and held a parade in his honour, just by way of celebrating his arrival. That march past was unforgettable. Though the soldiers were commonplace enough, plain and businesslike the officers, of whom Gordon had about thirty of all ages, sizes and tastes, usually designed their own uniforms, which were sometimes fantastic, to say the least. On this great occasion you may be sure none had neglected to appear in the fullest of full dress, with highly comical results. Indeed their efforts amused Gordon so much that all the time they were advancing he kept repeating as he rubbed his hands gleefully together, "Go it, ye cripples; go it, ye cripples!" By contrast, he himself, the commander of them all, appeared so simple in his long blue frock coat--the old uniform of the Engineers--with his trousers tucked roughly into his big boots and a little cane, the only weapon he ever carried--"I am too hot tempered for any other" he would often say laughingly of himself--in his hand. This simplicity, this utter absence of affectation, was the keynote to his character--just as it was the keynote of Robert Hart's character. Because both possessed it to an unusual degree, each understood the other--and at once. [Illustration: SIR ROBERT HART ABOUT 1866.] Within a week of the I.G.'s arrival Gordon's fit of gloom, brought on by the affair of the Wangs, was dissipating; within two it was gone, for a character of such violent "downs" must have equally mercurial "ups"; within three he capitulated to argument and agreed to go back to Soochow and see Li. Impulsive and generous as ever, he then wished that Hart should say he (Hart) had induced him to come to Li. "That will give you immense influence with the Chinese," he declared. But Hart would not have it so; he preferred to tell Li that Gordon had come of his own free will, knowing that this would please Li personally far more. The three-cornered meeting passed off well. As little as possible was said about past disagreements, as much as possible about future agreements, and the end of it was that Gordon agreed to take the field again. At the same time the I.G. took care to suggest the removal of an excuse for future misunderstandings in the person of an officious, inefficient interpreter whom Robert Hart himself described as a "'Talkee talkee, me-no-savey,' the sort of person whose attempt at Mandarin [official Chinese] is even viler than his English." There then remained nothing more to do in Soochow, and Hart and Gordon started back together to Quinsan, though not before they had visited the historic Soochow stockades together, and Gordon, taking his friend over every disputed foot of ground, had vividly described the bloody fighting there--the victory so pleasant to remember, the tragedy so difficult to forget. I doubt if anything he ever did in China gave Robert Hart greater pleasure than this reconciliation, or if there was any other single episode in his career in which he took more pride; though he spoke of it so seldom and so modestly that scarcely any one--certainly not the public--knew of what he had done. It cost him a few friends among minor officials who thought that negotiations should have passed through their hands rather than his. But his old friend Sir Frederick Bruce, to whom he wrote a report of the whole affair (afterwards included in the Blue Book for 1864), took genuine pleasure in his success, while the Chinese gratitude was unbounded; they realized very clearly what the extremity had been and the difficulty from which they had been rescued. Three months after the reconciliation (April 28th) Robert Hart went once again to see Gordon and to be present at the taking of Chang-Chow-Fu. This was one of those typical water cities of Central China, walled in of course and with a canal--the Grand Canal in this case--doing duty for a moat. Gordon's headquarters were in boats, and Hart and his little party--one of whom, Colonel Mann Stuart, afterwards helped to keep the line of communications open for Gordon in Khartoum--moored his flotilla alongside. The largest vessel of the fleet was the common dining-room, and owed its excellent ventilation to two holes opposite each other torn out close to the ceiling by a shell while Gordon had been lunching a few days before. This taking of Chang-Chow-Fu was to be a sight worth seeing--the culminating point of the whole campaign. Nowhere had the rebels fought with greater obstinacy or gathered in greater numbers. One spy told Gordon that he had forty thousand soldiers against him; another fifty thousand; a third a hundred thousand. It was impossible to get accurate information. He only knew that twice the rebels were strong enough to repulse the Imperialist attacks and that he himself was determined to lead the third--from which there could be no turning back. "You," said he to Robert Hart, "must arrange with Li that, if I fall, some one is ready to take my place." Major Edwardes, also a Royal Engineer, was the man chosen; but, after all, his services were not needed. The great attack was fixed for the 11th of May. On the 10th Gordon determined to find out all he could about the position of the rebels on the city wall, so taking a small party, which included Hart and two of his faithful bodyguard, he went out to reconnoitre. No sooner had the Taipings recognized the Ever-Victorious Leader than they pelted shots at him. The wooden screen behind which he took shelter looked in a very few minutes as if it were suffering from an acute attack of smallpox. But Gordon, with his usual miraculous luck--in his fighting before more than twenty cities he was only once wounded--escaped scot-free, though one of his bodyguard got a bullet in his chest. With all possible haste the poor fellow was taken back to the doctor's boat, and the surgeon began poking his fingers into the wound to find the ball. It was not a pleasant operation for the guardsman, and he made some grimaces, much to the amusement of several of his companions, who stood on the bank and jeered at his lack of courage. Those jeers, in addition to the pain, exasperated him greatly, and Hart, whose boat was moored next to the doctor's overheard the man say to his companions, "Yes, it's all very well for you to laugh, but if you had a rebel fiend's bullet in your chest, and a foreign devil's fingers groping after it, you would make more fuss than I do." Very early in the morning of the 11th all was in readiness. The guns from the various batteries around the city began to play. They barked and roared until noon, when Gordon gave the order to "Cease fire." "You see," he remarked to Hart by way of explanation, "those beggars inside will be completely thrown off their guard by the silence. They will take it that we have finished work for the day." Gordon then snatched a hasty lunch, and at one o'clock the signal was given for the big attack by four soldiers waving red flags on the little hill where Li Hung Chang's tent stood. From this hill Hart and Li stood together to watch the operations. Three rushes were made simultaneously--two feints, and one led by Gordon himself. How splendidly he called his men on, how he flourished his little cane, just as though it had been a lance with flying pennant! I can imagine how the watchers held their breath with excitement. "They're in--no, they're out; no, they're in," one said to the other, I'm sure, till at last they _were_ in, Gordon himself the very first to dash through the narrow breach, his too reckless exposure of his own precious life redeemed by the inspiring audacity of his presence. The spectacular moment was over, but work still remained to be done. The rebels immediately attempted a turning movement, which if successful, threatened the artillery camp, and Gordon sent post haste to Li with a request for more troops to help him. Li turned to the I.G. in despair. "What can I do?" he said. "All my men are scattered over the city looting by this time. How shall I collect them?" Hart persuaded Li to send messengers and try. Meantime, luckily, the rebels dispersed and the city fell. They fled wildly in every direction, dropping flags, rifles, and the fans without which no Chinese soldier of the old regime ever went to war, as they ran. From the grey belt of city wall the I.G. looked down on the whole tragic panorama. Fires were burning north, east, south and west. In one street he saw an old woman hobble out of a house supported by her two sons. Just before they could reach shelter a narrow stone bridge over a pond had to be crossed. The old woman limped pitifully to the middle, when a shrill ping rang out. A sharpshooter's bullet struck her; she toppled over into the water, while the men took to their heels and fled back into the smoke of the burning building. Similar horrors took place in nearly every lane; men were struck down in the attitudes of escape, and the hateful lean dogs that infest Chinese cities crept stealthily out of holes and corners. As Robert Hart turned away from these sights and descended the ramp of the wall, he noticed a dozen little boys following him, naked urchins with uncombed hair on shoulders. Some of Li Hung Chang's men, seeing them too, rushed up, rolling their sleeves high and flourishing swords. Here, thought they, was an excellent opportunity to gain favour with their master by cutting off some rebel heads and exaggerating the exploit into a severe fight. But the I.G. immediately stepped between, showed his revolver, and threatened to shoot the first man who stirred a step nearer to the boys. "Are you not ashamed to fight with children?" said he, and they slunk off. At the end of the day, when he returned to the boats, the whole ragged troop was there waiting, their number increased by a little fellow of six or seven years, the son of the Taiping Wang (Prince) of Chang-Chow-Fu, who had been left behind in the confusion and rescued by Gordon from his father's burning palace. He was adopted at once by the party, made much of, petted, and consoled for his fall from high estate by being placed in the seat of honour; and he caused great amusement to the assembled company by the matter-of-fact way in which he accepted his dignity and looked about with serious eyes, as if to say, "This is just what I am accustomed to." Yet he ill repaid the care that was lavished on him till he grew to manhood. Clothes, food, some education, and finally a position on one of the Customs cruisers, were given to him. He wasted no breath in thanks to his generous captors; but one day, when the wild fighting blood in his veins asserted itself, disappeared. Nor from that day to this has anything been heard of the errant princeling. What to do with the other children was a problem. All could not be adopted: so the youngest, a winning little fellow of ten years, who lisped out "Lo Atsai" when asked his name, remained at headquarters, while the rest were sent off to find their friends. Lo Atsai was promptly handed over to the cook--with no cannibal intent, but simply to be washed. "The energy and enthusiasm that cook put into his task," the I.G. would remark when telling the story, "made the whole operation most ludicrous. Into the river the child was plunged again and again, our chef holding him stoutly by the hair all the time as he bobbed up and down between the boats and the unsavoury corpses sticking there, till he was considered clean enough to be hauled on board again." This little child, son of humble parents, was destined to rise far higher in the world than the prince's son who sat in the place of honour while Lo Atsai ingratiated himself with the servants in the confined kitchen quarters of the boat. Because of his whole-hearted allegiance, the I.G. sent him to school in Hongkong, where he improved his opportunities so well that the Head Master, reporting on him, could only say, "He is too conscientious; he will kill himself with study." He was truly wearing himself out with diligence, when a rich merchant took a fancy to him and gave him a good position; then another gave him a better, so that in a few years he had become a very rich man. It is nice to add--for the benefit of those who sneer at Chinese gratitude--that at every new year he would travel, no matter how far away he might be, to see his old patron and friend. Nor did he ever grow too grand to go into the kitchen afterwards and gossip with the servants, sitting down in his sable robes and peacock's feathers without thought of snobbery, without desire to make himself appear great in humble eyes. Chang-Chow-Fu was the last city Gordon took. Its fall closed his career, and the I.G. arranged most of the details regarding the disbandment of the famous "Ever-Victorious Army." He did more; once again he smoothed out a difficulty for the too impulsive Gordon. At the close of the rebellion the Chinese showed towards Gordon a warmth of feeling which it has seldom been their habit to show to foreigners. They thereupon begged Sir Frederick Bruce to advise them as to what would be a suitable reward to offer him for his valuable services to the Imperial cause. Finally a gratuity of £3,000 (Tls. 18,000) was decided upon; but when Gordon got wind of this, he was so furious at being treated like what he called "an adventurer," that he chased the messenger out of the camp. Now the Chinese were utterly at a loss to understand a man who grew furious at the offer of a large sum of money, such an occurrence being without precedent. As usual in times of perplexity, they asked the ever-tactful I.G. to sound Gordon as to what he _would_ accept. "Tell Wen Hsiang" (then Premier), was Gordon's answer, "that though I have refused the money, I would like a Chinese costume." Accordingly, by Imperial Decree, a costume was sent him, and, on Hart's suggestion, the famous Yellow Jacket was added. Gordon afterwards had his portrait painted in the full regalia, and, like a glorified Chinese Field-Marshal in his quaint garb, he still looks down from over the mantelpiece in the Royal Engineers' mess-room at Chatham. Once again before his tragic death this strange soldier of destiny was to see China, though on this second visit he did not meet his old friend Robert Hart. He came in the early eighties direct from India, where he had been Private Secretary to the Viceroy. The position never suited his too independent character, and when the Chinese, perplexed over Russian questions, invited him to the Middle Kingdom, he gladly accepted their invitation. Unfortunately the visit was a failure. His advice was unpractical, and though, as the first prophet of "China for the Chinese," he found a fundamental truth, he found it too soon for immediate utility. On political matters he and the I.G. disagreed; the latter was far too wise to hold with Gordon's somewhat visionary idea that China could raise an army as good as the best in the twinkling of an eye; and when Gordon left Peking after a very short stay, he left disappointed and disgusted. It was, however, characteristic of him that before he had got farther than Hongkong he wrote an affectionate letter to his old friend, acknowledging himself in the wrong and giving the highest praise to that friend's policy. This, with all the rest of Gordon's letters to the I.G., was burned in the Boxer outbreak of 1900. But what nothing could destroy was Robert Hart's admiration for the soldier hero. If the apparent inconsistencies of his character were numerous, all of them added force and picturesqueness to it, and only served to increase the affection of one who knew him and understood him most thoroughly. CHAPTER V ORDERED TO LIVE IN PEKING--"WHAT A BYSTANDER SAYS"--A RETURN TO EUROPE--MARRIAGE--CHINA ONCE AGAIN--THE BURLINGAME MISSION--FIRST DECORATION--THE "WASA" OF SWEDEN AND NORWAY When his share in the arrangements for the disbandment of "The Ever-Victorious Army" was completed, the I.G. received a second order directing him to live at Peking. In those days Peking was the very last corner of the world. Eighty miles inland, not even the sound of a friendly ship's whistle could help an exiled imagination cross the gulf to far-away countries, while railways were, of course, still undreamed of. The only two means of reaching the capital were by springless cart over the grey alkali plains, or by boat along the Grand Canal. Both were slow; neither was enjoyable, but since the latter perhaps presented fewer discomforts, Robert Hart chose to spend a week in the monotonous scenery of mudbanks, and land at Tungchow, a little town some fifteen miles from his destination. Thence he made his way over a roughly paved stone causeway--one of those roads that the Chinese proverb says is "good for ten years and bad for ten thousand"--between endless fields of high millet to the biggest gate of Peking itself. To step through the gate was to step back into the Middle Ages--into the times of Ghenghiz Khan. The street leading from it was nobly planned--broad, generous; but rough and uneven like the hastily made highway from one camp to another. Rough, too, were the vehicles traversing it; the oddly assorted teams, mules, donkeys and Mongolian ponies, went unclipped and ungroomed; the drivers went unwashed. Loathsome beggars sat in the gilded doorways of the fur-shops, the incongruity of their rags against the background of barbaric splendour evidently appealing to none of the passers-by who hurried about their business in a cloud of dust. At sundown the noise and bustle ceased; the big city gates closed with a clang, and the municipal guard, for all the world like Dogberry and his watch, made their rounds beating wooden clappers, not in the hope of catching, but rather in the hope of frightening malefactors away. [Illustration: UNDER THE PEKING CITY WALL TOWARDS TUNGCHOW--ALONG THE GRAND CANAL.] Yet Robert Hart had already seen far queerer places--and lonelier. I am thinking now of Formosa, that strange land of adventure where the veriest good-for-nothings, stranded by chance, have "owned navies and mounted the steps of thrones," and where he spent some time in 1864 inspecting the Custom Houses. A most amusing story was told him on his travels there--a story too good to leave unrepeated, though he personally had no part in it--unless the laugh at the end can be called a part. During one of those terrible storms which periodically sweep the shores of Formosa, an American vessel was wrecked and her crew eaten by the aborigines. The nearest American Consul thereupon journeyed inland to the savage territory in order to make terms with the cannibals for future emergencies. Unfortunately the chiefs refused to listen, and would have nothing to do with the agreement prepared for their signature. The Consul was irritated by their obstinacy; he had a bad temper and a glass eye, and when he lost the first, the second annoyed him. Under great stress of excitement he occasionally slipped the eye out for a moment, rubbed it violently on his coat-sleeve, then as rapidly replaced it--and this he did there in the council hut, utterly forgetful of his audience, and before a soul could say the Formosan equivalent of "Jack Robinson." The chiefs paled, stiffened, shuddered with fright. One with more presence of mind than his fellows called for a pen. "Yes, quick, quick, a pen!"--the word passed from mouth to mouth. No more obstinacy, no more hesitation; all of them clamoured to sign, willing, even eager to yield to any demand that a man gifted with the supernatural power of taking out his eye and replacing it at pleasure, might make. On his return from Formosa the I.G. wrote a famous paper called "Pang Kwan Lun" ("What a Bystander Says"), full of useful criticisms and suggestions on Chinese affairs. Some were followed, others were not, but he had the satisfaction of hearing from the lips of the Empress-Dowager herself--when she received him in audience in 1902--that she regretted more of his advice had not been taken, subsequent events having proved how sound and useful it all was. In 1866, having worked twelve years in China--seven of those years for the Chinese Government--Robert Hart felt a very natural desire to see his own country and his own people again. He therefore applied for leave, and was granted six months--none too long a rest after the strenuous work he had done. Just before starting he said to the Chinese, "You will soon be establishing Legations abroad. Do you not think that my going will be an excellent opportunity for you to send some of your people to see a little of the world?" Yes, they agreed it would be; but--though they never told him so--I think the older conservative generation had grave doubts whether the adventurous ones would return alive. Europe was then a _terra incognita_. There might easily be pirates in the Seine and cannibals in Bond Street, not to mention the hundred mysterious dangers of the great waters and the fire-breathing monsters that traversed them. Well, in the end, the prejudices melted and the party started, chaperoned by the I.G. Five in all there were, a certain Pin Lao Yeh, an ex-Prefect, his son and three students from the Tung Wen Kwan or College of Languages. Old Pin Lao Yeh, being the senior, wrote a book about his experiences, describing all he saw for the benefit of his timid homekeeping countrymen, and giving careful measurements of everything measurable--the masts of the steamers, the length of the wharves, the height of the Arc de Triomphe, as if in some mysterious way statistics could prove a prop to the faint-hearted. Of the four lads in the "experiment," two afterwards filled high diplomatic posts. A certain Fang I was made Chargé d'Affaires in London and later Consul-General in Singapore, while Chang Teh Ming was made Minister Plenipotentiary to the Court of St. James. The voyage home was uneventful, the little party's first adventure coming at their last port. Here the Customs had to be passed. With some pride, I should like to write, only I am sure it was with his usual modesty--the kind of modesty that made strangers say, the first time they saw him, "Is that all he is?" and after they had spoken with him for ten minutes, "Can he be all that?"--the I.G. presented his letter from the French Legation at Peking to the Chief Custom House Official Profound bows immediately from this worthy, then grand gestures and the magic words, "Passe en ambassade!" Accordingly the "mission" passed--in true Chinese style. The first man by had a dried duck over his shoulder, the next a smoked ham, the third a jar of pickled cabbage, none too savoury, while all the attachés and servants were equally weighted down by pieces of outlandish baggage from which nothing in the world would have induced them to part, since nothing in the world could have replaced them in the markets of the West. From Marseilles Robert Hart went on to Paris. Though this was his first sight of the Continent, he was too impatient to be home to linger, and he only remained long enough to hand over his charges to the Foreign Minister, who promised they should be treated with the utmost friendliness. They were indeed. Half the courts of Europe entertained them; they dined with Napoleon and Eugenie; had tea with old King William of Prussia at Potsdam, and travelled altogether _en prince_. Meanwhile the I.G. declined any share in the lionizing, and slipped off to enjoy a quiet holiday in Ireland. The only inconvenience he found in being a private individual was when he passed the Customs in London. What a difference from Marseilles! About sixty passengers crowded into the examining room together, and a slouchy man with a short pipe came forward, eyed them critically, but instead of taking people in turn, spied out Robert Hart and said roughly, "I'll take you. Anything to declare?" pointing to his pile of trunks. "Nothing but one box of cigars--Manillas." The man scowled just as if he had discovered a gunpowder plot. Finally he asked Hart where he came from. "Straight from China, from Peking." "Oh," said the Examiner, softening a little, "that's such a long way I suppose we can let those cigars pass." Then he went over to the waiting people, waved his hand and said, "You can go; that's all." Robert Hart was so much amused at being picked out as the likely smuggler of the party that he could scarcely restrain himself from whipping out of his pocket a card with "Inspector-General Chinese Imperial Maritime Customs" on it and presenting it to the man. He found his father and mother settled at Ravarnet, as proud as happy to see him back again, and he dropped quite naturally into the simple home life, resumed his affectionate intimacy with a clan of sisters just as if it had never been broken off, and took the same delight in simple pleasures that he had taken as a boy. Some of his relatives wondered a little at this. "Let me look at you," said they, peering and peeking about him for the solution of the mystery. For mystery there must be when a great man--yes, that's what he was already--should look just the same on the outside as Tom or Dick or Harry--should even enjoy a simple breakfast of fresh herring and tea. "I am just like everybody else," he would answer to their half-quizzical inspection. "No more noses or eyes than you." Alas! this home life, delightful though it was, could not last very long. On August 22nd, 1866, he married that daughter of old Dr. Bredon of Portadown that his aunt had prophesied he would when, at the age of ten days, he lay upon her lap. The honeymoon was spent at the romantic lakes of Killarney, and very soon afterwards the young couple were on their way out to China again. The house in Peking had been somewhat rearranged and remodelled while the I.G. was in Europe, in anticipation of his wife's coming. Without altering the picturesqueness of the original Chinese design, it had been adapted to Western ideas of comfort. The pretty pavilions with their upturned roofs remained; the ornamental rockwork of the courtyards, the doors shaped like gourds or leaves or full moons, were left untouched. So were the odd-shaped windows, real Jack Frost designs; but instead of paper, glass was fitted into the quaint panes and the stone floors, characteristic of Chinese rooms, covered with wood--a very necessary alteration in a town which, although in the same latitude as Naples, Madrid and Constantinople, has a winter as severe as New York. Fortunately neither he nor his bride had a very keen taste for society, as in those days Peking could not boast of any. The Diplomatic Corps was small; no concession-hunters or would-be builders of battleships enlivened the capital with their intrigues, and the monotony of life was broken only by an occasional visitor. Rarely, very rarely, there was a dinner party--a formal affair, to which the I.G.'s wife went in state and, as became her rank, in a big green box of a sedan chair with four bearers. Indeed this was the only possible means of going about comfortably at night in a city of unexpected ditches, ruts like sword-gashes, and lighted only by twinkling lanterns of belated roysterers. The I.G. was therefore somewhat disconcerted when his chair coolies, having been six months in his service, came to say they could remain no longer. "It is not that we are discontented with our wages," the head man explained, "or that you are not a kind master, or that the _Taitai_ [the lady of the house] is an inconsiderate mistress." "Then you have too much work to do?" "No, that's the trouble," the man replied, "we have not enough. Our shoulders are getting soft and our leg muscles are getting flabby. Now if the _Taitai_ would only go out for twenty miles every day instead of for two miles every ten days as she does now, we would be delighted to remain in your service." Was ever stranger complaint made by servant to master? Whenever work permitted Robert Hart and his wife rode out into the country on their stocky native ponies, sometimes to one and sometimes to another of the picturesque temples, pagodas and monasteries which then abounded in the hills near by. The favourite picnicking place of the little community--almost the only Imperial property open in those days--was the ruined palace of Yuen Ming Yuen destroyed by the Allies in 1860. It must have been a most charming spot, at all events in the autumn months, when the persimmon-trees, heavy with balls of golden, fruit, overhung its grey walls. The original construction in semi-foreign style from plans by the early Jesuit Fathers was doubtless still easy to trace; an ornate façade brought unexpected memories of Versailles, while on crumbling walls old European coats-of-arms, carved, for the sake of their decorative beauty, beside Oriental dragons and phoenixes, remained to surprise and delight the eye. Unluckily business too often stood in the way of pleasure, for the 'sixties were very busy years. China was just beginning to realize that she could no longer remain in peaceful self-sufficiency; intercourse with foreign nations she must have, willing or no; that meant drastic changes--changes in which the I.G.'s advice would be valuable. Thus circumstances helped him into a unique position, one without parallel in any other country; he was continually consulted on hundreds of matters not properly connected with Customs administration at all, and he was in fact, if not in name, far more than an Inspector-General. [Illustration: A PICNIC IN OLD PEKING--TOWARDS YUEN MING YUEN.] Much of this advisory work, too, was of the most delicate nature: some involved intricate dealings with several Powers having conflicting interests. The slightest false move would often have been sufficient to snap the frail thread of negotiation. It is not to be wondered at if he made some mistakes--he would have been scarcely human otherwise--but as a rule his tact and energy carried to a successful issue whatever he began. "What is your secret power of settling a difficult matter?" a friend once asked him. "Whenever I deal with other people, and especially with Chinese," was the answer, "I always ask myself two questions: what idea that I do not want them to have will my remark suggest to them, and what answer will my remark allow them to make to me?" The habit of deliberating before he made a statement grew upon him, as habits will, exaggerated with time, and provided an excuse for at least one _bon mot_. A certain French Professor whom he had brought out with him for the Tung Wen Kwan once went to interview his chief. "Well," said his colleagues on his return. "What did the I.G. say about such and such a thing?" The Frenchman shook his head ruefully: "He rolled the answer back and forth seven times, and then he did not make it." Probably the I.G. had learned by experience that a person can seldom pick up a hasty speech just where he dropped it. Another time a very charming lady went up to him at a soirée with a rose in her hand. "May I offer you my boutonnière?" said she, smiling. The mere fact of a question having been asked him suddenly put him instinctively upon his guard; an uncommunicative look spread over his face, and to her horror and his own subsequent amusement, he answered, "I should prefer to consider the matter before answering." In 1868 came the affair of the Burlingame Mission, with which--as with all the other events of the time in China--Robert Hart had much to do. Mr. Burlingame was then United States Minister in Peking, a personal friend of the I.G.'s and a most charming man with a genius for hospitality. Nothing pleased him more than to see half a dozen nationalities seated at his table. At one of these little dinners Burlingame noticed that a certain discussion was growing too serious and heated. Some of his guests were on the point of losing their tempers, for Envoys Extraordinary dislike being disagreed with, even by Ministers Plenipotentiary. He therefore picked up his glass of sherry in the most courtly manner in the world, held it to the light, studied it critically from every point of view, turning it now this way, now that. "Look," said he suddenly, addressing the table in his most charming manner, "did you ever see sherry exactly like that before? Do you notice its peculiar colour? See how it shines--yellow in one light, reddish brown in another." When he had drawn the interest, he went on to give the most delightful little lecture on sherries, their similarities, their differences, and their making, till the whole table listened with rapt attention and, listening, forgot their perilous discussion and the heat and irritation they had spent upon it. These very qualities of tact and polish, combined with dignity and agreeable manners, made Mr. Burlingame popular with the courtly Chinese officials, and when he was about to return to his own country some of the Wai-Wu-Pu (Foreign Office) Ministers asked him to speak a good word for China in the United States. "Was not that an excellent idea?" they asked the I.G. next day. He agreed, and out of this trivial incident grew the Burlingame Mission to all the courts of Europe. Alas! the idea was visionary rather than practical, and doomed to disappointment--a disappointment which, luckily, Mr. Burlingame himself never felt keenly, since he died at St. Petersburg while his tour was still uncompleted. At the same time that he was concerned with the Mission, the I.G. was "setting his house in order" with very practical measures. New Regulations for Pilotage, Rules for the Joint Investigation (Chinese and Consular) of Disputed Customs Cases, Rules for Coolie Emigration, each in turn claimed his attention, and it was he also who arranged with the Chinese that one-tenth of the tonnage dues--afterwards raised to seven-tenths--should be devoted to port improvements and lighting the coasts. Until he took the matter in hand, vessels had been obliged to grope around the difficult China coast in total darkness; to-day, thanks to his foresight, lighthouses are dotted from Newchang in the north to Hainan in the south, and a little fleet of three Revenue cruisers serves them. A lawsuit called him to Shanghai, when these matters were off his hands, and kept him there for some weeks. He had time to enter into the social life of the place, meet all the people worth meeting, and, what he enjoyed most of all, hear the sermons of a certain Dean Butcher, famous for his wit. The first Sunday the I.G. "sat under" him, the Dean dragged out his discourse so interminably--and quite contrary to his usual custom--that Robert Hart actually took out his watch. Just as he quietly got it back to his pocket again and noticed that he had listened for fifty minutes, the preacher looked up from his manuscript and made Hart start guiltily as he said, "You ask, is the sermon done. No, my brothers, it is not _done_. It is _read_. Be ye doers of the Word, not hearers only." This bit of effect at the end, so cleverly led up to, accounted for the unnaturally long discourse. Another time, when Robert Hart was present, Dean Butcher preached from a text in the Psalms, "If I go up to the heights, Thy Presence is beside me, and if I go into the utmost depths. It is there," etc. He had subdivided the sermon into headings--preached about God in heaven and God upon earth, when he suddenly began to cough a little. "The preacher's voice fails him," he said--cough, cough--"fails him, my brethren"--more coughs--"fails him"--still more gentle coughs--"and so we must leave God in hell till next Sunday." Some years afterwards, when the I.G. was in Shanghai again, he went to a luncheon at which Dean Butcher was present. Every one was asked to tell a story, and when Robert Hart's turn came, he told one of a certain clergyman of his acquaintance--the name he mercifully withheld--who had "left God in hell till next Sunday." The face of Dean Butcher during the telling was a study in sunset colours, but no one except himself and the I.G. remembered the particular preacher who had been so indiscreet. Before he left Shanghai Robert Hart received the first of his long series of honours. It came with delightful unexpectedness, with no warning of its arrival; simply, one day as he was going to see his lawyer, Mr. (afterwards Sir Nicholas) Hannen, a passing postman handed him a little brown-paper parcel with Swedish stamps on it. As he had neither acquaintance nor official correspondence with Sweden or Norway, he was completely puzzled as to what it might contain. Greatly to his surprise, on opening it he found an order, the "Wasa" of Sweden and Norway, the very first foreign recognition of his international work in China. Coming as it did just at that moment, it was singularly opportune and acceptable, and ever afterwards I know it held a peculiar place in his affections, even when he received a shower of Grand Crosses from every civilized country in the world. CHAPTER VI BIRTH OF A SON--THE MARGARY AFFAIR AND THE CHEFOO CONVENTION--A SECOND VISIT TO EUROPE--THE PARIS EXHIBITION OF 1878 Three important things occurred in Robert Hart's life between the years 1870 and 1879. In 1873 his only son was born; 1875 was marked by the beginning of the famous Margary affair, and in 1878 he went as President of the Chinese Commission to the Paris Exhibition. _À propos_ of the birth of his son, there was a very strange--almost what a Highlander would call an "uncanny"--sequence of dates in the I.G.'s own life. The year that he himself was born, the 20th of February--his birthday--fell on the 23rd day of the Chinese First Moon. Once more it fell on the 23rd of the First Moon in 1854, the year he came to China, and not again until 1873, when his son first opened his eyes on this best of all possible worlds. A coincidence if you like, but still a very remarkable one all the same. In 1875 the famous Margary affair, destined to become so complicated later on, first appeared upon the stage of politics in the simplest possible form. There was one hero and one villain, with a crowd of shadowy accomplices looking over his shoulder. To this day it is not certain how many there actually were. We can distinctly follow the unfortunate hero--his name was Margary, his occupation Interpreter at a Consulate--on his journey across Yunnan to Burmah as far as Tengyueh. We know he was cruelly done to death there, but we cannot sift out truth from falsehood in the rumours that he met his death with the connivance--and perhaps even under the orders of--the provincial authorities. The simple fact of a white man's murder was, of course, bad enough; but when that white man was an official and on a mission, it was a hundred times worse. Negotiations between the British Legation and the Chinese began immediately. On the one side heavy compensation was demanded, on the other it was argued over and delayed. Neither party would move a step forward, and presently the Yunnan outrage got hopelessly mixed with every other disputed question of the day; new demands sprang up beside old ones; both parties, as Michie says, found themselves "entangled in a perfect cat's-cradle of negotiations," and the Chinese in the privacy of their yamêns were beginning to ask themselves gloomily, "Will the English fight unless we make full reparation?" Would they? There was the rub. But now, the crisis being safely passed, I may tell that they would--that they very nearly did--and that the thing that prevented them was nothing more nor less than the moving of the Customs pew in the British Legation Chapel from the front of the church to the back. So do great events sometimes hang upon trifles. After the arbitrary moving of his accustomed seat, the I.G. remained away from the Sunday services for more than a year. Then, just when the political atmosphere was most electric, Bishop Russell, an old friend of Ningpo days and a charming and genial Irishman, came to Peking on a visit. He was to preach in the Legation Chapel the next Sunday, and the I.G. could not resist the temptation of going to hear his old acquaintance. Russell was a man of an unconventional and spontaneous type. Because other people did things in a certain way was no reason why he should do the same. Consequently, instead of beginning the service by reading the usual verses, he said, "I would like the congregation to sing a hymn"; and the hymn that he chose was "God moves in a mysterious way His wonders to perform." It happened to be one of Robert Hart's favourites, but beyond feeling pleasure that this particular hymn should have been chosen, the incident made no great impression on him at the time. As soon as the service was over, he went to shake hands with the Bishop. Russell, however, was obliged to hurry away to address a Chinese meeting; there was scarcely a moment for talk then. "We must have a chat about old times," said he cordially; "when may I come and see you--on Tuesday?" [Illustration: WELL NEAR THE CANAL, BRITISH LEGATION, BEFORE 1900.] "By all means on Tuesday. Don't forget," was the answer, and the I.G. left the chapel with the rest of the congregation. He noticed as he went out that Sir Thomas Wade had not been in church, which struck him as odd. Surely in a small community like Peking, where a Bishop in the pulpit was a rarity, the British Minister would have made it a point to hear him preach--unless something very unusual had occurred. Hart therefore went at once to call on Wade and see what the news might be. News? There was enough and to spare, all of the most sensational kind. Another deadlock had been reached in the negotiations. Blacker clouds than ever obscured the horizon; war was as near as flesh to bone. Luckily the I.G. saw at once that the new _contretemps_ was due rather to accident than design. A misunderstanding of Chinese despatches--which are always open to several translations--had given Wade a wrong impression of the force of their contents, and the I.G. accordingly begged permission to explain the point at issue as he saw it. Two hours later the Minister came completely round to his view, and the critical moment was safely passed. On Tuesday at the appointed hour Bishop Russell went to see Robert Hart. They talked long over old Ningpo days, and presently Russell said, "D'ye know, Hart, my converts have grown to have such faith in me that they believe I can not only show them the way to heaven, but arrange matters on this earth as well. What do you think they said, now, before I came up to Peking? They said I was coming to prevent a war with England. And that to me!" added the Bishop, laughing his wholesome laugh, "who, as you know, am the last man in the world to concern myself with politics." "Well," replied the I.G. solemnly, "you have prevented war with England all the same." And he told the Bishop the whole story. "If you had not come to Peking," he concluded, "I should not have gone to church. If I had not gone to church, I should not have noticed the Minister's absence, and therefore should not have gone in to see him. Consequently I should never have known of the difficulty which then threatened the negotiations, and might not have been able to help remove it. Truly, Russell, 'God moves in a mysterious way His wonders to perform.'" Thus, by a romantic episode, the crisis was tided over--for a time. Alas! only for a time. A second set-back, more serious even than the first, interrupted matters again just when they seemed to be going on most smoothly. It occurred on a Saturday night. On Monday morning, without saying a word to Hart--or indeed to any one--Wade started off posthaste to Shanghai to "await orders from his Government." This bad news greatly upset and alarmed the Yamên. "You must follow him at once," was the order they sent the I.G., so within twelve hours he too was on his way to Shanghai, determined on making one more effort to avert the war which, like a sword of Damocles, was hanging over China's head. He was again successful, in so far as he obtained the British Minister's consent to reopen negotiations with the Chinese. But where?--that was the question. Should they be held at Shanghai, with the Viceroy from Nanking to assist, or should they be held at Chefoo, with the Viceroy of Chihli (who happened to be the great Li Hung Chang) to help? Wade decided for Chefoo, which, as a cool seaside resort, was especially suited for the broiling months of August and September; and Robert Hart immediately wired to Peking to arrange that Li should come to Chefoo. The Tientsin people protested vigorously against their Viceroy's going. They even went so far as to throw petitions in hundreds over the walls of his yamên--petitions all reminding him of the fate of Yeh Ming Shen, the Governor-General of Canton in 1858, whom the British seized and sent to Calcutta, where he died. Yet, in spite of their warnings, Li showed sufficient absence of superstition and sufficient patriotism to go, which was certainly rather noble of him, more especially as his personal inclination was against touching the affair at all. This he told the I.G. frankly when they met, and even upbraided Robert Hart rather sharply for, as he said, "dragging him into the business. If they fail--and there has been no luck about these negotiations before--I shall be blamed, whereas if they succeed, it is most unlikely that I shall get any credit." But the I.G. reassured him in answer to his complaints. "There will be no trouble," said he, "no trouble at all if you work with me. Say nothing, arrange nothing, promise nothing that we do not both agree upon beforehand." Every evening at ten o'clock, therefore, the I.G. would go to Li's house, and the two would remain talking, often far into the night, of what had been done during the day and what was to be done on the morrow. Unfortunately in some mysterious way the plans and proposals they discussed leaked out, allowing the other side to checkmate their best moves and woefully retard progress. It was really too provoking just as these troublesome negotiations promised to end so well; it meant precious time wasted; it meant unnecessary anxiety and worry. But no matter, history has never been made without trouble to its makers; the I.G. was well prepared for obstacles; he met them with patience, discovered their cause with rare intelligence, remedied them with despatch--and this time the Convention was safely signed. Pens had been poised over it so long that I can imagine he breathed a sigh of relief when the signatures were actually on the document. A big banquet celebrated the signing--a grand affair given by Li to the personnel of the drama. Most of the Foreign Ministers from Peking were present, they having come down to Chefoo to see what was going on. Two British admirals had put in for the same reason, so the banquet did not lack distinguished guests. The display of uniforms, medals and decorations was dazzling, while the decorations of the hall were as gorgeous as splendour-loving Orientals could devise. The clever Li toasted the occasion by a happy speech, in which he dwelt on the joy of meeting so many friends together. Most of them he had known (outwitted, too, I daresay) for some time, but now, unhindered by the restraints of public business, he could enjoy their society with a freedom hitherto denied him, and he concluded, "Since at this port of Yentai [Chefoo] beautiful scenery delights the eye and cool breezes give health to the body, it is fitting that our minds should be in harmony with the beauties of nature, cultivating friendship and sincerity as being the noblest traits of human character." All of which was very pretty sentiment, and if some poetic licence got mixed in with the truth, surely the occasion justified the alliance. Li certainly had reason to feel pleased with himself and his work. The Convention was excellent--though it might have been still better had Robert Hart had more of his own way. He wished, and the Chinese agreed, to include in it clauses relative to the establishment of a national Chinese Post Office and the opening of mints for uniform coinage throughout the Empire. But it did not suit all parties to allow one man to make too many suggestions, and so his schemes were frustrated. Still, over and above all petty international jealousies he had scored another diplomatic triumph, and the Chinese were duly grateful to him for his share in the work. That was, after all is said, the secret of his unique position--that confidence of his Chinese employers which he never lost. Probably the real reason he kept it so well was because of his calm and reticent character, because he could never be moved to anger and impatient words. Sir Thomas Wade, on the contrary, was a man of exactly the opposite type, and his _ch'i_, better translated as excitability than anger, often increased his difficulties at a difficult time. The I.G.'s association with the great Li Hung Chang by no means ceased after the Margary affair. Business in the succeeding months frequently took him to Tientsin--the nearest port, eighty miles from Peking, and the post of the Chihli Viceroy--and whenever he was there, he had a standing invitation to lunch with Li--an invitation which he very often accepted. What greatly appealed to him about Li's household was its absolute simplicity. Instead of a wearisome array of courses, never more than two plates were served--fish, and perhaps a dish of chicken, cooked, of course, in the Chinese manner and eaten with big portions of rice. The first was seldom touched. Li would say to his guest, "If you do not want any fish, we will send it in to the _Taitai_" (his wife, who, according to Chinese etiquette, was dining in the next room); and Robert Hart, always the smallest of eaters, would invariably answer "No," leaving the fish to go whole and untouched to Madame Li, much to her husband's delight. One day afterwards in Peking the I.G. happened to speak with his Chinese writer about Li Hung Chang's household--praising a simplicity so rarely to be found in the yamêns of the rich and powerful. There happened to be a long interval before he lunched with the Viceroy again, and when he did, he noticed to his horror that the servants were bringing in an array of dishes suitable for a feast. Shark's fins preceded expensive pickled eggs and followed choice bird's-nest soup. What could the change mean? Simply that his complimentary remark, maimed and contorted beyond recognition by ill-informed or mischievous persons, had travelled to Li's ears, and that he had therefore determined to treat his guest with the greatest possible formality. "You shall not have the chance to go away again and say that you have been fed like a coolie in my house," said the Viceroy proudly at the end of the banquet. "Nevertheless, the very simplicity of your hospitality was what I most appreciated," the I.G. replied. "But if you believe that I could have made any such remark, and if you persist in altering the style of my reception, I shall not come to lunch with you again." As if the cares of treaty making and Customs supervision, coupled with the responsibility of being unofficial adviser to the Wai-Wu-Pu, were not enough for one man, the I.G., at the request of the Chinese, undertook to supervise China's part in the international exhibitions of Europe. First came the Viennese Exhibition in 1873. He set his various commissioners of ports collecting the products of their provinces--silks, porcelains, lacquers and teas. It sounds so simple, but often what may be told in a dozen words may scarcely be done in as many months, and little less than a year of writing and planning and directing can have elapsed before all details were in order, and his four Commissioners of Customs were driving, like the Marquis of Carabbas, in a glass coach through the streets of Vienna. The Chinese spared neither pains nor expense to make a good showing, and gave a gala performance at the Opera in return for Austrian hospitality. In 1878 came the Paris Exhibition, and to this he went himself as President of the Chinese Government's Commission. He arrived in Paris just before the Exhibition opened--just in time to be present at the great opening ceremony in fact. This was a very grand affair, but with--for him--a ludicrous climax. Coming away, he and his secretary lost their carriage in the crowd, and had to walk the whole way home, not a cab being obtainable--and this, too, in elaborate and heavy uniforms, and at the risk of being hooted by _gamins_. But by good luck, in those days gold lace and medals were so plentiful that they attracted no embarrassing attention. [Illustration: SIR ROBERT HART IN 1878.] Numberless functions, of course, took place in connection with the Exhibition, and scarcely a night passed without some gigantic official reception at which two or three thousand people were present. The Minister of Education, for example, gave a magnificent _soirée_ at which the old dances, the stately minuet and the graceful pavane, were danced in splendid and appropriate costumes. Bernhardt, then at the height of her powers, recited one night at the Élysée; so also did Coquelin. But to Robert Hart these "crushes" were often an ordeal. Conventional entertainments never had a great attraction for him; besides, these gatherings were really too big for any one's comfort or pleasure; conversation was nearly impossible, and nobody felt at home. What he did enjoy was a drive in the beautiful Bois with his children, from whom, for the sake of their education, he had already been separated for several years. Or else he liked to take them to the many excellent concerts then being held. They often went to hear the Norwegian singers who, so the advertisements said, had walked all the way from their northern home in their quaint national costume, and they scarcely missed a Wednesday at the Trocadero, where there were contests of massed bands. Music, in fact, would draw Robert Hart any day, for he loved it dearly. Other people might talk learnedly about various schools and tone poems; he took all he could get silently and with a thankful heart; and because in far-away Peking he could not count upon others playing for him, he performed the prodigious feat of learning to play both violin and 'cello himself without a teacher, and long after he was a man grown. Just before the Exhibition closed, all the fine blackwood furniture of the Chinese pavilion was presented to the Maréchale MacMahon. The I.G. had to make a speech on this occasion, which he greatly dreaded, having none of that love of getting on his feet that is characteristic of the south of Ireland Irishman; but when he did so his voice, always soft and gentle, with the faintest trace of Irish accent, never wavered for a moment, and every word he said could be heard by all. Whether it was the speech making or the festivities or the hard work or a combination of all three I cannot say, but Robert Hart suddenly found himself over-tired and threatened with a breakdown of health by the time the Exhibition closed. Sir William Gull, the famous specialist, whom he consulted, put the case tersely to him: "If you will do work, work will do you." There was nothing for it then but six weeks of idleness at Ischl, with long walks in the wonderful clear air, another six weeks at Baden-Baden, and a quiet winter at Brighton. So, much to his regret, he had very little opportunity to see London or enjoy the life and gaiety which would have been such a happy contrast to the solitude of Peking. A few hasty visits--I think the longest lasted scarcely ten days--left him no time at all to meet the many men whose acquaintance would have meant so much to him. The only thing he did of a semi-political character was to accept an invitation from the Reform Club to address them on the opium question. The men he met there had all their opinions and convictions settled beforehand; they had really invited him, the great authority on China, to agree with them, and no schoolboys who had found that sixpences had been put into their pockets in the night could have been more surprised than they when he did not. At least, it is not exactly accurate to say that he disagreed; he took a practical view of a question which at that time was regarded with much heat and sentiment. He quoted statistics to them, proved that foreign opium was smoked by only one-third of one per cent of the population of China, and by the calm sanity of his views made much of their agitation seem unnecessary. But they were finally consoled when he agreed with them that even so small a percentage in so large a population meant millions of smokers, and that it would be well to rescue these from so damaging a habit. This was the last public affair in which he took part before the close of 1878, when, being sufficiently recovered in health, he started back to China, little thinking that he was not destined to see Europe again for thirty years. CHAPTER VII YUAN PAO HÊNG SUGGESTS PROHIBITION OF OPIUM SMOKING IN CHINA--NEW BUILDINGS FOR THE INSPECTORATE--THE FIRST INFORMAL POSTAGE SERVICE--THE FRENCH TREATY OF 1885--OFFERED POST OF BRITISH MINISTER Curiously enough, almost as soon as Robert Hart was back in Peking (1880) the opium question was brought to his attention again. This time it was by a Chinese official--one Yuan Pao Hêng, an uncle of the famous Yuan Shih Kai, whose influence is paramount in the Flowery Land to-day, and who more than any other single man was probably responsible for the Imperial Edict (1906) which ordered the opium traffic to be abolished within ten years. The uncle was as bitter an enemy of the drug as his nephew, but though his views were sound they were in advance of his time, and the I.G. very properly pointed out to him that the cultivation of the poppy could not be stopped suddenly. However wise theoretically it might be to do this, practically it would be dangerous. A great source of revenue must not be cut off abruptly, or China might find herself in the position of the man in the old fable, who thoughtlessly mounted the tiger, and then found out too late that he had forfeited the right to dismount when and where he pleased. Haste in the Far East is a commodity for which it is easy to pay too high a price--when it is obtainable at all--which, to tell the truth, it generally is not. "Change slowly--if change you must" has ever been the motto of China, and for years the capital itself was an example of the saying. Improvements were not encouraged. There were no more public buildings in 1879 than in 1863. I doubt if a single tumble-down wall had been replaced--the dirt and smells still remained, and the roads were no smoother. Only a few more Legations had established themselves there, and, by clustering together, they formed what might by courtesy be called a Legation Quarter, which lay between the pink wall of the Imperial City--the innermost of the ring of three cities that form Peking--and the frowning, machicolated grey wall of the Tartar town. The Chinese, partly no doubt with the idea of keeping all the foreigners together and partly for the convenience of business, presently gave the I.G. a piece of land in this quarter, and he accordingly moved down to comparative civilization--as we understand it--from his far-away corner of the suburbs, as soon as the buildings were ready. He had a modest row of low offices, several houses for his staff, each standing, Indian fashion, in its own compound, and, in a large garden, his own dwelling. This, like the rest, was a bungalow--for the Chinese in those days objected to high buildings lest they should overlook the Palace--and built in the form of a letter H, partly from a sentimental connection with his own initial, and partly to utilise all the sunshine and southerly breeze possible. Two fine drawing-rooms, a billiard- and a dining-room filled the cross-bar of the letter: one of the perpendicular strokes was the west, or guest wing; the other contained his own private offices, a special reception-room, furnished in Chinese style--stiff chairs and rigid tables--for Chinese guests, and his living-rooms. It was characteristic of the man that these were the most unpretentious rooms in the whole house. Undoubtedly one of the chief reasons which allowed Peking to preserve its mediæval aspect intact for so many years was the difficulty of communicating with the rest of the world for several months of the year. Its port, Tientsin, was ice-bound from November to March, and the foreign community was therefore completely cut off during the long winter. Neither letters nor papers enlivened _la morte saison_ until the I.G. conceived the idea of arranging a service of overland couriers from Chinkiang, a port on the Yangtsze, to Peking. The seven hundred miles intervening was covered by mounted men, who took from ten to twelve days for the journey, and they as well as their mounts--the latter of course in relays--were provided on contract by a clever old mafoo (groom) who had the reputation of getting the best ponies for the Tientsin amateur race meetings, and who was in league with all the picturesque Mongol horse-dealers. [Illustration: OUTSIDE SIR ROBERT HART'S HOUSE BEFORE 1900.] On the whole the system worked admirably, though of course there were occasional hitches. Sometimes a messenger was attacked by bandits on the way and had his bags stolen. I know once the I.G. chuckled over such a disaster. It so happened that in the missing bags there was one letter which he had written giving an appointment in the Customs to a certain man. No sooner was it gone than he regretted what he had done, and would have recalled his decision had it been possible. Well, believe it or not, this and one other were the only two letters of that lost pouch ever discovered, and they came into the possession of a French Missionary Bishop and were afterwards returned by him to the I.G. Now and again, too, an accident happened to the incoming mails even after they reached Peking. Of course they were taken direct to the Inspectorate for sorting, and while headquarters were still in the _Kau Lan Hu Tung_ the messenger was more than once thrown on his way down to the Legations--perhaps he met one of those gong-beating processions which would be enough to frighten a hobby-horse--and his mails recklessly distributed by the terrified animal. And sometimes a courier would stumble into a ditch in the rainy season when the road was all river, and narrowly escape being drowned, but these little incidents were only the fortunes of war. It is not to be wondered at, considering the international work he was doing, that his own country decorated Robert Hart as early as 1879. It is only strange--to me--that they gave him no more than a humble C.M.G. But this was soon changed into a K.C.M.G., and, as it happened, at a most opportune moment---just when an American University conferred an LL.D. upon him. There he was within an ace of being called "Doctor" for the rest of his life, when the knighthood providentially came to save the situation. The K.C.M.G. was followed by a G.C.M.G., and the G.C.M.G. by a baronetcy, both the Liberals and Conservatives giving him honours alternately. The last, the baronetcy, came from Gladstone's Ministry, and with it he received a friendly letter from the Grand Old Man, who always admired him immensely, and said so when a brother of the I.G.'s--at the time in Europe acting as interpreter to Li Hung Chang--was presented at a big dinner to the Premier. [Illustration: PEKING: A MESSENGER CARRYING MAILS IN THE RAINY SEASON.] "So you are a Mr. Hart from China," he remarked. "You should feel very proud of a man who has made his name illustrious for all time." France was not long behindhand in adding to his ever-growing list of honours. He had the "Grand Officier" of the coveted "Legion" in 1885 after bringing safely to a conclusion the French Treaty of that year. Undoubtedly this was one of the most picturesque and interesting incidents with which he was ever connected, and perhaps it will not come amiss to give some details of how it came about. The trouble began over a disputed boundary--the Tonkin frontier, to be exact. One side, the Chinese, wanted the Red River for the dividing-line, would hear of nothing else, declared loudly that this was the natural division; the other, France, was equally obstinate for the older frontier between the State of Tonkin and China proper, because this meant far more land for her. Meanwhile, in the disputed area, Liu Yung Fuh, a very famous soldier of fortune--somewhat of an Eastern d'Artagnan--roamed to and fro with his band of "Black Flags," threw in his lot with the Chinese, and made harassing raids on the French side of the disputed border-line. Like the picador at a bullfight, he maddened his enemy with dart-pricks, and the Chinese, who, to continue the simile, had the toreador's part to play, reaped the enmity he provoked. The French gave them battle at Pagoda Anchorage, routed them utterly, and seized Formosa. This was the point where the I.G. first came upon the scene. Once again he was to play his old part of peacemaker. With the Nanking Viceroy Tseng Kuo Tseun as collaborator, so to speak, he went to Shanghai to interview the French Chargé d'Affaires, M. Patenotre, and see what could be done. [Illustration: A SECRETARY GOING TO THE INSPECTORATE OFFICES DURING THE RAINY SEASON.] This Viceroy, by the way, was what we should call a self-made man; that is, he had not risen to office by the usual route, which in China is the way of a scholar. Undistinguished for any particular learning, he had none of those literary degrees which the conservative Chinese of those days prized above every other possession. He was, moreover, quite conscious of his limitations and spoke of them to the I.G. _à propos_ of the visit to Shanghai of two men who held the much-coveted position of Literary Chancellors. "It will not be possible for me to make a success of these negotiations with the French," he exclaimed ruefully, "because whatever I do these two men will find it out and disparage it in every way they can. You see their view-point is that of distinguished scholars, and they despise an unlettered man like me." "But what would you say," replied the I.G., "if these two learned gentlemen were made your colleagues in the business--if they were ordered to work with you and share the responsibility?" "Ah, that would be too good to be true," was the Viceroy's answer. Nevertheless it did come true, because the I.G. telegraphed to Peking about it, and shortly afterwards an Imperial Edict appointed them to be associated with Tseng Kuo Tseun. Did ever any one find a more diplomatic method of avoiding jealousies and closing the mouth of criticism. In government business even more than in private affairs the great danger always is what the wise old Chicago pork-packer described as "the weak mouths that let slip what they ought to retain." Indiscreet talk has upset many a politician's apple-cart--even the legitimate bumps on the road are not such serious obstacles. It almost spoiled the Margary affair, it threatened the French Treaty no less seriously. Again and again the two parties attempted to come to an agreement over the troublesome boundary question; again and again they failed. And why? Simply because the vexatious gossip that is the curse of small communities interfered. And then to add to the existing complications a Customs vessel, the _Fei Hoo_, was seized by the French as she was landing stores for a lighthouse in Formosa. They would not let her go, saying she had landed letters as well as stores. Perhaps she did--no one can say--but contraband mail on board or not, she had important duties to perform. All the lighthouses along that coast depended on her for supplies, could not, in fact, function without her, and all vessels of every nationality in China seas depended on those lights, so her detention was worse than aggravating. The I.G. explained this to Monsieur Patenotre and urged him to free her. "_Ça, c'est l'affaire de l'amiral_," was the answer, and the Admiral, when communicated with, refused to do anything. With many regrets Monsieur Patenotre told the I.G. this, adding: "You'd better go to Paris." He probably little thought that his advice would be taken _au pied de la lettre_, but within an incredibly short time the barren negotiations at Shanghai were abandoned, and the I.G. had telegraphed at length explaining the whole position to his Resident Secretary in London and directing him to go to Paris, see M. Jules Ferry, then Premier and Minister for Foreign Affairs, and try to settle something about the _Fei Hoo_ there. M. Ferry received him very cordially, said he would be interested in hearing anything such an authority as Sir Robert Hart might have to say, but, all civilities aside, the matter rested with the Admiralty, and he would be obliged to refer it to them. Next day the Secretary, a certain Mr. Campbell, went again for his answer and found it unfavourable, for the Admiralty was still in that state of mind which we call firm when it occurs in ourselves, obstinate when it occurs in others. M. Ferry personally was distressed over the refusal. But what could he do beyond asking Mr. Campbell politely if there was any other matter about which he would like to speak? Here was an opportunity the I.G. had luckily foreseen--and prepared to meet. Thanks to his foresight, Mr. Campbell was able to take out of his pocket several long and carefully worded telegrams giving a _résumé_ of the situation. They suggested a workable compromise; it was adopted, and peace _pourparlers_ began once more. The I.G.'s one stipulation on entering upon them was that they should be kept absolutely secret. And this time they were. Except Prince Ching and one Tsungli Yamên Minister, nobody knew, nobody even guessed, that anything unusual was even "on the carpet," as the French say; and in order to deepen the impression that no political anxieties were darkening the horizon, Robert Hart embarked in private theatricals--a thing he had never done before, or since--and played Pillicoddy. Alas, the path of treaties never did run smooth! When arrangements were just on the point of being concluded the Court suddenly desired to retract some of their promises, thinking too much had been given away. This was a cruel blow to the I.G., who well knew that the French would never agree to the proposed changes and that the painstaking work of weeks would topple over like a house of cards. As for China's position in case the Treaty fell through, the less said about that the better. Notwithstanding, the I.G. did speak of it, and forcibly, to Yamên Ministers, who did not listen--not because they would not, but because they dared not for fear of exceeding their powers and bringing Imperial censure on their own heads. What the I.G. must do, said they, was to send a telegram immediately to Paris and say the Treaty could not be signed as it was. He promised to do this--what else could he do?--and went home from the Yamên disheartened, discouraged, and in no mood for work. [Illustration: STABLES OF SIR ROBERT HART IN THE RAINY SEASON.] A weaker man would have "gloomed" openly; he did nothing more despairing than stroll into the office of one of his secretaries and have some talk about indifferent matters. None the less it was an unusual thing for him to do, as, whenever they had business together, his secretaries came to him, and he must have been pushed to it by one of those mysterious impulses that sometimes shape men's destinies. Was it the same strange impulse that sent him over to the bookcase in the corner of the room, that made him pick out, at random, and without thinking what he was doing, a volume of the Chinese classics, and when he opened it carelessly made his eye light on the sentence "_Kung Kwei Yih Kwei_,"--literally, the "work wants another basket"? (The phrase is part of one of Confucius' sayings.) "If a man wants to build a hill so high," says the Sage, "he must not refuse it the last basketful of earth." Here was a direct answer to the I.G.'s own perplexity. Perhaps one more effort and his work, too, might be successful. At any rate he would keep back the fatal telegram for a day. Next morning he went to the Yamên again. The first thing the Minister said to him was, "Have you sent that telegram?" And they were all anxiety till they had his reply, which, strange to say, they received with profound sighs of relief, for once again the Court had changed their minds--had come to see the folly of risking a break in the negotiations--and the Ministers, who feared the I.G. had already taken the step they had insisted on so firmly the day before, were prodigiously relieved to find nothing definite had been done. Then, when he told them the reason, how Confucius had guided China from his grave, they were still more deeply impressed. The telegram that the I.G. _did_ send that morning to his London agent was "Sign the Treaty. But don't sign the 1st of April," he added, for they were then in the last days of March. The sudden relief from anxiety made him want a little joke--but he did not want it in the Treaty. Unfortunately nobody appreciated the sally. His Resident Secretary solemnly wrote on the telegram when he handed it to the French Minister of Foreign Affairs, "Don't sign on the 1st of April--_parce que c'est un jour néfasfe_--because it is an unlucky day." Either as a Scotchman he deplored the unseemly frivolity, or he thought the French could not appreciate a _poisson d'Avril_, and so racked his brains for a serious reason to justify the I.G.'s objection. It so happened that the very day this message went to Paris, Sir Harry Parkes's funeral took place. After a useful and eventful life he died, as every one knows, at the summit of his ambitions while he was British Minister in Peking. Just as the I.G. was going into the chapel for the service, one of the Legation Secretaries drew him aside to communicate a most important piece of news. A wire had come in only a few minutes before offering "the appointment of Her Britannic Majesty's Minister Plenipotentiary and Envoy Extraordinary at Peking to Sir Robert Hart." To say the I.G. was surprised is not to say enough. The offer, coming as it did under such solemn circumstances, made an impression upon him too deep for words. Looking down at the coffin half hidden in flowers, he could not help feeling the vanity of earthly glories. "We brought nothing into this world, and it is certain we can take nothing out," said the voice of the preacher. The Envoy Extraordinary and the beggar travel towards the same goal, and one is scarcely more indispensable than the other. Any pride he might have had in the new dignity was most effectively taken out of him, and I think that never in his life did the I.G. feel a deeper humility than on this day when, invited to take the Legation, he stood the one black-coated coated figure amid a blaze of diplomatic uniforms. [Illustration: THE INSPECTORATE STREET BEFORE 1900.] In the evening Mr. O'Conor (afterwards Sir Nicholas), the First Secretary of the British Legation, came to dine with him and hear his answer--which was that for the present he could not take up the appointment as British Minister because of those Franco-Chinese negotiations. So well had the secret been kept this time that O'Conor had not the faintest idea anything important was going on; he heard the news with amazement. Might he telegraph it home to his Government? Yes, he might, provided he did not speak of the matter in Peking. At the same time the I.G. begged that his appointment might not be gazetted just then, for possibly the French would not care to negotiate with a man about to become British Minister, and even if they made no formal objection, the fact could not fail to have considerable influence on Chinese affairs. Accordingly the news was temporarily suppressed. But the I.G. afterwards had the personal satisfaction of hearing through a lady of the Court that when O'Conor's telegrams about the whole story were laid before Queen Victoria, she said, "I am very glad that we shall have for our next Minister in China the man who arranged such delicate negotiations as these." By all the laws of climax the incident should close here; no writer would dream of dragging it out further, but unfortunately in real life there is little respect for climaxes, and that vexatious Treaty coquetted with her suitors once more. Really it was enough to make anybody lose patience altogether. When the ground was clear at the very last moment, how absurd that the Black Flags and the Chinese should win a big victory over the French at Langson and that, in consequence, there should have been an interpellation in the French Senate causing the Jules Ferry Ministry to resign suddenly and leaving the Treaty still unsigned. The victory affected the Chinese no less seriously; in the twinkling of an eye they were split into two parties. The military side, elated with their success, was all for continuing the war ("Those we have beaten once we shall beat again," said they), and the wiser councils of the civil side only just carried the day, for, flushed as the soldiers were with victory, it was not easy to make them see that their success was but temporary, and the best, in fact the only thing, for China to do was to hurry on with the Treaty. Then the endless telegraphing began again. The I.G., by the way, had spent Tls. 80,000 (over £10,000) on telegrams, a sum which, had the Treaty failed, would not have been repaid easily. But it was too late to stop now. Once more he wired instructions to his Secretary. "You must face the jump. Go direct to the President and lay the matter before him." In those days, when he was manoeuvring for a big success, the I.G. sometimes risked much on the turn of a card. Mr. Campbell went to President Grévy, and later to the Foreign Minister de Freycinet. Things, as they seemed most desperate, took a brighter turn; difficulties melted away, and at last, on the 4th of April, 1885, M. Billot, afterwards Ambassador at Rome, was appointed by the French Government to sign for France, and the Resident Secretary of course signed for the Chinese. Thus the work was really completed by those last basketfuls of earth, and the long months of anxiety and strain brought to a happy conclusion much to everybody's satisfaction. Later, M. de Freycinet asked the I.G. to continue and arrange the detail Treaty, as the first had been really little more than a Protocol. The second went through without a hitch, and on June 9th Li Hung Chang and M. Patenotre signed it at Tientsin. Next day the I.G. had a telegram from London from Lord Granville saying that the Gladstone Ministry was about to resign. "If your appointment as British Minister at Peking is to be published before the new Government under Lord Salisbury comes in, it must be gazetted immediately." He was then able to answer. "Yes. Publish whenever you please. The French Treaty was signed yesterday, June 9." [Illustration: ENTRANCE TO THE INSPECTORATE OF CUSTOMS BEFORE 1900.] Sir Robert Hart planned to go into the Legation in August, on the anniversary of his wedding day. Of course you may be sure he had reported the matter to the Chinese and sent in his resignation in good time. But, as they gave him no definite answer, there was nothing for it but to remind them that he had agreed to go--and soon. Downcast faces listened; a most unconsenting silence answered. "Well, are you willing?" said he at last. "Is Her Majesty the Empress-Dowager agreeable to receiving me as British Minister?" "Oh, yes," they replied; "she would rather have you than any one else, because, with your great knowledge of China, it will be very pleasant to do business with you. Besides, you are an old friend of ours." "Then is she willing to have me leave the Inspectorate?" continued the I.G., still feeling a subtle sense of their dissatisfaction. They brightened up at this. It was evidently the cue they had been looking for. "That is the point," said one of the Ministers, plucking up courage. "Her Majesty would much prefer that you stayed with us." The upshot of it all was that he stayed; he felt that in the face of the Yamên's remarks he could not treat such kind and considerate employers as the Chinese otherwise. But one of the quaintest touches in the whole affair was that his strongest private reason for holding back, at first, from the splendid appointment as British Minister was that he did not wish to tie himself for five years longer in China--and yet after all he was to stay twenty-five willingly in the land of his exile. CHAPTER VIII AN IMPORTANT MISSION TO HONGKONG AND MACAO--THE BEGINNING OF A PRIVATE BAND--DECORATIONS, CHINESE AND FOREIGN--THE SIKKIM-THIBET CONVENTION--FORMAL ESTABLISHMENT OF THE POST OFFICE--WAR LOANS Robert Hart therefore went quietly on with his work in the Customs (1885), setting personal ambitions calmly aside, and finding--let us hope--his reward in the satisfaction which the Chinese and the service generally expressed at his sacrifice of the British Government's tempting offer. The very year after it was made, an important piece of business, safely, even brilliantly concluded, added greatly to his reputation. This was the settlement of questions relating to the simultaneous collection of duty and likin on opium--two of the burning questions of the day in the south. China had long desired to levy both taxes at one and the same time, but without an arrangement with the Hongkong and Macao Governments this was impossible, as clever smugglers usually contrived to hurry the drug safely into either British or Portuguese territory before the Chinese authorities could lay their eyes, much less levy their duties, upon it. Moreover, once it had crossed a frontier, redress was impossible. To remedy this unfortunate state of affairs, the I.G., together with a certain Taotai, was sent on a mission. Great pourparlers were held with the Hongkong authorities, who finally agreed to the concessions he asked--provided the Macao authorities should do the same. Luckily they did with readiness--even with enthusiasm--as they themselves were anxious for a _quid pro quo_ from China. The Portuguese position in Macao had always been a peculiar one--unofficial is the word which best describes it--for though they had quietly occupied the place since the far-away days of the Mings, the Chinese had tolerated the strangers without recognizing them, only now and then murdering one by way of protest. Here, then, was their chance to obtain official status, and the Governor, a shrewd man, seized it. The matter went through without a hitch; China, in addition to getting her own way on the likin question, was given the right to open her Custom Houses at Kowloon (Hongkong) and Lappa (Macao), while Portugal on her side agreed never to sell or cede Macao to any other Power without China's consent. A slight passage-at-arms between the I.G. and a certain Chinese official enlivened the proceedings, and threw an amusing sidelight on Oriental methods. This man, when Robert Hart met him in Canton, said with amazing frankness, "I had a spy in Hongkong who repeated to me faithfully all that went on there, all that you did, all that you said; but I had nobody in Macao. So will you please tell me what happened in the latter place?" When the I.G. refused, saying the business concerned only himself and the Yamên, the fellow was first genuinely amazed, then righteously indignant, finally secretly vindictive. He nursed the grievance for years, and revenged himself at last by memorializing against the I.G.'s famous Land Tax Scheme, which, weathering a storm of bitter criticism, lived to enjoy great praise. Once this Mission was over, the I.G. travelled no more. Things were so well established by this time that there was no need for him to tour the ports, and increasing work kept him ever closer to his desk in Peking. Never was a man, I think, who lived a quieter or more orderly life, or who had less recreation in his days. He went little into society; when he did, his rare appearances were immensely remarked--much as the passage of a comet might have been--and if he made a visit, it was talked of with pride all through the community. Indeed, the hostess who could say "The I.G. took tea with me to-day," was something of a heroine. He read much and wrote prodigiously, sending out--and receiving too--the mail of a Prime Minister. One extravagance, and only one, did he permit himself--I am thinking of his private band. Yet even that he did not deliberately seek. The idea came to him unexpectedly, put into his head by the Commissioner of Customs at Tientsin, who wrote one day that he had among his subordinates the very man for a bandmaster. Pathetic derelict, a bandmaster without a band! Acting upon a sudden inspiration--perhaps with some subtle intuition of the important part the music was to play in the life of the community in after years, and of all the pleasure it was to give--the I.G. sent money from his private purse to buy instruments and music, though until that moment the idea of a band in Peking had seemed infinitely remote if not utterly preposterous. [Illustration: SIR ROBERT HART'S BAND IN THE EARLY 'NINETIES, BEFORE IT HAD GROWN TO ITS PRESENT SIZE. Playing on the lawn in front of his house.] Some dozen promising young Chinese were at once collected and initiated into the complicated mysteries of chords and keys. They learned quickly and well--so well that within a year eight of them were ready to come up to the capital and teach others. A doubtful venture became an assured success. More and more players were added; a promising barber, lured, perhaps, by the playing of his friend's flute, abandoned his trade and set to work on the 'cello; or a shoemaker, forsaking his last, devoted himself to the cornet. The neighbouring tailor laid aside his needle; the carter left his cart, bewitched away from everyday things by the music. It may be the smart uniform had something to do with the popularity of the organization; there is ever a fine line between art and vanity--but why dwell upon an ignoble motive? Suffice it to say, whether from pure conceit or better things, the little company grew till it reached a score, and, under a Portuguese bandmaster, touched a high level of perfection, playing both on brass and strings with taste and spirit. The Tientsin branch flourished equally well and became ultimately the Viceroy's band, and the mother of bands innumerable all over the metropolitan province of Chihli. But in reputation it never equalled what was known throughout China as the "I.G.'s Own." [Illustration: SIR ROBERT HART'S CHINESE BAND.] In spring and autumn his musicians gave an open-air concert in the Inspectorate garden every Wednesday afternoon. Of course, this was the event of the week so far as society was concerned. Peking residents, as well as many distinguished strangers who happened to be passing, came to listen. The scene was invariably animated; ladies walked about under the lilacs, which in April hung over the paths like soft clouds of purple fog, displaying their newest toilettes; diplomats discussed _la situation politique_; missionaries argued points of doctrine; correspondents exchanged bits of news. All nationalities, classes and creeds were represented in this cosmopolitan corner of the world, but the lions and the lambs agreed tacitly to tolerate each other for the sake of hearing the familiar tunes, warming as good old wine to the hearts of exiles, and for the sake of seeing the mysterious man whose advice, given, as it were, under his breath, shaped the course of events in China. He guessed well enough what brought the people, and would sometimes remark laughingly, "They come; I know why they all come. It is just to get a sight of the two curios of Peking, the I.G. and his queer musicians." Occasionally Chinese guests would mingle with the rest, lending with their silken gowns and silken manners a touch of picturesqueness to the scene. I can well remember seeing the famous Wu Ting Fang, whose alert manner made him a general favourite. He prided himself upon it--and rightly. "How old do you think I am?" he asked his host one day. "Perhaps forty-five," was the reply. "Forty-five! What a guess! Sixty-five would have been nearer--and I mean to live to be two hundred." He went on to explain carefully how this feat was to be accomplished. The first thing, naturally, was diet. The man who would cheat time should live on nuts like the squirrels (do they contrive to do it, I wonder?). Under no conditions should he touch salt, lest a dangerous precipitate form upon his bones, and he should begin and end each meal with a teaspoonful of olive oil. So much for the physical side: the mental is no less important. "I have hung scrolls in my bedroom," Wu Ting Fang went on to explain, "with these sentences written upon them in English and in Chinese: 'I am young, I am healthy, I am cheerful.' Immediately I enter the room my eye falls upon these precepts. I say to myself, Why, of course I am, and therefore I _am_." Was ever simpler or saner method discovered for warding off old age? Towards the end of 1889 the Chinese Government, desirous of paying the I.G. a special compliment, chose to confer upon him an honour never before given to any foreigner. Without precedent and without warning, the Emperor issued an Imperial Decree raising him to the Chinese equivalent of the peerage. Henceforth he belonged to the distinguished company of Iron Hatted Dukes--at least not he but his ancestors did, for this was no ordinary father-to-son patent of nobility. The topsy-turvy honour reached backward instead of forward, diminishing one rank with each succeeding generation. The Chinese reason as follows: "If a man is wise or great or successful, it is because his forbears were studious or temperate or frugal. Therefore, when we give rewards, shall we not give them where they are justly due?" Something might be said for a point of view so diametrically opposed to our own, but the question of ethics has nothing to do with my story. The strange feature of it is that the very night before the Edict appeared--when the I.G. had not the slightest hint of what was in store for him--he dreamed of his father's father--a thing he had not done for years. Dressed in a snuff-coloured suit, with knee-breeches and shining shoe buckles, he appeared walking down the little street of Portadown leaning heavily upon a blackthorn stick and murmuring sadly, "Nobody cares for me, nobody takes any notice of me." Nobody, indeed? [Illustration: SIR ROBERT HART'S STABLES IN 1890.] The very next evening at a dinner party at the French Legation some one told the I.G. of the new honour, gazetted an hour before, and how an Emperor, with a stroke of his Vermilion Pencil, had deprived the ghost of a grievance. Equally romantic was a coincidence that happened when the I.G. was made a Baronet in 1893. The question of arms then coming up, he made all possible enquiries concerning those which his family had a right to use. Without doubt the Harts did bear arms in the days of William of Orange, when they were granted to the famous Dutchman Captain van Hardt who so distinguished himself at the Battle of the Boyne. But after his death the family grew poor; the arms fell into disuse and were forgotten so completely that one descendant thought they might have been a hart rampant, while another declared they were a sheaf of burning wheat. Robert Hart was not the man to grope long in a fog of mystery. He decided the question once and for all by submitting a blazon of his own choice to the College of Heralds, and his design--three fleurs de lis and a four-leaved shamrock--was sanctioned, as it had not been previously applied for. The search for the original arms was naturally given up then, but by the merest accident they were ultimately found. Some member of the family happening years afterwards to stroll through a very old cemetery in Dublin, curiosity or idleness led him to examine the tombstones. One in particular attracted his attention, perhaps because it was more dilapidated and tumble-down than the rest. He gently scraped the moss from the inscription and found that he had stumbled on the long-forgotten tomb of Captain van Hardt, and underneath the hero's name he found a coat-of-arms, half obliterated yet still recognizable. It showed _three fleurs de lis and a four-leaved shamrock_. But it must not be imagined that Robert Hart was the man to rest on his laurels or to regard honours as so many flags of truce entitling him to draw out, even for a time, of the battle of work. From 1889 to 1903 he was deeply engaged on that very important business the Sikkim-Thibet Convention. The Thibetans having crossed the border into Sikkim, a State protected by the British, the British in return sent an expedition into Thibet and, since there was trouble about the frontier, refused to go out again. This was a very disagreeable predicament for China. She turned, as usual, to the man who never ceased labouring on her behalf, and, as usual, he rose to the occasion. Mr. James Hart, the I.G.'s brother, lately returned from delimitating the Tonkin frontier, was sent posthaste to assist the Amban, the Chinese Resident in Thibet. As a result of this wise choice, the preliminary Treaty was put through by 1890, and the Chinese Customs opened stations in Thibet. Three questions relative to trade, however, remained to be settled, and for three long years negotiations over these dragged on at Darjeeling. Needless to say it was a slow and often wearisome business, with the interest, to my mind, unfairly divided. On one side, the Thibetan side, there was picturesqueness enough, though not without discomfort too, for many a time the envoys must needs cross mountain-passes so deep in snow that a hundred Thibetans marched ahead treading it down, and not less often they must sleep in the rudest camps and eat the unsavoury cuisine of the country. But on the other, the Peking side, there was nothing but hard and dreary work, since every word that the Chinese Commissioners said was telegraphed back to the I.G., and then carefully discussed with the Yamên. No sooner was quiet restored in Thibet than anxiety about war with Japan began to agitate the Chinese capital. The air was as full of rumours as a woman of whims. One day, happening to find himself beside Baron Komura, the Japanese Chargé d'Affaires in Peking, the I.G. half laughingly remarked, "So you are going to fight China after all? I suppose you will win." "Oh, one never knows," was the Minister's diplomatic reply. Strange to say the general opinion among men less practical and less well-informed than the Inspector-General, was that China would easily win a war against Japan--if it came to war--just as later the unanimous opinion in the Far East was that if Russia fought Japan, Russia must conquer. But subsequent events proved Robert Hart right. China, after a brief struggle, was severely beaten, and peace came as a relief. Then immediately the question of loans to pay off the indemnity arose. Two small war loans of Tls. 10,000,000 each were floated, it is true, during the actual hostilities, but the first big loan of £16,000,000 was not arranged till so late as 1896. The I.G. had the matter in hand; but unfortunately, just as he was about to complete it, French and Russian banks offered to lend the sum at a cheaper rate of interest, and so it was given to them. They also agreed to float a second loan for £16,000,000. But at the last moment, either because of some hitch in the minor arrangements, or because the Chinese suddenly thought it might be unwise to put all their eggs in one basket, they turned again to Robert Hart. Late one night a Yamên messenger came clattering down the silent streets, the sound of his pony's hoof-beats echoing from the compound walls and arousing the whole quarter, there was a prodigious thumping on the big outer gate before a sleeping watchman could be made to roll out of his wadded quilts; but finally, after prolonged consultation, the despatch was taken in to the I.G., the messenger calmed with tea and a _pourboire_, and quiet once more restored. Next morning, early, the I.G.'s cart was at the door--a vehicle, by the way, interesting in itself, since it was chosen by Hung Ki, the man who liberated Sir Harry Parkes--and Robert Hart started for the only shop in Peking, ostensibly to buy toys for his children friends, as it was near Christmas. [Illustration: SIR ROBERT HART'S PRIVATE CART. The wheels have knobs on them to strengthen them, there are no springs. The carter always walks.] In those days the Legations watched his movements very closely; he wished them to hear that his little expedition was purely a pleasurable one. No doubt they did, for not a soul knew that, when he casually strolled into a bank near by, it was to quietly produce a paper from his pocket and say, as one might say "Good day,"--"I have here a loan agreement for £16,000,000, but I can only give it to you on condition that you sign immediately." Half an hour later the necessary signatures were on the document--the whole great matter put through. Looking back upon the success, one marvels at how he contrived it so rapidly that, once the news was out, people caught their breath with astonishment. Instinctively he must have felt it was a psychological moment when a man is required to take responsibility--to presume even on his power, and that in a moment's hesitation all might have been lost. In 1896 came the formal establishment of the Imperial Chinese Post Office--in itself the work of many a man's lifetime. Money had to be found for the experiment from the Customs funds first, then innumerable rules and regulations framed and experiments tried before it became a practical working institution. The I.G.'s wonderful grasp of detail stood him in good stead then, for a hundred details came daily under his notice, and he was consulted on every possible subject--from a design on a postage stamp to the opening of a new department. To him, indeed, belongs the entire credit for the designing and building of the greatest success of recent years in China--a postal service, grown beyond the most sanguine hopes, which not only pays its own way but is beginning to turn over some revenue--indirectly, of course--to the Imperial Treasury. [Illustration: THE IMPERIAL CHINESE POST OFFICE ENTRANCE ON A RAINY DAY IN THE 'NINETIES] Meanwhile the "five years longer" that he had privately set as the term of his life in China when he refused to become British Minister at Peking (1885) were long since passed, and five other years had followed them, yet he had never found it possible to return to his own country. Each spring he debated whether he might safely leave his unfinished plans, which, ranging as they did over a vast number of subjects, could not well be given half completed into other hands, and each spring some new problem claimed his attention. In 1896, however, he faced a harder decision than usual. The road was perhaps unusually open--and yet he knew that, half hidden, there were obstacles waiting to be met. At this crisis of indecision he decided to do what he had so often done before--consult the Bible. This had been a habit of his father's before him; in fact, his whole family had asked guidance on every venture they undertook, no matter how humble it might be, and the training of his childhood was not outgrown. He accordingly took the Bible lying on his desk and opened it at random one evening. There, truly enough, was an answer clear and unmistakable in the very first verse his eye lighted upon--Acts xxvii. 31: "Paul said to the centurion and to the soldiers, Except these abide in the ship, ye cannot be saved." It immediately decided him to remain in China, and he suffered no more from perplexity or indecision. Robert Hart was indeed deeply religious. Unlike so many men who have passed their lives in the East, he never absorbed any Eastern fatalism, nor did the lamp of his faith ever burn dimly because he mixed with men of other and older creeds. The Christian ideal he always considered the highest in the world; but once, when trying to live up to it, he was brought to confusion, though not through any fault of his own. One day, as he was leaving the gate of a certain mission where he had been to pay a call, a Chinese of the poorer classes, unkempt and dirty, came and threw an arm about his shoulders, saying, "I see you are also coming away from the mission, so we are brothers in Christ. I will accompany you on your way." The I.G. afterwards confessed that his first feeling was one of irritation at the man's familiarity--which amounted almost to impertinence--and his second, disgust at the grimy hand so near his collar. To summarily shake it off was a natural instinct. But, when he thought a moment, he clearly saw the absurdity of professing a creed of universal brotherhood and then, as soon as some one attempted brotherly familiarity, of repulsing him. Therefore he suffered the man's arm to remain as far as the corner of the big street, where he made a determined effort to get free, saying, "My way lies in this direction," and attempting to slip off before his companion could see which point of the compass "this" was. But the fellow-Christian was observant and consistent. "Oh, I will come with you," he said, in the tone of one doing a kindness, so the I.G. could do nothing but resign himself to his fate. Baronet and coolie made a triumphal progress down Legation Street, much to the amusement of the sentries on guard, and by the time he reached his own door the former felt a few shamefaced doubts about the advisability of mission methods which inculcated the equality of man irrespective of colour, class, and cleanliness. 1899 saw the Germans take possession of Kiaochow, and the question of establishing a branch of the Chinese Customs there was discussed and settled, China finally obtaining the right to open her own Kiaochow Custom House, with a German staff of her own employees. This was the last important international work he undertook before the memorable Siege in 1900. Already the first mutterings of the storm sounded. The first Boxers appeared in Shantung--a little cloud of fanatics scarcely bigger than a man's hand. But soon they were spreading over all the north of China, and even spilling into the metropolitan province of Chihli itself. [Illustration: A GARDEN PARTY GIVEN BY SIR ROBERT HART TO GOVERNOR TRÜPPEL (OF KIAOCHOW) AND PARTY.] CHAPTER IX THE PROLOGUE TO THE SIEGE--BARRICADES AND SCALING LADDERS--THE SIEGE PROPER--A MESSAGE FROM THE YAMÊN AND AN IMPORTANT TELEGRAM--RELIEF AT LAST--NEW QUARTERS--NEGOTIATIONS--THE CONGRESS OF PEKING--AN IMPERIAL AUDIENCE Some three weeks before the beginning of the Siege proper Peking was in a state of great unrest--how great no one, not even the I.G., could accurately judge. But as each day brought new alarms and constant reports of Boxer misdoings all over the city were confirmed by terrified eye-witnesses, it was thought wise to make some practical preparations for defence. The Legations were luckily provided with guards, whose officers, acting in concert, agreed to hold a square that included the whole quarter and the Customs property as well. Unfortunately the few troops made a pitifully thin line when they were spread over the area to be defended, and the Customs Staff, at the I.G.'s suggestion, organized themselves into a Volunteer corps, kept regular watches day and night, and prepared to assist generally in case of emergency. Indeed they did even more; with his permission they set to and fortified the Inspectorate compounds, turning his garden into a trampled wilderness. Barricades were built across what was known as Inspectorate Street while the I.G. stood by and refreshed the thirsty workers with beer from his cellar; the big gate was loopholed, the walls strengthened, and clumsy look-out platforms, reminiscent of the Siege of Troy, constructed. From these I can guess he must have watched--and with what feelings!--the progress of the dreadful fires starting over the city; must have seen, down the long straight street, native Christians burning like torches, and must have heard the fiendish shouts of "Kill!" "Kill and burn!" issuing from a thousand hoarse throats. The situation was terrifying enough in all conscience--yet nothing to what it was to be later when the handful of white men, encumbered with women, children and converts, were to stand against Imperial troops in addition to these savage hordes of Boxers, whose infinite daring, due to a belief in their own invulnerability, was somewhat mitigated by their inferior weapons. [Illustration: LADY HART.] From first to last the I.G., though no longer young, showed admirable coolness and courage in the face of the crisis. He sent frequent despatches, full of excellent and sane advice, to the Yamên. Alas! they went unheeded. So did the telegram he got through to Li Hung Chang on June 12th. This was his final effort to save a desperate situation, and the message ran: "You have killed missionaries; that is bad enough. But if you harm the Legations you will violate the most sacred international obligations and create an impossible situation." It did no good, unluckily; things had gone so far by this time that they must go still farther with inevitable motion, and whatever Li himself thought of the insane idea of attempting to exterminate foreigners, he could do nothing to stem the tide of mistaken Boxer patriotism. On the 13th the telegraph wires were cut; and on the 19th an ultimatum arrived from the Yamên giving the foreigners twenty-four hours to leave Peking, and offering to convoy them with Chinese troops as far as Tientsin. The Ministers held meeting after meeting; they were somewhat shaken, but, still trustful, determined to accept the Chinese Government's offer of an escort as far as the sea. Against this proposal, however, the non-diplomatic community threw the whole weight of its disapproval, fortunately--as things turned out--overbearing it, since the Chinese Government, with the best will in the world, was not at that moment in a position to assure the safety of any one. The very best proof of this, if further proof were needed, was the murder of Baron von Ketteler, the German Minister, on the morning of June 20th. The shock of that news filled the community with horror and consternation. The suddenness of the tragedy, the treachery of it, were appalling. Plainly no protection could be hoped for, and the same afternoon all non-combatants were ordered into the British Legation, as that was the largest compound in Peking, and the one most suitable for a last stand should the worst come to the worst. The I.G., of course, went with the rest. If it cost him anything to calmly walk out of the house he had occupied for years, leaving all behind him--he took a last look around the rooms, I remember, as though to impress their picture on his mind--he gave no sign, just as he showed none of the natural alarm which, with his responsibility for a large staff with wives and children, he must have felt. [Illustration: By the courtesy of "The Pall Mall Magazine" SIR ROBERT HART IN HIS PRIVATE OFFICE.] The history of the Siege proper, like the history of the Taiping Rebellion, has been written a hundred times. Praise and blame have been variously distributed; flaws picked in one another's behaviour by a dozen eye-witnesses, but it is not my purpose to attempt to arbitrate over details which each man naturally sees through his own glasses. Only so far as the I.G. was personally concerned with the events of those two unhappy months need they be touched upon here. At first the wildest confusion prevailed in the Legation. Misunderstandings about where a final stand should be made, doubts whether it should be made in Peking at all, had delayed very necessary preparations. There was not shelter for all the refugees, and some literally camped under the big _ting-erhs_ (open pavilions with roofs but no side walls), their hastily collected household goods lying around them. The Customs, however, fared better than that; they were given a small house, into which they packed themselves as best they could. The I.G., who refused to accept any special privileges, slept in a tiny back room and cheerfully ate the mule, which was hatefully coarse while it was fat and unutterably tough when it grew lean. Indeed, his marvellous adaptability to difficult conditions was soon the talk of that little company. To a man accustomed during a long life to habits regulated by clockwork, the jar must have been especially sharp; yet before his neighbours had fairly begun to wonder how he would take it, he had made for himself a new routine of living, and he might have been observed each day doing the same things at the same hours--smoking his afternoon cigarette as he leaned against a favourite pillar, or walking to and fro along a particular path--thus setting an example of regularity in an irregular and stormy existence. As every one expected, the Yamên soon attempted to communicate with him. This they did several times, throwing letters over the wall during the night. One enquired quite tenderly after the besieged; another asked him to send a message to London saying all was well with the Legations; a third calmly requested his advice about a ticklish matter of Customs business. This latter he answered in detail--just as if he had been in his own office--and then threw the reply over the wall again. It is interesting to know, by the way, that the "writer" who assisted him with these letters received £20 for his pains--the highest pay ever earned by a literary man in China at one sitting. But the message which the I.G. afterwards laughingly said was the most important--as far as he personally was concerned--went out of the Legation instead of coming into it. Addressed to no Foreign Office and to no Commander-in-Chief, it contained neither diplomatic nor military secrets. It was a domestic message pure and simple--yet sent neither to relative nor intimate friend. His tailor was, in fact, the man who received it. "Send quickly," the wire read, "two autumn office suits and later two winter ditto with morning and evening dress, warm cape and four pairs of boots and slippers. I have lost everything but am well. We have still an anxious fortnight to weather.--HART, Peking, 5 August 1900." What a startling effect this message from the grave must have had upon people in England, who, having pictured the I.G. boiled in oil, found him quietly ordering clothes for a future which was still uncertain! As it happened his forethought was providential, for the parcel of warm clothing arrived in Peking on the morning of October 26th, when the I.G. waked to find autumn changed to winter in a night, and the ground thickly powdered with snow. The "anxious fortnight," he spoke of was, after all, safely weathered. On the night of August 13th, which happened to be fine and clear, the far-away guns of the relief force outside the city sounded so distinctly that all those in the Legation were aroused in a moment. The sleepers sprang to their feet; and the sentries answered the welcome voices of the pom-poms, careless of their own long-saved ammunition. Next day the relieving troops were in the city, and the besieged, in defiance of orders (the Chinese were still firing heavily), were out to meet them beyond the last barricade, and close by the historic water gate. No words could adequately picture the intense excitement of that meeting; emotion touched for a moment the most unemotional, and I may say, without exaggeration, that there was not a dry eye, blue or black, nor a voice which could give a cheer without a break in it. Soon after the I.G. had the dangerous pleasure of reading his own obituary notices, and then, very much alive again, he set to work once more. Not for him was a change of air and scene possible. As he whimsically remarked to some one who urged him to take a rest after the discomforts and trials of the Siege, "I have had my holiday already. Eight weeks of doing nothing,--what more could a man expect?" The Yamên Secretaries were seeking him out three days after the last shot was fired--while he still remained in the Legation--eagerly enquiring what he thought of the possibility of beginning negotiations with the Powers. How could order be brought out of chaos? [Illustration: SIR ROBERT HART AND A GROUP OF CUSTOMS PEOPLE.] As a famous Chinese, Ku Hung Ming, author of the "Papers from a Viceroy's Yamên," afterwards said, "All great men are optimists, and Sir Robert Hart was the greatest optimist we had in 1900." His hopefulness encouraged the officials so much that the heads of the Yamên soon sent word they also wished to consult him: this business, if there was any hope of its success, was too big to be entrusted to deputies. Accordingly he began a search for new offices, since the Legation was no place to receive such men and his own house had been burned down. Alas for the mournful desolation that met his eyes when he made a melancholy pilgrimage, as it were, to his old quarters! Nothing was left of the house but a few charred walls. Broken tiles lay scattered here and there, and he picked up the head of a pretty little Saxe shepherdess, of all things the most fragile and improbable to survive such a storm. The rest of his belongings had disappeared utterly--all the treasures of a lifetime had been burned or looted--priceless letters from Chinese Gordon and from Gladstone, the wonderful rainbow-silk scrolls for his Chinese patent of nobility, the photographs of all the famous men with whom he had been associated in the past--everything. He was glad enough to get two rooms behind Kierulff's shop for temporary living quarters. What matter if his hall door was littered with packing-cases, or if his sitting-room windows fronted upon waste ground where a herd of mules scampered? He soon learned to pick his way among the former; the latter, with characteristic caution, always respected his panes, and anyway it was not the time for finicking over trifles. For an office he hired a tiny little temple nestling under the walls of the Tartar City. It was but a small _pied-à-terre_, yet all he required, for the Customs Archives had been burnt, and the Deputy Inspector General, Sir Robert Bredon, with the Inspectorate Staff, left immediately for Shanghai to begin the difficult task of picking up the threads of Customs work there. Meanwhile the _Tajêns_ (heads of boards) wrote to the I.G. asking for a safe convoy through the foreign lines, and he sent one of his own men to bring them down, since, though poor enough in other things, they were so rich in fears. Five came this first time, but one acted as spokesman to voice the grief of all over what had occurred, and to exonerate the Emperor and the Empress-Dowager of blame. No doubt the two sovereigns _were_ innocent of responsibility for what had happened--no one would believe it at the time, however--and _were_ captured, as these ministers said, by "officials of another way of thinking, and made to appear as if approving what they disapproved and ordering what they really forbade." Their position is not too difficult to understand when one remembers that, Oriental fashion, they were shut up in their palaces, where no breath of impartial advice could possibly reach them, and that they heard only what courtiers with their own fish to fry permitted them to hear. The real culprits then, according to all accounts, were the officials who deliberately misled the Court. It was characteristic of the I.G., always too big for resentment, that he could find some excuse for them and, though the length of his service entitled him to more consideration than most of those who cried out bitterly for "vengeance," could write in his book ("These From the Land of Sinim"), "In the heat of the conflict, and under the agonizing strain of anxiety for imperilled loved ones, many hard things have been said and written about the officials who allied themselves with the Boxers. But these men were eminent in their own country for their learning and services, were animated by patriotism, were enraged by foreign dictation, and had the courage of their convictions. We must do them the justice of allowing that they were actuated by high motives and love of country--not that these necessarily mean political ability or highest wisdom," The truth is--and he realized it thoroughly--that the real deep feeling of the Chinese people has always been to be left alone in peace to pursue the even tenor of their way. So enlightened a man as the great Minister Wen Hsiang--"one of the most intelligent and broad-minded Chinese I ever knew," as Sir Robert Hart sometimes said--frankly confessed this when speaking to the I.G. a few years after the inauguration of the Customs. "We would gladly pay you all the increased revenue you have brought us," were his exact words, "if you foreigners would go back to your own country and leave us in peace as we were before you came." Of course neither the wishes of the Chinese nor the question of Imperial responsibility or non-responsibility mattered greatly in 1900. The nations of the world were not in a tolerant mood; they would, as he pointed out, care little for excuses and less for the Chinese anxiety about the Palace, "with its ancestral contents," or the Imperial Tombs. The only thing which might influence them was the consideration of the welfare of the Chinese people. Plans for the future must turn upon this as upon an axle. Moreover, to effect anything some distinguished person of high position and importance must come forward, and the man whom the I.G. named when he was asked for his advice was Prince Ching. He was the one person with whom the Foreign Powers would be most likely to treat, as it was to his influence, rumour said, that the Legations owed the merciful truce during the Siege. Li Hung Chang, it is true, had also been given full powers to negotiate with the Nations, but they looked rather askance at him because of two telegrams he had sent. One stating that the Legations had reached Tientsin in safety was a most unfortunate falsehood and prejudiced the world against him, more's the pity, as he had hitherto been considered able and powerful abroad. The other was a foolish request that no foreign troops should pass Tungchow--a town on the Grand Canal about fifteen miles from the capital. It was quite right and proper that, being appointed, Li should share Prince Ching's labours and not allow everything, criticism included, to be thrown on the latter alone; but the more he was discredited, the more need for Prince Ching to return to Peking--and quickly. [Illustration: SIR ROBERT HART AND MISS KATE CARL In the costume given her by the Empress-Dowager of China when Miss Carl painted her portrait for the St. Louis Exhibition.] At last the officials discovered where he was--he had fled with the Court but stopped _en route_--urged him to come back, and he came. I believe one of the first things he did was to send for the I.G., whom he greeted with great cordiality. "This is China's oldest friend," he said to the officials standing by, "and I rely on him to help us. Indeed I can remember, as if it was yesterday, when we worked together before on the Franco-Chinese negotiations in 1885." The meeting was a memorable and decisive one. As the Chinese themselves knew, and as the I.G. agreed, there were but two ways of solving the difficulty before them. Either it must be fought out--and the fact that China's military strength could not arrest the steps of the foreign troops, and that a fort-night sufficed for them to march victoriously from the sea to Peking, was in itself sufficient to show that nothing could be hoped from the noble idea of "no surrender"--or at all costs some peaceful arrangement must be made. A note was accordingly drawn up requesting the doyen of the Diplomatic Corps to fix a day to receive the Chinese Plenipotentiaries, who "were ready to begin negotiations and had prepared a proposal for discussion," which they enclosed. A bold stroke this, and rather a surprise to the diplomats, who marvelled that the Chinese--injuring parties as they were--should have the courage--let us call it so, for there was truly much admirable bravery in it--to take the first step. The details of the subsequent negotiations would fill pages. How anxiously Li Hung Chang was waited for; how memorandum after memorandum was drawn up, altered, amended, discarded altogether; how the stricken city was gradually calmed, and traders induced to bring in supplies again; how the poor ladies, wives of four Emperors, who had been left behind in the palace almost starved to death when the international troops guarding the Forbidden City forbade all ingress and egress through the pink gates, until the I.G. saved them, in the nick of time, by applying to the Allied Generals, might be told at length. But a busy age has little patience with details, however romantic--suffice it to say that negotiations continued by fits and starts. What really complicated them was the absence of the Court! The I.G. frankly wrote as much to the Grand Secretary, Wang Wên Shao, and in so doing he only voiced the general feeling that "at such a time of suffering it would be well for the Emperor to be with his people." Prince Ching willingly testified that. Though he had been back ten days he had not suffered any personal indignity, and hinted that, were the Emperor to return, he would, of course, meet with even greater consideration. But the Court was obstinate. While the Palace was in the hands of foreign troops they would not come--and so, for the time, the negotiators had to get on as best they could without their Imperial masters. Only for a time, however. Then what persuasion had been unable to accomplish was brought about by a natural calamity. Famine broke out in the province of Shênsi, and the Court suffered greatly in the devastated state of the country and the cramped and uncomfortable quarters of a Governor's yamên. Soon they were as desirous of returning to their capital as they had formerly been reluctant to do so. "Hurry up the negotiations at all costs" were the orders sent to the Plenipotentiaries, and hurry they did, so that by December a settlement was within sight, the two most difficult questions--those dealing with penalties and indemnities--being the last arranged. The first named long caused embarrassment to the Chinese side and greatly worried everybody, for there seemed no possible way to compromise about it. The last ultimately resolved itself into the simple problem not whether China would or would not pay, but what she would pay with. Tariff Revision was suggested as one method, the taxation of native opium as another. Speaking of the latter, the I.G. one day remarked to Prince Ching, "I lost all my memoranda about it when the Inspectorate was burned down." "But you have your wonderful memory," the Prince replied, "and you must carry it through. I count upon you, remember." On Christmas Eve (1900) a great meeting was held at the Spanish Legation--the Spanish Minister was doyen of the Diplomatic Corps at the time. All the Ministers then assembled to meet Prince Ching and Li and to hand over the final demands they had formulated. They were signed in French that same day, and the next telegraphed in Chinese word for word to the Court at Si-an. Strange to say the I.G. was not present at the meeting, and therefore reaped none of the kudos for his hard work. It was not for lack of invitation, however. The Chinese certainly urged him to come. Li Hung Chang, for instance, spoke continually of what he had done, and not an official but was sincerely grateful and would gladly have pushed him forward. A vainer man, a lighter character, must have yielded to the temptation to satisfy his vanity, but he had the strength to refuse, saying, "Being a foreigner, my presence would only complicate matters." The Court, however, did not allow his efforts to go unrewarded. They telegraphed another high if queer-sounding honour from Si-an. Thenceforth he was to be addressed as _Kung-pao_, or Guardian of the Heir-Apparent,--who, by the way, does not exist; not that in China this trifling fact makes his guardians any less important or honourable. The Empress-Dowager herself was well aware that the importance of these Peace Negotiations could not be overestimated. She knew that his promptness in urging the return of Prince Ching probably saved the dynasty--that had Count Waldersee arrived before any Chinese officials had taken action, it is impossible to say what might not have happened; and to further show her Imperial approbation she summoned him to a private audience on her return to Peking and said so. [Illustration: PEKING PEACE PROTOCOL, 1901. Left to right (seated) Secretary of Japanese Legation Baron d'Anthouard, Secretary of French Legation Baron (now Count) Komura, Japanese Minister M. Knotel, Minister for the Netherlands Marquis Salvago-Raggi, Minister for Italy M de Giers, Minister for Russia M. de Cologan, Minister for Spain Baron Czikann de Wahlborn. Minister for Austria M. Joostens, Minister for Belgium Baron Momin, Minister for Germany Sir Ernest Satow, Minister for Great Britain Mr. Rockhill, Minister for the United States M. Beau, Minister for France.] To him she showed her softest side, melted into kindness and consideration, complimented him in her velvet voice, and went so far as to say, when some question of the future came up, "We owe the possibility of a new beginning to the help you have given our faithful Ministers." Last of all she paid him a greater tribute still. When on enquiring where he lived, and being told by Prince Kung on his knees and in deeply apologetic tones, "Since the little accident in 1900, when Sir Robert's house was burned, he has been living behind Kierulff's shop," her eyes filled with tears, and with real regret in her voice she said, "How can we look you in the face?" CHAPTER X SOME QUIET YEARS--A CHANGE OF MASTERS--INSOMNIA--A FAREWELL AUDIENCE--AN HONOUR AND ITS ADVERTISEMENT--AH FONG AND OTHERS--DEPARTURE FROM PEKING--"A SMALL, INSIGNIFICANT IRISHMAN" With the conclusion of the Peking Congress a new era began in the old capital. One could scarcely expect the effects of the Siege and its terrible aftermath to wear off at once. It was long indeed before the city resumed anything like a normal appearance, before people dared to come creeping back to their ruined shops and houses. Some, alas! found they had nothing to creep back to, not even ruins--for the Legations, determined never to be caught in the same trap a second time, insisted upon reserving a big area for themselves and fortifying it. Unfortunately those who had borne least of the heat of the day received the largest rewards in the newly planned Quarter, and grabbed most greedily and with least justice. Consideration for Chinese sentiments at such a time would have been almost more than human, but revenge carried to the point of making the I.G., because he was an employee of the Chinese Government, suffer for the mistakes of that Government, seems both unnecessary and ungenerous. This, however, was just what happened. His fine garden was ruthlessly chopped to pieces in the rearrangement, and though he did not actually lose ground, the long walk around the house was spoiled and he found a frowning wall five feet from his back windows. Moreover there was nothing he could do to prevent these things--the opinions of critics who accused him of weakness notwithstanding. These critics wanted him to shout his grievances aloud, to make them audible above the din of that noisy time. But what hope had he of being heard? The Chinese officials _could_ not listen and his own countrymen _would_ not, so where was he to turn? Nothing remained for it but to build his house on the old foundations--an economical plan--and try to forget about the wall near the back windows. The garden also was set in order. As the Psalmist says, "The wilderness was made to blossom," for wilderness it was. Judging from appearances, Chinese soldiers must have encamped there. They left their rice-bowls in the path and their fans under the trees. Probably they stayed some days and looted at leisure, then disappeared as suddenly as they had come, after a sharp struggle with a company of Boxers, for two of these patriots in full regalia--red sashes and rusty swords--lay dead in the long grass. Poor patriots, they owed their quiet graves under a barbarian's lawn to a barbarian's kindness. I wonder if their ghosts have a sense of humour, and if they ever chuckle a little over the trick Fate played on them when they were helpless? [Illustration] Once established again in his new-old quarters, the I.G. went back to his former routine of life. The band-boys, scattered by the Siege, returned, one having become, all of a sudden, a hero. It happened during the days immediately following the Relief, when the prostrate city was given up to plunderers. A company of soldiers chose to break into a big dwelling-house, and the Chinese inhabitants scampered--men and women--in wild terror. Then suddenly, in the midst of the confusion, a bugle call rang loud and clear on the air. The European soldiers, recognizing the "Retreat" and fearing a superior force was about to descend on them, stood not on the order of their going, but left at once. Yet it was no superior force after all. A single man by his presence of mind saved the situation--and that man was the I.G.'s best cornet player. Afterwards, I remember, he used to be pointed out to strangers at garden parties, and he had quite a deal of notoriety before he and his gallantry were forgotten in the daily round of commonplace happenings. Taking into consideration the great shock of 1900, it is wonderful how the I.G. could remain unaltered in all his habits, could be so unmoved by the changes taking place around him. The Chinese officials, for instance--who suddenly became as anxious for Western comforts as they had hitherto detested them--drove over modernized roads in carriages; he clung to his old-fashioned sedan chair. The majority of the besieged bought--or otherwise acquired loot; he never spent a penny on it, and never entered what the looters euphemistically liked to call "deserted houses." [Illustration: ANOTHER WINTER VIEW OF SIR ROBERT HART'S GARDEN, PEKING.] The whole community took advantage of the opening of the Temple of Heaven and the Temple of Agriculture, fine parks free from dust and the noise of the city; he never entered either. Nor at a time when the whole world was discussing the Winter Palace and the Forbidden City, did he consider that the dictates of good breeding permitted him to go where the rightful owners would have refused him entrance. He took his outings as usual either in his own garden or on the city wall, from which he could watch the slow rebuilding of the Legation Quarter, a perfect _salade Russe_ of architecture, with German gables, classic Venetian gateways and Flemish turrets jostling one another. This calm life continued for four peaceful years. Then he was startled again by a bolt from the blue. The Inspectorate of Customs was transferred by Imperial Edict from the Wai-Wu-Pu to the Shui-Wu-Ch'u, a Board specially created to control it. The real meaning of the change was not easy to fathom, but everybody seized the opportunity to talk at once--all the newspapers and the correspondents and the political experts; to criticize, to prophesy, to predict, to shake their heads--all but one man, the man most concerned. And he said nothing; he listened while the others authoritatively stated what he must think, what he did think, and what he would think later. To tell the truth he thought less of his own position, the prestige of which was undoubtedly affected by a move that turned him from a semi-political agent into a simple departmental head, than he did of the future of his service. Consequently, at a juncture when he had the best excuse for deserting a post which had partially deserted him, he remained to reassure outsiders as well as employees and to prove that radical as the Edict seemed, its real meaning was not half so disturbing as it appeared. [Illustration: TING'RH, OR CHINESE PAVILION, IN SIR ROBERT HART'S GARDEN, PEKING.] Anxiety could never have driven him away; it took insomnia to make him apply for the leave he so greatly needed. His brain, like Gladstone's, was overtaxed; the problems which he had so long considered gave him no rest, and by night as well as by day his too active mind thought and planned and considered. Rest was therefore imperative, and fortunately his leave was granted. At the same time the Empress-Dowager commanded him to an Audience. It was not the first by any means, as he had for the last few years always gone to the Palace at the Chinese New Year. But as it was typical of the others, a few words of description may not come amiss. He was off early in the morning as usual, surrounded by Palace officials mounted on shaggy ponies who trotted beside his sedan chair while their riders with shrieks and yells cleared a way for the cavalcade. The police guards popped out of their stations to salute him--I can tell you that hour's journey across the city was something in the nature of a triumphal progress, what with traffic airily waved aside and sentries and soldier-police presenting arms! At the Palace gates he alighted, and was met by other officials, bigger and grander, and conducted to the Hall of Audience. A considerable distance still remained to be covered; courtyard after courtyard had to be traversed and an artificial lake crossed in a barge before the Hall itself was reached and--an official having gone ahead and peeped in and announced his presence informally--he was shown into the presence of Their Majesties. Side by side on a little raised platform sat the Emperor and the Empress-Dowager, each with a table before them. He might have noticed that there were flowers on the Empress's table and none on the Emperor's, but that otherwise the room was not particularly large or imposing and very bare--without chairs, without cupboards, without ornamentation of any kind except the beautiful painting on the ceiling and the fine woodcarving on the long doors. But he had a speech to make--absorbing occupation--and as soon as it was over the Empress-Dowager was talking to him quite simply about his travels and asking questions about London. She shyly confessed that since her one and only train journey--from Si-an in 1900--she had conceived a great liking for travel and enjoyed seeing strange sights. Then she wished him a happy voyage and concluded by remarking: "We have chosen to give you some little keepsakes," using the word meaning a "personal souvenir" rather than a formal and perfunctory "present." It was a moment of natural excitement, and the I.G., dumb with emotion, received the intimation in unflattering silence. "Thank," said the Minister who presented him, in agonized tones; and while he stammered out a simple "Thank you," devoid of any conventional flourishes, the Minister went down on his knees and put his gratitude prettily. The interview was then closed; Emperor and Empress both assumed a Buddha-like impassivity of expression and allowed the I.G. to back just as if they were entirely oblivious of his presence. Such is the Chinese method of differentiating between the friend and the sovereign. [Illustration: SIR ROBERT HART AND HIS STAFF (FOREIGN AND CHINESE) PEKING 1902.] In the waiting-room he told his _faux pas_ to the Ministers, either coming from or going into the Audience Hall, and expressed his annoyance that the proper formula for returning thanks had slipped his mind when it did. They laughed heartily over the incident, and for his comfort told him the story of a certain man called Kwei Hsin, who had an even worse experience. Some time in the late 'seventies he returned from an audience pulling his beard, which was long and thin. He seemed visibly annoyed about something. "What has happened?" enquired his colleagues anxiously. [Illustration: SIR ROBERT HART WISHING MISS ROOSEVELT "BON VOYAGE" ON HER DEPARTURE FROM PEKING, SEPTEMBER 16, 1906 On the left is admiral Hu Yü Fen] "Well," said he, "the Emperor (then little more than a child) asked me a question to-day which I could not answer." "And what was it?" Their minds immediately flew to knotty points at issue. Was it about the finances of the provinces? Could it be a Censor had denounced some one and enquiries were to be made? "He asked me," said Kwei Hsin slowly, "if I slept with my beard under the quilt or outside it, and for the life of me I could not remember, so I stood there dumb as a fish." Two or three days after the audience the "souvenirs" were brought to the I.G. by the Palace servants. In addition, they gave him a little surprise of their own. He found them pasting a big red placard on his front gate. It was their way of advertising his newest honour--the Presidency of a Board--and has had the sanction of society in China since the Flood. What if it is a little embarrassing! It would be worse for the newly promoted to tell his friends about his step up in the world himself. By this method he is spared the trouble, and while he theoretically knows nothing about it, the Imperial servants take this delicate means of making the honour known, receiving a substantial tip for their thoughtfulness. But the I.G., whose modesty was entirely genuine instead of counterfeit, was shocked at seeing himself lauded in three-inch black characters on a flaring red ground, and driven in desperation to explain that while his gratitude was unbounded, he did not want an admiring crowd collected on his threshold. So, much to the disappointment of his servants, who in China feel that their master's glory reflects upon themselves, the announcement was taken down. Whoever says "No man can be a hero to his own valet" is wrong, for the I.G. was undoubtedly a hero to his whole household--modesty notwithstanding. Most of his servants remained with him for thirty years, and at the end one and all gave him an excellent "character." "We have found you a very satisfactory master," said they--which sounds strange to us, but is the Chinese way of doing things. No wonder they said so. He had such a horror of asking too much from those he employed that he was far too lenient with them. His ear was too attentive to their stories, his purse too open to their borrowings. When their relatives died--and in China each man has an army of them, including duplicate mothers and grandmothers--boys, cooks, coolies and bandsmen rushed to "borrow" from him. I cannot remember hearing that one ever came to repay. At last this fact struck even the I.G., long-suffering though he was. "Why do you not ask me to give you this amount?" he mildly expostulated to the next man who came pleading for the funeral expenses of his brother's son's wife. "Oh," replied the fellow, pained and grieved at his master's want of understanding, "I couldn't do that. If I did I should lose 'face'"--that is, prestige and standing in the community. On such a slender thread hangs self-respect in the Far East. The old butler, a Cantonese with the manner of a courtier, was even more privileged than the rest--and for the best of reasons. He had been with his master for almost half a century. His memory was wonderful, and sometimes on winter nights when he had helped to serve the I.G.'s solitary and frugal dinner, he would presume on his position, linger behind the other servants, and call up again to the I.G.'s mind the night in 1863--just such a bitter night as this, with just such a howling wind--when together they had gone to meet Gordon, and the sampan taking them ashore had capsized, throwing them both into the icy water. Occasionally then the I.G. would retaliate with reminiscences of Ah Fong making the Grand Tour of Europe with him in 1878--how he kissed his hands to the winning French chambermaids, and called out "Allewalla, Allewalla!" ("Au revoir, au revoir!"), or how he had answered the horrified ladies of Ireland who inquired about his duties,--"Morning time my brush master's clothes, night time my bring he brandy and water." [Illustration: FRONT DOOR OF SIR ROBERT HART'S HOUSE, PEKING] In this age of uninterested or inanimate "helps," a servitor like Ah Fong is about as rare as an archaeopteryx. Devotion and loyalty such as his are fast dying out of the world, but they make a pretty picture when one does find them, and I like to tell how the old servant grieved at the thought of separation from one who represented his whole horizon. The I.G., too, must have felt some sentiment at leaving the faces to which he was accustomed, the house which had grown dear in almost thirty years of uninterrupted solitude. It is just these associations which are most intangible, which sound most trivial set down in black and white, that often take the strongest hold upon us. Habit, the little old dame, creeps in one day, sits by our fire, amuses us, comforts us, occupies us, and--before we know it--we feel a wrench if we are obliged to move away. Nevertheless we must all move some time or another. Everybody does--even the I.G., whose going had been so often prophesied and again so often contradicted that he had come to be regarded as the one fixed star twinkling unselfishly in the heaven of duty. The morning of his going, I remember, broke fine and clear. The sky was beautifully blue, like an inverted turquoise bowl. The little railway station must have been startled half out of its wits by all the people flocking in. Such a thing in all its history had never happened before. Under the low grey roof trooped guards of honour sent by every nationality--all for the sake of one man who was only a civilian, and nothing but a private individual. There were this man's own nationals in the central position--a company of splendid Highlanders with pipers, and stretching away down the platform there were American marines, Italian sailors, Dutch marines and Japanese soldiers. And, of course, there were Chinese, no less than three detachments of them, looking very well in their new khaki uniforms. Two of the detachments had brought their bands, and the I.G.'s own band had come of its own accord to play "Auld Lang Syne." [Illustration: FRONT VIEW OF SIR ROBERT HART'S HOUSE. With his butler, Ah Fong, who served him for almost half a century.] As the I.G. stepped from his sedan chair at the end of the platform his face wore an expression of bewilderment, but only for a moment. Then he turned to the commanding officer, and saying "I am ready," walked steadily down the lines of saluting troops while the bands all played "Home, Sweet Home." Just as quietly he said good-bye to the host of Chinese officials with whom he had been associated so long; then turned to the Europeans whom he had known so well, to all of whom he had done so many kindnesses, and none of whom could say "bon voyage" dry-eyed, while camera fiends "snapped" him as he shook hands and said last good-byes. At last he stepped on board the train and slowly drew away from the crowd, bowing again and again in his modest way. So far as his work was concerned he could go without regrets. He left his career behind him with no frayed edges that could tangle. He had fulfilled all his ambitions. He had "bought back Kilmoriarty and got a title too," as he promised his aunt he would while still a boy in his teens. He had collected an almost unprecedented number of honours, been decorated no less than twenty-four times, eight, however, being promotions in the Orders. But still that left him sixteen to wear, and of those sixteen, thirteen were Grand Crosses. As a matter of fact he never wore any of them when he could help it, and never more than one at a time. "I do not want to look like a Christmas tree," he would say in joke. This was his humility again. He certainly was humble, and he looked so. There was never the slightest pomp or pride about him. "A small, insignificant Irishman," so some one has described him. Is he small? I dare say he is, but one never notices it. One notices only the long face still further lengthened by a beard, the domed forehead, the bright eyes, very inscrutable usually, very sympathetic when he chooses to make them so; and when he speaks, a soft voice, quiet and even-toned but often indistinct. Not given to demonstrativeness, he appears the same under all conditions--silent when depressed, silent too when cheerful; he may smile, but he will never laugh outright--unless called upon in society to make a special effort to amuse somebody. Then he does it, as he does all he sets out to do, well. But usually he allows other people to instruct him, listening patiently and giving so little hint of what he himself thinks that few people know him intimately and the general public stands a little in awe of him. What more natural? His work has been a hard disciplinarian, a relentless grudger of little joys; and, as is well known, those who make history have little time to make friends. Yet on the whole his success has been cheap as successes go. True he worked prodigiously--how he did work, straight on from his University days!--but none of his labours have been hopelessly dull, while some have been exceptionally interesting, and all have been flavoured with a pinch of romance. Further, he has had the satisfaction of filling his years about twice as full as other people's--of helping more men than most of his neighbours, and of gaining the world's respect and admiration. How has he done it? Shall I tell you the secret--or what he often laughingly said was the secret? It lies hidden in a verse which he wrote in his fantastic hand on the desk at which he stood for so many years with unremitting industry. First came two dates "1854--1908," and then these lines: "If thou hast yesterday thy duty done, And thereby cleared firm footing for to-day, Whatever clouds may dark to-morrow's sun, Thou shalt not miss thy solitary way." THE END 11469 ---- Boy Scouts on Motorcycles Or With The Flying Squadron By G. HARVEY RALPHSON CHAPTER I BOY SCOUTS IN A STRANGE LAND "Fine country, this--to get out of!" "What's the difficulty, kid?" Jimmie McGraw, the first speaker, turned back to the interior of the apartment in which he stood with a look of intense disgust on freckled face. "Oh, nothin' much," he replied, wrinkling his nose comically, "only Broadway an' the Bowery are too far away from this town to ever amount to anythin'. Say, how would you fellers like a chair in front of the grate in the little old Black Bear Patrol clubroom, in the village of N. Y.? What?" The three boys lying, half covered with empty burlap bags, on the bare earth at the back of the apartment chuckled softly as Jimmie's face brightened at the small picture he drew verbally, of the luxurious Boy Scout clubroom in the City of New York. "New York is a barren island as compared with this place," one of the boys, Jack Bosworth by name, declared. "Just think of the odor of the Orient all around us!" Jimmie wrinkled his nose in disdain and turned back to the window out of which he had been looking. The other boys, Ned Nestor, of the Wolf Patrol, and Jack Bosworth and Frank Shaw, of the Black Bear Patrol, all of New York, pulled their coarse covering closer under their chins and grinned at the impatient Jimmie, who was of the Wolf Patrol, and who was just then on guard. It wasn't much of a window that the boy looked out of, just an irregular hole in a bare wall, innocent alike of sash and glass. Away to the east rolled the restless waters of the Gulf of Pechili, which is little more than a round bay swinging west from the mystical Yellow Sea. To the south ran the swift current of the Peiho river, on the opposite bank of which lay the twin of Taku, Chinese town where Jimmie stood guard. Tungku, as the twin village is named, looked every bit as forlorn and disreputable as Taku, where the boys had waited four days for important information which had been promised by the Secret Service department at Washington. The gulf of Pechili and the Peiho river glistened under the October sun, which seemed to bring little warmth to the atmosphere. Junks of all sizes and kinds were moving slowly through the waves, and farther out larger vessels lay at anchor, as if holding surveillance over the mouth of the stream which led to Tientsin, that famous city of the great Chinese nation. "Look at it! Just look at it!" Jimmie pointed out of the opening, his hand swinging about to include the river and the gulf, the slowly moving boats and the picturesque streets. "'Tis a heathen land!" the boy went on. "They wear their shirts outside of their trousers an' do their trucking on their shoulders. Say, Ned," he added, "why can't we cut it out? I'm sick of it!" "Cut it out?" laughed Jack Bosworth, "why, kid, we've just got to the land of promise!" "Most all promise!" replied Jimmie. "We've got nothin' but promises since we've been here. Where's that Secret Service feller that was goin' to set the pace for us?" "Perhaps he's lost in the jungle," laughed Frank Shaw. "He certainly ought to have been here three days ago. What about it, Gulf of Pechili and the Peiho river Ned?" he added, turning to a youth who lay at his side, almost shivering in spite of his shaggy burlap covering. Ned Nestor yawned and threw aside his alleged protection from the growing chill of the October day. The boys, fresh from a submarine in which they had searched an ocean floor for important documents as well as millions of dollars in gold, had arrived at Taku five days before this autumn afternoon. After concluding the mission on the submarine, Ned had been invited to undertake a difficult errand to Peking, in the interest of the United States Secret Service. Even after landing at Taku, he had confessed to his chums his utter ignorance of the work he was to do. He had been requested by the Secret Service man who had engaged him for the duty to wait for instructions at the old house on the water front which, in company with Frank, Jack, and Jimmie, he now occupied. The house was old and dilapidated, seemingly having been unoccupied for years, so the lads were really "camping out" there. Their provisions were brought to them regularly by a Chinaman who did not seem to understand a word of English, and, as the boys knowledge of the Chinese tongue was exceedingly limited, no information had been gained from him. The Secret Service man had not appeared, and Ned was becoming uneasy, especially as the curiosity of his neighbors was becoming annoying. "I guess this is a stall," Jimmie grumbled, as Ned arose and stood at his side. "You know how the Moores, father an' son, tried to get us on the submarine? Well, I'll bet they've got loose, an' that we're bein' kept here until they can do us up proper without attractin' the attention of the European population." Ned laughed at the boy's fears. He had no doubt that the man who had promised to meet him there had been delayed in some unaccountable manner, and that the information he was awaiting would be supplied before another day had passed. "Anyway," Jimmie insisted, "I don't like the looks of things hereabouts! There's always some pigtailed Chink watchin' this house from the street. I woke up last night an' saw a snaky-eyed Celestial peering in at this window. I guess they've got rid of the man we are waitin' for." "If we only knew exactly what we were to do in Peking," Frank said, approaching the little group by the window, "we might jog along and report to the American legation. I'm like Jimmie. I don't fancy this long wait here--not a little bit!" "As I have told you before," Ned replied, "I don't know the first thing about the work cut out for us by the United States Secret Service people. There was some talk about following a brace of conspirators to Peking, the conspirators who tried to discredit the United States in the matter of the gold shipment but that was only incidental, and I was ordered to come here and await instructions. So I'm going to wait-- until the moon drops out of the sky, if necessary." "Oh, we'll stick around!" Frank put in. "Don't think, for a minute, that any of us thought of quitting the game. Still, I'd just like to know how much longer we have to remain here, and just what we are to do when we get to Peking, if we ever do." "Of course we'll stick!" Jimmie exclaimed. "All I'm kickin' on is the delay. We might have remained on board the submarine, where we had cozy quarters an' somethin' to eat besides this Chink stuff." "Whenever you want to bump Jimmie good and plenty," laughed Jack, "all you need to do is to tamper with his rations. What's the matter with this rice, kid, and this meat pie?" he added, as the man who had served their food since their occupancy of the old house approached with a large, covered basket on his arm. Jimmie wrinkled his freckled nose again and laid a hand on his stomach, as if in sympathy with that organ for the unutterable Chinese concoctions it had been called upon to assimilate of late. "Rat pie!" he said, in a tone of disgust. "I'll bet a dollar to a rap on the nose that it's rat pie! I can hear the rats squeal nights when I'm tryin' to sleep an' can't." "Say, Chink," Jack said, seizing the Chinaman by the shoulder and facing him about so that a good look into his slanty eyes might be had, "what do you know about this chuck?" "No chuck! Pie!" "Of course it's pie!" answered Jack. "It would be pie if it was made of old shoes, if it had a crust on. What I want to know is, where did you catch him, and who pays you to bring it to us, and who pays him to pay you to feed it to us? Where does he live, and is he black, white, or red? Come on, old top. You know a lot if you could only think of it." The Chinaman, an evil-looking old fellow with a long cicatrice across his left cheekbone, shook his head and regarded his questioner craftily. "No spik English!" he said. "You spoke it then," Jack retorted. "I'll bet a pan of pickles that you know what we were saying when you came in here." "Let him alone," Frank advised. "That head of his is solid bone. He would think his foot hurt if he had the toothache." "What a filthy, yellow, toothless, wicked old devil it is!" Jack went on. "Some day when he comes here with that basket of rats I'm going to cut his pigtail off close behind his ears." "I think he's the foulest old geezer I've ever met," Frank went on. "If I had a dog with a mug like that I'd hire him out to the man who manufactures nightmares." The Chinaman stood looking stupidly about for a minute before placing his basket on the floor, then dropped it with a jar which rattled the few dishes within and scuffled out of the door. Jimmie followed to see that he did not loiter around the house listening, and came back with a mischievous grin on his face. Long before the appearance of the Chinaman the boys had planned to use such uncomplimentary language in his presence as would be likely to excite his anger, if he understood what was being said. They did not believe he was as ignorant of the English language as he pretended to be. "Well," Jimmie asked, of Ned, "did he tumble? What did you see?" "I saw as evil a look as ever burned out of a human eye," Ned replied. "Looked to me like he would enjoy feeding Jack and Frank to the rats." "Then he understood, all right?" "Of course he did," Jack, answered. "I could see that with one eye. He's been coming here with his grub for four days, and picking up a word here and there every time. We ought to have had sense enough to have been on guard against such treachery." "What's the answer now?" asked Jimmie, turning to Ned. "I'm afraid we're in a bad predicament," Ned replied. "This shows me new light. The messenger we are expecting should have been here long ago, and I'm now sure that we've just got to do something. I'm getting afraid to eat the food they bring us, and I lie awake at night, listening for hostile footsteps." "That sounds a little more like Manhattan!" Jack cried. "Sounds like action! We're off in a heathen land, surrounded by enemies, and not likely to get anything like a fighting chance, but I'm for doing something right now. I'm not going to lie still here and be poisoned, like a rat in a sewer!" "I'm for going on to Peking," Frank said. "We can report to the American ambassador there, and, at least, get something to eat besides rat pie and something better than a bare floor to sleep on. If we only had the Black Bear, the motor boat we cruised with on the Columbia river, we wouldn't be long on the way." "Huh!" Jimmie observed, taking out a minute memorandum book, "it is seventy miles by the river from Taku to Tientsin, and only twenty-seven by the road." "And how far to Peking by the road?" asked Jack. "It is seventy-nine Miles from Tientsin to Peking," was the reply, "and the roads ought to be good." "That's more than can be said of the natives!" Jack said. "The allied armies marched over the road to Peking in 1900," Frank explained, "and I rather think the inhabitants of strip of country have a wholesome respect for foreigners. With our high-power motorcycles, ought to make Peking before daylight, if we start right after dark." "And don't run across any cutthroats on the way," added Jimmie. "Let's see," grinned Frank, "we were to have a flying squadron of marines with us? What? I reckon they're flying so high that they are out of sight!" "Suppose we see if the horses are in good shape," Ned said, going to an adjoining apartment. He made his appearance again in a minute trundling a magnificent motorcycle. It was been built expressly for army use, with a long, powerful stroke 10 h. p. motor. It was as indestructible and as auto machine as could well be designed. With a perfect muffler, automatic carburetor and lubrication, it was a machine to cover miles silently and with little danger of delay. The open door behind Ned revealed three machines arranged along the wall, and the boys rushed to the examination of them. In second all were in the room, bending over their steel pets. "Say!" Jimmie cried, presently, "we'll get Peking to-night--not! This machine has been tampered with, and some parts are missing." "Yes, I reckon the Yellow Peril is on deck!" said Frank. CHAPTER II A DISQUIETING DISCOVERY The four boys regarded each other in silence for a moment. Jack was the first to speak. "How badly are the machines damaged?" he asked. "Mine is all right," Jimmie reported, after a careful examination of his steel steed, "except that a couple of burrs are missing." "And mine," Frank hastened to say, "is all right except that the oil feed is blocked and the electric battery is shut off--that is, it is so arranged that the machine will spark for a short distance and then buck. Great doings!" "And yours, Jack?" asked Ned. "Just a few burrs gone." "And mine is o.k.," Ned went on, "except that the carburetor has been tampered with. I think we'll get off for Peking before long." "How?" demanded Jimmie. "We can't make burrs out of wood, or patch up with rat pie, which seems to be about the only thing we have plenty of. I don't suppose we can get repairs in this yellow hole." Ned took a handbag from under the burlap. "I am carrying my own repair shop with me," he said, taking out a box of burrs and a pair of pincers. "I've got all the small parts right here in duplicate, and some of the larger ones are in the big suitcase." "You're a wonder!" Jimmie cried, dancing about his chum and wrinkling his nose until it looked like that of a comedian in a motion picture. "I wonder if you haven't got a hunk of Washington pie in that keyster!" The lads fell to work on their machines, and in a very short time all were ready for the road. Then Ned put away his handbag and began an examination of the large suitcase, which contained the larger repairs for the motorcycles. It had not been molested. "There's one thing certain," he said, "and that is that the Chinese who are watching us expect us to make a dash for Peking. They took the pains to leave our machines in such shape that their tampering with them would not be suspected. I'd like to know just when this mischief was accomplished." "Yes," Frank observed, "they wanted us to get out of Taku and break down on the road to Tientsin. They would have us at their mercy out there-- or they figured it out that way." "The work on the machines must have been done sometime during the day-- or last night," Ned replied. "Possibly while we were dozing." "I don't believe it!" Jimmie insisted. "I've had me eyes open every minute to-day." "Well," Ned went on, laughing, "we had a high wind yesterday, didn't we? A wind that tumbled the dust of the streets in upon us? Well," pointing to a portion of his machine frame which he had been careful not to touch, "here is some of the dust which fell upon the motorcycle then. The person who did the job brushed a lot of the dust away, so, you see, he must have worked since the dust fell." "Did he brush it all away?" asked Jimmie. "No," Ned replied, pointing, "here is a brace which he touched with his hands but did not wipe off. In a short time I'll tell you just what sort of a chap it was that did the trick." The boy got his camera out of the suitcase and took a picture of the spot on the machine frame where the print of human fingers showed. The motorcycle owned by, or in charge of, Jimmie also showed a similar mark, and this, too, was photographed. This completed, Ned laid the films aside for a time while he made a circuit of the old house, walking slowly as if out for chest exercise, but really seeing every square inch of the earth's surface where he walked. Once he dropped a pocketknife which he carried in his hand and stooped over to pick it up. The boys thought he was a long time in securing the knife, although it was plainly in sight. When he stood up again and continued his circuit of the house there was a strange, inscrutable smile on his face. "What is it?" asked Jack, the instant Ned entered the house. "We've been blind and deaf since we have boon here," Ned answered. "Hostile influences have been operating all around us. Now," he continued, as Frank opened his lips to ask a question, "we'll see what sort of a tale the camera has to tell." As he looked at the films his face hardened and his eyes snapped. In a moment he put the telltale sheets away. "European fingerprints," he said, quietly, "and European footprints out there. It is not Chinamen that we have to look out for." "What the Old Harry--" Jimmie checked himself as a figure darkened the doorway. Ned stepped forward to greet the newcomer. The visitor was a youngish man with black hair, growing well down on a narrow forehead, small black eyes, a straight-lipped mouth, and hard lines about his deep-set eyes. His manner and carriage was that of a man trained to military service. "You are Mr. Nestor?" he asked, extending his hand as Ned approached him. "I have come a long distance to meet you," he added, before Ned could answer the question. "From Washington?" asked Ned. The visitor nodded; glanced sharply about the apartment, where the motorcycles were still lying, and then squatted on one of the burlap bags. Jimmie shook his fist behind the newcomer's back. It was evident that the boy did not like his appearance. "I am Lieutenant Rae, of the Secret Service," he said, in a moment. "I have been delayed on my way here. You were about to start on without your final instructions?" he asked, lifting a pair of eyebrows which seemed to make his little black eyes smaller and more inscrutable than ever. Ned looked at the man, now lolling back on the burlap, and for a moment made no reply. Then he lied deliberately--in the interest of Uncle Sam and human life, as he afterwards explained! "No," he said, "we were merely overhauling the machines. We are in no haste to be away." "I see," grinned the other. "You are taking life easily? Well, that is not so bad. However, you are to start on your journey early to-morrow morning." "I shall be ready," Ned replied. "You have just landed?" For just a second Lieutenant Rae's eyes sought the ground, then he lifted them boldly. Ned was watching his every movement. "No," he said, then, "I came in three days ago, but I was obliged to await the movements of others before reporting to you." Jimmie caught Frank by the arm and drew him out of the house. Out in the deserted garden--which was only a yard or two of hard-packed earth-- he whispered: "That feller's a liar!" "What makes you think so?" Frank asked. "He's no Englishman," Jimmie insisted. "He's a Jap. You bet your last round iron man that's the truth. Now, what do you think he's doin' here?" "Well," Frank replied, "I think you are right. He's not an Englishman. The nerve of him to put that up to us!" "Perhaps he's the gazabo that monkeyed with our machines," suggested Jimmie. "Wish I'd 'a' caught him at it!" "But Ned says that was an European," Frank said. "Then they're thick around us," Jimmie went on, "and we're up to our necks in trouble. I wonder what instructions this Rae person will give Ned?" "Suppose we go inside and see," Frank answered. When the lads reached the interior of the house again Ned and Rae were bending over a road map of the country between Taku and Peking. The visitor was indicating a route with his pencil. "Very well," Ned said, as if fully convinced of the honesty of the other, "now about the private orders. You understand, of course, that I know little concerning the work cut out for me." "You are to receive final instructions at Peking." Ned smiled, but there was something about the smile which told the boys that he was of their way of thinking. "He's on!" Jimmie whispered in Frank's ear. "You bet he is," was the reply. "I'll come here in the morning," the visitor said, looking at his watch, "and go out with you. The chances are that we'll have to make a quick run. Machines in good order?" with a glance at the motorcycles lying against the wall. "We haven't as yet looked them over carefully," Ned lied again, "but presume they are in good shape. As a matter of fact," he continued, hardly able to suppress a smile as Jimmie looked reprovingly at him, "as a matter of fact, we know little about the machines. This is new business for us." Lieutenant Rae bowed himself out of the door, and the boys gathered in an inner room to discuss the situation. "We may as well face the truth," Ned said, calmly. "The man who was to meet us here has fallen into the hands of our enemies. We are alone in China without instructions and surrounded by foes. Now, what shall we do? We may be able to reach the water front and get off to one of the British ships in sight." "And go back?" demanded Jimmie. "Not for me! I'm goin' to stay an' see this thing out." "That's me!" Frank said, and Jack echoed his words. "Well, then," Ned went on, with a smile of satisfaction at the attitude of the lads, "if we are going on, we've got to get to Peking without delay. I'll tell you what I think. The conspirators are aware that we are trying to run them down. If they can stop us before we fully identify them, their part in the plot against Uncle Sam will never be known." Rest assured, then, that they will stop us if they can." "Then it's us for the road to-night!" said Jimmie. "That is fine." In referring to conspirators, Ned indicated the men who had been involved in a plot to get the United States into trouble with a foreign government over a shipment of gold to China. This shipment had gone to the bottom of the Pacific. It had been claimed that the gold shipment, which was marked for the Chinese government, had really been intended for the revolutionary party, now becoming very strong. It was now insisted that the revolutionists had been posted as to the shipment, and that it was on the books for them to seize it the moment it left the protection of the American flag. These claims having been made, and believed, in the state department of a foreign government, none too friendly to the government of the United States. A ship had been sent out to watch the transfer of the gold. At least, that was what had been claimed, but this ship, so sent out, had, by an "accident," rammed and sunk the treasure boat. If the Chinese government did not get the gold, neither did the leaders of the revolutionary party. It had been claimed at Washington that the whole thing was a plot to discredit the United States government in the eyes of the nations of Europe, and Ned Nestor and his chums had been sent out to search the wreck for papers which would disprove the statements made. The papers had been secured. The point now was to connect the foreign statesmen who had burned their fingers in the plot with the affair. Ned knew that the papers would establish the falsity of the charges, but he wanted to place the blame for the whole matter where it belonged. He wanted to track the man who had conferred with known conspirators back to his home. He wanted to be able to point out the treacherous government which had so sought to belittle the United States in the eyes of the world. The boy had no doubt that this was actually the mission upon which he had been sent when ordered by the Secret Service department to report at Taku and there await instructions before proceeding to Peking. He did not understand why he had been instructed to make the trip to Peking on a motorcycle when there were easier ways, but he was quick to obey orders. Later on he learned just why this order had been given. "Yes," Ned replied to Jimmie's remark, "I think we may as well set out for Peking to-night. If we wait until morning, we may not be at liberty to start out." "What do you mean by that?" asked Jack. "Study it out," smiled Ned, "and you may be able to find an answer." While the boy was speaking, he bent over and looked keenly at a footprint on the earthen floor of the room. It was not such a print as the foot-covering of a Chinese man would leave. It had been made by the long heel of an European shoe. When Ned looked closer, he saw that the ground was stained a deep red, that there were dark crimson spots on the window casing. Then he saw that a struggle must have taken place in the room, for the few things it held were in disorder. "Boys," he said, "perhaps our Secret Service man got here before we did." CHAPTER III A SHOE AND A SURPRISE "What do you mean by that?" asked Frank. "If he had reached the old house first, he would have waited here for us, wouldn't he?" "Look what's here," Ned replied. "There has been a fight in the room. The combatants fought from the inner wall to the window, then a knife was used. These stains are by no means fresh, but they tell the story. And to think that we've been here all these days and never found them!" "Well," Frank hastened to say, "we weren't suspicious; and, then, we had no occasion to visit this room." "We should have been on our guard," Ned replied, "but there is no help for it now. This discovery may block our going on to Peking to-night." "I don't see why," Jack said, in a disappointed tone. "If the man who was wounded here and carried out of the window," Ned replied, "is really the messenger we are waiting for, we ought not to go away and leave him in the hands of the enemy. It may not be the one I fear it is, but we ought to find out about that." "It might have been only natives fighting," urged Jack. "Of course," Ned insisted, "but we ought not to leave if there is any possibility of our friend being in trouble. Besides, Jack," he went on, "a native fight here would hardly be umpired by a man wearing European shoes! Here are the tracks, and I found others like them on the ground outside not long ago. We may as well go out now and try to follow them." Accompanied by Jimmie, Ned went out and made a closer examination. The tracks crossed the yard and ended at the street in the rear of the old house. "Now," Ned said, as he stepped out on the beaten course of the unpaved street, "we shall have to take chances. The trail has disappeared, and we can only depend on our enemies for guidance." "That's fine!" said Jimmie. "We may as well go back!" Ned pointed to a little group of Chinamen standing not far away, at the corner of a street lined with miserable huts. "We'll walk about here," he said, "and if we get somewhere near any point of information to us or danger to the others, I have a notion that that nest of Celestials will begin to buzz." Jimmie laughed and the two passed on, merely looking in the direction of the group as they passed it. They moved on down the street on the opposite side. The Chinamen did not move. When they turned back, however, on the other side of the thoroughfare and stopped, on speculation, for an instant before a hut somewhat larger and more dilapidated than the others, a pair of the watchers suddenly detached themselves from the group and hastened away in opposite directions. Two more strolled toward the boys. "What next?" asked Jimmie, in a whisper. "Seems to me that our halting here indicates that there may be something doing in this house," Ned replied. "Suppose we go in and ask some ordinary question?" "An' get kicked out!" grunted Jimmie. "That will be all right, so long as they let us out at all," Ned replied with a smile. "I just want to know why our stopping here excited the Chinks who were watching us." As Ned turned toward the house the little fellow caught him by the sleeve and held him back. "You look out," he said, "there's a snake in there, that black-eyed snake who claimed to be Lieutenant Rae! Do you want him to know that we are wise to his game?" Ned turned and started away from the house, but there came a call from the structure, and the next instant two men were running out to greet him. More by gestures than by words they informed the boys that there was a man in the house wished to see them. In a moment they stood facing the man who had called himself Lieutenant Rae. He advanced to meet them and pointed to chairs as they entered the room. "Out for a walk?" he asked, with a smile. Ned nodded and Jimmie grinned. "The owner of this house," Rae went on, "is an old friend of mine. We met first, years ago, in San Francisco. I'm staying here while in the town. By the way, I was about to visit your quarters." "Come along," Ned said. "We must be getting back." Rae left the room, saying that he would bring a raincoat, and Jimmie pointed to a rear apartment where an old Chinaman with a long, sinister cicatrice on his left cheek was bending over a table. "That's the Chink who brings our grub," he said. "What is this Rae person doing here? I don't eat no more grub that Chink brings." Ned made no reply, for a swinging closet door attracted his attention at that moment. Inside the narrow closet, on the rough floor, lay a pair of European shoes. Ned slipped forward and seized one. When Rae returned it was hidden in a capacious pocket. "What is it?" whispered Jimmie. "If I'm not much mistaken," was the reply, "it is the shoe that made the tracks we have been following." "Then this Rae person didn't always enter the old house where we are stopping by the front way," commented Jimmie. "Gee," he added, "I'll bet he umpired that fight, and the man the Chinks carried off is in this house now." There was no more opportunity for conversation between the two boys at that time, for Rae stood watching them closely, a sneering smile on his face. Ned turned toward the door. "Why venture out in the storm?" asked Rae. "Surely, there is no need of haste. Your friends will not lose themselves during your absence." "You were ready to go, a moment ago," Ned said. "It is the storm," the other observed, with a shrug of the shoulders. "It is increasing in violence every moment." Glancing into the rear room, Ned saw the old Chinaman leave his work and pass through a door to the west. The boy thought he recognized a significant signal as the fellow disappeared, The lads never knew exactly how it all occurred. They only knew at the time that there was a quick rush, a flash of weapons, a desperate struggle, then momentary unconsciousness. They decided afterwards that their enemies had rushed upon them from every direction, and that the sneering face of Rae had gloated over their capture. "Don't injure them," Rae ordered, as ropes were knotted about the wrists and ankles of the prisoners. "I'll go out now and see that the two Black Bears," with a double sneer in his voice, "are taken into camp in short order. Bad climate, this, for school boys who imitate wild animals," he added, with a malicious smile. "A bad climate." "You're all right!" Jimmie called out, as Rae paused in the doorway for an instant. "You're all right! But let me give you a pointer. You keep the Bears and Wolves you get in strong cages! If they get out, they'll eat you up!" "Oh! I'll pull their fangs!" laughed the other, and then he was gone. "This China seems to be a nice country," Jimmie said, turning to Ned. "Some people would break our crusts in instead of tyin' us up." "I rather think," Ned replied, "that they have planned to do that a little later on. We ought never to have taken such chances." "You can't have a chicken pie," grinned Jimmie, "unless some one kills a chicken! No more can you find out what's goin' on by sittin' down in an old house an' waitin' for someone to bring you the news in a New York newspaper! We had to keep cases on this chap, didn't we?" "I think you would talk slang if you were drowning," Ned smiled. "Anyway," he added, "we've caused Rae, if that is his name, to show his hand. That is something." "If we never get away," laughed Jimmie, "we can leave the information to our friends in a will! I wonder if this gazabo will get Frank and Jack?" "Possibly," Ned answered. "They seem to be puttin' most all the Americans in China out of circulation!" said the little fellow. "Wonder if that old gear-face thinks he can guard us an' sleep, too? Say, you watch your chance, Ned, an' I'll roll over and geezle him an' you get out of the house. Roll out, tumble out, any way to get out! There," with a sigh of disappointment, "there's another Chink in the game. Listen to what they are saying!" CHAPTER IV TWO BLACK BEARS IN TROUBLE Jack and Frank sat long by the window, waiting for Ned and Jimmie to return. The doors of the adjoining rooms were wide open, so they had a full view of the lower floor. There were windows, unglazed like that which looked out on the Gulf of Pechili, too, and the lads could see for some distance along the street which ran parallel with the one upon which the miserable old structure faced. Presently a mist crept over the sky, and black clouds rolled in from the threatening canopy over the gulf. There was evidently a storm brewing, and, besides, the night was coming on. In spite of the fact that they had a good view all about them, so far as the house and its immediate vicinity was concerned, both boys felt that almost indescribable sensation which one experiences when being observed from behind by keen and magnetic eyes. They were not exactly afraid, but they had premonitions of approaching trouble. "I wonder what's keeping Ned?" Jack asked. "Hope he hasn't gotten into trouble." "Oh, he'll look out for that!" "Of course! Ned's no slouch!" While the boys cheered themselves with such remarks as these, the rooms grew darker and the black clouds from off the gulf dropped nearer. "What an ungodly country!" Jack exclaimed. "I feel as if I were surrounded by snakes, and all kinds of reptiles. How would you like to take a New York special, just now?" "I'm not yet seared of the job we are on," Frank replied, "but I'd like a half decent show of getting out alive. I feel like we were in a hole in the ground, with all manner of creeping things about us. The very air seems to be impregnated with treachery and cunning." "That's the breath of the Orient," smiled Jack, not inclined to continue in the vein in which the conversation had started. "I don't know why the breath of the Orient should differ from the breath of the Occident," replied Frank, well pleased at the change of subject. "It wouldn't, if the natives of the far East would put bathtubs in their houses and garbage cans on the street comers." "Well, there certainly is an odor about the East," grinned Jack. "Perhaps it is the hot weather." "Hot weather has nothing to do with the sanitary conditions of this part of the world," Frank went on. "Peking is in the latitude of Philadelphia, or New York. You wouldn't think so to hear people talk about the Orient back home, but you'll change your mind if you don't get out of this before winter sets in." "Somehow I never associated cold weather with the East," Jack said. "Why," Frank continued, "this river freezes over about the middle of December and they run sledges on the ice until the middle of March. In summer it is often 106 above zero, while in the winter it drops to about 6 degrees below. If the natives were half civilized, you might get the idea that you were in Ohio, because of the fields of corn." "We don't know much about China, do we?" mused Jack. This was Frank's opportunity. Before reaching the coast he had spent many hours studying up on the history of the strange land he was about to visit. His father was owner and editor of one of the most powerful newspapers in New York City, and the boy had had plenty of inspiration for historical research from the time he was old enough to read. His father's library had supplied him with all the facilities necessary to the carrying out of his inclination, and his travels with the Boy Scouts had brought him into contact with many of the countries whole history he had studied so enthusiastically. Now he saw an opportunity of talking China to Jack, and started in at once. Jack listened eagerly, for, while interested in the past of the strange land, he was too busy a young man to spend much time in any library. His father was one of the leading corporation lawyers in New York, but the boy's inclinations pointed to mining as a future profession--when he had investigated the wilds of the world! "We don't know much about China," Frank began, "because for centuries China has shunned what we call civilization. This is said to be the most ancient and populous nation in the world, although it seems to me that history goes back farther on the banks of the Nile and the Euphrates than on the western shore of the Yellow Sea. "The authentic history of China goes back 2207 years before the birth of Christ, while Egyptian records and the data found along the Euphrates and the Tigris point to a much older organization of men into communities. However, it is said by some that Fuh-hi founded the Chinese empire eight hundred years before the date given, when Yu the Great began to make history. "One reason why the story of China is so short, comparatively, is that Ching Wang, the old fellow who caused the Chinese wall to be built to keep out the Tartars, ordered all books and records previous to his time to be destroyed. This was to dispose of the stories of wars, in which China, before his time, was always engaged. "China has always been at war with the Mongolians. In 1300 A.D., Genghis Khan raised a Mongolian army and captured Peking. Later, one Kublai Khan overthrew the Sung dynasty and established a Mongolian empire. The members of the defeated royal family drowned themselves in the river at Canton. This Mongolian dynasty lasted until the middle of the fourteenth century, when it was overthrown. "The Chinese governed their own land, then, until 1644, just before which time the emperor was murdered by native sons. Then the Tartars got to Peking, in spite of the Great Wall, and established the dynasty now on the throne. "One cause of the growing revolt in China is the fact that the Tartars are still in power. But the Tartars who were warlike enough when China lay before them for conquest quieted down as soon as Sun-chi took the throne. Peace has been the rule since then. "It seem strange, but it is true, that China has not progressed, has not been given the respect conferred on other nations, because she would not, or could not fight. Talk about peace all you like, but it is the fighters that win whether in private or national life. "China has been kicked about by all the nations of the world, large and powerful as she is, because it was understood that she could be insulted with impunity. England put the opium curse on her against only feeble resistance. She has stood for peace, not conquest, and had been treated condescendingly, like a big booby of a boy at school who is afraid of lads half his size. The secret organization now forming in this country may overthrow the Manchu dynasty, but if it does it will build a Chinese republic and not a new Chinese empire. "It is claimed by some that the United States is favoring this new Chinese party of liberty, that the gold recently lost in the Pacific was our contribution to the cause--by the roundabout way we have heard so much about--and that the Washington government will be the first to recognize the new republic. "I don't know whether all this is true or not, but father says it is, and he ought to know. Anyhow, there will be plenty of fighting before the present rulers release their grip on the royal treasury. It may be that our mission here is to find out something more about this new movement. "You see," he added, "if our government is for the new movement, the nation which rammed the gold ship, which set the conspirators at work, which sent a great statesman, as we believe, to negotiate with the conspirators, is against it, and Uncle Sam possibly wants to know what power it is that is likely to assist the present Emperor of China in holding his job. If Ned can get the proof he needs to establish what he already knows and suspects, he will do a good piece of work." "I wish he would return," Jack said, with an apprehensive look about the room. 'I don't see what is keeping him." "Here he comes, now!" Frank cried, "or it may be Jimmie," he added, "blundering through the window." Both boys arose and hastened to the door of the room from which the sounds of approach had been heard. The apartment was dark and still, save for the whipping of the wind at the open casement. While the boys stood there, expecting every instant to hear the voice of one of their chums, rain began to fall, and a sharp zigzag of lightning cut across the sky. By this natural searchlight the lads saw a figure crouching just under the window. The illumination lasted for an instant only, and it was not possible for them to see whether the visitor was dressed in native or European costume. His face was not in sight, and only the barest outlines of his figure were discernible. Jack was for rushing forward on a tour of inspection, but Frank took a firm grip on his friend's arm and held him back. He not only prevented him springing upon the crouching figure, but drew him away from the open door-way, believing that both had been observed by the intruder. "We ought to get him!" Jack panted, in a whisper. "We ought to find out if he is one of our enemies or only a common thief." "Much good it would do to capture him!" Frank whispered back. "We couldn't force the truth out of him, and the things they call courts of justice here would soon be after us." "Then what can we do?" demanded Jack. Frank did not reply, for footsteps, now plainly heard above the sweep of the wind and rain, were approaching the room where the boys were standing, with automatic revolvers in their hands. "He's got his nerve!" Jack said. "Why doesn't he come into the place with a brass band? Shall we sneak out of a window, or remain here and find out what he wants?" "I'm for getting out!" Frank leaped from the window as he spoke, and in a second Jack came piling out on top of him. "Gee whiz!" Frank whispered. "Why don't you knock a fellow over?" "What are you trying to do?" demanded Jack. "Not a thing," was the reply. "Say, but we'll get a nice soak if we remain here." "You'll get a nice soak on the coco, if you don't stop pulling me around," came back from Jack. "Then keep your hands off me!" Frank responded. But in a moment both boys knew that they were not struggling with each other. A brilliant flash of lightning cut the sky, and by its light they saw each other lying on the ground under the window, each with a couple of men in native costume perched on top. Jack fired, but the pressure on his back was not lessened. Instead, he felt a snaky hand slip down his arm, seize his fingers and twist the gun away. "Frank!" he called out. "Frank! Shoot at the heathens! I missed, and one of them has my gun." Frank obeyed the suggestion, and three reports were heard. Jack, though not naturally bloodthirsty, was overjoyed at the sound of a groan which came from the spot where Frank lay. "Don't try that again, son!" "That will be enough!" Both sentences were spoken in English. Then the boys were carried bodily into the house and sat down against a wall. Then a lighted lantern was brought in, and the prisoners saw six sleepy-looking Chinamen grinning at them. CHAPTER V A COLLECTION OF WILD ANIMALS "Well, what do you think of it?" The voice was that of an Englishman, and the words were spoken in the room, but the struggling prisoners could not discover where the person who uttered them stood. It seemed to them that there were only the six sleepy-looking Chinamen and themselves in the apartment. Frank ceased his useless struggling with the rope which held both feet and hands in its strong coils, and glanced along the row of stupid faces. "What did you say?" he asked, hoping that the speaker would say something more and so locate himself. "How do you like it?" That was the same voice, and it was in that room, but, still, there were only the six Chinamen and Jack in sight. Frank looked at his chum with a smile on his face. In that moment he resolved to meet whatever Fate might have in store for him with a cheerful heart. He had little doubt that both Ned and Jimmie had been caught in the trap into which Jack and himself had fallen. There was no knowing what the fate of himself and his friends would be, but whatever had been planned for them by their enemies, there would be no relief in sighs and pleas for pity. They were alone in the land of mystery. Owing to the necessity for secrecy regarding their movements, no one with whom they had been associated in the Secret Service work knew of their whereabouts, save only Lieutenant Scott, who had sent them on to Taku, and who had failed to keep his promises to them. And Lieutenant Scott? Frank believed him dead or in the clutches of the conspirators. Otherwise, he would have kept his appointment at the old house on the water front. The view ahead was not a long one, as the boy considered the matter, nor a smooth one, but he decided that nothing was to be gained by subserviency. "I like it!" was Jack's quick reply. "Who is it that is doing the talking?" "One of the six in front of you," came the answer in English. Jack cast his eyes quickly along the row of faces, but failed to catch the movement of a lip, the twinkle of an eye. "You're a funny bloke," Jack went on. "How much will you take for a month in vaudeville?" "He'd make a fine spirit medium," Frank cut in. "Can you make the talk come from behind me?" he added, with a grin. "Of course I can!" Although the boys watched closely, there were no signs of motion in any one of the six yellow, foxy faces, still the words seemed to come from the wall directly back of Jack's head. "If I had you on the Bowery," Jack continued, "I'd give you a hundred a month. Come on over and get busy in the little old United States!" "I think I'll wait until the boys bring in the other two wild animals," replied the unknown speaker. "I rather want to see the finish of you Wolves and Black Bears before I see the Bowery again." "You'll find more wild animals of our stripe on the Bowery than you will want to meet," Jack replied, "especially when it is known that you've been mixed up with Boy Scouts, to their harm, in China." "I'll take my chances on that," was the reply. "You have been very successful, you wild beasts, in butting into the business of other people, and getting out again uninjured, but it is going to be different now. There are two black Bears and two Wolves that I know of who will never get back to New York again." "All right," Frank said. "We've had fun enough out of the Secret Service work we have done to pay for whatever trouble we have now. Ned will be along presently, and then you'll have another think coming." "Sure, he'll be along directly," was the reply. "In fact, he's right here now!" But it was not Ned who was pushed, bound hand and foot, into the circle of light in the room. The little fellow came near falling as he was thrust forward, but he regained his equilibrium, and turned around to face his tormentor. "You're a cheap skate!" he said. "If I had you on Chatham Square I'd change your face good and plenty!" Then he saw that he was speaking to empty air. There was no one in the doorway. The person who had brought him there and hustled him into the room had disappeared. "Now, what do you know about that?" Jimmie chuckled as he asked the question of the six silent figures ranged along the wall. As yet his eyes had not fallen on the figures of Frank and Jack, farther back in the shadows. There was, of course, no answer to his question, and the boy leaned forward, a grin on his freckled face. "Say, but you're a bum lot!" he cried. "Why don't you go back to the Pyramids and sleep for another thousand years? There ain't no nourishment in sitting up there like a dime museum, for there's no one sellin' tickets at the door." "Look behind you!" That was the English voice again, seemingly out of the heavy air, or out of the storm outside. Jimmie turned quickly and saw his chums nicely tied up. In a moment he turned back to the row of six, without even exchanging a look with his friends. "Who's doin' the talkin'," he asked. Frank and Jack were now too impatient to know what had become of their leader to delay longer. The latter asked: "Where's Ned?" "Ask this lineup," Jimmie replied. "I don't know. Gee! If I had a face like that man on the end, I'd sell it to the wild man of Borneo, its an improvement on anythin' he could get up. Say, Old Socks!" he added, "where is Ned?" "Packed up, ready for delivery," was the reply. "Say, how would you wild animals like to take a jaunt on your motorcycles to-night? Nice cool night for a ride! You might reach Poking by morning and report to the American ambassador!" "We'll get there in due time," Frank answered. "I've drawn the teeth of this collection of wild animals, at all events," said the voice. "No more Wolves and Black Bears will be apt to come to China. Such collections are not popular here." Jimmie dropped back to where his chums were seated. Serious as the situation was, the boy could not restrain a smile as he threw himself down beside Frank. The storm was still thundering outside, and splashes of rain now and then whirled in at the open casement. The lantern which illuminated the interior of the room showed only a round blotch against the darkness. In this circle sat the six silent men, watchful but motionless. "It might be a scene in a play!" Jimmie exclaimed. Frank nodded and whispered: "Did they get Ned, too?" Jimmie nodded. His face was grave in an instant. "Where is he?" Frank whispered. The little fellow shook his head. Then the voice which seemed to come from nowhere was heard again: "You'll meet him in due time," it said. A long silence followed. The lantern which gave out the light flickered in the wind and the beat of the rain increased in violence. In all the adventurous lives of the Boy Scouts nothing so weird, so uncanny, as this had ever occurred. "Well," Jack said, more to break the strange silence than for any other purpose, "why don't you say something?" Then, through the clamor of the storm, came the sharp ring of steel. It sounded to the listening boys like the purring of two swords directed against each other by strong hands. Instantly the light was extinguished, and the shuffling of feet told the captives that the watchful six were getting into upright positions. "Hello, the house!" The challenging call came from the street outside. "That's good, honest United States!" Jimmie whispered. "Shall I risk an answer?" "You'll probably get a knife in your side if you do," Frank answered. "The Chinks are still in the room." "Show a light!" The voice was nearer than before, and the three boys lifted to their feet and moved toward the window, which was just above where they had been sitting. Frank was about to throw himself out into the storm when a muscular hand seized him by the arm. "Nothing doing!" a voice said in his ear. "If you move again, or try to answer the call, that will be the last of one Black Bear. Remain silent while I talk with your friends." "Our friends?" repeated Frank. "Certainly," was the reply--given with a chuckle. "Your very good friends from the American ship in the harbor." There was torture in the words, in the fierce grip on the arm. The promised assistance had arrived and the boys were powerless to make their perilous situation known! But a hopeful thought came to the brain of the boy as he was dragged away from the open window. It was barely possible that Ned had escaped, that he knew of the peril his friends were in, and would arrive before the Americans were, by some treacherous falsehood, sent away. "Nestor!" cried the voice outside. "Are you there? Show a light." There was a rustle in the room, then black silence. CHAPTER VI WITH THE FLYING SQUADRON "Go around to the front and come in," a voice said--a voice from the room where the boys were. "I've just got here, and am trying to find a light." There was a rattle of arms outside, then the heavy tread of men still making some pretense, even in the darkness and the rain, of moving in marching order. The men who had come to the assistance of the Boy Scouts were preparing to enter the house. How would they be received? This was the question uppermost in the minds of all the boys as they waited. Would they be greeted with treacherous words, or with a murderous fusillade of bullets and knives stabbing in the darkness? It would seem that the Chinamen would hardly dare attack an American military squad, yet these men were outlaws, and there was no knowing what they might do. The lads heard the marines, as they supposed the newcomers to be, pass around an angle of the old house and stand for an instant talking in the doorway to which they had been directed by the voice of the man on the inside. Frank was preparing to set up a cry of warning, let the consequences be what they might, when the rattle of arms told him that the marines had surrounded the house, and that every door and window was guarded! The men who were guarding the boys evidently knew what was taking place, for they released their clutches on the lads and moved away. Next came a struggle at the window, and then a strong electric light swept into the room. Jimmie jumped forward and bumped into Ned, who was clambering over the decayed window sill. There were several shots exchanged on the outside, followed by shouts of both rage and pain, then three men in the uniform of the United States marine service entered the room. One of them picked up Ned's searchlight, which had fallen to the floor when Jimmie bunted its owner, and turned its rays on the mix-up under the window. There was a flutter of arms and legs, as Frank and Jack, half choking with laughter at the manner in which tragedy had so suddenly and unexpectedly been changed into comedy, pulled Ned and Jimmie apart. Jimmie sat up, wrinkling his nose until one would think it never would smooth out again, and gazed at Ned with provoking grin. "Gee!" he cried. "I thought I was mixing it with six Chinks! Wonder you wouldn't knock before entering a private room!" "I did knock," laughed Ned, rising from the floor and taking the flashlight. "Yes, you knocked me down," grunted Jimmie. The three marines, standing in the middle of the room with amused faces, regarded the four boys curiously for a moment and then moved out of range of the window. Also Ned was asked to shut off the light. "We're not out of it yet," one of them said. "Our men chased the Yellow Faces into a bad part of town, and they are likely to be chased back, not by a few, but by a mob! These Chinks like Americans about as much as brook trout love the desert." "Perhaps I'd better go out an' see what's comin' off," suggested the little fellow. "You'll only get captured again," Jack suggested, provokingly. "I ain't got nothin' on you in getting tied up with ropes," Jimmie retorted. "You looked like one of these mummy things when the light was turned on." The officer in charge of the marines motioned to Jimmie to remain where he was, but the order came too late. Having been relieved of his bonds by Ned's quick fingers, he fairly dived out of the window into the darkness. "Now there'll be trouble catching him again," complained the officer. "If he doesn't get a hole bored through him, we'll have to hunt the town over to get him out of the Chinks' hands. Why can't you boys behave yourselves?" "Ruh!" Jack retorted, annoyed at the tone of superiority adopted by the officer. "I guess we've been doing pretty well, thank you! I reckon you fellows must have followed off a cow path! We've been waiting here for you long enough to walk to Peking on our hands!" "That's the fact!" the officer replied, speaking in a whisper in the darkness. "We were the first ones to fall into the snares set by the Chinks. Only for Ned, we would still be waiting for you in a house something like this one, in a distant part of the town. How the boy found us I can't make out, but find us he did." "What are you going to do about that runaway kid?" asked Frank of Ned. "Shall I go get him?" It was not necessary for Ned to reply to the question, for at that moment a figure came tumbling through the window and a voice recognized as that of the little fellow cried out: "Gee!" he said, feeling about in the darkness, "what do you think of my ruinnin' into a sea soldier an' getting chucked through the hole the carpenter left?" "If you boy will get ready now," a voice said, "we'll be on, our way toward Peking." "How many of the Chinks did you catch?" asked Ned. "Not a blooming one," was the disgusted reply. "They ran away like water leaking into the ground." "If you'd only let me alone," wailed Jimmie, "I'd have got one. I want to soak the man that tied me up." The marines, a full dozen of them, now gathered in the old house and all made ready for departure. Directly a motorcycle for every man was wheeled up to the door. "We have been practicing riding while waiting for you," the officer in charge explained, "and the fellows think they can go some!" "It is a wild night for such a ride," Frank suggested. "Couldn't have been better for our purpose," said the officer. "Do you know why we are going on motorcycles?" asked Ned. "I think I do," was the reply. "Why don't you out with it, then?" asked Jack. "You'll learn of the reason soon enough!" replied the other. "Before we go to Peking you may understand why you are going with a flying squadron of Uncle Sam's men!" "Who directed you to the house where I found you?" asked Ned. "A chap who called himself Lieutenant Rae," was the reply. "Japanese-lookin' chap?" asked Jimmie. "That's the fellow." "There's one more question," Ned went on. "Are all the men you took from the ship with you?" "Every one of my men is here," answered the officer, "but there was a fellow, a friend of yours, with us at first who is not with us now. Queer chap he was, too! German, I think, and a master at tangling up the United States language. He came on board the ship, and managed to get off with us when we left. In two days he disappeared." "That was Hans!" cried Jack. "Who's Hans?" "A German Boy Scout we picked up on an island. A member of the Owl Patrol, of Philadelphia, he said. We left him on the submarine." "Well, he asked after you boys, and looked disappointed when we did not find you, owing to the misleading statements of that fraud, Rae. He left us without a word of explanation, and is probably looking for you. Did he know where you were going?" "Yes," admitted Ned, "I told him we were going to Peking by way of Tientsin. I should not have done that." "Oh, it can do no harm, and may be for your benefit. If the lad was not killed by the Chinks, he is doubtless on his way to Peking." "Then you think he knew there was something wrong because we did not meet you?" asked Ned. "Yes; he acted queerly." "There are evidences of a struggle in this house," Ned went on, "and we thought the messenger we were waiting for had been attacked, but it may have been Hans after all. I hope he is not in serious trouble." "I am the only messenger sent to you," the officer said, "so, as you say, it might have been the German who was attacked, though no one knows how he ever found this house, or why, when attacked, he didn't make himself heard." The rain was now falling heavily, and it was decided to remain under shelter for a time, so the flashlight was brought into use again. "If your men can keep up with us," Jack said to the officer, "we can get to Peking in six hours, so there is no need of hurrying." "If you get to Peking in six weeks you'll be doing well," laughed the officer. "What do you mean by that? Demanded Ned, who was anxious for a start. "I can't tell you," was the answer. "But it was never believed you could make a quick jump to the capital city. There maybe things to do on the way there. That is why you have to escort. I don't like this diplomacy game, but have to obey orders." "What I want to know," Jimmie broke in, "is how Ned got away. They had him tied up plenty last time I saw him. And, after he got away, how did he happen to blunder into the company of our escort? China is a land of mystery, all right!" "They didn't watch me closely," Ned replied, modestly, "after they took you away, and when I did get out of the house I had only to follow one of my captors. Believing that I was safely tied, my captors talked a lot about having the marines waiting in the wrong house while they disposed of the Boy Scouts!" "This man Rae?" asked the officer. "Was he there with your captors? That's one of the men we must take." "Oh, he is the man that caused us to be taken," Jimmie cut in. "I'd like to break his crust for him. I'm gettin' sick of bein' tied up in every case, like the hero in a Bowery play!" "Was there a Chink who spoke English like a native?" asked Jack. "There were two." "Dressed in native costume?" "Yes, and looking bored and weary." "Then they're the men that sat with the others in a grinning row up against the wall," Frank exclaimed. "Do you think they are Chinamen?" "Disguised Englishmen," Ned replied. "That's my notion," Frank went on. "Oh, we'll get this all ironed out directly! If we could find Hans we might start off with a thorough understanding of how the game was carried out here." The rain now slacked a little, and here and there stars showed through masses of hurrying clouds. The boys led their steel horses to the door and prepared to mount. "Plenty of mud," Jack suggested. In the little pause caused by the marines getting out their machines a dull, monotonous sound came to the ears of the party. It was such a sound as the Boy Scouts had heard on the rivers of South America, when the advance of their motor-boat was blocked, and hundreds of savages were peering out of the thickets. "What is it?" asked Jack. "Sounds like the roaring of a mob," answered the officer. "You understand that a word will stir the natives to arms against foreigners. As there is no knowing what this fake Lieutenant Rae and the men we drove away from this house may have said to the Chinks, we may as well be moving. It may be safer out on the road!" "I should say so!" exclaimed Jack. "We can't fight a whole nation, can we? Look there! That was a rocket, and means trouble." The distant murmur was fast growing into a roar, and rockets were flecking the clouds with their green, red, and blue lights. Shadowy figures began to show in the darkness, and a group was seen ahead, in the street which led away toward Peking. "More dangerous than wild beasts!" exclaimed the officer. "Be careful to keep together and in the middle of the road, when we get under way, for if one of us gets pulled down there's an end of all things for him!" "It is too bad we can't stay long enough to find Hans," Ned said. "If we remain here five minutes longer," the officer replied, "someone will have to come and find us. Are you ready?" All were ready, and the next moment sixteen motorcycles shot out into the street and headed northwest for Tientsin, which city lay in the direct path to Peking. The group in the road ahead parted sullenly as the squadron pressed on its outer circle and the company passed through without mishap. That was as wild a ride as any living being ever engaged in. Nothing but the speed of the motorcycles saved the boys, for enemies sprung up all along the way. Some mysterious system of signaling ahead seemed to be in vogue there. The sky cleared presently. The road was muddy, but the giant machines made good progress, especially through little towns, through the doors and windows of which curious eyes peered out on the silent company, marching, seemingly, to the music of the spark explosions. After a run of two hours the officer halted and dismounted. "Now," he said, "we've got a bit of work cut out for us here. If we make it, we may go on in peace. If we fail, all must keep together and take chances on speed." CHAPTER VII THE MIDNIGHT CALL OF AN OWL Ned glanced about keenly as he left his seat on the machine and stood awaiting further instructions. There was little rain in the air now, but it was still dark except for the faint reflection of a distant group of lights. "Where are we?" Ned asked. "Near Tientsin." "So soon? Why, I thought we'd be a long time on the way." "I reckon you don't know how fast we have been traveling," said the officer. "Fear led me to take risks. I'll admit that." "I want to look through the city before I leave the country," Ned remarked. "You are standing now where the allied armies encamped in 1900," the officer went on. "You doubtless recall the time the allied armies were sent to Peking to rescue the foreign ambassadors during the Boxer uprising? That was an exciting time." "Hardly," laughed Ned, "although I have read much about that march. I must have been about eight years old at the time." "Well here is where the American brigade encamped on the night before the start for Peking was made. At that time it was believed that the foreigners at Peking had all been murdered. I was here with the boys in blue." "Then you ought to know the road to Peking." "I certainly do." "What are we halting here for?" "There is a dispatch from Washington due you here," was the reply. "Telegrams in China?" "Certainly. Why, kid, this city has over a million of inhabitants, and thousands of the residents are foreigners. Of course they have telegraph facilities." "But how am I to get it to-night?" To the east lay a great cornfield, to the west a broken common upon which were a few houses of the meaner sort. The corn had been cut and was in the shock. In the houses the lights were out. But far over the poverty-stricken abodes of the poor shone the reflections of the high lights of the city. Tientsin is a squalid Oriental city, its native abodes being of the cheapest kind, but the foreign section is well built up and well lighted. These were the reflections, glancing down from a gentle slope, that the boys saw. The officer pointed to the north, indicating a low-roofed hut half hidden in the corn shocks. "We are to remain there," he said, "until you receive your instructions from Washington." "But why were they not given me before?" demanded Ned. "Because the man in charge of this matter for the Secret Service department doubted your ability to make the trip to Tientsin. That is the truth of it. If you had failed back there at Taku, I should have taken the message from the office and mailed it, unopened, back to Washington. You have made good, so you get it yourself." "They never put me to such a test before," grumbled Ned. The officer turned, gave a short order to his men, and passed his machine over to one of them. "I am going into the city with Mr. Nestor," he said; "see that none of these youngsters gets away during my absence." "I'm goin' to get away right now," Jimmie exclaimed. "I'm goin' with Ned to the city. I guess I'm not visiting China to live in a cornfield. I want to see the wheels go round!" The officer glanced at Ned questioningly, while the little fellow made a face back. "Let him come along," Ned said. "He'll come anyway, whether we give him permission or not. How far must we walk?" "Walk?" repeated Jimmie. "I'm goin' to take my motorcycle." "That may be a good idea," admitted the officer. "I had not thought of that." "We may have to make a run for it, judging from the experiences we had at Taku," Ned suggested. "Nothing of the kind here," the other said. "You are as safe in this city as you would be in New York, under the same conditions, of course. You know there are sections of New York which strangers do well to keep out of at night." So, mounting their cycles again, the three set off for the foreign section of Tientsin. At first the streets were very bad, but in time they came to smoother running and good time was made. It was now approaching midnight, but the city, was still awake and stirring. The streets were well filled with pedestrians, and many of the small shops were open. Naturally the three motorcycles, speeding through the streets of the ancient city, attracted no little attention. Here and there little groups blocked the way for an instant, but on the whole fair progress was made. Jimmie, by no means as anxious as were his companions, enjoyed every moment of the dash. He was thinking of the stories he would have to tell when he returned to the Bowery again! It is quite possible that the way would have been more difficult for the riders only for the uniform of the officer. Foreigners are not given much consideration by the street crowds in China--especially by such crowds as enliven the thoroughfares at night--but, since the march of the allied armies to Peking, uniforms have been held in great awe. At last the telegraph office was reached, and Ned was glad to see that lights still burned within. His night ride would at least prove of avail. He would receive instructions directly from Washington, and that would be more to the purpose than traveling along like a blind mole in the earth, receiving his information by bits from underlings in the Secret Service. Besides, the boy was wet and cold, for the night was growing more disagreeable every moment, and he would now have an opportunity to warm himself by a blaze such as foreigners ordinarily insist on in the cold months in China. The man at the desk bowed courteously as the three entered the office. He was evidently a native of China but seemed to have profited by a foreign education. When Ned gave his name and asked for a message, the operator, who appeared to be the sole employee there, coolly surveyed him critically from head to foot. Then he turned questioning eyes to the marine. "It is all right," the officer said. "This is the person brought here by the flying squadron." "A boy!" cried the operator. "Only a boy!" "Aw, cut that out!" cried Jimmie, always ready to resent any seeming discourtesy to his chum. The operator scowled at the little fellow and turned to the officer with the remark that he should be obliged to consult with his superior. "All right," was the officer's reply. "Only make haste." The operator entered a back room and presently returned with a boy who evidently served as messenger during the daytime. After receiving whispered instructions, the lad passed out of the office, with a furtive glance over his shoulder at Jimmie. Then the operator went back to his desk, while the officer and Ned stood waiting. There was no fire in the outer office, but a wave of warm air came from the rear room. "We have been riding in the rain," the officer said, seeing that they were not to be invited into the heated apartment. "May we go back to the fire?" The operator scowled, but the uniform won the day, and the three were ushered into a small room where an American oil stove was sending forth a generous heat. Then the grouchy operator slammed the door and left his guests to their own reflections. "Say," Jimmie whispered, in a moment, "I don't believe that chump is on the level!" "Well," Ned replied, "he's got to give me the dispatch. He can't get out of doing that." "Perhaps he knows what the message contains," the officer suggested, "and is not inclined to deliver it." "I hardly think he knows what it contains," Ned answered, "for it is undoubtedly in cipher." "And you have the Secret Service code?" asked the officer, amazement showing on his face. "Certainly." "Well, they have a lot of confidence in you, then," said the other. At the end of half an hour a man said to be the assistant in charge of the station entered the room and eyed all three occupants keenly. His glances were met frankly by Ned and the officer, but Jimmie could not resist an inclination to wrinkle his nose at him. "Which is Ned Nestor?" the man asked, addressing the officer. The marine pointed toward Ned. "Do you know him to be Ned Nestor?" was the next question, and Ned thought he felt a hostile spirit in the tone. "Certainly I do, else I would not be here with him." "This is important business of state," suggested the other, "and I have to be cautious." "Your conduct seems more like curiosity than caution," the officer declared. "Have you the message with you?" "Yes, but I can't deliver it except in the presence of the manager." "Is it in the code of the Secret Service?" asked Ned. "It is in some code unknown to me." "If you don't deliver it in five minutes," declared the officer, "I shall call the American consul!" The official made no reply. "You can read this code, I suppose?" he asked of Ned. "Certainly." "Well, I'll communicate with the manager, and if he says it is all right I'll give you the message and take your receipt for it. Will that answer?" "It must, I suppose," replied the officer. The obdurate official left the room. "Gee, but it's close in here!" Jimmie declared, in a moment. "Seems like a hop joint in Pell street." "There is opium in the air," the officer said. "See if you can find a window." Jimmie found a window opening on a large court and lifted the lower sash. Then he called to Ned. "I don't like the looks of this," he said. "If they should try to hold us here, what?" "They won't do that." "Oh, they won't tie us up, I guess," said the little fellow, "but they may delay our departure." "Go on," smiled Ned. "An' communicate with the ginks that have been chasing us ever since we left the submarine," concluded the boy. "In time, Jimmie," Ned answered, "you may even get into the thinking row. I have been wondering ever since we came in here if we were not with enemies instead of friends." "I can soon find out," declared Jimmie. "Yes? How, may I ask?" "I'll rush out into the other room an' try to get to the street. If there's anythin' in the notion we have, they'll turn me back." "You might try that," smiled Ned, and the officer clapped a hand on the boy's shoulder and declared that he was a "brick." So Jimmie hustled out into the front office. The listeners heard sharp words, and then a slight scuffling of feet. Then next instant the boy was pushed back through the doorway. "What is the trouble?" asked the marine of the assistant, whose flushed face showed in the half-open doorway. "You'll all have to be identified before you can leave here," was the curt reply. "You have asked for important state dispatches, and we want to know what your motive is." "My motive is to get them," replied Ned, coolly. "Wait until you prove your right to them," said the other, and the door was slammed shut. Ned stepped back to the window and looked out into the court. The walls were four stories high, and there seemed to be no passage out of the box-like place. The officer suggested that he force his way through the outer office and reach the American consul, but Ned did not approve of this. He thought there must be some other way. Then a hint of that other way came from the court in the call of an owl. "That's a Boy Scout signal, and not a bird!" almost shouted Jimmie. CHAPTER VIII THE MESSAGE FROM WASHINGTON "Surely," the marine officer said, in answer to the boy's exclamation, "that is a genuine, feathered owl. No boy could make so perfect an imitation." "It's Dutchy, all right," insisted Jimmie. "I've heard him make that noise before. Now, how did he ever get to Tientsin, and how did he locate us?" "It doesn't seem possible that it is Hans," Ned said. "How could he make the journey on foot, through a country suspicious of every foreigner? And how comes it that he chanced on this building?" "Didn't he know that you were expecting instructions from Washington while on the way to Peking?" asked the officer. "I did not know, myself, that I was to receive instructions while on the way until I met you," Ned replied. "If Hans is indeed here, he has either blundered into his present position or gained pretty accurate information from some one unknown to me." "If he is here?" repeated Jimmie. "Of course he is here. I'm goin' out in the court an' give him the call of the pack!" "What does he mean by that?" asked the officer of Ned. "Call of the pack?" "The call of the Wolf pack," answered Ned. "We both belong to the Wolf Patrol, of New York." "And you think Hans, if it is he, will understand?" "Of course!" scorned Jimmie. The little fellow was about to step out of the low window to the floor of the court when a mist of light appeared at one of the glazed windows on the opposite side. The three watched the illumination with absorbing interest for a moment. "Hans must be up there," Ned, muttered, "although I would almost as soon expect to find him up in a balloon." "I reckon you'll find an owl with wise eyes and feathers up there, if you wait," said the officer, with a smile. "The boy you refer to never could have traveled here alone." "You just wait," advised Jimmie. Presently the mist of light centered down to three small flames, apparently coming from three narrow twists of paper, burning in a row in front of a window on the second floor. Jimmie grasped Ned's arm as the three tiny columns of flame showed for an instant and then vanished. "There!" he said. "Do you know what that means?" "It is a warning of danger," Ned muttered. "Say that again," exclaimed the officer. "What kind of a game is this?" "It is a Boy Scout warning," Ned replied. "In the forest three columns of smoke express the warning. How did this German boy learn all this?" he continued, turning to Jimmie. "Don't you ever think the Philadelphia Boy Scouts are slow!" answered the boy. "Hans has been out in the forest with them, and knows all about woods work, an' signs, an' signals. Give it up, now?" "Yes," replied the officer, "I give it up. You boys must have a wonderful organization." "We certainly have," Ned replied. The three waited for a moment, but no more signals came from the window. Instead a heavy footfall sounded outside the door and a man they had not seen before stepped into the room. He was a heavily built man, with broad shoulders, black hair and eyes, and a wicked mouth. His face looked hard and repulsive, like the face of a reckless, intolerant, whisky-drinking captain of police in a graft-ridden district. He closed the door with his back as he entered. "You are Ned Nestor?" he asked of the officer. The latter pointed toward Ned. "That child!" exclaimed the newcomer. Jimmie restrained himself with an effort, for he knew that this was no time to engage in a quarrel. He turned his back to the group and looked out of the window into the court. There was now no light at the window from which the warning had been given, but there were flickers of uncertain candles at some of the others. The hooting of the owl had undoubtedly attracted the attention of the occupants of the building. As Jimmie looked, however, the sash of the window he was watching was pushed up and a tousled head appeared. Other sashes were pushed up in an instant, and pigtailed heads and slanting, evil eyes were in view. "I guess they're keepin' cases on the kid!" Jimmie thought, as he made an almost imperceptible motion toward Hans. "It would be pretty poor, I reckon, if I could get up there," he added, not meaning that it would be "pretty poor" at all, but, on the contrary, a very good move indeed. While the lad watched the window, from which the tousled head had now disappeared, some of the other windows closed. The natives were evidently in no mood to lose their sleep because of a foreign-devil noise in the middle of the night. The little fellow was certain that the head he had for a moment seen was that of Hans, the Philadelphia Boy Scout who had been so strangely encountered during the visit of the submarine to an island off the coast of China. He knew, too, that the German understood that something unusual and hostile to his friends was going on below. He did not stop to consider the means by which Hans had reached the city of Tientsin and that particular building. He accepted it for granted that he was there, and wondered just what steps he, the German, would be apt, or able, to take in the emergency which threatened the failure of the mission to Peking. Presently the voices of the marine officer, the official who had been summoned by the assistant manager, and Ned reached his ears. The officer was clearly in an angry mood and Ned was trying his persuasive powers on the newcomer. "Are you an officer of the telegraph company?" the officer asked, in an angry tone. "I am not," was the equally discourteous rejoinder. "I am a private detective employed, by the manager here. It is my duty to look after just such cases as this." "Well," Ned said, calmly, "ask any questions you desire and we will answer them frankly. I came to China at the request of the Washington government, and am to receive instructions here. The operator tells me that there is a cablegram here for me, but refuses to deliver it on the ground that I may be an impostor." "I think he has you sized up right," grated the detective. "Then we may as well be going," Ned said, still coolly. "There is nothing for us to do now but try to establish our identity before the American consul." The boy moved toward the door as he spoke, but the brawny detective obstructed his passage to the outer room. Ned drew back with a smile on his face. "You can't leave here just at present," said the detective. "You will remain in custody until morning." "Why morning?" asked Ned, with alight laugh. "Because your accuser will be here then." "Why didn't you say something of an accuser before?" asked Ned. "It was not necessary." "What does the accuser say?" "He only warns us against delivering important papers to a youth answering your description." "Now I understand why all this rumpus has been kicked up!" cried the marine officer. "The man who warned you is Lieutenant Rae?" The detective nodded. "Then he is causing us to be delayed for purposes of his own," the officer stormed. "He aims to get to Peking in advance of us. We must be permitted to depart immediately." He moved toward the door, but the detective stood in his way. Without a word he seized the fellow by the shoulder whirled him around, put his beery face to the wall, and passed out of the room. Ned was about to follow him when the strange attitude of the detective caught his attention and he stood waiting while a scuffle on the outside told of a physical complication there. "Much good that break will do him," said the detective, straightening out his twisted coat collar. "He will find a squad of police at the street door." "European police?" asked Ned. "Native police," with a snarl of rage as the commotion in the outer room continued. Knowing that it would be no trouble at all to secure the release by any American officer taken into custody by Chinese police, Ned turned to the window and looked out on the court. He understood, too, that his own arrest would mean a long delay in prison while his identity was being established. So he thought best to keep out of the squabble the hot-headed officer had engaged in. How sane this decision was only those foreign citizens who had been arrested and cast into prison in China or Russia can appreciate. While an accredited officer of a foreign power may almost instantly regain his liberty, a plain citizen, such as Ned was forced to appear, might be kept in jail for any number of days, weeks, or months. The detective stood glaring at the two boys for an instant, as if anxious to inflict physical punishment upon them, but, as they remained at the window and said no more to him, he was obliged to take a different course. After rapping out several insulting observations concerning school children who ought to be spanked and put to bed, he flung himself out of the room. "You saw Hans?" asked Ned, then. Jimmie opened his eyes in amazement. "Did you?" he asked. "I saw the tousled head you saw," replied Ned. "I thought you were looking another way," commented the little fellow. "That was Hans, all right.' "But why does he remain inactive? He knows there is something doing down here, else he would not have shown the signal of warning. He ought to be out of that window by this time." "This is a country of hard knots," laughed Jimmie. "They may have tied up his fat little trotters." In spite of the serious situation, Ned laughed. "The tying up in this case makes it seem like a cheap drama on the lower East Side in New York," he said. "I think I might get up to that window," Jimmie suggested. "How?" asked Ned. "By the lower window frames an' castings. If you'll manage to keep the Chinks off me I'll try." "It is worth trying," Ned mused. The other windows opening on the court were now closed. The sleepy natives, possibly doped with opium, had wearied of watching the figures in the rear room of the telegraph office and tumbled back into bed, or back on such miserable heaps of dirty matings as they chose to call beds. The sounds of conflict had already died out in the front office, and another visit from the evil-faced detective was momentarily expected, so Jimmie was urged to make the proposed attempt to reach Hans at once. He passed out of the window, crossed the beaten earth floor of the court, and began to climb. Ned was pleased to see that he had little difficulty in ascending to the window. Once there he heard him rap on the pane. There was a pause, and then the boy pushed up the sash and clambered inside. Ned was glad to see that the boy had the good judgment to draw the sash down, as soon as he was in the room. What he would discover there the watcher had no idea. He might find Hans there under guard. He might discover, when it was too late, that the German had been, unwillingly, used as a decoy by cunning natives into whose hands he might have fallen. Still, there were the signals! The natives could not have known of the Boy Scout system of warnings, and Hans would certainly have volunteered nothing in the way of allurement. He watched the window for what seemed to him to be a very long time. The pane remained dark. "If the lad finds the situation favorable," Ned thought, "he may not return here at all. I should have instructed him to leave the room by the main stairway, if possible, and return to the marines. It would look comfortable, just now, to see that file of bluecoats marching into the telegraph office." However, there was now no help for the omission, and Ned waited with varying emotions for some sign from the window. None came, but presently the door of the rear room was opened and the detective blustered in. "Where is the other prisoner?" he demanded, looking keenly about the room. "He was here not long ago. Where is he?" "Didn't you see him crowd out with the marine officer?" asked Ned. "He was here after that fellow left," was the reply. "But he can't escape from the building," he added, "for every avenue is guarded, and the chap the cablegram belongs to has just asked for it!" CHAPTER IX TRICKS THAT WERE VAIN Ned eyed the bullying detective keenly. He did not believe that the cablegram had been demanded by another. That was only a pretext on the part of his enemies to make their attitude of delay appear more reasonable. If, as was claimed, the message was now claimed by two, the holders would certainly be justified in using great caution in delivering it. He did not believe, either, that the telegraph officials had been nervy enough to resort to police protection. That would be to bring the matter into the courts, and he did not think those who were opposing him would care for that. "You are not telling the truth," he said, coolly, to the detective. "No one here could honestly claim the message, because no one in Tientsin, previous to my arrival, knew there was such a message here, if I except the telegraph people and the man who sent it. If a claimant has shown up, he is acting under instructions from you." "You are deceiving yourself!" snarled the other. "Where is Captain Martin, of the marines?" asked Ned, not caring to dispute the point. "If you have arrested him, you'll be having his men after you before morning." "You mean the men you left in the cornfield?" "Certainly, the United States marines." "Then you don't know that they have gone back to Taku?" "No; neither do you," replied Ned. This was too cheap! "But, they have," insisted the detective. "At least, they have disappeared from the camp in the cornfield." "You seem pretty well posted as to our doings," said the boy. "We are pretty well informed as to all crooks who come here," was the reply. "What are you going to do about delivering the cablegram?" Ned asked, ignoring the insult. "Wait until morning and deliver it to the American consul." "In America," Ned said, with a provoking smile, "we elect men of your slant of mind to the Ananias club." "You'll see," was the reply. "In the meantime, you are in custody." Where was Jimmie? Had he escaped from the building, or was he detained in the room he had surreptitiously entered? If he had indeed escaped, would he have the good sense to hasten to the camp instead of trying to assist his chum single-handed? Ned asked himself these questions, but could find no answer. He saw that the detective was not inclined, not yet desperate enough, to march him off to prison, however, and took courage from the fact. If he could secure a short delay all might yet be well. Directly the assistant manager entered the room, frowning and red of face. Ned saw that something, perhaps something of importance to himself, was in progress on the outside. "The American consul is out there," he exclaimed, storming about the little room. "That's fine!" cried Ned. "I presume I can see him?" The detective glared at the boy and shook his head. "No, you can't," he declared. "You'll stay here." "And in the meantime you'll tell him that I have gone away?" "We'll tell him what we choose." Ned made a quick dash for the door, tipped the assistant manager over a broken-backed chair which stood in the way, and passed into the outer office. The detective grabbed at him as he sped past, but the boy eluded the ham-like hands which were thrust forward. There were three persons in the office, when Ned bolted into it. These were the operator, the American consul, and Hans! The German grinned in an apologetic way as Ned hastily greeted him. The American consul was a pleasant-faced gentleman of middle age. He was dressed in rather sporty clothes, and there was just a hint of a swagger of importance in his walk and manner as he extended his hand to Ned. Dressler-Archibald Hewitt Dressler, to be exact--was a pretty fair sample of the keen, open-hearted corn-belt politician rewarded with a foreign appointment for rounding up the right crowd at the right time. Ned was glad to see that the consul recognized him as the lad in whose interest he had been pulled out of bed. He took the official's outstretched hand and shook it warmly. "I never was so glad to see any person in my life!" Ned exclaimed, while Hans stood by with that bland German smile on his face. "Oh, we'll have this mess straightened out in no time," the consul said. "These people," with a gesture toward the operator, the assistant manager, and the detective, "are all right. They mean to do the fair and honorable thing, but they have troubles of their own. We'll have this all ironed out in no time." "This kid is an impostor!" shouted the detective. "No hard names, please," said the consul. "Let us get at the facts of the case. You claim to be Ned Nestor?" turning to the boy. "That is my name, sir." "And you claim a cablegram which is here? A cablegram in cipher--the cipher code of the Secret Service of the United States government?" "Yes, it would naturally be in cipher." "You have the key to the code?" "Certainly." "Be careful, young man," laughed the consul, "for I was in the Secret Service department before I came here, and know the code." "I'm glad you do," replied Ned. "Hand me the cablegram," ordered the consul, turning to the assistant manager. The detective stepped forward with a frown on his face. He glared at the consul and at Ned for a moment, and then broke out: "You can't have it unless you will promise not to reveal its contents to this impostor." "Can't I?" said the consul, coolly. "Hand me the cablegram." The operator and the assistant manager drew back. The consul stood for an instant regarding them angrily. "One, two, three!" he said. "At the word three, pass it over!" "Goot sphort, dot feller!" whispered Hans. During the dead silence which followed Ned watched the face of the consul for some sign of weakening, but found none. He knew that he had come upon an official who would stand by his guns, no matter what took place. There was a little crowd in front of the office, and half a dozen faces were pressed against the windows and the glass panel of the door. Ned thought he saw a face there he had last seen in the old house at Taku where he had been captured. The fellow carried a long cicatrice on his left cheek. "What do you mean by coming in here and giving orders?" demanded the detective. "I'll put you out if the manager says the word." Ned, standing close to Hans, felt the muscles of the German's great arm swell under the sleeve. Hans was evidently anticipating trouble. "Will you deliver the cablegram?" asked the consul. "I will not." As the assistant manager spoke the detective reached his hand up to the electric light switch. Ned saw in an instant what his intention was. If the room should be suddenly thrown into darkness, the operator might escape with the cablegram. The consul, too, saw what was meditated and sprang forward. The detective struck at him, but before his blow reached its intended mark, Hans struck and the detective went down as suddenly as if he had been hit with an ax. Then, from unseen places, from beneath counters and out of closets, came a horde of Chinamen. The room was full of them. "Soak um!" cried Hans. The German was about to adopt his own suggestion by passing a blow out to the nearest Chinaman when the consul stepped before him. For an instant the threatening natives stepped back. The attacking of the American consul was a thing to be seriously considered. "Once more!" warned the consul. "Give me the cablegram." At a motion from the assistant manager the brown men closed threateningly about the American again. There was malice in their eyes as they pressed closer and closer. "This looks like another Boxer uprising!" exclaimed the consul. "Mr. Nestor," he added, "if you will assemble yourself at my back, and our German friend will stand by, we'll give 'em a run for their white alley. Hit hard and often." There is no knowing what might have happened then had not an interruption fell. Ned saw the crowd at the door vanish, and the next instant the friendly popping of motorcycles rang a chorus in the air. Then came the rattle of guns and sabers, and a line of bluecoats stood before the door. At their head stood Jimmie, wrinkling his freckled nose as if for dear life. Ned sprang to the door and opened it. "Quick!" he cried. "Don't let a man now in the room get away." "Where is Captain Martin, the officer in charge?" asked one of the men. "The Chinks can tell you," Ned answered. "Close up at the doors," he went on, gazing about excitedly, "so that no one can leave." This was done instantly. In fact, the natives and the men of the telegraph office were not in a fighting mood now. The guns and sabers of the marines had brought them to a peace-loving state of mind! They huddled about in the center of the room, the natives milling around like cattle in a storm. The assistant manager pushed out of the press and handed the consul the cablegram. "Understand that I am doing this under protest," he said. "Your conduct in invading my office with armed men shall be reported." "I shall welcome any investigation," the consul replied, with a smile, "because I want to know something of your motives in doing what you have done to-night. You know very well that the cablegram is of no importance to any person except the one to whom it is addressed. I can read the code, it is true, but you doubtless overlooked the fact that I have received such dispatches here. So, let us look at the matter in a reasonable light. What inducements were offered you to keep the cablegram away from this young man? Speak up!" "You are insulting"' gasped the assistant manager. "Come down to cases!" commanded the consul. "I don't understand your Bowery slang." "How much money was offered you to hold this message?" There was no answer, but the operator glanced slyly in the direction of the consul with a frightened look in his eyes. "Were you to withhold the message altogether, or were you merely to delay this young man?" "You are insulting!" repeated the other. "Who bribed you?" came the next question, snapped out like the crack of a lash. "You have the message," the assistant manager said. "Get out." "Only for the marines you'd put me out!" laughed the consul. "Indeed I would!" Hans made a threatening gesture toward the fellow and he hastened to the protection of the counter. "My office is only a short distance away," said the consul, turning to Ned. "We may as well go there and size this extraordinary situation up. I hardly know what to make of it." "There is one thing you, perhaps, do not understand," Ned said, "and that is that Captain Martin, in charge of this squad, has been taken into custody by order of the detective Hans knocked out a moment ago." The consul's face turned red with anger. He seized the assistant manager by the shoulder and shook him, over the counter, as a dog shakes a rat. "Where is he?" he demanded. "Tell your hirelings to bring him here, not soon, but now." "He assaulted me!" complained the manager. "Produce him! One, two, three. At the third word he comes!" Obeying a motion from the frightened man, a native opened a door back of the counter and Captain Martin was pushed out into the room, smiling and evidently enjoying the situation. "I could have butted out at any moment," he said, "for these Chinks are not fighters, but I heard what was going on out here and thought I'd let events shape themselves. If I had been out here a short time ago I am afraid I should have made trouble for myself and for you." "It is nice to watch a game that you can't lose at," laughed the consul. "Come along, with your men, to my office. This lad wants a chance to read his message." "Sure," was the reply. "I want to know how that Dutchman come to bring you here, and how my men managed to get here just in time. There are mysteries to explain. What?" he added, with a laugh. "I guess we'll have to wait for explanations until we know what is in this message," Ned said. "Come along to the office, Mr. Consul, for we have lost a lot of time already." "I am anxious to know what the message contains," said the consul. CHAPTER X THE DARK ROAD TO PEKING Half an hour later the American consul, Captain Martin, and Ned sat in a private room at the consulate. The marines and Jimmie and Hans were in the large outer room. The cablegram from Washington lay open on a table with a translation by its side. It read: "Proceed to Peking immediately and report to the American ambassador. Keep within reach of the flying squadron. Avoid complications with the natives. Look out for plots to delay your party. Important that you should reach Peking at once. Wire conditions." "Not much news in that," said Ned. "Guess we've met all the trouble the Washington people anticipated." "Shall you go on to-night?" asked the Captain. "Certainly." "It is a dark, rainy night," the consul warned, "and the highways of China are none too safe, even in daylight, for American messengers who are insufficiently guarded." "We'll look out for our part of the game," Captain Martin laughed. "We'll, keep close together," advised the consul. "You will meet trouble on the way. The men who bribed the telegraph people will not get into the discard now. You'll find their hirelings waiting out on the dark road to Peking." Ned pointed to the dispatch. "We've got to go," he said. "I can't tell you how thankful I am to have met a true American here," he added, extending his hand to the consul. "I shall tell the story of to-night in the State department at Washington when I get back." "Well, get it straight," laughed the consul. "Say that a blundering German boy, who said he was a Boy Scout from Philadelphia, nearly dragged me out of bed about midnight and informed me that other Boy Scouts were in trouble at the telegraph office. I knew that Ned was expected here, and so lost no time in getting down. That's all. The marines did the rest." "Save for that beautiful bluff of yours!" laughed Ned. "But how in the Dickens did Hans ever get to you? How did he know where to go? How did he get to Tientsin, anyway?" "Give it up!" smiled the consul. "You might as well ask me who got the marines out just in the nick of time." "Jimmie did that, of course," replied Ned. "I think I know all about it now," he added. "We saw Hans in a room opening on the court. The little fellow burglarized the window and found Hans. I don't know how Hans got there, but Jimmie found him, anyway. Then the kid told his story and Hans went to the consul and Jimmie went after the flying squadron. I have a notion that this is the way it came about." In this supposition Ned was exactly right, for Jimmie had found Hans in the room off the court and the two had planned their movements just as Ned explained. The only mystery was as to how Hans got to the Tientsin house and the room where he was found. "We'll learn all about that in time," Ned added. "Now we must be off. By the way, I wonder where Jack and Frank are? I haven't seen them since I left the camp. In the rush of events I quite forgot to ask for them." "Just wait until I talk with one of the boys out here," the Captain said. "Probably Jimmie is already telling them of his adventures." But when the door was opened and Jimmie questioned he opened his eyes wide in wonder. The Captain drew him into the private room. "Say," the boy said, excitement in voice and manner, "didn't you leave Frank and Jack at the camp when you left?" "Why, I left when you did," was the reply. "They were there then." Jimmie sprang to the door and beckoned the second in command into the room. By this time both Ned and the consul were on their feet. "Where did you leave Frank and Jack?" asked Ned, as the officer entered the apartment. "They left us," replied the officer, with hesitation. "We made our beds of blankets and tumbled in, leaving one man on guard. When I turned in the boys were in their bunks. When Jimmie awoke us, they were nowhere to be seen. They probably sneaked off to have a look at Tientsin by night--and a beautiful time they will have." "Didn't you see them when you went back?" asked Ned of Jimmie. "No; I looked for them, and one of the marines told me they had gone on ahead. I'm goin' out an' dig 'em up!" "You'll make a sweet fist of digging them up in this man's town, at this hour of the night," the consul declared, anxiety showing on his face. "You'll have to leave them, Mr. Nestor," he went on, "and I'll rake the city with a fine tooth comb but I'll find them." Ned hesitated. There was the cablegram on the table. A delay of an hour or two might not prove serious, but this search for Frank and Jack might occupy days, if not weeks! It was inconceivable that the boys, disregarding all instructions from the Captain and all warnings from Ned, should have stolen off into the city for a night ramble. They both knew how much depended on the party keeping together and keeping prepared for action. "They must have had some reason for leaving the camp," Ned said, after a long pause. "They never would have gone away without some object other than amusement, or love of adventure in their minds." Captain Martin went to the door and stepped out into the main office, facing the marines. "Boys," he said, in as matter-of-fact tone as he could assume, "what did Frank and Jack say when they left the camp?" Nine of the men looked up in wonder, but the tenth hastened to answer the question. "Not a word," he said. "I was on guard, and I saw a young chap come into the little bit of light there was about the old house where we were stopping." "Who was it?" Ned interrupted. The marine shook his head. "I didn't ask him who he was," he said. "He asked where the boys were, and said he was a Boy Scout from Boston, and wanted to see some one from home. I knew that the lads would be as glad to see him as he would be glad to see them, and showed him where they had bunked down in a little dog-house of a shack just outside the house." "And they went away with this fellow?" asked Ned, anxious to get the story in as few words as possible. "Why didn't you notify the officer then in charge of the squad?" "I didn't think it was necessary," was the reply. "Well, the kid went to the shack where Frank and Jack were, and I saw them talking together there for a few minutes. Then I saw the three of them pass through the circle of light, walking toward the city, and that's all I know about it. I wasn't under orders to tell them when to go, or where to go, or when not to go. It wasn't for me to interfere." "Bonehead!" exclaimed Jimmie. The marine glanced up at the little fellow with a frown. "Don't you go to abusing me," he said. "I won't stand for it. I was raised a pet!" he added, with a smile, as the boy grinned. "Stop that!" commanded the Captain, sharply. "If you have told all you know about the matter you may go." "'Wait," Ned said, as the marine moved toward the door, "I would like to ask a question. Would you know this lad you speak of if you should see him again?" "I don't think so. It was dark, and he didn't look me squarely in the face." "That's all," Ned said, turning to the consul. "You'll do what you can to find them?" he asked. "Sure I will!" "I can't remain and help you," Ned went on, and there was a tremble in his voice. "I've got my work to do." "I understand." "And we'll start right away," Ned continued, "if you are ready, Captain. We ought to be in Peking early in the morning." "It is a bad road," the consul said, "and you'll find, echoes of the scrap you had here waiting for you along the way. In the language of the cablegram, keep together!" When all were mounted there were still two vacant cycles--those the missing boys had ridden. Ned pointed to one and spoke to Hans: "Can you ride?" "Sure!" "Then you may take one of the machines and come along with us." Hans sprang onto one of the motorcycles just as he had observed the others do. Under the impetus of the leap the machine trundled along for a few feet and tipped over, landing Hans on his back with the rear wheel scraping acquaintance with his nose. "Ouch!" he shouted. "Dake him off! He bites! Vot issit if I hand himone? Vot?" While the others were laughing at the plight of the German, he made an effort to arise and the machine promptly slid down an incline and sparked and gyrated until Hans' hair fairly stood on end with fright. "Catch heem!" he shouted. "Catch heem! He runs py the road avay! Dunner! Vot a streets!" "You mustn't tickle his ribs with your heels when you get on," advised Jimmie. "That always makes him buck. It is a wonder he didn't tramp you when you were down." "Holy schmoke!" cried Hans. "Vot a nose I vill haf! Me for the walks to Peeging!" "I guess you'll have to give up going with us"' laughed Ned. "You may remain with the consul until we return. And help him hunt Frank and Jack, will you?" Hans willingly agreed to this, and, with many handshakes and well-wishes from the consul, the boys were off for Peking. By this time the streets were rather quiet, although they knew that before they could pass beyond the limits of the great, sprawling town with its million of inhabitants dawn would be showing in the sky. The swift ride through the city was a revelation to the American boys. All was strange with an atmosphere of age and decay. The habitations, save those occupied by foreigner--and these were grouped together--were mostly old and mean. The streets were in bad condition--worse than usual because of the softening effects of the rain--and the lights were, in places, infrequent. Watchmen patrolling the thoroughfares in the idle manner peculiar to all alleged guardians of the night, gazed menacingly at the machines as they whirled by, talking in their spark language, as Jimmie expressed it, but the uniforms kept them at a respectful distance. Here and there were little tea shops, and before these were groups of natives, circled close together. It seemed to Ned like a ride through a cemetery, the occupants of which had been awakened to life for an instant and would go back to their graves and their dreamless sleep again as soon as the machines had passed. The weight of ten thousand centuries seemed to hang over the place. There was a faint line of dawn in the direction of the Yellow Sea when the boys came to the suburbs of Tientsin. Before them lay nearly eighty miles of rough road to the capital city. With good luck, they figured that they could make that in four hours. Now, at dawn, the road which curved like a ribbon before them, started into life. From field and village streamed forth natives carrying and drawing all kinds of burdens. In that land the poor are obliged to be early astir, and even then the reward of their labors is small. It was autumn, and the produce of the field was ripe for barter. There were loads attached to horses and loads drawn in carts; there were 'rickshaws, and bundles on backs, and on long poles carried over bent shoulders. The strange procession of the motorcycles and the marines caused many a surprised halt in the procession of industry. Chinamen stood at one side while the steel horses shot by them, and then gathered in little groups by the wayside to discuss this newest invention of the foreign devils. The sun rose in a cloudless sky and the earth steamed under its rays, sending back in eddying mist the rain which had poured upon her with such violence the night before. It would be a hot day, notwithstanding the lateness of the season, and the eyes of the boys soon turned to a shaded grove not far from the highway. "Me for breakfast!" Jimmie declared, and the marines looked as if the lad had echoed their own thoughts. "We may as well halt a little while," Captain Martin said to Ned, "as my boys are beginning to look empty. They have had a hard night of it, and we can't afford to cultivate any grouches!" Ned, although he was anxious to go forward, saw good judgment in this and ordered a halt. In five minutes little fires were burning in the grove and the odor of steaming coffee soon rose softly with the mists of the morning. CHAPTER XI THE MYSTICISM OF THE EAST "You remember what the consul said regarding trouble on the road to Peking?" asked Ned of Captain Martin as the two took seats under a tree not far from the cooking fires. "Yes, and I wondered at his expressing such gloomy predictions. He gave me quite a scare." "I think I understand, now, why he did it," Ned said, with a smile. "He was following instructions." "What do you mean by that?" "I mean that he had been communicated with by the Washington office, during the day, and given instructions." "To scare you?" "No; to keep me up to the mark in caution." "I don't think you needed that." "Well," Ned went on, "this is a queer case. At first I could not make up my mind why the Secret Service people insisted on my making this trip to Peking on a motorcycle, guarded by soldiers like a passenger in time of war. Now I think I know." "Then you have the advantage of me," said the officer. "I've been thinking that over quite a lot, and the answer is still to find." "Unless I am mistaken," Ned replied, "I am expected to do my work on the way to Peking." "Come again!" smiled the Captain. "In other words," replied Ned, "I'm set up on a motorcycle as a mark for the diplomats of Europe to shoot at." "Then I must be a mark, also," grumbled the Captain. "Exactly. How do you like it?" "Oh, it isn't so bad!" smiled the other, won into better humor by the laughing face of the boy. "But why should the Secret Service department put you in such peril?" "It is my notion," Ned hastened to say, in defense of his superior officers, "that they give me credit for sense enough to take care of myself. The same with regard to you." "But why--" "It seems to me," Ned interrupted, "that the department is up against a tough proposition. The matter is so delicate that no foreign government can be accused of mixing this conspiracy for Uncle Sam. What remains to do, then, is to spot the tools being used by the power that is most active." "That's good sense." "Well, we can't spot them in Washington, nor in Tientsin, nor yet in the American embassy at Peking. Where, then, but on the road--on the road where they are striving with all their might to block the progress of the agent who is trying to land them?" Captain Martin mused a moment and then broke into a laugh. "And so," he said, "you think we are spread out along this road for the conspirators to grab off?" "If they can, of course; but that is not stating the case right. We are spread out along the road to Peking to catch the men who will try to stop us. See? We are here to watch for those who will try to catch us, and to catch them! What do you think of that?" "Clever!" exclaimed the Captain. "The system is an old one in detective work," Ned explained. "It is no unusual thing for an officer to permit a prisoner to escape in order that be may be traced to his confederates. Only this case is somewhat different, of course. We don't know exactly who the criminals we, but we expect them to reveal their identity by their own acts." "Then we'd better be on double guard?" "Of course. You know how the consul reiterated the warning he gave us. He couldn't tell us that it was the notion of the Secret Service department that we would be attacked on the way to Peking, but he could tell us to look out, and he did." "Perhaps he thought the truth would frighten you off?" "Perhaps," laughed Ned. "Well, I'm glad to have the puzzle solved," Captain Martin said. "Now we know just what to look out for. When do you expect to meet with these foxy chaps?" "They will appear in due time, if I am right," Ned replied. "Look out there on the road," he added, "they may be coming now." The Captain looked and saw four men in the garb of priests, approaching the grove. Their robes were long and of a dirty slate color, and there was a great star on the breast of the man in the lead. "A queer bunch," the officer said, "but not diplomats. They are Taoist priests, and the chances are that they have a tumble-down temple in this vicinity. They are not very popular in China just now." "Never heard of them," Ned said, watching the men turn from the road into the grove. "As you know," the officer explained; "I have been on Chinese stations a long time. Well, I've taken a fancy to study up the religion of the people. Or, to put it right, the three religions. First, there is the Confucian religion, which is not really a religion, for it does not deal with the spiritual. It is a philosophy, which teaches the brotherhood of man. "Second, there is Buddhism, with its ruined temples and begging monks. This religion is an importation from India. Aged people and women are its chief devotees. "Third, there is Taoism, scarcely less popular that Buddhism. The priests live with their families in ruined temples and practice all sorts of fool things. They have a mystic alchemy, prepare spells and incantations, and claim to hold communion with the dead. It is said that worthless foreigners travel about in the disguise of Taoist priests, just for the money there is in it, as fake spiritualist mediums travel about in our own country. "The people coming are Taoist priests, all right, for they have the drums, and gongs, and fifes of their trade with them. Their ruined temple may not be far away. If we have time we may witness some of their foolish ceremonies." Ned's face looked thoughtful for a moment, then cleared. There was a smile on his face as he asked: "Do Taoist priests accost strangers on the highway?" "Yes; when there is a show of getting money. They are a rank lot, as you will soon see." "These may not be so rank," Ned replied, meaningfully. "'Why," began Captain Martin, "you don't suppose--" "It seems odd that Taoist priests should arrive here just at this time." "If these chaps really I are spies--the spies we have been warned against--the fellows we were sent forth to meet, why, there may be a bit of action here." "Well," Ned went on, "let them take the initiative. We shall soon be able to give a good guess as to what this visit means." As the four strangely clad figures moved across the little patch of field which separated the highway from the grove, Jimmie came running over to where the two were sitting, an egg sandwich in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. As he ran the hot liquid jolted out of the cup and came in contact with his hand. "Gee!" he shouted. "Just look what's comin'." Then he dropped the hot cup on the ground and began to dance up and down, shaking his blistered hand as he did so. "I got it!" he said. "There was only one hot cup in the lot, an' I got it! Say, Ned, what do you know about them callers you're goin' to have? Look like busted washee-washee geeks from Pell street. Look at 'em!" By this time the marines were watching the advancing priests with curious eyes. Breakfast was nearly over, and some of the men were preparing for a brief rest in the shady spot they had found. The priests, if such they were, entered the grove, passed through the group of men without a glance to the right or left, and approached the spot where Ned and the Captain sat. Here they drew up in a line, much as the fakirs of the East Indies perform, with their crude drams, gongs and fifes in full view. "Hello, Sports!" Jimmie cried. Ned motioned to the boy to remain silent. The Captain addressed the priests in a couple of Chinese sentences, but received no immediate answer. One of the fellows, the one with a great star painted, or worked, on the breast of his gown, soon advanced and stood directly in front of Ned. "We have had warning of your approach," he said. "We have been waiting for you for many days." Ned started, for the words were spoken in English. The Captain muttered under his breath: "I haven't a doubt of it." "What do you want?" asked Ned. The four bowed to the ground. "Attention. The mysticism of the East is open to you if you are brave and strong." "Bunk!" whispered Jimmie. "Where do you live?" asked the Captain. The leader pointed to a pile of broken stones at the edge of the grove. A closer inspection of the heap told the officer that it was what time had left of a temple. "Tell him to get busy," whispered Jimmie. "Can he make a tree three hundred years old in a minute?" "Where is this mysticism of the East located?" asked the Captain, unable to get the original notion that they were not what they seemed out of his mind. Again the leader pointed to the ruined temple. "Come!" he said. "Now is your chance!" whispered the Captain. "You are convinced that these are the people who were sent out to defeat the purpose of our mission?" asked Ned. "Sure," was the reply. "These fellows are not priests. I don't believe the chap who speaks is even a Chinaman." Ned did not hesitate long. If he was correct in his interpretation of the orders of the Secret Service department, it would be the right thing for him to go with the strange visitors. If, as he really believed, they had designs on his life or his liberty, no better place or time for the test of cunning and strength could have been selected. It was early morning, and the highway just beyond the grove was never long vacant of travelers. Indeed, groups of five or six were constantly in sight. The travelers were Chinese, of course, and not likely to assist him out of any difficulty into which he might tumble, still the fact that they were there was something. Even conspirators do not seek audiences for their crimes. Besides, there were the marines. Ned understood that they would not be permitted to enter the ruined temple in a body, but he knew that they would be within call. "What's your notion?" Ned whispered to the Captain. "Go, and take me with you." "Of course you'll go if I do." "And what's the matter with me goin'?" demanded Jimmie, who was near enough to catch the impression that Ned was going somewhere and was intending to leave him behind. "Perhaps the hosts won't welcome three," suggested Ned, in a whisper. "Such people, like those who present communications from dead friends, at a dollar per, like to work in private." Jimmie did not wait to argue the question with Ned. As usual, his answer was direct and to the point. He advanced upon the priests and demanded: "Will you take me along?" The four regarded each other in perplexity. "Come, now," urged the boy, "be good sports. Be good fellers, for once!" It was finally arranged that Ned, Jimmie and the Captain were to proceed to the ruined temple with the four and there learn something of the mysticism of the East! Ned was positive that the time for his test of courage had come. Still, he did not waver, for he was prepared. The marines were instructed to gradually encircle the old temple, and to listen for orders from the inside. While satisfied that he had now come to the turning point in the case, Ned wondered, while on the way to the temple, if he ought to take the risk, whether it might not be wiser to arrest the fakirs, strip them of their disguises, and take them, by force of numbers, to the embassy at Peking. Still, if he took that course, he would have no proof against them--would not be able to connect the fellows with the conspiracy. The only thing to do was to take the risk. So, with a premonition of danger in his heart, he turned down the steps which led to the temple. For the temple was, as has been said, in ruins. There was a heap of hewn stones on top of the earth, and that was all that showed from above. In front a stone staircase led down into a damp and evil-smelling place. After a minute's descent Ned found himself in a long, narrow hall, which had at some time in the distant past formed the lobby of the temple. There was a cold wind blowing from somewhere in advance, and bats flew croakingly against it in their retreat from the intruders. Ned heard the clang of a heavy door behind him. Then the current of air was shut off. "This old barn of a place hasn't been used for a hundred years!" Jimmie whispered, clutching Ned by the arm. "What makes you think so?" asked Ned. "If in use, there would be something here to show it," was the reply. "See, they haven't even got lights here. The ones they are now carrying were taken from the folds of their robes. And there would be no bats if the place was in constant use." "Right you are, boy," Ned whispered back. "But we knew what we were getting into. Hark!" It was the dull, rolling sound of a drum that caused the exclamation. One of the men, far in advance, was evidently giving a signal. In a moment the shrill notes of a fife reached the ears of the boys. They waited for a moment, wondering, and then a burst of light came from some unseen quarter and the four men were seen standing in line on a rock which lifted above the sloping floor. "Now for the ghosts!" whispered Jimmie. "Who's first?" CHAPTER XII NIGHT IN AN ANCIENT CITY Frank Shaw and Jack Bosworth, suddenly awakened from a sound sleep in the little mud shack in the cornfield, in the suburbs of Tientsin, were not a little astonished at finding themselves rolled deftly out of the blankets in which they had wrapped themselves before lying down. "What's coming off here?" demanded Frank, rubbing his eyes and gazing blankly about the hovel. "What kind of a hotel is this?" "What did you do that for?" asked Jack, edging newer to Frank. "Why this midnight industry? What did you pull me out of me covers for?" "I didn't!" cried Frank. "You pulled me out!" "Not me!" Jack answered. "I was catching German carp, in the upper lagoon in Central Park, N.Y., just a second ago. Sorry I woke up before I got a mess!" "Who did it, then?" asked Frank. "Some one gave me a thump in the wind and then rolled me out of the drapery of me elegant couch." "Search me!" Jack replied. "I got something like that, also. I'll bet it's the blooming marines, playing an alleged joke! I'm going out to heave a rock at them." "Wait!" whispered a voice. "Don't make so much noise, either. You're pinched!" "That's Bowery!" cried Jack. "Come on and show yourself!" Frank commanded. "What are you hiding back there in the darkness for? Who are you, and where did you come from? What did you wake me up for, anyway?" "Black Cat Patrol, Chicago!" was the reply that came through the darkness. "You're both Black Bears, New York," the voice went on. "I saw the badges on your vests." Both boys sprang to their feet instantly. This was something worth while. A Boy Scout in China! "Got a light?" asked Frank. "I'll just like to see whether you're a Black Cat or not." "Nix on the light," was the reply. "That's South Clark street, below Van Buren," laughed Jack. "All right," Frank said, in answer to the boy's negative, "I've got a flashlight." "Then keep it out of sight," advised the other. "I don't want to stir up these soldiers. Perhaps they won't let you go with me." "Oh, they won't?" Jack grumbled. "We'll see! Turn on your light, Frank, old top!" Frank, "old top." turned on his light, and the two saw a boy of apparently fifteen standing immediately in front of them. He was slender but muscular, and his red hair and blue eyes betokened anything but Asiatic ancestors. The lad extended his right hand in full salute and waited. "Correct!" Jack said. "Turn out your light, Frank. Sit down, kid, and tell us why this surprise party." "I came down to tell you that there's doin's up town," was the quick reply. "You'd better get a move on!" "We're ready," Frank said, then, "but we'd like to know what we're going to move against." "Your friends are in trouble. That's the answer." "How do you know?" "I have just left them at the telegraph office." "That's where they went." "Well, that's where they're gettin' theirs," declared the lad. "So buck up!" "Who--what--" "Aw, come along!" the boy cut in. "They're goin' to be arrested, an' they won't get their cablegram, an' there'll be worse if you don't wake up. See?" "You'll have to explain to us," Frank observed. "You go tell that to the marines!" Jack exclaimed. "They're right outside there." "All right!" the lad answered. "I'm goin' back. You can all go to Halifax for all me." "Wait," said Frank. "Where did you get this information you're favoring us with? What's your name? How did you get to China?" "I'm a delivery boy at the telegraph office," the lad answered. "I loafed around there tonight to see you folks, for I knew that the cablegram would be called for. Before showing myself, I heard what was going on an' ducked. Now, come on." "What's your name?" "Sandy McNamara." "How did you get to China?" "Hid in a ship an' got caught an' beat up." "A stowaway, eh?" "You bet! I'd do it again to get back to South Clark street, in little old Chi." "What they doing to Ned and Jimmie?" asked Jack. "Oh, come along!" Frank exclaimed. "The boys may be in need of good advice and exclusive society! We'll go and see." "Well," Sandy put in, "this ain't no case for the bulls. You've got to get to them without makin' any show of fight. You'd be eat up in this town with them few soldiers." "What do you propose?" "Why, we'll go to the American consul an' get him out." "You seem to be almost human in your intelligence," Jack cried. "Let go your anchor and heave ahead!" "We'll have to make good time," said Sandy. "Can you run?" "We're the original record-breakers when it comes to working our legs!" Jack said, and the three, after moving quietly through the lighted circle, so as not to attract the attention of the guard, broke into a run which fast lessened the distance between the camp and the telegraph office. At the end of half a mile Sandy drew up against a mud wall. The rain was still falling, and the boys were soaked to the skin and shivering with cold, notwithstanding their exertions. "I'm winded," Sandy explained, panting. "I'm frozen stiff," Jack declared. "I'm wet enough to swim home," Frank put in. "Well," Sandy continued, "there's a little shack behind us--looks like one of the squatter shacks on the Lake front--an' we can go in an' rest up. Here's where the only friend I have in China lives." "Go on in, then," Jack replied, his teeth chattering with the cold. "We ought to keep on," Frank advised. "This is no time to rest and get dry when Ned is in trouble!" "That's right," from Jack. "Trot ahead, little one!" "I've got to go in here, anyway, an' get my uniform," the boy explained. "I'll be more protection to you boys if I have it on." "Protection to us!" laughed Jack. "You're a joker!" "Hurry up, then, and get it," Frank urged. "We've got to be getting along toward the telegraph office." "Ain't you comin' in?" asked Sandy. "No; we'll want to remain if we go in. Hurry." "Do you think he's on the level?" asked Jack, as the boy disappeared through the low doorway. "I don't know," was the reply. "It doesn't seem as if an American lad, and a Boy Scout at that, would play a treacherous game against his own countrymen." "No, it doesn't; yet what is he stopping here for? He ought to be as anxious as we are to get over the ground." Then Sandy came stumbling to the door, on the inside, and asked the boys, through the rough boards, to come in with their lights. "There's somethin' mighty strange here," he said. "This may be a trap!" Jack said. "Shall we go in?" "We may need this boy as a guide," Frank observed. "All right, then. In we go." There was only one room to the shack, which was of mud, with thick walls and a leaky roof. There was a table, a chair, a heap of clothes in a comer, and nothing else, save for a puddle of water on the floor. Sandy stood in the middle of the floor, his feet in the puddle, when Frank's searchlight illumined the bare room. His eyes were staring in a strange way and his face was deadly pale. "Look there!" he exclaimed, his lips forming the words badly. "The old woman who fed me when I was broke an' sick lies under the clothes, stupid from some dope. The house has been poked over. I saw a face at the little hole in the wall as I came in. What does it mean?" Whisperings were heard at the door. Frank extinguished his light and the boys stood in darkness as complete as ever fell since the dawn of creation. "What do you think?" asked Jack, of Frank. "Looks like a trap." Sandy sprang forward and seized Frank by the arm, and his voice shook as he began. "No! It ain't no trap! I didn't bring you here to get rolled for your wads, or anythin' like that. I stopped here to get me telegraph messenger uniform. I can go anywhere in the city with that on, and not be molested. I don't know what this means, but there are Chinks all around this house." "Perhaps you've been followed ever since you left the office," Frank suggested. "Where is your uniform?" "Gone," replied Sandy, "an' everythin' else I had in that old box in the corner." Frank walked to the door and opened it a trifle. There was no need to open it wider to see what kind of trouble they were in. In front, patient in the downpour, stood six Chinamen. The flashlight dwelt on the silent row for an instant and was then turned off. Frank closed the door and stood with his back against it. "Is there another way out?" he asked. Sandy pointed to a small door at the rear. Frank opened it a trifle, as he had the other, and again the flashlight bored a round hole in the night. There were six Chinamen there. "They mean to keep us here!" Jack cried. "I'll show them." "I hear them all around the place," Sandy almost sobbed. "You'll think I brought you here for this. I didn't! I'm on the square with you boys. I wanted to help you." "Perhaps they'll go away soon," Jack suggested. "Never!" Frank replied. "This is purely an Oriental shut-in! They will wait out there until the hot summer tans their hides if they are told to. The patience of the Orient is something awful to run up against." "But why?" asked Jack. "Oh, they got next to me!" Sandy observed. "They want to keep you from goin' to the assistance of your friends. They'll let you go after they've found some mysterious way of disposing of the others. If I could get out, I'd go to the camp." "Dig around! There may be some way of getting out. These slant-eyed peoples are slant-eyed in their ways. There may be a hole under the hut that leads somewhere." "I've seen the woman go down cellar," said Sandy. "Then you go down cellar," advised Frank, "and see if there is no way out from there. I'm bound to get to Ned and Jimmie if I have to begin operations with my gun." Presently Sandy's voice was heard from below. He said that he felt a current of air, as if there were a passage leading outside. "Come on down an' see," he said. The boys went down a steep ladder, after fastening both doors on the inside, and soon found themselves on the cellar bottom. Frank turned on his flashlight and looked about. There was a hole in one of the walls which seemed to lead downward, in the direction of the river. "I'm going to try it," Jack exclaimed, taking out his light. "When I say for you to come on, come a-running." He said for them to come on in a moment, and Sandy and Frank soon found themselves in a square subterranean room which must have been cut near the surface and just outside the wall of the hut. It was a comfortless place, and they lost no time in looking for a way out. "Here it is!" Sandy called out, directly. "Here is a tunnel. Say, but I never knew about this before. Come on!" Frank led, but proceeded only a short distance. Then his light rested on the grinning face of a Chinaman. The tunnel was guarded. The boy turned back and looked into the tunnel by which they had entered the chamber. Within a foot of the muzzle of his searchlight he saw the grinning face of another Chinaman. He stepped back to the mouth of the tunnel and motioned Jack to guard the exit, explaining, briefly, that they had been trapped, not in a hut on the street level, but in a subterranean chamber where they could not be heard, and where no one would ever think of looking for them. "Oh, no," Jack cried, regarding Sandy angrily, "you didn't know anything about this--not a thing! You treacherous dog!" "I didn't! I didn't!" shouted the boy. "Call them men in an' ask them if I did." "You wait a minute," Jack gritted out, "and I'll see if the Chinks will stand quiet while I beat their accomplice up!" "Quit it!" Frank commanded. "We're in trouble enough now, without bringing the Chinks down on us. I'd give a good deal to know if Ned and Jimmie are still alive!" CHAPTER XIII A VANISHING DIPLOMAT Ned turned to the Captain as the men in slate-colored robes lifted their hands after the manner of fake mystics the world over. He was not uninterested, but he was anxious. They were now some distance from the grove in which the camp breakfast had been prepared, and the grove, in turn, was some distance from the highway. They were also some feet under ground, where any calls for assistance that might be necessary would be muffled by the hewn stone and the damp air and earth. Besides, the alleged priests had mapped out this scene before the arrival of the boys, as Ned believed. Therefore they might have half a hundred natives within call, prepared to do murder if necessary. The marines had been ordered by the Captain to gradually surround the temple, to guard every entrance that could be discovered, and to force their way in if anything of a suspicious nature occurred. Ned did not know the men as well as he knew the Captain, therefore he asked: "The men will obey your orders to the letter? You see, we are in a box here!" "They will obey," said the officer. "What do you make of the mummery now going on?" The "mummery" consisted in slow, gliding motions, in whirlings about intended to be graceful, in slow liftings of the hands upward, and in the beating of the drums. "I don't make anything of it," Ned replied. "I take it they are waiting for time. Perhaps they got us in here with less trouble than they had figured on, and are waiting for confederates." "What a land!" mused the Captain. "What a way to seek the destruction of any enemy! An Italian would have stabbed us in the back on the way in here, a Frenchman would have set a band of bullies upon us in the grove, an American would have walked up and made observations with his bare fists!" "This is Oriental!" smiled Ned. "I wish we were well out of this hole in the ground!" "I see," began the man with the star on the breast of his dirty gown, "that you are in trouble of mind concerning the loss of two companions." "Correct!" shouted the irrepressible Jimmie. "Come across with them-- right soon, old hoss!" "I see," continued the other, not noticing the interruption, "that you are here in a weighty matter--a matter affecting the peace of nations." Jimmie was primed for another outbreak of conversation, but Ned caught him by the arm and ordered him to remain silent. "I see," the alleged seer went on, "that you have met with difficulties and perils on the way. Is this true?" "All true," Ned answered. "Then approach. Enter the holy room and receive instruction which shall be of benefit." Ned hesitated a moment. "And my friends?" he asked. "The spirit speaks to but one," was the reply. "What a lot of rot!" whispered Jimmie. "You go on, an' I'll be there in a second if there is anything like rough house." With a warning look in the Captain's direction, the boy advanced to the platform of rock. From there he was directed to a door cut in what, seemed to be soft earth and framed with timbers. The timbers were new. He saw that at a glance, and drew his own conclusions. Ned was glad to see that the man who had done all the speaking was the only one to accompany him into the side room. In a contest of muscles, he thought he could hold his own pretty well with this fellow. Ned was prepared for almost anything, but what took place next filled him with astonishment. The room was just a hole out in the earth. It did not appear to have been a part of the old temple. There were in it a board table, roughly put together, two chairs, and a square box, perhaps five feet in length by one and a half in the other proportions. As soon as the door was closed the alleged priest threw aside his slate-colored robe, snatched a wig and beard from his head and face, and stood forth a handsome man, dressed in the costume of a modern Englishman or American. At first Ned did not recognize the smiling face which confronted him. Then there came to his mind the memory of a time in Canton when he had watched a meeting of men he believed to be in conspiracy against his country. This face certainly had been there. The voice was low, smooth, musical. Ned stood looking at the subtle countenance, but said not a word. "You are caught at last!" came next. Still Ned stood silent, saying not a word, only wondering if the time for final action had arrived--if the Captain outside was in such peril as threatened himself. "Rather a bright boy," sneered the other, "only not bright enough to understand that men of the world are not to be defeated in their long-cherished plans by the kindergarten class. Do you know where your two friends are--the two who accompanied you here?" "I presume that they are quite capable of taking care of themselves," Ned replied. "They are on the road to a dungeon in Peking." "From first to last," Ned said, "from my first connection with this case up to this hour, I have come upon only bluffers and liars. You seem to be making good in both lines." "Not so rude, kid," laughed the other. "You've certainly got nerve to address such words to one who holds your life, and the lives of your friends, in his hand." "If you do," Ned said, "if you really have the power of life and death you claim to have, there is no hope for any of us." "Figure it out in your own way," said the other, "but, so far as the power of life and death is concerned, you hold the lives of your friends in your own hands." "I understand what you mean," the boy replied, "but I'm not for sale. Go ahead with your procession! Death looks pretty good to me, as compared with the disgrace of asking a favor from one of your stripe." Ned's words, purposely designed to enrage the fellow, struck fire at last, and he said what he never would have said in calmer moments. "I'll show you that death is not so pleasant a thing as you seem to imagine!" he almost shouted. "I'll show you how to learn the lesson of supplication! When the future of a nation is at stake, human lives do not count. What are the lives of a dozen or more to the prosperity of millions? You have information which is needed, in the interest of humanity, and even torture shall be resorted to if it can be obtained in no other way." "And so," Ned replied, calmly, "you are not merely a tool. As I supposed, you are one of the men at the head of the conspiracy. You are the man I came upon at Canton. You are the wretch who is trying to involve two continents in war. Well, I hope to meet you under less trying circumstances!" The other laughed harshly and walked to the door. Listening with his ear against the rough boards for an instant, he opened it a trifle and glanced out. Ned heard sounds of a struggle there, and was about to spring forward when his captor faced him with a provoking smile. "By the way," he said, "I neglected to inform you that one threatening movement will mean instant death to you. I am opposed to any bully-like display of weapons, preferring to discuss this question with you without coercion, but I took the precaution to place a rifleman at an opening in one of the walls of this room. He has you 'covered,' as the saying is, and so it is advisable for you to remain passive." "What is going on out there?" demanded Ned. "Your people seem to be protesting against leaving the place under escort," laughed the other. "The two you left at the camp in the cornfield were not so hard to control." "You seem to have a good knowledge of a our movements," said Ned. "You have a spy system well in hand here." "That is refreshing, as coming from the mouth of a spy," retorted the other. "If you are ready to talk business," he added, closing the door, "I am ready to make a proposition." "If your time and your breath are worth anything," the boy replied, "you may as well save both." "You have possession of certain documents taken from a certain wreck in the Pacific Ocean?" Ned made no reply. "You possess certain information concerning an alleged plot." Still no response from the boy. "Without you, your government can make no headway in the investigation now on foot." Ned dropped into a chair and turned his face away with a well assumed air of indifference. Really, he was anxious for the man to go on, to say just how important were the papers and the information. "We have it in our power to prevent the information you possess ever reaching your government, but the documents you have we cannot get in the usual way. Therefore we are offering you terms." "Naturally," Ned smiled. "Promise to restore the papers and forever remain silent as to what you have learned since you undertook this case, and you shall all go free, with more money than you ever dreamed of having in your hands." "You have not stated the case fully," Ned said, when the other concluded, with a superior air. "You have not mentioned a certain alleged diplomat. You want me to forget all that he has said and done in the matter." "Naturally. I said that you were to forget everything connected with the case." "I prefer," Ned replied, "to see you on the gallows for murder." The other started violently. "Then this is final?" There came a sound resembling the report of firearms from the outer room. At the same time Ned caught a movement behind the south wall of the room. The gunman mentioned by the diplomat was evidently leaving his post for the purpose of joining in any struggle which might be taking place. The boy thought fast for a moment. If the marines had fought their way into the outer room they would soon be knocking at the rough door that separated the two apartments. In that case the man before him would do one of two things. He would try to fight his way out of the room, or he would try to escape by some exit not at that time in sight. In the first instance he might wound or kill one or more of the marines. In the latter, he might be able to conceal himself in some underground passage and finally escape. It seemed to Ned that the one thing for him to do was to attack the fellow and endeavor to disarm him. The noises of conflict in the outer room grew more distinct, and Ned, observing that the diplomat was glancing restlessly about, as if seeking some means of escape, sprang upon him. Instead of turning and defending himself, the fellow struggled to release himself from the boy's hold, and to make his way toward a section of the wall on the south. The statement that a rifleman had been stationed somewhere there now came back to the boy's mind, and he knew that there must be a passage behind that wall. The man with whom Ned was struggling was evidently unarmed, for he fought only with his hands and feet. He tried by all the tricks known to wrestlers to break away from the boy, or to hurl him to the floor, but Ned had skill as well as strength, and all such efforts proved unavailing. While this silent struggle was going on, the rough door came crashing in and a score of Chinamen, evidently fleeing from an enemy, rushed in and flocked toward that south wall. Ned and his enemy were trampled under foot for a moment, then the room was clear save for a half dozen marines who stood in the doorway, their smoking guns in their hands. Ned's head whirled from a blow he had received, and there was a numb feeling in one of his arms, but he arose to his feet and glanced around. Jimmie stood with the marines, a grin on his freckled face. "Gee whiz!" he shouted, "how that man did go!" "Which man?" demanded Ned. "Why didn't some one follow him?" "He just went through that wall," Jimmie answered. "When I tried to follow him I bumped me nose! Say, but he went right through that old wall!" "Where did the Chinks go?" asked Ned. "Down through the floor!" was the reply. "But, say, did you ever see anythin' like that vanishin' priest? I'll bet a pie he's forty miles away right this minute." When Ned and the marines took up the search for the diplomat and the Chinese, it did seem that they were forty miles away! There were numerous passages under the old temple, and in these the fugitives must have hidden. "How did you know?" asked Ned of the marines who had broken into the underground rooms. "How did you know there was danger inside?" "That little imp of a Jimmie," one of the men said, "came to the entrance and shouted fit to wake the dead. They were trying to carry the Captain and the kid away. Bright boy, that!" Two of the marines had been slightly wounded by knives in the hands of the Chinese, but they declared themselves quite well enough to go on with the journey. "The Chinks didn't fight," one of them said. "They just threw knives and ran! We never hit one of them! Sheep, that's what they are! Just sheep!" "Well," Ned said, "we've lost our chance on the road to Peking, the fellow we want having escaped, so we must go ahead and set the rat trap once more." "You'll walk if you do," one of the marines said, showing from the outside, "for the Chinks have made off with the motorcycles!" CHAPTER XIV SANDY PROVES HIS CASE "They'll be dead if you don't get out of here an' do somethin'!" said Sandy. "The Chinks'll eat 'em up!" Frank looked around the dismal subterranean chamber and a cynical smile came to his lips. "We might get out of here," he said, "if we had a ton of dynamite. I don't know but I'd take a chance on getting injured myself in order to see these Chinks sailing into the sky." Jack, still suspicious of Sandy, turned toward him with a frown. The lad met the other's eyes steadily. "Do you know the way out of this?" Jack asked. "No," admitted the boy. "Never was in here before. Never knew there was such a place." "Well," Jack went on, "the longer we remain here the longer we'll be in finding our chums. I'm going to make a break." "If you have a gun," Sandy said, calmly, "I'll go ahead with it. If I get plugged, or anythin' like that, you boys may be able to get away. These Chinks are quick to run if there is danger ahead, and I think I can scare them off. Give me the gun!" Sandy reached out his hand, but Frank did not extend the gun he had taken from his pocket. "You're nervy, all right," he said, "but you don't have to take all the risk. Suppose we wait until daylight and then make a rush?" "Why daylight?" asked Jack. "There may then be some friendly face in sight, if we are able to get to the street." "There's force in that," Jack replied, "but this is no palace car to wait in." "You let me go and try," Sandy urged. Frank shook his head gravely. "No use," he said. "There are probably a score or more of Chinks around this old shack. We've got to wait until morning before we try to get away. The only question in my mind is this: Will they let us alone until daylight? If they don't, then it will be a scrap." The boys sat down against the earth wall of the chamber and waited. Now and then they could hear whispers in a tongue they could not understand. Occasionally they heard a wagon creaking along the distant street. Then they knew that the doors connecting the mud hut with the outer world were open. "I wonder if old Chee is still asleep from the dope?" Sandy asked, after a long time had passed. "Why did they dope her?" asked Jack. "I don't see any nourishment for them in that." "Guess they thought I'd be apt to help you boys," Sandy replied, "and made up their minds to catch me and chuck me away somewhere. Chee's a nervy old lady, an' probably scrapped when they searched for me. I'd like to help her." "Why do you call her Chee?" "Because she's so cheerful, an' because I don't know her name," was the reply. "It must be pretty near dawn," Jack said, after a long silence, with a prodigious yawn. Frank looked at his watch and found that it was six o'clock. It had been a long night. The sun would rise shortly after six. Five minutes later sounds of trouble of a physical nature were heard along the tunnel by which the chamber had been reached. There were blows, grunts, and ejaculations of rage. Then they heard a voice they knew: "Donner! I make your face preak! Come py mine punch of fives. Oh, you loaver!" "Hans!" cried Jack. "How the Old Harry did he get here?" "He'll soon be able to tell you himself," Frank said, "if he keeps on coming." Indeed, the German's voice came nearer every instant, nearer and more emphatic. He was panting, too, and the sound of blows reached the ears of the listening boys. "Get in there!" The words were spoken in English, but not by Hans. "There's that gink who rounded us up back in Taku," exclaimed Jack. "He seems to be winning all the tricks. I wonder how he got hold of Hans?" "I thought Dutchy was back with the submarine," Frank replied. "How he got to Tientsin is a mystery to me." The next moment Hans' broad face, now red from anger and exertion, appeared at the mouth of the tunnel, looking like a full moon, and then his bulky figure was projected violently into the chamber. He scrambled in on his knees, but arose instantly and swung his fists in the direction of the tunnel, shouting imprecations on some out-of-sight person. There were numerous cuts and bruises on his face from which blood was oozing, and his clothing was torn and dirty, as if it had been dragged through the mud. "Loaver! Loaver!" he shouted, still shaking his clenched fist at the entrance. "Vait a liddle, yet! I eats dern alife!" "I wish you would!" cried Jack. "Give me a bite while you are at it," Sandy cut in. Hans gazed around in bewilderment for a time, and then his face brightened as he caught sight of Frank and Jack. It did not take the lads long to arrive at a mutual understanding of the happenings of the night. Hans had been followed from the place where he had left the other boys and captured. He did not know what had become of Ned and the others any more than Frank and Jack did. His story brought some relief to the others, for it was presumable that their chums were now well on their way to Peking. Once there, the imprisoned lads knew that every effort for their release would be made-- then the whole power of the United States government, through the ambassador, would be exerted in their behalf. "But what's the use of all that," Jack asked, grumblingly--for he was getting hungry! "What's the use of all that if the Chinks sit out there like blooming cigar-store images and never give a hint as to where we are? We are likely to starve before the American ambassador can act with success." Hans rubbed his stomach protectingly. "Empty!" he said. "I could eats a Schinks!" "Eat one for me," advised Jack. Sandy, who had been listening in silence to the explanations which had been made, now asked: "How many Chinks are there out there?" "Army!" answered Hans. This was discouraging, for, as has already been stated, the boys were meditating a rush as soon as the city was astir. They did not anticipate much help from bystanders, even if they should gain the street, but they knew that such a ruction as they would be able to put up would attract the attention of the authorities, and so bring the matter before the courts. While they talked the chances over, another breeze of trouble blew in from the entrance tunnel. An argument of some kind was in progress between the men stationed there. Sandy moved forward to the mouth of the dark hole and listened. The argument was being carried on in the language of the country, but now and then a few words in English were heard. "I tell you they got away, slick and clean!" the Englishman said, as Sandy listened. A mumbling of native talk, and then another sentence: "And some one will be here directly." Jack, who had heard the words, turned to Frank with a grin. "Is that a promise or a threat?" he asked. "I think our friends are coming," Frank replied. "They can never find us in this hole," Jack complained. "Suppose we make a little noise?" "If they are headed this way, they know where we are," Frank said, "and it seems as if we ought to wait for them.". "I'll starve!" muttered Jack. "I could eat a fried telegraph pole, and like it!" "I eat since yesterday only plue sky!" Hans contributed. "My pelly makes argument mit my konscience! But?" Sandy sat dejectedly by the wall and said nothing. He knew that he was still suspected of leading the boys into the trap in which they now found themselves, and was studying over plans to assist them out and at the same time establish his innocence. It seemed to the lads that a whole day passed without a single thing to break the monotony, but Frank's watch insisted that it was only eleven o'clock. It was dark most of the time in the chamber, for the boys were saving of their flashlight batteries. Finally one of the plans which had been slowly maturing in Sandy's brain brought the lad into action. Noiselessly he crept away from the little group and moved on his hands and knees, along the tunnel leading to the cellar of the old mud house. He reasoned that that point would not be so closely guarded as the exit would be; also that Ned and his companions, if they returned to the city in quest of the boys and sought the mud house, would be more apt to be watching the house itself than the exit, which was some distance away from the road. After proceeding a few feet, Sandy stopped and listened. There were no indications of human presence in the tunnel ahead, or in the cellar, which was not far away now, and from which a faint light shone. When the boy reached the entrance to the cellar he saw three Chinamen lying on the earth floor, either asleep or under the influence of opium. It did not take the lad long to make up his mind as to which one of the causes, sleep or opium, had put his guards off their guard. There was a strong odor of opium in the cellar, and a closer examination of the place showed him that the watchmen had been "hitting the pipe," as the boys on South Clark street, Chicago, would have expressed it. However, the way did not seem to be clear, for there were soft footsteps on the patch of board floor which covered a part of the cellar, and then a Chinaman backed down the ladder. He came down slowly and stood for an instant on the cellar floor before looking around. When at last he saw the men asleep on the floor he muttered some jargon which Sandy could not understand and turned back to the ladder again. Sandy believed that the man he saw was the only one the "pipe" had left on guard. If he could prevent him reaching the street, he might be able to get the other boys out of the trap in which they had been caught. The Chinaman seemed large and strong, but Sandy would have taken even greater chances in order to convince the boys that he was not their enemy, so he sprang upon him. The struggle was a desperate one for a time, for Sandy was not very strong as compared with his opponent, and the man he was fighting with fought viciously. Sandy did not dare cry out to the boys in the chamber for help, for that might bring other enemies into the fight. The only way seemed to be to conquer the Chinaman and then get the boys into the street as silently as possible. Once there, they would have little difficulty in making their way out of the city. It is quite probable that Sandy would have come off second best in the encounter if Jack had not heard the racket the two made and came into the cellar with a bound. The two boys soon had the Chinaman down and well tied up. "You're a brick, Sandy," Jack said, as the boys faced each other in the dim light. "While we sat in there waiting for some one to get us out, you got a move on and did something! Say," he added, with a grin, "ain't this tie-up game getting stale? Suppose we knock this fellow on the head? He may get away if we don't. And these others? Think they are sufficiently soused with opium?" "They won't make any trouble for a long time," Sandy answered. "It is a wonder they got into such a trance! There must have been something stronger than opium in their pipes." "Didn't know there was anything meaner than opium," Jack said. "There is a drug that is used by old soaks after the poppy stuff gets too mild for them," replied Sandy. "Perhaps these men got some of that. Keep quiet, boys!" This last as Frank and Hans came through the tunnel and stood staring at the men on the floor and their chums. "Who did it?" asked Frank. "Sandy did it!" answered Jack. "Ain't he the broth of a lad? Sure he's the goods." "Perhaps we'd better be getting out," Sandy observed. "I hear some one upstairs. They're comin' down here, too." CHAPTER XV WHY ESCAPE WAS SO EASY As Sandy finished speaking two figures dropped down the ladder, not stopping to descend rung by rung. As they landed on the floor the boys sprang toward them, ready to make a battle for their liberty. Then came another surprise. Instead of making hostile demonstrations, the two newcomers, Chinamen so far as appearances went, threw up their hands and dropped back against the wall. Then shouts of laughter echoed through the place. Directly the newcomers seemed to forget to keep their hands up, for they gripped their waists with them and roared. There was something about the laughter, too, which was not at all like the Orient. "Go it!" Jack exclaimed. "Have your fun before we come to settlement with you," Frank threatened. "Let me soak heem!" Hans pleaded. Sandy stood by with wonder showing in his face. "What kind of a play house is this?" he asked. And still the others laughed, bending over, now, and covering their faces with their hands. The change from tragedy to comedy had been so sudden that for a time the boys did nothing at all to solve the mystery of the sudden outbreak of laughter. Then Frank stepped closer and peered down at the larger of the two figures. Then he turned his searchlight on the bowed head. Then a smile came over his face and he reached out a hand and took the bobbing pigtail into his hand and gave it a quick jerk. The result was amazing. The pigtail came away in his hand, and with it a bunch of coarse hair and an odor! "Look here, kids!" Frank cried. "Look who's here!" It was Ned, and the shaking figure by his side was that of Jimmie. In a moment both were out of their disguises and making an inspection of the tunnels and the underground chamber. "You've got Herlock Sholmes beaten to a frazzle," said Jack, as Ned stooped over to examine the knocked-out Chinamen. "How did you do it?" demanded Frank. "We thought you were on the road to Peking until we heard some of the Chinks talking, not long after daybreak, then we thought you might be in trouble." "It was long after daybreak when we mixed with the bunch," Jimmie answered. "Anythin' you heard before eight o'clock was fright an' not fact." Sandy was now presented and his share in the adventures of the night given proper recognition. "I thought he was a sneak at first," Jack explained, "but he showed us the way out in the end." "What did you go an' sit down there an' wait for?" asked Jimmie. "Why didn't you get a move on?" "They did the very thing they should have done," Ned remarked. "If they had tried to fight their way out they might have been killed,' as there was, I am told, a strong guard here at daybreak." "But how did you get here?" asked Frank. "When we got out of the old temple," Ned replied, "we had no motorcycles to go on with, so we came back to hunt up more. There was little use in going on by any way other than the one mapped out for us. "The scamp we almost captured had been kind enough to tell us that you boys were in trouble and perhaps that had something to do with our coming back." "But how did you get here?" "Easy," laughed Ned. "We knew that you boys had been captured, and it was easy to see who had had a hand in it. The people at the telegraph office would know more about the matter than any one else. "So we went to the American consulate and got into these disguises. The consul says he never saw anything smoother, though he must be prejudiced in our favor, for he helped get up the disguises himself. "Then we went to the vicinity of the telegraph office and waited. In a moment we saw that something unusual was going on. Directly a messenger started off in this direction and we followed him. I knew then, as well as I know it now, that you boys had been detained in the hope of keeping us all out of Peking, so I bought some strong opium on the way and doped the pipes of the guards after I mixed with them." "How could you mix with them?" asked Jack. "You know about as much Chinese as a robin." "Oh, they thought we were sullen brutes sent down from their headquarters, and took us into their confidence all right. We were just ready to explore the underground places when we heard the scrap below." "And now what?" asked Frank. "Now, we're goin' to Peking!" cried Jimmie. "You said that before!" Jack taunted. "Well, we didn't get tied up in a hole we couldn't get out of," retorted the little fellow. "I guess you'd have been in the old temple until now if you hadn't traveled with an escort," Jack cut in. The boys, laughing and "roasting" each other, passed up the ladder and to the half earthen, half-board floor of the mud hut. There they found the woman Chee moving about with a swollen face. She tried to talk with Ned, but as neither could understand what the other said, little progress was made. However, she finally managed to make Ned understand that she wanted him to take the unconscious men out of the cellar, also the man who had been tied up by Jack and Sandy. Ned finally made her understand that she could call the police half an hour after their departure. This seemed to satisfy her, and the piece of silver Ned presented was received with many gestures of gratitude. "Won't the finding of them men there get her into trouble?" asked Sandy, as the lads walked away. "I'll explain the matter to the American consul," answered Ned, "and ask him to inform the authorities. You see, these people who are making us all this trouble are about as afraid of the officers as they are of us. The government is keeping a sharp lookout for the revolutionary leaders, and some are captured every day." "What do they do with them?" asked Jack. "They are never heard of again." "Murdered? Without trial?" "That is the belief." "Then why don't we ask this good, wise, benevolent, sane, and all the rest of it government to keep the revolutionary party off Uncle Sam?" asked Jack. "We represent Uncle Samuel, you know." "Because," was the reply, "there are spies in every branch and department of the government. While the traitors who are serving the government while seeking its destruction may not be powerful enough to secure the release of such confederates as are caught, they are undoubtedly able to send out reports calculated to assist their party." "And every move we made under the protection of the Chinese government would be noted and reported," mused Jack. "I see how it is! Guess the people at Washington knew what they were about when they issued instructions regarding the trip to Peking." "Yes, I think they did," Ned replied. "Observe how they tested us. We did not know about the cablegram at the office here when we started on our long ride. If we had weakened in any way we never should have known about it, but would have been ordered back home." "Land flowing with milk and honey, and breakfast foods, and choice beef cuts at a dollar a pound!" Jack exclaimed now. "Are we never going to get anything to eat?" "I haf one vacancy!" observed Hans, laying a hand on his stomach. "I haf a misery!" "You had a good breakfast, Jack!" reproved Frank. "What! Where! What was it? Yes, I haf a breakfast two days ago. This morning I haf cellar air for breakfast. It isn't nourishing. Where is there an eatery?" Before long Ned stopped at a little tea house where an American sign hung in a window, and the boys ordered such viands as the place afforded. It was not much of a meal, as Jack insisted, but just a teaser for a dinner which would be procured later on. "Where are the marines?" asked Frank, as he and Ned seated themselves at a little table apart from the others. "Encamped in the grove," was the reply. "They will not be attacked there?" asked Frank, in some amazement. "Certainly not. All Chinamen hate us, but we are safe except when the revolutionists take a hand in the game. The marines are probably surrounded by a crowd of sullen curiosity seekers, but they will not be molested unless the revolutionists decide to take another chance with them." "And the machines are gone for good?" "No, the American consul is getting them back, or was when I left his office, one by one. The men who were fighting were too frightened to take the machines with them, but the mob got them. They were taken by individual thieves, and will soon be restored." "We ought to have come over in our aeroplane," smiled Frank. "That would have defeated our purpose," Ned replied. "We are here to catch the leaders of this conspiracy, and the only way we can do it is to wait until they show themselves. "Just see how foolish they are!" Ned went on. "If they had been content to wait, to manufacture such evidence as they needed to show their innocence, we could never have located them. They would have lied us out of countenance if we charged any one man with being the leader, or any one nation with fostering the conspiracy. "But they tried to make a clean record for themselves by wiping us off the face of the earth and so showed themselves to us. I am told by police officers that if criminals would keep away from women, away from the scenes of their crimes, and keep their mouths shut when given the famous--and disgraceful--third degree, not one in twenty would ever be convicted." "Well," Frank said, "here's hoping that the man we want will come within reach again!" After breakfast the boys headed for the American consulate, where they found the machines which had been stolen. "That was quick work," Ned congratulated. "How did you do it?" The consul laughed. "Why," he replied, "you might as well try to bide a fifty story building in China as one of those machines! The natives believe the devil is in them!" "I've known Americans to express the same opinion," laughed Frank. While they talked with the consul a message was brought him from the telegraph office. It read: "Report progress." Ned laughed. "Nothing to report but disaster," he said. "Well," the consul replied, "we expected something of the kind. You have gained the very point we expected you to gain. You know exactly who is at the head of this mess. Thinking he had you where you would never get away, he talked too much." "I think I should know him in any disguise," Ned said. "I should know him anywhere, and under any circumstances. Do you think he would have kept faith with me if I had given up the documents and promised never to implicate either his country or himself in the trouble?" "Certainly not. The fact that he revealed himself to you shows that he meant to have you murdered there. Only for the marines breaking in just as they did, it would have been all off with you, my boy." "He must be a treacherous old chap!" Ned commented. "His life and everything he loves is at stake." "Then he should have kept out of the mess! Why should he want to get us into a war?" "My boy," replied the consul, "we are sure to have a war with some great European nation before many years." "Because the people are getting too thick over here. Because they are going to America in droves. Because the governments of Europe desire to retain control of their people after they leave the confines of their own countries. They want English, German, Russian, Italian, French colonies held under their hand instead of a mass of their subjects doing reverence to a foreign flag." "And they will fight for that?" "Of course. The only way we can keep out of a great and disastrous war is to abandon the Philippines, throw our island possessions to the dogs, and tumble the Monroe doctrine into the sea. Then these foreign nations can buy, steal, or conquer all South and Central America. We don't want the land there, and we can't afford to fight for the dagoes who live there." "There is too much jingo in our country to ever do what you suggest," Ned suggested. "I'm afraid you are right," the consul replied. "But now to business. Get your machines here and mount them! You are to leave for Peking to-night." "And I'll not come back until I reach the town!" declared the boy. "By the way," said the consul, "where are the papers you took from the captain of the Shark--the boat you fought with your submarine?" "I have them here," was the reply. "Better leave them in my safe." Ned consented to this, and later, on the march to Peking, he was very glad that he had done. At twilight the boys joined the flying squadron, and were all off for the imperial city, little suspecting that the perils before them were greater than any they had encountered. CHAPTER XVI A BIT OF SEALING WAX The night grew clearer as the flying squadron advanced toward the imperial city of China. The roads were rough in places, but the superb machines carried the boys and their companions at good speed. It may well be imagined that the party created something of a sensation as it whirled along. The constant popping of the engines, the strong lights which flashed ahead, and the voices of the marines brought many a sleepy-faced Chinaman to the door of his home. Now and then the boys were hailed from the roadside, but little attention was paid to these calls. Finally, however, a voice addressed the party in English. "Where are you going?" it asked. Ned instructed the Captain to proceed a few paces with his company and then halted to see what manner of man it was that spoke to him in that tongue. He found an old Chinaman, a wise-looking old fellow with a keen face, leaning over a rude gate in front of a small house. "Did you speak?" he asked, advancing to the gate. "I did," was the reply. "I was curious to know where you were going in the middle of the night." "You speak English remarkably well," Ned said, not in any hurry to satisfy the old fellow's curiosity. "I ought to," was the reply. "I have just come back from New York. I owned a laundry there for a good many years." "And have returned to China to live in peace and comfort?" "I don't know about the peace," replied the Chinaman, with a sigh. "You think there will be a war?" The Chinaman nodded. "The coming revolt," he declared, "was conceived more than two hundred years ago. For fifty years organization has been going on. For six years the revolutionists have been working as a whole." "And they are strong?" asked Ned. "Wherever in the world Chinamen live, in New York, Chicago, San Francisco, Boston, London, Berlin, St. Petersburg, anywhere, everywhere, there are funds being collected for the coming civil war." Ned wanted to ask the loquacious old fellow what his private ideas about the justice of the struggle were, but he decided not to do so. He thought he might find out in another way. "And the revolutionists will win?" he asked. "God forbid!" was the reply, and the boy had the answer he thought he would receive. Still, he was not satisfied that the old fellow was telling the exact truth regarding his sentiments. It was the revolutionists he had to battle with, and not the federalists. This retired laundryman might know that! "Anyway," the boy thought, "the fellow seems desirous of keeping me here as long as possible. This, of course, may be because of a desire for the companionship of one of the race he has lived with so long, but I do not think so." Pretending to be deeply interested in what the Chinaman was saying, he excused himself for a moment and beckoned to Jimmie. "Lead your motorcycle noiselessly up that rise of ground," he directed, "and when you get there keep your eyes wide open." "What for?" demanded the boy. "For whatever comes in sight," replied Ned. "Keep the line of vision from this house to whatever may be beyond unimpaired if it is possible to do so. If you observe anything unusual, report to me." "All righto!" cried the boy. Ned saw Jimmie making a noiseless progress up the little hill and turned back to the man at the gate. Instantly the latter offered refreshments, for the entire party, and seemed disappointed when the offer was declined. "You're going to Peking on business?" the Chinaman finally asked. "Yes," was the short answer. "Why do you ride in the night?" "Because we must get there in the morning." "But there is another day." "Always there is another day in the Far East," Ned smiled, "but we of the West count only on what we can do before that other day arrives." The two talked on for half an hour, while the marines muttered complaints and Frank and Jack rolled themselves in blankets and tried to pay a visit to Dreamland. The previous night had been a hard one, and they felt the need of more rest than they had been able to get during the afternoon. After a time Ned became anxious. He had sent Jimmie on ahead with the notion that something was going to happen there within a short time. But all was still about the house and the small fields which surrounded it. Jimmie did not return. "I wonder if the little scamp is in trouble again?" thought Ned. This seemed to be the natural solution of the puzzle of his long absence, and Ned was about to send Frank on after him when the little fellow came up to him. "The Captain wants you to get a move on," the boy said. Ned saw that Jimmie had something to say to him which was not for the ears of the Chinaman, and walked away, followed by the urgent voice of the former laundryman, who besought him to return and partake of refreshments. "In honor of old New York!" he added. "Gee!" Jimmie muttered, as the boys stood alone together. "I was thinkin' I'd struck the fourth of July." "Where?" "Up on the hill." "So, they were using rockets?" "Yes." "Where did they ascend from?" "From the other side of the hill, at this end, and from an old house at the other end." Ned stood for a moment without speaking. So the Chinaman had been holding him in conversation while his tools had been signaling to some one farther up the road! This was practically what he had suspected. From the first he had believed that the old fellow's purpose was to hold him there as long as possible. Signals would naturally be the outgrowth of such a plan, and Ned had sent Jimmie on ahead--silently--in order to see where the other party answered the signals from, if they were answered at all. As from the opening of the case, he had planned to secure his information from his enemies--from their actions and their presence or absence from the position he occupied. Directing the marines to follow on slowly, Ned awoke Frank and Jack. The four climbed the hill slowly, watching the sky as they advanced. The clouds lay low to the east, but in the west was a patch of clear sky. When they gained the summit of the rise, they saw a light in a little grove some distance away. It seemed like a lantern moving out and in among the trees. "There," Jimmie explained, "when I got to the top of the hill, I saw a rocket shoot out of that thicket. It did not ascend the sky, but follow the line of the earth and died out in the road." "Of course," Ned said. "A rocket sent up in the usual way would have been visible from where we were standing." "And, in a minute," the boy went on, "there came a rocket from that house, the house where the light was a minute ago. That, too, followed the ground line." "Talking together in low tones!" grinned Jack. "They were talkin' together, all right," Jimmie said. "Dollars to dumplings," Frank exclaimed, "that the funny chap we met in the old mud house at Taku has a room in that shack." "He might have been hiding there," Ned said. "An' that old stiff signaled to him to make his getaway?" asked the little fellow. "Looks like it," Ned replied. "Huh!" Jack objected. "The signals might have told the men at the other end of the line to get their soldiers out and bump us off the continent." "Which idea," responded Frank, "causes me to want to approach that house with all due caution and respect." "Suppose we four surround it," suggested Jimmie. "That's the idea!" Jack commented. "Just what I was about to propose," said Wed. "We'll leave the marines within call and go up to this temporary signal station and see what about it." The Captain was communicated with, and then the four left the road and moved around toward the rear of the house, keeping in the shadows of the trees. Not until they reached the very door of the place were there any signs of life there. The lantern they had observed from a distance was seen no more. The windows were dark and silent. But when they came to the door they found it unlocked. As the crude latch was lifted, with a very slight creaking sound, a movement was heard inside, and then a heavy body was heard striking the ground at the rear. Then a was as silent as before. "Someone jumped out of a window!" Jimmie whispered. "I hope he broke his crust!" There was to be no defense of the place, then! Whoever the inmates had been, they were deserting the house. Ned stationed Frank and Jack at the front and moved around to the rear with Jimmie close behind. A rustle in the undergrowth told him that the former occupants of the place were still about. Jimmie darted in the direction of the noise, but was back again in a minute. "Might as well try to chase a ghost!" he said. "Got clear away, did he?" asked Ned. "You know it!" grunted the little fellow. Frank and Jack were now heard in the house, and the rays of a searchlight showed at a window, showed very faintly in cracks, for there was a heavy wooden shutter to the window on the inside. Ned tried the rear door. It was not locked and he entered. The house was deserted, but it was not unfurnished. Indeed, articles of furniture scattered about the rooms, which were in great disorder, denoted not only wealth but a refined taste. There were velvet rugs on the floors and great easy chairs and lounging divans. A pantry revealed unwashed dishes, showing that food had been served there recently. "Who was it that ran away?" asked Jack, as the boys met. "A ghost!" replied Jimmie. "I chased him until he hid in a tree." "Why didn't you pull him out?" grinned Jack. "Because he turned into a green cow with purple wings!" the little fellow replied. Jack whirled his arms around in the manner of one turning a crank and laughed. The boys delighted in such by-play. "If it's all the same to you, boys," Frank was now heard saying, "I'll just devour such few things as are left here. I see a ham and a box of canned vegetables. Must have intended a long stop here, whoever he was." Leaving the boys to search the remainder of the house, Ned entered what had evidently been a reading room and turned on his light. The room was handsomely decorated, and there were scores of books lying around on tables and chairs. Calling to the boys, he directed them to bring up the marines and station them around the house. "I want to know that I'll not be disturbed," he said. "Found somethin'?" asked Jimmie. "Look at the books," Ned replied. Jimmie read half a dozen titles and cast the volumes aside. "They don't look good to me," he said. "All about international law and treaties!" "Exactly!" Ned said, and then Jimmie opened his eyes. "I'll bet there's been some of them statesmen livin' here!" the little fellow almost whispered. "Say, do you think you have run 'em down at last?" "I don't know, son," was the reply. "Look on that table and see what you discover." "Bits of torn paper an' some red wax." "The paper," Ned explained, "is parchment, such as is used in important official transactions, and the wax is of the kind used by lawyers and diplomats. Here is a seal!" Ned's face turned pale as he looked at the seal. Could it be possible that the nation to which it belonged had been engaged in this conspiracy? It did not seem possible. Ned put the telltale seal away in his pocket without permitting Jimmie to see it and picked up some loose pieces of sealing wax which lay on the table near where the seal had been found. "Do you see the fine work done with the seal which made this impression?" Ned asked. "Fine seal!" Jimmie replied. "Was that stamp made by the seal you just hid away?" "No," Ned replied, "thank God it was not!" Wrapping the wax very carefully, so that it would not crumble, and securing every bit of paper in sight, Ned made a little bundle and stowed it away in a pocket. Then he began a search of the rug on the floor. Jimmie was on his knees, in a moment. "Finders keepers?" he asked. "That depends!" Ned said. "Well, some one's been payin' out money here," the boy went on. "See what I found!" What he had found was a gold piece of the denomination of twenty dollars. And it bore the stamp of the American eagle! CHAPTER XVII BOY SCOUTS IN A LIVELY MIXUP Ned took the gold piece into his hand and examined it. "It is American money, sure enough," he observed, "and was made at the San Francisco mint." Frank and Jack now joined the little group in the library and regarded the piece with interest. "What does it mean?" Frank asked. "Why," Jack volunteered, "it means that some American man is mixed up in this dirty affair." "Perhaps that gold came out of the wreck," Jimmie suggested. "Say, are we ever goin' back after that gold?" he added. "Ned's got all the gold he can attend to right here," commented Frank. "He's got to find out how that came here." "Why, there was an American in the bunch, and he lost it out of his pocket," Jack ventured. "That's the very point," Frank observed. "What was an American doing in that bunch?" "It might have been the American who planned to send the gold to the revolutionary leaders by way of a shipment to the Chinese government," Ned said, thoughtfully. "You know some American had to send the gold." "Of course." "Well, suppose he is now here trying to get something in exchange for the gold which lies at the bottom of the Pacific?" "He naturally would be doing business, with the revolutionary party," Frank exclaimed. "What a trick that was!" "I haven't got it through my head yet," Jack said. "I don't know any more about the plot than a robin." "Look here," Frank said, in a superior tone, "there are a lot of Chinese in the United States who want to assist the revolutionary party. Got that?" "You know it!" "These men arrange with the Chinese government to send over a cargo of gold." "That's easy. What were they to get for the gold?" "I don't know," Frank answered. "But they arranged to send the gold right out of the subtreasury at San Francisco--or was it New York?--to the Chinese government." "All right," laughed Jack. "I see daylight." "Then they notify the rebels-to-be that the gold will be shipped on such a vessel at such a time." "Warmer!" grinned Jimmie. "And the rebels undertake to have a ship ready to snatch off the gold when the right time comes. So the Chinese government will have to pay for the yellow stuff and the rebels will have the good of it." "Great scheme!" "Yes, well, some other nation gets wise to what is going on, and sets out to burst up the combination." "Naturally." "So this foreign nation sends out a ship to ram the vessel carrying the gold." "Oh! I got that long ago!" "And the vessel is rammed and the gold goes to the bottom. Then this other government, thinking to kill two birds at one shot, gives it out, in certain diplomatic circles, that Uncle Sam shipped that gold directly to the Chinese government from the subtreasury, with the full knowledge that the rebels were to get it." "Yes, I've heard about that." "So Uncle Sam sends Ned over here to dig up that gold and see if the shippers didn't put documents in the bags or boxes which would prove out the whole transaction." "An' Ned found the documents!" cried Jimmie. "Good old Ned!" "Yes, he found the documents which prove that the United States had nothing to do with the matter, but which do not show who started the slander. "And then Ned is sent out to track the statesman who had been doing business with the rebels down to his hiding place. It is thought that his nation is the one that tried to mix Uncle Sam in the matter." "But why should this man be doing business with the rebels?" asked Jack. "That is what we don't know," was the reply. "Still, we know that he is allied with the rebels. We met him at Taku. Ned met him at the ruined temple. He may be treacherously in the company of the men who lead the revolutionary party, but he is there." "You have that figured out correctly," Ned cut in. "If the man we are after had been doing business with the Chinese government, we would have had officers of the law after us at Tientsin and Taku, instead of men who ran when it came daylight." "What national seal made that stamp on the wax you have in your pocket, Ned?" Jimmie asked. Ned made no reply. "Was the stamp made with the seal you have with you?" was the next question. Still Ned did not answer. He was in a quandary. It did not seem possible that the two nations pointed out by the seal and the wax could be engaged in such dirty business. He hoped to prove to his own satisfaction that they were not. "The only way to find out what we want to know," he said, "is to go on to Peking." "Your proof will assist you when you get there?" asked Frank. "Yes, I'm afraid so," Ned answered, tentatively. "I don't understand that reply," Frank observed, with a serious face. "You must have discovered something in this house which is not to your liking." "Time will show," Ned said. Captain Martin, of the marines, now entered the room where the discussion was going on. His face was pale, and his eyes showed greater anger than Ned had ever seen reflected there before. "Just a moment, Ned," he said, and the two stepped into another room. The Captain dropped into a chair. "We have struck the hornet's nest," he said. "Do you hear them buzzing?" asked Ned, with a smile. "Worse than that," was the reply. "I am feeling their stings. Two of my men have been attacked in the dark." "And wounded?" "Yes; one of them seriously." "I'm sorry for the poor fellow," Ned said. "Do you think we can get him on to Peking?" Captain Martin shook his head. "It is a bad wound," he said. "The man was on guard not far from the edge of the grove when a figure loomed up before him. He challenged and was about to shoot, for no reply came, when he got the knife in his back. He can't be moved." "The trouble is," Ned replied, "that we got here too soon." "What's the answer to that?" "We did not give the plotters time enough to finish their business. When that old Chink, back there at the gate, signaled to them with his rockets, they cut and ran, leaving important evidence behind them." "And you think they will hang about the flying squadron until they recover what they have lost?" "They certainly will try to recover it. Now you see the wisdom of the Washington people in sending me to Peking on a motorcycle! You see that I was right in saying that we were being set up as marks for other nations to shoot at!" "Yes," said Martin, "you never could have got to the fellows in the old way. It was right to plan it so that they would come to you, although it was placing you in great danger." "But the danger has rippled off our backs like water off the feathers of a duck! If we meet no more peril than we have now encountered, we'll get back to New York fat and healthy." "One thing I fail to comprehend," Captain Martin said, "and that is why a flying squadron was sent with you." "To attract attention," laughed Ned. "To get you out of scrapes, I should say," the Captain retorted. "Well, then, both!" "I don't get it yet." "We might have reached Peking without our presence in the country being known to our enemies," Ned said, "but that was not the idea of the Washington people. I have already explained to the boys that we were to do our real work in identifying the man we want while on the way." "Oh, all right," replied the officer, "but it seems to me that you might have made the trip in a quieter way with the same result. These chaps would have found you, depend on that." "Yes, but we needed help," replied Ned, "and we got it in the nick of time. Guess the Secret Service people at Washington are all right." "Perhaps," the Captain said, then, "we would better get the wounded men into the house and look after their wounds. The others I'll leave on guard." The injured marines were carried into the house and given such attention as could be bestowed in the absence of a surgeon. "What next?" asked Frank. "Peking!" answered Jack. "We can't heal these wounds by remaining here, and we can help by going on and sending a surgeon back." "But my orders are to remain with you," Captain Martin said. "Then leave most of your men here and come on," Ned replied. This plan was agreed upon, and would have been carried out at once had not something not on the program of the night intervened. Captain Martin had detailed two men to sit with the wounded and stationed the others in a circle about the house when a shot was fired off to the east. "I didn't think they would have the nerve to attack the house openly before we got away," Captain Martin remarked. All listened intently, but there was no more shooting. "That sounded to me more like a signal than anything else," Ned observed. "I wonder if they are out in force?" "I think I'd better call the men in," Captain Martin remarked. The words were hardly out of his mouth when a skulking form appeared in the dim light which now fell from the stars. The fellow was creeping from the house outward. "A spy!" Jack whispered. "Shoot, some one. I haven't my gun with me. Shoot!" The skulking man appeared to hear the words, though they were spoken in a very low tone, for he sprang to his feet and dashed away at full speed. In a second he was lost to view in the thicket. "Say, but that chap is some runner!" Jimmie cried. "He went so fast I never thought to wing him!" "Where did he come from?" asked Frank. "I'm certain he was not in the house. Perhaps he was up to some deviltry." "He wasn't here with any bouquets," Jimmie answered. "I'm goin' out an' run around the house. Perhaps I can find out where he was hidin', an' find his mate there." No objections being offered to this, the little fellow left the group and started in on a tour around the old house. He was gone perhaps two minutes, then came dashing back, his face white and horror-stricken in the circle of light which met him. "Grab 'em! Grab 'em an' get out!" he shouted. "Where did you get it?" demanded Jack. "You're scared stiff!" Frank laughed. "Grab the wounded men an' beat it!" Jimmie repeated. "This ranch will go up in the air in a second!" "That's cheerful!" Jack cut in, half believing that Jimmie was up to another trick. Jimmie dashed into the house, seized one of the wounded men by the shoulders and tried to drag him off the improvised bed on which he had been laid. "All right!" he yelled. "You boys may stay here an' get shot up into blue sky if you want to, but I'm goin' to get these men out." "Why don't you tell us what the danger is?" demanded Ned, shaking the little fellow by the arm. "You listen!" Jimmie replied. There was dead silence for an instant. Then, seemingly from underneath the floor, came a low, sinister hissing sound which every one of the boys recognized. A great fuse was burning below, and might at any moment reach the explosive to which it was attached. The Chinese tools of the man at the head of the conspiracy were taking desperate chances. In order to destroy the clues which Ned had found in the house, and also to prevent the boy ever discovering any more, they were taking the long chance of murdering the soldiers of a friendly power and bringing on international complications. Ned was by no means idle while these thoughts were swarming in his brain. In fact, all the boys sprang to action instantly. Captain Martin was told to order his men farther away from the point of danger. In less time than the result of their activities can be written down the wounded men were lying in the grove, surrounded by their fellows, and the boys were waiting for what seemed inevitable, the complete destruction of the house. CHAPTER XVIII A BROKEN MATCH SAFE "Why don't she go up?" asked Jack, as the boys crouched in the grove. "I don't mind seeing a little fourth of July!" "She's coming," Frank answered. "Do you see the light in the cellar? That's the fuse burning." "It must be a long one," Jimmie said. "Gee, but I was scared stiff when I saw it burnin' right under where you all were!" "How did the sneak who set the fuse on fire ever get down there?" wondered Jack. "Must have been there all the time," Jimmie volunteered. "But he didn't have the powder, or the dynamite, or whatever thing he figured on blowing us up with, in his pockets, did he?" asked Jack. "I guess the old Chink down the road, the fellow who kept me talking at the gate, had something to do with storing the explosive there," Ned remarked. "I presume the plot was laid to blow us up the minute the effort to destroy us at the ruined temple failed." "Merry little time we're having," Frank laughed. "Here, kid, where are you going?" he added, as Jimmie moved away. "I'm goin' to see why that don't go bang!" answered the boy. Ned tried to stop him, but the little fellow dodged away and disappeared around an angle of the house. The boys waited in suspense for a moment, expecting every instant to witness the explosion, then Frank and Jack darted around the corner, in quest of Jimmie. "Come back!" Ned called, but they paid no heed. Both Ned and the Captain sprang after the lads, the latter expressing in very vigorous language his opinion of boys who would take such risks out of curiosity. "I'd rather wait an hour for an explosion than go up to see why it didn't come off in time," he said. "That Jimmie needs a good beating. He'll get it, too, if he doesn't behave!" Ned laughed, serious as the situation was, at the thought of what would be apt to happen if the Captain should lay hands on the little fellow in anger. He would have the other boys on his hands in a second! When Ned rounded the corner he saw Jimmie's heels half blocking a cellar window. Thick smoke was oozing out around him, and Frank and Jack were trying to pull him back. "You let go!" they heard the little fellow shout. "I guess I know what I'm doin'. You let go!" "Wait!" Ned said, then he stooped over and called out to Jimmie: "Is the fuse out?" "Sure!" was the reply. "'Sure the fuse is out, but before it went out it set fire to something on the cellar bottom, an' the blaze is workin' its way up to the powder, or whatever it is. Ouch!" he added, as Jack gave a pull at his foot. "You let go!" "Let him go," Ned advised. "Perhaps he can get in there in time to prevent the explosion." "The little gink!" Jack exclaimed, "I wanted to see the thing bust up. Now he's spoiled it!" In a moment the boy was in the cellar, and Ned was not far away when the creeping flame was extinguished. While Frank and Jack looked in at the window, shielding their eyes and faces from the smudge as well as it was possible to do, Ned called out to them: "Tell Captain Martin to keep his men on guard around the house. The scamps who did this may be up to some other trick. They're determined that we shall never get to Peking!" Frank crawled through the window and stood by Ned's side, searchlight in hand. Just about underneath the center of the house, was a half barrel of gunpowder. "That would have done the business," Frank observed, and Jimmie made a wry face. "If this little nuisance hadn't seen the fuse burning, we might have been killed." "Aw, go on!" Jimmie said. "The fuse went out, didn't it? Gave us a good scare, anyway. I'm six inches shorter than I was before I saw the blaze creepin' along like a bloomin' snake!" "How did it affect your appetite?" asked Frank. "If you mention anythin' to eat," Jimmie answered, "I'll have a fit. I don't know how people live in China, but I've been starved ever since I struck the country." Flashlight in hand, Ned now devoted his whole attention to the floor of the cellar. There were marks of shoes here and there, and half-burned matches. "It looks as if whoever did this job did it in a hurry," Ned said. "If the fuse had been set right it would have done its work. Do you see why it went out?" "Well, there's a break in it, and the break is over a damp spot on the floor. The powder stuffed line burned to the break and there the flame went out. It burned slowly, anyway, which probably accounts for our being alive at this time." Ned took a rule from his pocket and measured the shoe tracks on the floor. There were numerous tracks, but one was very distinct. This had been made by the man who rolled the half-barrel of powder to the place where it had been found. The barrel had come upon a slight obstruction, and the man had evidently lifted and pulled at it until his shoe, by reason of the extra weight put upon it, had sunk deep into the light soil. "That wasn't any Chink shoe," Jimmie said. "No, it was a shoe made in America," Ned said. "It is comparatively a new shoe, too. I am wondering now why the American, or Englishman, or Frenchman, whatever he is, didn't hire some of the Chinks to do this work of laying the explosion." "They're afraid," Jack volunteered. There was a litter of half-burned matches near the barrel and Ned bent over and gathered them up. As he did so something bright lying on the ground, caught his eye. It was a gold rivet, or wire, not more than an inch long and about as thick as a knitting needle. "What is it?" asked Frank. "I should say," replied Ned, "that the fellow lost the cover to his match box here. This looks like the rivet which served for a hinge. The cover itself may be here." But a close search did not reveal the cover, nor anything else of moment, in fact, and the boys soon left the cellar. Frank laughed as Ned placed the gold wire in his pocketbook. "You are making quite a collection," he said. "Yes," Jack added, "he has a state department seal, bits of broken sealing wax, and now a piece of a broken match safe. He'll set a trap with them directly!" "The trap is already set!" Ned replied. The long delay at the house made high speed necessary during the remainder of the run to Peking. The machines sparked and roared through that ancient land, bringing sleepy-eyed natives to doors and windows, and setting villages into whirls of excitement. Captain Martin and one marine were with the boys, the rest having been left with the wounded men. "My flying squadron is just beginning to fly," Ned said, as the machines rolled noisily down a hill from which the towers of the distant city showed. "And the smaller it becomes as we approach the end of the journey!" "Suppose the Chinks attack the men left behind?" asked Jack. "No danger of that," Ned replied. "They are not after the marines, but the Boy Scouts who had the nerve to cross the Pacific for the purpose of bringing a rascal to punishment." This view of the case proved to be the correct one, as the marines were remarkably well treated by the natives, who gathered about them with many gestures and questions, all unintelligible to the warriors. The boys who were slowly drawing a slowly closing circle around the guilty ones were the persons in demand! It was the middle of the forenoon when Ned and his companions reached the suburbs of the wonderful city. They attracted a great deal of attention as they wheeled through the straggling streets. They had not yet come to the wall, so the population was principally agricultural. Maize and millet are the principal products of the soil here, as the staple crops, wheat and rice, do not flourish well. They had no difficulty in passing the gate which gave into the southern or "Chinese City." It is the northern part of Peking that is known to foreigners as "The Forbidden City." Here the rulers live in wonderful palaces. This is the old "Tartar City," too. The second division of Peking is the business section. Here the boys drew up at a most uninviting native inn and asked a clerk who claimed to speak English for an interpreter. A snaky-looking fellow was finally produced, and Ned proceeded to question him about the show places of the town. "Let him think we are American tourists," Ned said to his chums, "and we'll stand a better chance of getting into the diplomatic section of the town. Anyway, while we are here, we may as well see the sights." After a midday luncheon Ned and Jimmie started out to look over the place. They were now in what is known as the general city, where the streets are from 140 to 200 feet wide. The thoroughfares are mostly unpaved, and the shops which line them are continuous, some green, some blue, some red, but all bustling with business. The shops in this section of Peking are decorated with huge, staring signs, resplendent with Chinese characters highly gilt. Before the boys had traveled far they were forcibly reminded of the lower East Side of New York. The great thoroughfares roared with the rush of commerce. Shopkeepers, peddlers, mountebanks, quack doctors, pedestrians rushing to and fro, all reminded the lads of the lower part of the big city on Manhattan island. The theaters and public places of amusement are situated in this part of Peking. When Ned and Jimmie returned from the stroll they found Frank and Jack waiting for them with anxiety depicted on their faces. "What have you been doing?" Frank asked. "I thought you came here to interview the American ambassador." "All in good time," Ned replied, with a smile. "I want to pick up the American shoe print before I present my letter to the ambassador." "Fine show you stand of picking up a shoe print in a crowd like that one out there!" Jack said. "It's worse than Coney Island on a midsummer Sunday." "Perhaps I didn't use the right words," smiled Ned. "I might have said I was waiting for the American shoe man to pick me up." "He's done that now, all right," Captain Martin said. "You had not been out of the house five minutes before the spies were thick as flies in the old Eighth ward. They are all about us now. Watch and see if we are ever alone." Ned glanced about carelessly and nudged Frank with his elbow. "That waiter?" he asked. "How long has he been loitering about the room?" "Ever since we arrived. The men who have been entertaining us on the way were evidently waiting for us." The boys were not in a private room, but in a public apartment where there were tables and refreshments. "But that chap belongs here," Ned replied. "Well, if you watch him, you will see that he is attending strictly to the wants of this party. If we call he'll wait on us. If any one else calls, another waiter glides over to him. Nice to be so exclusive, isn't it?" "If you are right," Ned said, "it is time for us to move on." "To the embassy?" asked Captain Martin. "You see," the Captain went on, "I'm rather anxious to land you boys under the protecting folds of the American flag, for there my responsibility ends." "No, not to the embassy," Ned replied. "As yet I have nothing of importance to confide to the ambassador. I can only tell him that we are here, that we had numerous nibbles on the road from Taku, but that all the fish got away." "Holy smoke!" exclaimed Jack. "I hope you don't think of staying out in the open until you can convey a couple of diplomats to the embassy! You can't catch your man single handed. You're not in New York now, but in a heathen town, a town where the life of a foreign devil is not worth a grain of rice." "Just the same," Ned replied, "I'm going to stick around this town until I get what I want." "In this dump?" asked Jack. "No; there's an American hotel up the street--an American hotel operated by Chinks! We'll go there and take rooms and wait for something to turn up." So, in spite of the protests of Captain Martin, the change was made, and late that night Ned awoke to find himself sitting up on the edge of his bed, automatic in hand, listening to the steady boring of a tool of some sort around the lock of his door! CHAPTER XIX A BOY SCOUT SURPRISE PARTY When Ned heard the assaults of the midnight visitor on his door he looked at his watch, then slipped over to the window facing the street. Twelve o'clock and the thoroughfare below still teeming with life. Peking has something over three millions of population, according to the records, but, as a matter of fact, no one knows the exact size of the town as to humanity, for the Chinese live in densely-packed districts, and there are no census reports given out. The city is many centuries old. It was a thriving capital three thousand years before Christ was born and during all the years of war and starvation and intrigue it continued to grow. The hardy races from the North, which overran the country and kept a Tartar on the Chinese throne for centuries, are virile and pertinacious. It has been the fate of every civilization we know anything about to be wiped out by hardy races. Rome went down before the Northmen, and England had its oversea conqueror. Greece and Italy succumbed to the might of brawny arms, and civilization shrank back for hundreds of years. So China fell before the men of the mountains, and her records were destroyed. As in all large cities, there is a night side to the life of Peking. If you traverse the streets at night you will find shops which have been closed all day opening for the trade of the night workers. You will see people who have slept through all the daylight hours walking through the streets to their nightly toil. You will see about the same things, only on a smaller scale, that you see in the daytime. This night was no different from any other, except that there were more men who did not appear to have any particular business there lounging along the streets. Now and then these loiterers, walking slowly along the business ways, slipped unostentatiously into alleys and narrow by-ways and so on into basement and garret halls where others of their kind were assembled. When Ned looked out of his window, listening meanwhile to the steady boring sound at his door, he saw a light at a window opposite to the building in which he stood waving slowly to and fro. There was a long vertical motion, and then the light moved from side to side again. Ned counted the slow strokes. Left to right, right to left, back again and yet again! "Six," he mused, "and all in action!" The mouse-like gnawing at his door continued, the sounds seemingly louder than before. The intruder was evidently gaining courage! Presently the boy leaned out of his window, which was on the third floor of the hotel, and watched the entrance below. There appeared to be a great rush of customers at that time. At least a score of natives passed in at the large door. Then Ned turned to the right and studied the window of the room next to his own on that floor. There was a light in that room, too, but it seemed to be a red light. Then it changed to white, then to blue. Ned laughed and began drawing on his clothes. Still the boring continued, and Ned bent over to see if he could discover any holes in the stile of the door. There being no light in his room and, presumably, one in the corridor outside, he thought he might be able to see when a cut through the stile had been made. There were no indications of a break yet, and Ned settled back on his bed to wait. Just at that moment he hardly knew what he was waiting for. He had been very busy all the afternoon, laying plans and conferring with a man who came from the police bureau, and who appeared to be working under instructions from the boy. Ned considered his plans as near perfect as any human plans can be, still he did not know exactly what would happen at a quarter past twelve. At ten minutes past midnight the boy heard a rush of footsteps in the corridor. They passed his door and the boring ceased. Then they faded away in the distance and the gnawing was resumed. There was a little more noise in the hotel than before. Ned smiled at the crude efforts that were being made to enter his room. In New York man disposed to enter for the purpose of robbery would have a skeleton key. He would be inside the room in three seconds after entering the corridor and finding the apartment he sought wrapped in darkness. "But this isn't New York," the boy mused. "This is the Orient, and the patience of the Orient, and the stupidity of the Orient!" At exactly a quarter past twelve there was a commotion in the corridor. Several people seemed to be moving toward the door of Ned's room. Once there was a little cry of alarm. Ned looked out of his window. The panes where he had observed the signals, across the street, were dark. There was no light in the window next his own which had shown red, white and blue but a moment before. The clamor in the corridor increased, and Ned walked to the door and undid the fastenings. Then it swung open, almost striking Ned in the face. Facing the boy, in the corridor, were six Chinamen, or men in native dress, rather. Back of them were a score of stern-faced Chinese policemen. To the right, and struggling with all their might to get into the room were Frank, Jack, and Jimmie, the latter with his nose wrinkled and wrinkling to such an extent that it resembled a small ocean with the wind undulating its surface. "Trap's closed!" That was Jimmie, of course. Frank and Jack stood by laughing. The faces of the six men who stood before the door were anything but pleasant to look upon. They expressed hate, despair, desperate intents. As they stood there Frank reached forward and snatched a queue-wig from the head of the man nearest him. "There he is!" Jimmie cried. "There's the old boy, Ned--the smooth gink we saw at Taku, at Tientsin, and at numerous places on the road. I wonder how he likes the scene?" Ned motioned to the six to step into the room. Three of them objected, then swords flashed in the light of the corridor and they moved on. They were followed by the three boys and half a dozen policemen, all with automatics in view. At a motion from the leader of the officers the six were searched and ironed. Jack nudged Frank in the ribs with his elbow as the handcuffs clicked on the wrists of the man who had so persistently followed them from the coast of the Yellow Sea. "That's a good sport," he said. "I like to see a fellow play the game!" The prisoner turned a pair of treacherous eyes on the boys and a cynical smile curled his thin lips. "You have the cards now," he said, in English, "but look out for the new deal. I'll keep you busy yet." "Go to it!" laughed Jack. "Go as far as you like, only I fail to see how you're going to get into the game again. Looks like you were all in, just now!" "Wait!" said the other, scornfully. There now came a knock at the door and Ned opened it to admit Captain Martin, who looked as if he had just left his bed after an unsatisfactory sleep. He cast his eyes about the room with amazement showing in every glance. "What does this mean?" he asked. "Surprise party!" Jimmie cried. "Who are these men?" The Captain pointed to the six prisoners lined up against the wall of the room. "Our friends from Taku, from the ruined temple, from Tientsin, from the farm house loaded with gunpowder, and from the tea house," laughed Ned. "Do you recognize the fellow with his disguise off? Jimmie gave him a haircut and shave just now." "And you have captured them?" "It doesn't look as if they had captured us," Jimmie broke in. "But how, when, why?" "All of that!" grinned Jimmie. Ned spoke a few words to the officer in charge of the squad and in a moment the room was occupied only by the handcuffed prisoners, the four boys, and Captain Martin. The latter stood looking at Ned with a question in each eye. "When you get time," he said, "I'd like to have you tell me how you brought this case to a close so suddenly." Ned motioned to the man who had been stripped of his disguise to take a chair at the table. The fellow did so reluctantly, turning his face this way and that, as if seeking some opportunity of escape. "Well," he said. "You have the floor. Go On." "You were at Taku?" asked Ned. "I deny everything!" "You will deny your own fingerprints, the shoeprints?" asked Ned. "Well, supposing, for the sake of argument, that I was at Taku, what has that to do with this brutal and illegal arrest?" "You placed the powder under the house where the wounded men lay?" "No." "I have something I want to show you," Ned said, taking a paper from his pocket. "Have you a match?" Almost involuntarily the fellow put his hand to his right vest pocket and brought forth a gold match safe. Ned took it into his hand and touched the spring which lifted the top. "There seems to be a new wire in the hinge," he said. "Yes, the old one wore out." Ned opened his pocketbook and took out the gold wire he had found in the cellar by the side of the powder. The prisoner started violently when he saw it. "Is this yours?" Ned asked. "No!" "All right!" Ned said. With the point of his knife he pushed the sale and put the old new hinge from the match safe and put the old one in its place. It fitted exactly. "There!" Ned said, "you see the old one did not wear out entirely. It wore away so that it dropped out. Do you know where I found it, my friend?" "It is immaterial to me where you found it." "Even if I found it in a cellar by the side of a half barrel of gunpowder to which a lighted fuse had been attached?" "Hadn't you better make your case--if you can make it at all--in the courts?" asked the prisoner. Ned took the state department seal, the sealing wax, and the bits of parchment from his pocket. "Who met you in the library at the house you attempted to destroy?" he asked. There was no reply. "Were these men present?" with a sweep of the hand toward the other prisoners. "What has this to do with my case?" "This," Ned replied. "You were still conspiring to fix upon my government the crime of interfering in the private affairs of another nation--with the crime of providing, by a treacherous and despicable route, the money needed by the revolutionary party of China. You were doing business in that house with the representatives of another nation. Who were they? What nations did they represent, or pretend to represent?" "I have nothing to say to that." Ned held up the seal. "This was not used?" he asked. "It was not used." "Why not?" "Because the representative of that nation refused to consider the terms offered him." Ned held forth the sealing wax. "This shows that the seal of another nation was used. Where is the paper to which the seal was attached?" "Destroyed!" "Is that true?" asked Ned. "It is true, they all deserted me. They all ran away when they knew you were in the country, but I brought them back, and held them until the incident at the house where you found those things." "So you are now the only one to look to for the history of this bit of deviltry?" "I stand alone," was the reply. "Alone, with the exception of these men I who were arrested with me. The plot has failed, and we know what to expect." The prisoner was about to say more, but just then a clamor in the street below attracted the attention of all in the room. CHAPTER XX THE EMPEROR TAKES A HAND Ned stepped to the window and looked out. The street in front of the hotel was filled from curb to curb with an excited mob. That the efforts of those below were directed toward the building and its occupants there could be no doubt. Many a shaking fist was thrust up to the lighted panes where Ned stood. The boy turned to Jimmie, spoke a few words in a whisper, and the little fellow left the room. With him went the interpreter who had been engaged that day. Shouts, howls and groans of rage now came up from the street, and Ned stepped away from the window. As he did so the prisoner who had been making a partial confession when the uproar came, moved forward, as if to show himself to those below. Seeing his intention, Ned seized him by the shoulder and hurled him to the back end of the room. The prisoner smiled and again seated himself in the chair he had occupied before. "Your friends are excited," Ned said, drawing the curtain at the window. The other nodded in the direction of the window and smiled. "My friends?" he asked. "Certainly." "Why do you attribute this outbreak to me?" "Because those not in league with you and your cause would hardly threaten American tourists, in the face of the law." "American tourists!" snarled the other, and Ned laughed. Jimmie now came bustling into the room, his eyes staring with excitement. The interpreter was only a trifle less moved by the information which had been gained. "What is it?" Jack asked. "He's crazy with fear again!" Frank put in. "Say," Jimmie cried, "you'd all better be gettin' out of this place. The people out there are goin' to raid it in a minute!" The prisoner uttered a defiant laugh and again started for the window. Again Ned forced him back. "What's the trouble?" asked Frank. "Why," was the reply, "this gink here," pointing toward the prisoner whose disguise had been removed, "this gazabo hadn't much confidence in his own ability to win this fight, so he appealed to the revolutionary leaders." "That's fine!" Jack said. "We may have the luck to see a full-fledged revolution doing business." "You are quite likely to." This from the prisoner, now standing with the others at the back of the room. "You arranged for this demonstration in case you should be taken?" asked Ned. The prisoner snarled out some ugly reply. "You planned this?" demanded Ned, resolved to know the truth. "Yes," almost shouted the other, "and you will soon discover that it is something more than a demonstration." The interpreter drew Jimmie aside and whispered in his ear. Then the boy turned to Ned. "This boy says he saw a signal given from a window as soon as this bunch was taken," he said. "Then crowds began forming. Say, but we'd better be gettin' out!" "Save yourselves the exertion," the prisoner said. "They will find you, wherever you go!" "Possibly," Ned said. Then he walked to the window and again looked out on the mob. The street was packed. Faces showing rage and desperate bravery were uplifted. Fists were shaken at the window where he stood. In a moment a stone came hurtling against the wall of the house. Here and there, on the outskirts of the crowd, policemen in the funny uniforms the police of Peking wear, were seen trying vainly to force their way to the door of the hotel. The main entrance seemed to be guarded, for the mob did not succeed in forcing its way in. Presently, however, Ned saw long ladders being carried forward on the shoulders of the rioters. Then they were dropped against the wall and men with bloody faces--bloody from the acts of their own fellows--fought to be first to climb. "In three minutes," the prisoner said, "you will be torn limb from limb if I am not released." "Your friends certainly do insist on something of the kind," Ned replied. "Remove these irons and place me before the window," commanded the other. "That will quiet them." "And make terms with a pack of rioters?" smiled Ned. "You can save your life, and the lives of your friends, in no other way," insisted the other. Ned went to the window again, although bricks and stones were flying quite freely. The ladders swarmed with excited men, but no one seemed able to gain entrance at the windows which were attacked. Instead, a ladder now and then went toppling backward, carrying dozens of rioters to death or injury. When the ladders began falling the mob moved away from that side of the street. "You see," Ned said to the prisoner, "that we were on the lookout for something like this." "How could you have been?" gasped the other. "Our interpreter heard some of the messages sent out by mouth by the revolutionists. I connected your possible capture with the gathering. We were warned and made ready." "But my men will soon be here!" shouted the other. "They are sworn to go to death for the cause if necessary." "But I don't see them doing anything of the kind," Ned replied. "On the contrary, they seem to be taking pretty good care of their yellow old hides!" "You'll see!" howled the other. Directly the heavy beat of marching feet came up to the window, heard above the roar of the mob below. Far down the street Ned saw the advancing line, bearing the colors of the Emperor. The rioters saw the line, too, and the crowd in front of the hotel began to thin. Then the soldiers arrived and the thoroughfare was empty save for their presence. By this time the prisoner was in a condition of collapse. He had planned this thing carefully, and was now in the meshes of failure. The street below soon cleared of the few who gathered about to witness the arrival of the soldiers. The few prisoners, who had been taken marched sullenly to prison. In ten minutes the city of Peking was as quiet as if the machinations of the conspirators had never stirred the people to riot. "Well?" Ned said, facing the prisoner. "What do you think we ought to do with you?" "After all," was the reply, "you have no charges against me. My government alone can discipline me for what has been done." "Your government will deny any knowledge of the conspiracy," Ned replied. "From this time on, you have no government." "And yet I acted under instructions." "What was the motive?" asked Frank, who saw a fine cablegram for his father's newspaper in the story. "The purpose," replied the other, weakly, "was to so entangle your government that it would not dare lend aid to the revolutionary leaders." "And you were engaged in it?" A nod of the head was the only reply. "Yet you pretended to be assisting the revolutionary party. You were present at their councils. Can it be possible that you were treacherous to both sides?" There was no answer. "Suppose," Ned said, "suppose I turn you over to the revolutionary leaders, with a statement of what you have just said? What would be your fate? Remember that the men of the revolution were ready to fight for you not long ago." Still no reply. The prisoner only looked sullenly down at the floor. "What government do you represent?" asked Frank. "What nation is it that is protecting the imperial government of China?" "You need not answer that question," Ned said, with a sigh. Frank laughed. "I see," he said. "You don't want to further implicate matters by giving out the name of the power whose seal shows on the wax! All right, old boy, I'll get it yet!" "No good can come of a representative of the United States Government presenting charges of such a character against another power," Ned replied. Captain Martin now arose from the chair where he had been seated for a long time. He glanced keenly into the faces of the six prisoners and then turned to Ned. "Shall I take them in charge?" he asked, "That would be useless." "Then what can be done with them?" "I am going to turn them over to the authorities on the charge of attempted murder, based on the effort they made to kill us in the old house." "Very well," the Captain said, "now will you tell me how you set this trap so, cleverly?" "It was only a matter of detail," Ned replied. "I took good care to let the native waiters here know that I had the clues I had found secreted in my room. I also let it be known that I was a heavy sleeper. "My interpreter, who is by no means as treacherous a chap as his looks would indicate, heard the robbery of my room planned. He heard the hour fixed-a quarter past twelve. So all the rest was easy." "Oh, yes, easy, but how did you do it?" "Frank, Jack and Jimmie helped," added Ned. "Jack was at a window over the way. He told me by signals just how many men were to take part in the attack on me. "Frank, in the next room to mine, told me when the time came to be on guard. I really do not wake easily, and he rigged a cord through the wall so I could rest comfortably until the time for action came. "Then when all was ready, he told me by means of colored light that all the six were in the corridor, and that the officers I had engaged during the afternoon were on hand." "And you went to sleep with all this on your mind and slept up to within a quarter of an hour of the time set for action?" asked the Captain in wonder. "Why, certainly," was the reply. "You see, we have been having some exciting nights, and I needed rest. The other boys slept a good deal this afternoon, so I left them to wake me at night. Nothing odd about that, is there?" "Nothing save the nerve of it." Two high officers now made their appearance in the room and beckoned to the prisoners. All arose save the man from whom the disguise had been stripped. He remained in the chair into which he had dropped, seemingly in a stupor. "Come," said the officer. The man arose, desperation in his eyes, and moved toward the door. A few days before that miserable night he had been one of the leaders in the statecraft of the world. Now he was being marched to a prison like any ordinary criminal. The speaker was interrupted by a quick movement on the part of the prisoner, the man he had addressed as Count. There was no one between he desperate man and the still open window. Ned was at the door, Captain Martin was out in the corridor, and Frank, Jack and Jimmie were talking together in a corner. Handcuffed as he was, the Count leaped to the window and shot down to the hard pavement below. There was a shrill cry as his body hurtled through the air, then a crash. Below passersby drew away from what lay in a bloody heap on the pavement. A little crowd gathered, at a distance, but none knew that the body of one of the most distinguished statesmen in the world lay there. "It is finished!" Ned said, with a sigh. "The whole story of the conspiracy will never be told. It is the story of a treacherous government and a treacherous statesman. "The documents I have will fully prove that the United States had no hand in the gold shipment, and that is all that we care for. The old world may take care of its own political messes." "It is a mess indeed," Captain Martin, said. "In less than a year China will be red with blood, and the streets of Peking will witness the retreat of the royal family." How true this prophecy was the readers of the daily newspapers now know. "Well," Jack said, with a yawn, as the boys and the Captain were left alone in the room together, "I presume it is us for little old New York to-morrow. How do you like this motorcycle-flying-squadron business, boys," he added. "We seem to have flown ahead of the flying squadron." "Then we ought to fly back and look after the ones who were wounded on the road," Frank said. "Suppose we all go back on our machines, and really see something of the country?" This was agreed to, and the party separated for the night. In the morning Ned paid his respects to the American ambassador, who greeted him courteously, but wanted to know all about the events of the trip from the coast. "You have gotten Uncle Sam out of a bad mess," the ambassador said, when Ned had finished his narration, "and you will find that you will be well rewarded when you return to Washington." The ambassador also requested the boys to visit the other legations, but they did not care to do so. "Well," he said, then, "you must take a letter from me which may help you on your way. I have been expecting you here all the week, but it seems that you completed your work without my assistance," "Just what I was figuring on," Ned replied. "I worked under surveillance all the way here, and I desired to show that I could do something on my own account." The boys left Peking early the next morning, and were not long in reaching the house where the powder trap had been set for them. There they found Hans and Sandy! The boys had followed them on from Tientsin in an automobile which an English merchant was taking through. Both boys were riding motorcycles, and were already proficient enough to proceed with the others, using the machines which had been ridden by the wounded marines, who were sent on to Peking in charge of Captain Martin. A week was spent on the road to Taku, and the lads enjoyed every minute of the time. The letter given them by the American ambassador brought them every attention at Tientsin and Taku. It was late in the fall when they reached New York. On the night of their arrival there were many joyful meetings in the clubroom of the Black Bear Patrol. The next day Ned went on to Washington to file his report. When he returned it was with a very substantial reward. "Now," he said, with a laugh, "I'm ready for the next trip. I wonder where it will be?" THE END 16142 ---- THE COMMUNIST THREAT IN THE TAIWAN AREA Statement by Secretary Dulles White House Statement President Eisenhower's Report to the American People President Eisenhower's Letter to Premier Khrushchev The Department of State Department of State Publication 6708 Far Eastern Series 76 Released September 1958 Public Services Division THE COMMUNIST THREAT IN THE TAIWAN AREA 1. Statement by Secretary Dulles, September 4, 1958 I have reviewed in detail with the President the serious situation which has resulted from aggressive Chinese Communist military actions in the Taiwan (Formosa) Straits area. The President has authorized me to make the following statement. 1. Neither Taiwan (Formosa) nor the islands of Quemoy and Matsu have ever been under the authority of the Chinese Communists. Since the end of the Second World War, a period of over 13 years, they have continuously been under the authority of Free China, that is, the Republic of China. 2. The United States is bound by treaty to help to defend Taiwan (Formosa) from armed attack and the President is authorized by joint resolution of the Congress to employ the Armed Forces of the United States for the securing and protecting of related positions such as Quemoy and Matsu. 3. Any attempt on the part of the Chinese Communists now to seize these positions or any of them would be a crude violation of the principles upon which world order is based, namely, that no country should use armed force to seize new territory. 4. The Chinese Communists have, for about 2 weeks, been subjecting Quemoy to heavy artillery bombardment and, by artillery fire and use of small naval craft, they have been harassing the regular supply of the civilian and military population of the Quemoys, which totals some 125,000 persons. The official Peiping radio repeatedly announces the purpose of these military operations to be to take by armed force Taiwan (Formosa), as well as Quemoy and Matsu. In virtually every Peiping broadcast Taiwan (Formosa) and the offshore islands are linked as the objective of what is called the "Chinese Peoples Liberation Army." 5. Despite, however, what the Chinese Communists say, and so far have done, it is not yet certain that their purpose is in fact to make an allout effort to conquer by force Taiwan (Formosa) and the offshore islands. Neither is it apparent that such efforts as are being made, or may be made, cannot be contained by the courageous, and purely defensive, efforts of the forces of the Republic of China, with such substantial logistical support as the United States is providing. 6. The joint resolution of Congress, above referred to, includes a finding to the effect that "the secure possession by friendly governments of the western Pacific island chain, of which Formosa is a part, is essential to the vital interests of the United States and all friendly nations in and bordering upon the Pacific Ocean." It further authorizes the President to employ the Armed Forces of the United States for the protection not only of Formosa but for "the securing and protection of such related positions and territories of that area now in friendly hands and the taking of such other measures as he judges to be required or appropriate in assuring the defense of Formosa." In view of the situation outlined in the preceding paragraph, the President has not yet made any finding under that resolution that the employment of the Armed Forces of the United States is required or appropriate in insuring the defense of Formosa. The President would not, however, hesitate to make such a finding if he judged that the circumstances made this necessary to accomplish the purposes of the joint resolution. In this connection, we have recognized that the securing and protecting of Quemoy and Matsu have increasingly become related to the defense of Taiwan (Formosa). This is indeed also recognized by the Chinese Communists. Military dispositions have been made by the United States so that a Presidential determination, if made, would be followed by action both timely and effective. 7. The President and I earnestly hope that the Chinese Communist regime will not again, as in the case of Korea, defy the basic principle upon which world order depends, namely, that armed force should not be used to achieve territorial ambitions. Any such naked use of force would pose an issue far transcending the offshore islands and even the security of Taiwan (Formosa). It would forecast a widespread use of force in the Far East which would endanger vital free-world positions, and the security of the United States. Acquiescence therein would threaten peace everywhere. We believe that the civilized world community will never condone overt military conquest as a legitimate instrument of policy. 8. The United States has not, however, abandoned hope that Peiping will stop short of defying the will of mankind for peace. This would not require it to abandon its claims, however ill-founded we may deem them to be. I recall that in the extended negotiations which the representatives of the United States and Chinese Communist regime conducted at Geneva between 1955 and 1958, a sustained effort was made by the United States to secure, with particular reference to the Taiwan area, a declaration of mutual and reciprocal renunciation of force, except in self-defense, which, however, would be without prejudice to the pursuit of policies by peaceful means. The Chinese Communists rejected any such declaration. We believe, however, that such a course of conduct constitutes the only civilized and acceptable procedure. The United States intends to follow that course, so far as it is concerned, unless and until the Chinese Communists, by their acts, leave us no choice but to react in defense of the principles to which all peace-loving governments are dedicated. 2. White House Statement, September 6, 1958 The President discussed the Taiwan Straits situation with the Secretary of State, the Secretary of the Treasury, the Secretary of Defense, and the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff--members of the National Security Council. Also present were the Director of the United States Information Agency, the Director of the Office of Civil and Defense Mobilization, and the Acting Director of the Central Intelligence Agency. The Vice President, because of a long-standing out of town engagement, was unable to be present. Consideration was given to measures which would conform to the policy enunciated on September 4 by the Secretary of State on the authority of the President. But particular note was taken of the reported radio statement of Mr. Chou En-lai indicating that the Chinese Communists were prepared to resume ambassadorial talks with the United States "in order to contribute further to the safeguarding of peace." These talks, which had been conducted in Europe for several years, were recently interrupted by the Chinese Communists. So far the United States has not received any official word on this subject. We hope, however, that the reported statement of Mr. Chou En-lai is responsive to the urging, contained in our September 4 policy statement, that "armed force should not be used to achieve territorial ambitions," although such renunciation of force need not involve renouncing claims or the pursuit of policies by peaceful means. This is the course that the United States will resolutely pursue, in conforming with our vital interests, our treaty obligations, and the principles on which world order is based. The United States has sought to implement that policy in its past talks at the ambassadorial level with the Chinese Communists. On July 28, 1958, and subsequently, we have sought a resumption of these talks. If the Chinese Communists are now prepared to respond, the United States welcomes that decision. The United States Ambassador at Warsaw stands ready promptly to meet with the Chinese Communist Ambassador there, who has previously acted in this matter. Naturally, in these resumed talks the United States will adhere to the negotiating position which it originally took in 1955, namely, that we will not in these talks be a party to any arrangement which would prejudice the rights of our ally, the Republic of China. 3. President Eisenhower's Report to the American People, September 11, 1958 MY FRIENDS: Tonight I want to talk to you about the situation, dangerous to peace, which has developed in the Formosa Straits in the Far East. My purpose is to give you its basic facts and then my conclusions as to our Nation's proper course of action. To begin, let us remember that traditionally this country and its Government have always been passionately devoted to peace with honor, as they are now. We shall never resort to force in settlement of differences except when compelled to do so to defend against aggression and to protect our vital interests. This means that, in our view, negotiations and conciliation should never be abandoned in favor of force and strife. While we shall never timidly retreat before the threat of armed aggression, we would welcome in the present circumstances negotiations that could have a fruitful result in preserving the peace of the Formosa area and reaching a solution that could be acceptable to all parties concerned including, of course, our ally, the Republic of China. On the morning of August 23d the Chinese Communists opened a severe bombardment of Quemoy, an island in the Formosa Straits off the China Coast. Another island in the same area, Matsu, was also attacked. These two islands have always been a part of Free China--never under Communist control. This bombardment of Quemoy has been going on almost continuously ever since. Also, Chinese Communists have been using their naval craft to try to break up the supplying of Quemoy with its 125,000 people. Their normal source of supply is by sea from Formosa, where the Government of Free China is now located. Chinese Communists say that they will capture Quemoy. So far they have not actually attempted a landing, but their bombardment has caused great damage. Over 1,000 people have been killed or wounded. In large part these are civilians. This is a tragic affair. It is shocking that in this day and age naked force should be used for such aggressive purposes. But this is not the first time that the Chinese Communists have acted in this way. In 1950 they attacked and tried to conquer the Republic of Korea. At that time President Truman announced the intention of protecting Formosa, the principal area still held by Free China, because of the belief that Formosa's safety was vital to the security of the United States and the free world. Our Government has adhered firmly ever since 1950 to that policy. In 1953 and 1954 the Chinese Communists took an active part in the war in Indochina against Viet-Nam. In the fall of 1954 they attacked Quemoy and Matsu, the same two islands they are attacking now. They broke off that attack when, in January 1955, the Congress and I agreed that we should firmly support Free China. Since then, for about 4 years, Chinese Communists have not used force for aggressive purposes. We have achieved an armistice in Korea which stopped the fighting there in 1953. There is a 1954 armistice in Viet-Nam; and since 1955 there has been quiet in the Formosa Straits area. We had hoped that the Chinese Communists were becoming peaceful--but it seems not. So the world is again faced with the problem of armed aggression. Powerful dictatorships are attacking an exposed, but free, area. What should we do? Shall we take the position that, submitting to threat, it is better to surrender pieces of free territory in the hope that this will satisfy the appetite of the aggressor and we shall have peace? Do we not still remember that the name of "Munich" symbolizes a vain hope of appeasing dictators? At that time the policy of appeasement was tried, and it failed. Prior to the Second World War Mussolini seized Ethiopia. In the Far East Japanese warlords were grabbing Manchuria by force. Hitler sent his armed forces into the Rhineland in violation of the Versailles Treaty. Then he annexed little Austria. When he got away with that, he next turned to Czechoslovakia and began taking it bit by bit. In the face of all these attacks on freedom by the dictators, the powerful democracies stood aside. It seemed that Ethiopia and Manchuria were too far away and too unimportant to fight about. In Europe appeasement was looked upon as the way to peace. The democracies felt that if they tried to stop what was going on that would mean war. But, because of these repeated retreats, war came just the same. If the democracies had stood firm at the beginning, almost surely there would have been no World War. Instead they gave such an appearance of weakness and timidity that aggressive rulers were encouraged to overrun one country after another. In the end the democracies saw that their very survival was at stake. They had no alternative but to turn and fight in what proved to be the most terrible war that the world has ever known. I know something about that war, and I never want to see that history repeated. But, my fellow Americans, it certainly can be repeated if the peace-loving democratic nations again fearfully practice a policy of standing idly by while big aggressors use armed force to conquer the small and weak. Let us suppose that the Chinese Communists conquer Quemoy. Would that be the end of the story? We know that it would not be the end of the story. History teaches that, when powerful despots can gain something through aggression, they try, by the same methods, to gain more and more and more. Also, we have more to guide us than the teachings of history. We have the statements, the boastings, of the Chinese Communists themselves. They frankly say that their present military effort is part of a program to conquer Formosa. It is as certain as can be that the shooting which the Chinese Communists started on August 23d had as its purpose not just the taking of the island of Quemoy. It is part of what is indeed an ambitious plan of armed conquest. This plan would liquidate all of the free-world positions in the western Pacific area and bring them under captive governments which would be hostile to the United States and the free world. Thus the Chinese and Russian Communists would come to dominate at least the western half of the now friendly Pacific Ocean. So aggression by ruthless despots again imposes a clear danger to the United States and to the free world. In this effort the Chinese Communists and the Soviet Union appear to be working hand in hand. Last Monday I received a long letter on this subject from Prime Minister Khrushchev. He warned the United States against helping its allies in the western Pacific. He said that we should not support the Republic of China and the Republic of Korea. He contended that we should desert them, return all of our naval forces to our home bases, and leave our friends in the Far East to face, alone, the combined military power of the Soviet Union and Communist China. Does Mr. Khrushchev think that we have so soon forgotten Korea? I must say to you very frankly and soberly, my friends, the United States cannot accept the result that the Communists seek. Neither can we show, now, a weakness of purpose--a timidity--which would surely lead them to move more aggressively against us and our friends in the western Pacific area. If the Chinese Communists have decided to risk a war, it is not because Quemoy itself is so valuable to them. They have been getting along without Quemoy ever since they seized the China mainland 9 years ago. If they have now decided to risk a war, it can only be because they, and their Soviet allies, have decided to find out whether threatening war is a policy from which they can make big gains. If that is their decision, then a western Pacific Munich would not buy us peace or security. It would encourage the aggressors. It would dismay our friends and allies there. If history teaches anything, appeasement would make it more likely that we would have to fight a major war. Congress has made clear its recognition that the security of the western Pacific is vital to the security of the United States and that we should be firm. The Senate has ratified, by overwhelming vote, security treaties with the Republic of China covering Formosa and the Pescadores, and also the Republic of Korea. We have a mutual security treaty with the Republic of the Philippines, which could be next in line for conquest if Formosa fell into hostile hands. These treaties commit the United States to the defense of the treaty areas. In addition, there is a joint resolution which the Congress passed in January 1955 dealing specifically with Formosa and the offshore islands of Free China in the Formosa Straits. At that time the situation was similar to what it is today. Congress then voted the President authority to employ the Armed Forces of the United States for the defense not only of Formosa but of related positions, such as Quemoy and Matsu, if I believed their defense to be appropriate in assuring the defense of Formosa. I might add that the mandate from the Congress was given by an almost unanimous bipartisan vote. Today, the Chinese Communists announce, repeatedly and officially, that their military operations against Quemoy are preliminary to attack on Formosa. So it is clear that the Formosa Straits resolution of 1955 applies to the present situation. If the present bombardment and harassment of Quemoy should be converted into a major assault, with which the local defenders could not cope, then we would be compelled to face precisely the situation that Congress visualized in 1955. I have repeatedly sought to make clear our position in this matter so that there would not be danger of Communist miscalculation. The Secretary of State on September 4th made a statement to the same end. This statement could not, of course, cover every contingency. Indeed, I interpret the joint resolution as requiring me not to make absolute advance commitments but to use my judgment according to the circumstances of the time. But the statement did carry a clear meaning to the Chinese Communists and to the Soviet Union. There will be no retreat in the face of armed aggression, which is part and parcel of a continuing program of using armed force to conquer new regions. I do not believe that the United States can be either lured or frightened into appeasement. I believe that, in taking the position of opposing aggression by force, I am taking the only position which is consistent with the vital interests of the United States and, indeed, with the peace of the world. Some misguided persons have said that Quemoy is nothing to become excited about. They said the same about south Korea--about Viet-Nam, about Lebanon. Now I assure you that no American boy will be asked by me to fight _just_ for Quemoy. But those who make up our Armed Forces--and, I believe the American people as a whole--do stand ready to defend the principle that armed force shall not be used for aggressive purposes. Upon observance of that principle depends a lasting and just peace. It is that same principle that protects the western Pacific free-world positions as well as the security of our homeland. If we are not ready to defend this principle, then indeed tragedy after tragedy would befall us. But there is a far better way than resort to force to settle these differences, and there is some hope that such a better way may be followed. That is the way of negotiation. That way is open and prepared because in 1955 arrangements were made between the United States and the Chinese Communists that an Ambassador on each side would be authorized to discuss at Geneva certain problems of common concern. These included the matter of release of American civilians imprisoned in Communist China, and such questions as the renunciation of force in the Formosa area. There have been 73 meetings since August 1955. When our Ambassador, who was conducting these negotiations, was recently transferred to another post, we named as successor Mr. [Jacob D.] Beam, our Ambassador to Poland. The Chinese Communists were notified accordingly the latter part of July, but there was no response. The Secretary of State, in his September 4th statement, referred to these Geneva negotiations. Two days later, Mr. Chou En-lai, the Premier of the People's Republic of China, proposed that these talks should be resumed "in the interests of peace." This was followed up on September 8th by Mr. Mao Tse-tung, the Chairman of the People's Republic of China. We promptly welcomed this prospect and instructed our Ambassador at Warsaw to be ready immediately to resume these talks. We expect that the talks will begin upon the return to Warsaw of the Chinese Communist Ambassador, who has been in Peiping. Perhaps our suggestion may be bearing fruit. We devoutly hope so. Naturally, the United States will adhere to the position it first took in 1955, that we will not in these talks be a party to any arrangements which would prejudice rights of our ally, the Republic of China. We know by hard experiences that the Chinese Communist leaders are indeed militant and aggressive. But we cannot believe that they would now persist in a course of military aggression which would threaten world peace, with all that would be involved. We believe that diplomacy can and should find a way out. There are measures that can be taken to assure that these offshore islands will not be a thorn in the side of peace. We believe that arrangements are urgently required to stop gunfire and to pave the way to a peaceful solution. If the bilateral talks between Ambassadors do not fully succeed, there is still the hope that the United Nations could exert a peaceful influence on the situation. In 1955 the hostilities of the Chinese Communists in the Formosa area were brought before the United Nations Security Council. But the Chinese Communists rejected its jurisdiction. They said that they were entitled to Formosa and the offshore islands and that, if they used armed force to get them, that was purely a "civil war" and that the United Nations had no right to concern itself. They claimed also that the attack by the Communist north Koreans on south Korea was "civil war," and that the United Nations and the United States were "aggressors" because they helped south Korea. They said the same about their attack on Viet-Nam. I feel sure that these pretexts will never deceive or control world opinion. The fact is that Communist Chinese hostilities in the Formosa Straits area do endanger world peace. I do not believe that any rulers, however aggressive they may be, will flout efforts to find a peaceful and honorable solution, whether it be by direct negotiations or through the United Nations. My friends, we are confronted with a serious situation. But it is typical of the security problems of the world today. Powerful and aggressive forces are constantly probing, now here, now there, to see whether the free world is weakening. In the face of this there are no easy choices available. It is misleading for anyone to imply that there are. However, the present situation, though serious, is by no means desperate or hopeless. There is not going to be any appeasement. I believe that there is not going to be any war. But there must be sober realization by the American people that our legitimate purposes are again being tested by those who threaten peace and freedom everywhere. This has not been the first test for us and for the free world. Probably it will not be the last. But as we meet each test with courage and unity, we contribute to the safety and the honor of our beloved land--and to the cause of a just and lasting peace. 4. President Eisenhower's Letter to Premier Khrushchev, September 13, 1958 DEAR MR. CHAIRMAN: I have your letter of September 7. I agree with you that a dangerous situation exists in the Taiwan area. I do not agree with you as to the source of danger in this situation. The present state of tension in the Taiwan area was created directly by Chinese Communist action, not by that of the Republic of China or by the United States. The fact is that following a long period of relative calm in that area, the Chinese Communists, without provocation, suddenly initiated a heavy artillery bombardment of Quemoy and began harassing the regular supply of the civilian and military population of the Quemoys. This intense military activity was begun on August 23rd--some three weeks after your visit to Peiping. The official Peiping Radio has repeatedly been announcing that the purpose of these military operations is to take Taiwan (Formosa) as well as Quemoy and Matsu, by armed force. In virtually every Peiping broadcast, Taiwan (Formosa) and the offshore islands are linked as the objective of what is called the "Chinese Peoples Liberation Army". The issue, then, is whether the Chinese Communists will seek to achieve their ambitions through the application of force, as they did in Korea, or whether they will accept the vital requisite of world peace and order in a nuclear age and renounce the use of force as the means for satisfying their territorial claims. The territory concerned has never been under the control of Communist China. On the contrary, the Republic of China--despite the characterizations you apply to it for ideological reasons--is recognized by the majority of the sovereign nations of the world and its Government has been and is exercising jurisdiction over the territory concerned. United States military forces operate in the Taiwan area in fulfillment of treaty commitments to the Republic of China to assist it in the defense of Taiwan (Formosa) and the Penghu (Pescadores) Islands. They are there to help resist aggression--not to commit aggression. No upside down presentation such as contained in your letter can change this fact. The United States Government has welcomed the willingness of the Chinese Communists to resume the ambassadorial talks, which were begun three years ago in Geneva, for the purpose of finding a means of easing tensions in the Taiwan area. In the past, the United States representative at these talks has tried by every reasonable means to persuade the Chinese Communist representative to reach agreement on mutual renunciation of force in the Taiwan area but the latter insistently refused to reach such agreement. The United States hopes that an understanding can be achieved through the renewed talks which will assure that there will be no resort to the use of force in the endeavor to bring about a solution of the issues there. I regret to say I do not see in your letter any effort to find that common language which could indeed facilitate the removal of the danger existing in the current situation in the Taiwan area. On the contrary, the description of this situation contained in your letter seems designed to serve the ambitions of international communism rather than to present the facts. I also note that you have addressed no letter to the Chinese Communist leaders urging moderation upon them. If your letter to me is not merely a vehicle for one-sided denunciation of United States actions but is indeed intended to reflect a desire to find a common language for peace, I suggest you urge these leaders to discontinue their military operations and to turn to a policy of peaceful settlement of the Taiwan dispute. If indeed, for the sake of settling the issues that tend to disturb the peace in the Formosa area, the Chinese Communist leaders can be persuaded to place their trust in negotiation and a readiness to practice conciliation, then I assure you the United States will, on its part, strive in that spirit earnestly to the same end. Sincerely, DWIGHT D. EISENHOWER 12818 ---- Team HEATHEN SLAVES AND CHRISTIAN RULERS, BY ELIZABETH ANDREW AND KATHARINE BUSHNELL 1907 "_Remember them that are in bonds as bound with them_." [Illustration: A Chinatown Slave Market and Den of Vice. (Built and owned by Americans.)] DEDICATED TO THE MEMORY OF MISS MARGARET CULBERTSON MILITANT SAINT AND SAINTED WARRIOR WHO AT PERIL OF LIFE FOUGHT A GOOD FIGHT FOR THE RESCUE OF THE SLAVE GIRLS OF CALIFORNIA --AND TO-- MISS LAKE, MISS CAMERON AND MISS DAVIS WHO BY PATHS MADE SOMEWHAT LESS DIFFICULT BY HER ACCOMPLISHMENT, HAVE NOT CEASED TO WAGE A HOLY WAR FOR THE DELIVERANCE OF THE CAPTIVES. PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION. "Heathen slaves and Christian rulers." No injustice is done to Christians in the title given this book. The word "Christian" is capable of use in two senses, individual and political. We apply the words "Hindoo" and "Mahommedan" in these two senses also. A man who has been born and brought up in the environment of the Hindoo or Mahommedan religions, and who has not avowed some other form of faith, but has yielded at least an outward allegiance to these forms, we declare to be a man of one or the other faith. Moreover, we judge of his religion by the fruits of it in his moral character. Just so, every European or American who has not openly disavowed the Christian religion for some other faith is called a "Christian." Furthermore, such men, when they mingle with those of other religions, as in the Orient, call themselves "Christians," in distinction from those of other faith about them. They claim the word "Christian" as by right theirs in this political sense, and it is in this sense that we employ the word "Christian" in the title of this book. The word is used thus when reckoning the world's population according to religions. As we treat the Hindoo or Mohammedan so he treats us. Our Christianity is judged, and must ever be, in the Orient, by the moral character of the men who are called Christian; and the distinguishing vices of such men are regarded as characteristic of their religion. Official representatives of a Christian nation have gone to Hong Kong and to Singapore, and there, because of their social vices, elaborated a system, first of all of brothel slavery; and domestic slavery has sheltered itself under its wing, as it were; and lastly, at Singapore coolie labor is managed by the same set of officials. What these officials have done has been accepted by the Oriental people about them as done by the Christian civilization. It cannot be said that the evils mentioned above have been the outgrowth of Oriental conditions and customs, principally. It has been rather the misfortune of the Orient that there were brought to their borders by Western civilization elements calculated to induce their criminal classes to ally themselves with these aggressive and stronger "Christians" to destroy safeguards which had been heretofore sufficient, for the most part, to conserve Chinese social morality. Christian people, even as far back as Sir John Bowring, Governor of Hong Kong, and up to the present time, both at Hong Kong and Singapore, have acquiesced in the false teaching that vice cannot be put under check in the Orient, where, it is claimed, passion mounts higher than in the Occident, and that morality is, to a certain extent, a matter of climate; and in the presence of large numbers of unmarried soldiers and sailors it is simply "impracticable" to attempt repressive measures in dealing with social vice. These Christians have listened to counsels of despair,--the arguments of gross materialists,--and have shut their eyes to the plainly written THOU SHALT NOT of the finger of God in His Book. Had there been the same staunch standing true to principle in these Oriental countries as in Great Britain the state of immorality described in the pages of this book could never have developed to the extent it did. But Christians yielded before what they considered at least unavoidable, and, not abiding living protests, must take their share of blame for the state of matters. A higher moral public opinion _could_ have been created which would have made the existence of actual slavery an impossibility, with the amount of legislation that existed with which to put it down. There were a guilty silence and a guilty ignorance on the part of the better elements of Christian society at Singapore and Hong Kong, which could be played upon by treacherous, corrupt officials by the flimsy device of calling the ravishing of native women "protection," and the most brazen forms of slavery "servitude." To this extent the individual Christians of these colonies are in many cases guilty of compromise with slavery; and to this extent the title of this book applies to them. The vices of European and American men in the Orient have not been the development of climate but of opportunity. It is not so easy in Christian lands to stock immoral houses with slaves, for the reason that the slaves are not present with which to do it. Women have freedom and cannot be openly bought and sold even in marriage; women have self-reliance and self-respect in a Christian country; they have a clean, decent religion; women who worship the true God have His protecting arm to defend themselves, and through them other women who do not personally worship God share in the benefits. If free, independent women of God were as scarce in America as in Hong Kong the same moral conditions would prevail here, without regard to climate, for, _if women could be bought and sold and reduced by force to prostitution, there are libertines enough, and they have propensities strong enough to enter at once upon the business, even in America_. That which has elevated women above this slave condition is the development of a self-respect and dignity born of the Christian faith. But let us take warning. If the women of America have not the decent self-respect to refuse to tolerate the Oriental slave-prostitute in this country, the balance will be lost, libertines will have their own way through the introduction into our social fabric of their slaves, and Christian womanhood will fall before it. "Ye have not proclaimed liberty every one to his fellow, therefore I proclaim liberty to you, saith the Lord, to the sword, and the famine, and the pestilence." Having yielded before counsels of despair, those who should have stood shoulder to shoulder with statesmen like Sir John Pope Hennessy and Sir John Smale in their efforts to exterminate slavery, rather, by their indifference and ignorance, greatly added to the obstacles put in their way by unworthy officials. The story we have to relate cannot in any fairness be used as an arraignment of British Christianity excepting as we have already indicated as to local conditions. The record that British Christian philanthropists have made, under the leadership of the now sainted Mrs. Josephine Butler, in their world-wide influence for purity, needs no eulogy from our pen. It is known to the world. May Americans strive with equal energy against conditions far more hopeful of amendment, and we will be content to leave the issue with God. It was our purpose when we undertook the task of writing a sketch which would enable Americans to understand the social conditions that are being introduced into our midst from the Orient, merely to make a concise, brief statement of social conditions in Hong Kong out of which these have grown, drawing our information from State Documents of the British Government that we have had for some time in our possession, and of which we have made a close study, as well as from our own observations of the conditions themselves as they exist at Hong Kong and Singapore. But almost at once we abandoned that attempt as unwise because likely to prove injurious rather than helpful to the object we have in view. The facts that we have to relate form one of the blackest chapters in the history of human slavery, and slavery brought up to the present time. Our statements if standing merely on our own word would be met at once with incredulity and challenged, and before we could defend them by producing the proof, a prejudice would be created that might prove disastrous to our hopes of arousing our country to the point of exterminating this horrible Oriental brothel slavery by means of which even American men are enriching themselves on the Pacific Coast. Therefore we have felt obliged to produce our proof at once and at first, and after that, if needed, we can write a more simple, concise account, in less official and less cumbersome form, more suitable for the general public to read,--not that the case could be stated in purer or cleaner language than that used in the quotations from official statements and letters, but the language might be more suited to public taste. But worth cannot be sacrificed to taste, and, as we have said, we feel compelled to publish the matter in its present form first of all. We send it forth, therefore, with the earnest prayer that, while the book itself may have a limited circulation, yet, through the providence of God, it may arouse some one to attempt that which seems beyond our powers and opportunity,--some one who will feel the call of God; who has the training and the ability; some one who has the spirit of devotion and self-denial; some one of keen moral perceptions and lofty faith in the ultimate triumph of justice, who will lead a crusade that will never halt until Oriental slavery is banished from our land, and it can no more be said, "The name of God is blasphemed among the heathen because of you." The documents from which we have quoted so extensively in this book are the following: "_Correspondence Relating to the Working of the Contagious Diseases Ordinances of the Colony of Hongkong_." August 1881. C.-3093. "_Copy of Report of the Commissioners Appointed by His Excellency, John Pope Hennessy ... to inquire Into the Working of the Contagious Diseases Ordinance, 1867_." March 11, 1880. H.C. 118. "_Correspondence Respecting the Alleged Existence of Chinese Slavery in Hongkong_." March, 1882. C.-3185. "_Return of all the British Colonies and Dependencies in Which by Ordinance or Otherwise Any System Involving the Principles of the Late Contagious Diseases Acts, 1866 and 1869, is in force, with Copies of Such Ordinances or Other Regulations_." June, 1886. H.C. 247. "_Copies of Correspondence or Extracts Therefrom Relating to the Repeal of Contagious Diseases Ordinances and Regulations in the Crown Colonies_." September, 1887. H.C. 347 Same as above, in continuation, March, 1889. H.C. 59. Same as above, in continuation, June, 1890. H.C. 242. "_Copy of Correspondence which has taken place since that comprised in the Paper presented to the House of Commons in 1890_ (H.C. 242)," etc., June 4, 1894. H. C. 147. "_Copy of Correspondence Relative to Proposed Introduction of Contagious Diseases Regulations in Perak or Other Protected Malay States_." June 4, 1894. H.C. 146. May 1907 CONTENTS Frontispiece Dedication Preface CHAPTER 1 THE EARLY DAYS OF HONG KONG 2 TREACHEROUS LEGISLATION 3 HOW THE PROTECTOR PROTECTED 4 MORE POWER DEMANDED AND OBTAINED 5 HOUNDED TO DEATH 6 THE PROTECTOR'S COURT AND SLAVERY 7 OTHER DERELICT OFFICIALS 8 JUSTICE FROM THE SUPREME BENCH 9 THE CHINESE PETITION AND PROTEST 10 NOT FALLEN--BUT ENSLAVED 11 THE MAN FOR THE OCCASION 12 THE CHIEF JUSTICE ANSWERS HIS OPPONENTS 13 THE EXTENSION OF SLAVERY 14 NEW PROTECTIVE ORDINANCES 15 "PROTECTION" AT SINGAPORE 16 SLAVERY IN THE UNITED STATES 17 STRUGGLES FOR FREEDOM 18 PERILS AND REMEDIES CHAPTER 1. THE EARLY DAYS OF HONG KONG. Time was when so-called Christian civilization seemed able to send its vices abroad and keep its virtues at home. When men went by long sea voyages to the far East in sailing vessels, in the interests of conquest or commerce, and fell victims to their environments and weak wills, far removed from the restraints of religious influences, and from the possibility of exposure and disgrace in wrongdoing, they lived with the prospect before them, not always unfulfilled, of returning to home and to virtue to die. That day has passed forever. With the invention of steam as a locomotive power of great velocity, with the introduction of the cable, and later, the wireless telegraphy; with the mastery of these natural forces and their introduction in every part of the world, we see the old world being drawn nearer and nearer to us by ten thousand invisible cords of commercial interests, until shortly, probably within the lifetime of you and me, the once worn out and almost stranded wreck will be found quickened with new life and moored alongside us. The Orient is already feeling the thrill of renewed life. It is responding to the touch of the youth and vigor of the West and becoming rejuvenated; it is drawing closer and closer in its eagerness for the warmth of new interests. The West is no longer alone in seeking a union; the East is coming to the West. And that part of the East which first responds to the West is the old acquaintance; the one that knows most about us, our ways and our resources; the element with which the long sea-voyager mingled in the days when it seemed more difficult for man to be virtuous, because separated so far from family and friends and living in intense loneliness. The element which now draws closest to us is that portion of the Orient with which the adventurer warred and sinned long ago, and which bears the deep scars of sin and battle. As the old hulk is moored alongside, in order that the man of Western enterprise may cross with greater facility the gangplank and develop latent resources on the other side, the Easterner hurries across from his side to ours with no less eagerness, to pick up gold in a land where it seems so abundant to him. Almost unnoticed, the Orient is telescoping its way into the very heart of the Occident, and with fearful portent and peril, particularly to the Western woman. This is not what is desired, but it will be inevitable. Exclusion laws must finally give way before the pressure. Already the Orient is knocking vigorously at the door of the Occident, and unless admission is granted soon, measures of retaliation will be operated to force an entrance. How to administer them the Orient already knows, for has not the door to his domicile been already forced open by the Western trader? The Orient is fast arming for the conflict. The men of the days of sailing vessels, who went to the far East and made sport of and trampled upon the virtue of the women of a weaker nation, have not all died in peace, leaving their vices far off and gathering virtues about them to crown their old age with venerableness. Some have lived to see that whatsoever man soweth that shall he also reap. They have lived to see the tide setting in in the other direction, and the human wreckage of past vices swept by the current of immigration close to their own domicile. Their own children are in danger of being engulfed in the polluting flood of Oriental life in our midst. After many days vices come home. Man sowed the wind; the whirlwind must be reaped. The Oriental slave trader and the Oriental slave promise to become a terrible menace and scourge to our twentieth century civilization. Herein lies great peril to American womanhood. Whether we wish it to be so or not,--whether we perceive from the first that it is so or not, there is a solidarity of womanhood that men and women must reckon with. The man who wrongs another's daughter perceives afterwards that he wronged his own daughter thereby. We cannot, without sin against humanity, ask the scoffer's question, "Am I my sister's keeper?"--not even concerning the poorest and meanest foreign woman, for the reason that _she is our sister_. The conditions that surround the Hong Kong slave girl in California are bound in time to have their influence upon the social, legal and moral status of all California women, and later of all American womanhood. In considering the life history of the Chinese woman living in our Chinatowns in America, therefore, we are studying matters of vital importance to us. And in order to a clear understanding of the matter, we must go back to the beginning of the slave-trade which has brought these women to the West. Four points on the south coast of China are of especial interest to us, being the sources of supply of this slave-trade. These are Macao, Canton, Kowloon and Hong Kong, and the women coming to the West from this region all pass through Hong Kong, remaining there a longer or shorter time, the latter place being the emporium and thoroughfare of all the surrounding ports. The south coast of China is split by a Y-shaped gap, at about its middle, where the Canton river bursts the confines of its banks and plunges into the sea. The lips of this mouth of the river are everted like those of an aboriginal African, and like a pendant from the eastern lip hangs the Island of Hong Kong, separated from the mainland by water only one-fourth of a mile wide. From the opposite or western lip hangs another pendant, a small island upon which is situated the Portuguese city of Macao. The mainland adjoining Hong Kong is the peninsula of Kowloon, ceded to the British with the island of Hong Kong. Well up in the mouth of the river on its western bank, some eighty miles from Hong Kong, is the city of Canton. Let us imagine for a moment that the on-coming civilization of our country pushed the American Indians not westward but southward toward the Gulf of Mexico and along the banks of the Mississippi, and compressed them on every side until at last they were obliged to take to boats in the mouth of the Mississippi and live there perpetually, seldom stepping foot on land. Now we are the better able to understand exactly what took place with an aboriginal tribe in China. These aborigines were, centuries ago, pushed southward by an on-coming civilization until at last, by imperial decree, they were forbidden to live anywhere except on boats in the mouth of the Canton river, floating up and down that stream, and sailing about Hong Kong and Macao in the more open sea. They must have been always a hardy people, for the river population about Canton numbers today nearly 200,000 souls. In 1730, the severity of the laws regulating their lives was relaxed somewhat by imperial decree, and since then some of them have dwelt in villages along the river bank. But to the present day these people, known as the Tanka Tribe, or the "saltwater" people, by the natives, may not inter-marry with other Chinese, nor are they ever allowed to attain to official honors. Living always on boats near the river's mouth, these were the first Chinese to come in contact with foreign sailing vessels which approached China in the earliest days. They sold their wares to the foreigners; they piloted their boats into port; they did the laundry work for the ships. In many ways they showed friendliness to the foreigners while as yet the landsman viewed the new-comers with suspicion. Their women were grossly corrupted by contact with the foreign voyagers and sailors. Hong Kong was a long way off at the beginning of the nineteenth century, when Great Britain began to send Government-manufactured opium from India to China, and when China prohibited the trade the drug was smuggled in. When Chinese officials at last rose up to check this invasion by foreign trade, wars followed in which China was worsted, and the island of Hong Kong, together with the Kowloon peninsula, became a British possession as war indemnity. Hong Kong is a "mere dot in the ocean less than twenty-seven miles in circumference," and when Great Britain took possession its inhabitants were limited to "a few fishermen and cottagers." The Tankas helped the British in many ways in waging these wars, and when peace was established went to live with them on the island. This action on the part of these "river people" is significant as showing as much or more attachment to the foreigner than to the other classes of Chinese. There seems always to be less conscience in wronging an alien people than in injuring a people to whom one is closely attached, and this sense of estrangement from other Chinese may account to some extent for the facility with which this aboriginal people engaged, a little later, in the trade in women and girls brought from the mainland to meet the demands of profligate foreigners. Sir Charles Elliott, Governor of Hong Kong, wishing to attract Chinese immigration to the island, issued, on February 1st and 2nd, 1841, two proclamations in the name of the Queen, to the effect that there would be no interference with the free exercise on the part of the Chinese of their religious rites, ceremonies and social customs, "pending Her Majesty's pleasure." Following the custom of all Oriental people, to whom marriage is a trade in the persons of women, when the Tankas saw that the foreigners had come to that distant part almost universally without wife or family, they offered to sell them women and girls, and the British seem to have purchased them at first, but afterwards they modified the practice to merely paying a monthly stipend. All slavery throughout British possessions had been prohibited only a few years before the settlement of Hong Kong, in 1833, when 20,000,000 pounds had been distributed by England as a boon to slave-holders. Hong Kong's first Legislative Council was held in 1844, and its first ordinance was an anti-slavery measure in the form of an attempt to define the law relating to slavery. It was a long process in those days for the Colony to get the Queen's approval of its legislative measures, so that a year had elapsed before a dispatch was returned from the Home Government disallowing the Ordinance as superfluous, slavery being already forbidden, and slave-dealing indictable by law. On the same day, January 24th, 1845, the following proclamation was made: "Whereas, the Acts of the British Parliament for the abolition of the slave trade, and for the abolition of slavery, extend by their own proper force and authority to Hong Kong: This is to apprise all persons of the same, and to give notice that these Acts will be enforced by all Her Majesty's officers, civil and military, within this Colony." The "foreigners," by which name, according to a custom which prevails to this day in the East, we shall call persons of British, European or American birth,--called a native mistress a "protected woman," and her "protector" set her up in an establishment by herself, apart from his abode, and here children were born to the foreigner, some to be educated in missionary schools and elsewhere by their illegitimate fathers and afterwards become useful men and women, but probably the majority, more neglected, to become useless and profligate,--if girls, mistresses to foreigners, or, as the large number of half-castes in the immoral houses at Hong Kong at the present time demonstrates, to fall to the lowest depths of degradation. These "protected women," enriched beyond anything they had even known before the foreigner came to that part of the world, with the usual thrift of the Chinese temperament, sought for a way to invest their earnings, and quite naturally, could think of nothing so profitable as securing women and girls to meet the demands of the foreigners. Marriage having always been, to the Oriental mind, scarcely anything beyond the mere trade in the persons of women, it was but a step from that attitude of mind to the selling of girls to the foreigner, and the rearing of them for that object. The "protected women," being of the Tanka tribe, were well situated for this purpose, for they had many relations of kindred and friendship all up and down the Canton river, and the business of the preparation of slave girls for the foreigners and for foreign markets (as the trade expanded) gradually extended backwards up the Canton river, until many of its boats were almost given over to it. "Flower-boats" were probably never unknown to this river, but, besides their use as brothels, they became stocked with little girls under training for vice, under the incitement of an ever-growing slave trade. These little girls were bought, stolen or enticed from the mainland by these river people, to swell the number of their own children destined to the infamous slave trade. Chinese law forbids this kind of slavery, but, as we have seen, the Tanka people were sort of outlaws, the river life facilitated such a business, and Hong Kong was near at hand. In later years Dr. Eitel, Chinese interpreter to the Governor, stated: "Almost every so-called 'protected woman,' i.e. kept mistress of foreigners here, belongs to the Tanka tribe, looked down upon and kept at a distance by all the other Chinese classes. It is among these Tanka women, and especially under the protection of these 'protected' Tanka women, that private prostitution and the sale of girls for concubinage flourishes, being looked upon as a legitimate profession. Consequently, almost every 'protected woman' keeps a nursery of purchased children or a few servant girls who are being reared with a view to their eventual disposal, according to their personal qualifications, either among foreigners here as kept women, or among Chinese residents as their concubines, or to be sold for export to Singapore, San Francisco, or Australia. Those 'protected women,' moreover, generally act as 'protectors' each to a few other Tanka women who live by sly prostitution." When once a man enters the service of Satan he is generally pressed along into it to lengths he did not at first intend to go. So it proved in the case of many foreigners at Hong Kong. The foreigner extended his "protection" to a native mistress. That "protected woman" extended his name as "protector" over the inmates of her secret brothel; and into that house protected largely from official interference, purchased and kidnaped girls were introduced and reared for the trade in women. The sensitive point seems to have been that an enforcement of the anti-slavery laws would have interfered in many instances with the illicit relations of the foreigner, exposing him to ignominy and sending the mother of his children to prison. It was sufficient for the "protected" woman to say, when the officer of the law rapped at her door, "This is not a brothel, but the private family residence of Mr. So-and-So," naming some foreigner,--perhaps a high-placed official,--and the officer's search would proceed no further. It was claimed that this slavery, and also domestic slavery, which sprang up so suddenly after the settlement of Hong Kong by the British, was the outgrowth of Chinese customs, and could not be suppressed but with the greatest difficulty, and their suppression was an unwarrantable interference with Chinese customs, Sir Charles Elliott having given promise from the first that such customs should not be interfered with. But, as we have shown, that promise was only made, "pending Her Majesty's pleasure," which had been very plainly and pointedly expressed later as opposed to slavery. As to the matter of "custom," Sir John Smale, Chief Justice of Hong Kong, said, in 1879, in the Supreme Court, on the occasion of sentencing prisoners for slave trading and kidnaping: "Can Chinese slavery, as it _de facto_ exists in Hong Kong, be considered a Chinese custom which can be brought within the intent and meaning of either of the proclamations of 1841 so as to be sanctioned by the proclamations? I assert that it cannot.... A custom is 'such a usage as by common consent and uniform practice has become a law.' In 1841 there could have been no custom of slavery in Hong Kong as now set up, for, save a few fishermen and cottagers, the island was uninhabited; and between 1841 and 1844, the date of the Ordinance expressly prohibiting slavery, there was no time for such a custom to have grown up; and slavery in every form having been by express law prohibited by the Royal proclamation of the Queen in 1845, no custom contrary to that law could, after that date, grow up, because the thing was by express law illegal. I go further, and I find that the penal law of China, whilst it facilitates the adoption of children into a family to keep up its succession, prohibits by section 78 the receiving into his house by any one of a person of a different surname, declaring him guilty of 'confounding family distinctions,' and punishing him with 60 blows; the father of the son who shall 'give away' ... his son is to be subject to the same punishment. Again, section 79 enacts that whosoever shall receive and detain the strayed or lost child of a respectable person, and, instead of taking it before the magistrate, sell such child as a slave, shall be punished by 100 blows and three years' banishment. Whosoever shall sell such child for marriage or adoption into any family as son or grandson shall be punished with 90 blows and banishment for two years and a half. Whosoever shall dispose of a strayed or lost slave shall suffer the punishment provided by the law reduced one degree. If any person shall receive or detain a fugitive child, and, instead of taking it before the magistrate, sell such child for a slave, he shall be punished by 90 blows and banishment for two years and a half. Whosoever shall sell any such fugitive child for marriage or adoption shall suffer the punishment of 80 blows and two years' banishment.... Whosoever shall detain for his own use as a slave, wife, or child, any such lost, strayed or fugitive child or slave, shall be equally liable to be punished as above mentioned, but if only guilty of detaining the same for a short time the punishment shall not exceed 80 blows. When the purchaser or the negotiator of the purchase shall be aware of the unlawfulness of the transaction he shall suffer punishment one degree less than that inflicted on the seller, and the amount of the pecuniary consideration shall he forfeited to Government, but when he or they are foun have been unacquainted therewith they shall not be liable to punishment, and the money shall be restored to the party from whom it had been received." The Chief Justice continues: "After reading these extracts from the Penal Code of China--an old Code revised from time to time ... I cannot see how it can be maintained that any form of slavery was ever tolerated by law in Hong Kong, as it _de facto_ exists here, or how the words of the two proclamations of 1841 could be said to bear the color of tolerating slavery under the British flag in Hong Kong. It is clear to me that the Queen's proclamation of 1845, which I have already quoted at full, declares slavery absolutely illegal here." The truth, then, seems to be that a great demand had arisen for Chinese women at Hong Kong, the most direct cause being the irregular conduct of foreigners--officials, private individuals, soldiers and sailors--who gathered there at the time of the opium wars, and settled there in large numbers when Hong Kong became a British possession. This demand was responded to from the native side, for it was said: "When the colony of Hong Kong was first established in 1842, it was forthwith invaded by brothel keepers and prostitutes from the adjoining districts of the mainland of China, who brought with them the national Chinese system of prostitution, and have ever since labored to carry it into effect in all its details."[A] The demand that brought this supply was further added to from two sources, first, Chinese residents attracted to Hong Kong had made money there rapidly, and had fallen into profligate and luxurious manners of life, and second, Chinese going abroad to Australia, Singapore and San Francisco, created a demand for immoral women in these foreign lands which called for supplies from Hong Kong, and at Singapore the demand came also from the class of foreigners who resided there. [Footnote A: Hong Kong was occupied by the British in 1841, but not ceded until 1842.] The system of management of prostitution was originally Chinese, and differs much from anything known under Western civilization, in that the women are never what we speak of as "fallen women," because not the victims of seduction nor of base propensities that have led to the choice of such a life. They are either slaves trained for or sold into shame, or women temporarily held for debt by a sort of mortgage. To this Chinese system of prostitution, however, there was soon applied at Hong Kong a Government system of regulation or license under surveillance. This modified the system, intensified the slavery, and was the cause of reducing many women from the respectable ranks of Chinese life at once and arbitrarily to the lowest depths of degradation, as we shall explain and demonstrate in subsequent chapters. The native woman, rented for a monthly stipend from her owners was called "protected" at Hong Kong. What charm this word "protection," and the title "Protector" has held for certain persons, as applied to the male sex! "Man, the natural protector of woman." Forsooth, to protect her from what? Rattlesnakes, buffalo, lions, wildcats no more overrun the country, and why is this relation of "protector" still claimed? Why, to protect woman from rudeness, and insult and sometimes even worse. But from whence comes that danger of rudeness and insult or worse from which man is to protect woman? From man, of course. Man is, then, woman's natural protector to protect her from man, her natural protector. He is to set himself the task of defending her from his injury of her, and he is charmed with the avocation. He will protect her as Abraham protected Sarah when he took her into Egypt. "Do so-and-so," said Abraham to Sarah, "that it may be well with me,--for thy sake." The history of the Chinese slave woman as she came in contact with the foreigner at Hong Kong and at Singapore proceeds all along a pathway labelled "protection," down to the last ditch of human degradation. "Well with me," was the motive in the mind of the "protector." "For thy sake," the argument for the thing as put before the woman and before the world. CHAPTER 2. TREACHEROUS LEGISLATION. In 1849 a man whose name is known the world over as a writer of Christian hymns, went to Canton as British Consul and Superintendent of trade. After a few years he returned to England, and in 1854 was knighted and sent out to govern the new colony of Hong Kong. It is he who wrote that beautiful hymn, among others, "Watchman, tell us of the night." He also wrote, "In the Cross of Christ I Glory." One is tempted to ask, in which Cross?--the kind made of gilded tin which holds itself aloft in pride on the top of the church steeple, or the Cross proclaimed in the challenge of the great Cross-bearer, "Whosoever doth not bear his Cross, and come after Me, cannot be my disciple"? The Cross is the emblem of self-sacrifice for the salvation of the world. Oh, that men really gloried in such self-sacrifice, and held it forth as the worthiest principle of life! Did Sir John Bowring hold aloft such a Cross as this, and, with his Master, recommend it to the world as the means of its elevation and emancipation from the blight of sin? We shall not judge him individually. His example should be a warning to the fact that even the most religious men can too often hold very different views of life according to whether they are embodied in religious sentiments or in one's politics. But nowhere are right moral conceptions more needed (not in hymn-book nor in church), as in the enactments by which one's fellow-beings are governed. Other religious men not so conspicuous as Sir John Bowring, but of more enlightened days than his, have died and left on earth a testimony to strangely divergent views and principles, according to whether they were crystallized in religious sentiments, or in the laws of the land, and according to whether they legislated for men or for women. On May 2nd, 1856, Sir John Bowring, Governor of Hong Kong, wrote to the Secretary of State for the Colonies at London submitting a draft of an Ordinance which was desired at Hong Kong because of certain conditions prevailing at Hong Kong which were described in the enclosures in his despatch. Mr. Labouchere, the Secretary of State for the Colonies at the time, replied to the Governor's representations in the following language: "The Colonial Government has not, I think, attached sufficient weight to the very grave fact that in a British Colony large numbers of women should be held in practical slavery for the purposes of prostitution, and allowed in some cases to perish miserably of disease in the prosecution of their employment, and for the gain of those to whom they suppose themselves to belong. A class of persons who by no choice of their own are subjected to such treatment have an urgent claim on the active protection of Government." Hong Kong, the British colony, had existed but fourteen years when this was written. Only a handful of fishermen and cottagers were on the island before the British occupation. Its Chinese population had come from a country where, as we have seen, laws against the buying and selling, detaining and kidnaping human beings were not unfamiliar. Only eleven years had elapsed since the Queen's proclamation against slavery in that colony had been published to its inhabitants, and yet, during that time, slavery had so advanced at Hong Kong, against both Chinese and British law, as to receive this recognition and acknowledgment on the part of the Secretary of State at London: 1st, That it is a "grave fact that" at Hong Kong "large numbers of women" are "held in practical slavery." 2nd, That this slavery is "for the gain of those to whom they suppose themselves to belong." 3rd, That it is so cruel that "in some cases" they "perish miserably ... in the prosecution of their employment." 4th, That it is "by no choice of their own" that they prosecute their employment, and "are subjected to such treatment." 5th, That they have "an urgent claim upon the active protection of Government." 6th, That the service to which these slaves are doomed, through "no choice of their own," is the most degraded to which a slave could possibly be reduced, i.e., "prostitution." When Mrs. Harriet Beecher Stowe wrote "Uncle Tom's Cabin," she sounded the note of doom for slavery in the United States. After that, slavery became intolerable. Many have remarked on the fact that the book should have so stirred the conscience of the Christian world, when there are depicted in it so many even engaging features and admirable persons, woven into the story of wrong. Her pen did not seem to make slavery appear always and altogether black. But there was the fate of "Uncle Tom," and the picture of "Cassie," captive of "Legree." It was not what slavery always was, but _what it might be_--the terrible possibilities, that aroused the conscience of Christendom, and made the perpetuation of African slavery an impossibility to Americans. The master _might_ choose to use his power over the slave for the indulgence of his own basest propensities. Almost at the same time of these stirring events connected with slavery in the United States, Mr. Labouchere penned the above words, admitting that slavery at Hong Kong had descended to that lowest level. Infamy instead of industry was the lot of these, engaged in the "prosecution of their employment," through "no choice of their own." Can we anticipate what legal measures would be asked for at Hong Kong, and granted in London in order to relieve this horrible condition. It seems at once obvious that the following would be some of them at least: 1st, A clear announcement that this slavery was prohibited by the Queen's Anti-Slavery Proclamation of 1845, and would not be permitted. 2nd, Women who "supposed themselves to belong" to masters would be at once told that they were free agents and belonged to no one. 3rd, The master who dared claim the ownership of a former slave would be prosecuted and suitably punished. 4th, Any slave perishing miserably from disease would not only be healed at public expense, but placed where there was no further risk of contagion. 5th, Since such slaves had "an urgent claim on the _active_ protection of the Government," they would be treated as wards of the State until safe from like treatment a second time. 6th, Since this slavery had sprung up in defiance of law, any official who at a future time connived at such crime would be liable to impeachment. The Ordinance sent home for sanction, and approved of by Mr. Labouchere as needed for the "protection" of slave women, was proclaimed as Ordinance 12, 1857, after some slight modifications, and an official appointed a few months before, called the "Protector of Chinese," was charged with the task of its enforcement. This official is also called the Registrar General at Hong Kong, but the former name was given him at the first, and the official at Singapore charged with the same duties is always, to this day, called the "Protector of Chinese." The new Ordinance embodied the following features: 1st, The registration of immoral houses. 2nd, Their confinement to certain localities. 3rd, The payment of registration fees to the Government. 4th, A periodical, compulsory, indecent examination of every woman slave. 5th, The imprisonment of the slave in the Lock Hospital until cured, and then a return to her master and the exact conditions under which she was "from no choice of her own," exposed to contagion, with the expectation that she would be shortly returned again infected. 6th, The punishment by imprisonment of the slave when any man was found infected from consorting with her, through "no choice of her own." 7th, The punishment by fine and imprisonment of all persons keeping slaves in an _un_registered house (which was not a source of profit to the Government). This was the only sort of "active protection" that the Government of Hong Kong at that time provided to the slave. The matter of "protection" which concerned the "Protector of Chinese," related to keeping the women from becoming incapacitated in the prosecution of their employment, and to seeing that the hopelessly diseased were eliminated from the herd of slaves. The rest of the "protection" looked to the physical well-being of another portion of the community--the fornicators. If physical harm came to them from wilful sin, the Chinese women would be punished by imprisonment for it, though their sin was forced upon them. This was "protection" from the official standpoint. Mr. Labouchere had replied with his approval of this Ordinance dealing with contagious diseases due to vice, as though the application for the measure had been made in behalf of the slaves of Hong Kong. Such was not the case. The enclosures in Sir John Bowring's despatch had been a sensational description of the urgent need of vicious men for the active protection of the Government from the consequences of their vices. Later, a Commission of Inquiry into the working of this Ordinance comments upon official statements as to the satisfactory consequences of the enactment of the measure in the checking of disease. The Commission demonstrates that in many instances their statements were absolute falsehoods, as proved by statements made by the same officials elsewhere. Since these officials are proved to have been so untruthful after the passing of the Ordinance, we can put no reliance on their statements previous to its enactments, and the more so because the statistics for Hong Kong in its early days are hopelessly confused with the general statistics for all China, wherever British soldiers or sailors were to be found. Therefore they are unavailable for citation. But as to statements made after the passage of the Ordinance, we append a compilation, as set forth by Dr. Birkbeck Nevins of Liverpool, England. SHAMELESS AND YET OFFICIALLY-SANCTIONED FALSEHOOD IN PUBLISHING OFFICIALLY UTTERLY UNTRUE STATISTICS IN FAVOUR OF THE C.D. ACTS IN THE BRITISH COLONY OF HONG KONG WITH THE SANCTION AND AUTHORITY OF THE COLONIAL GOVERNOR. "Referring to the Colonial Surgeon's Department, we feel bound to point out that those portions of the _Annual Medical Reports_ which refer to the subject of the Lock Hospital _have, in too many instances, been altogether misleading_." (Report of Commission, p. 2, parag. 2.) "In 1862 (five years after the Act had been in force) Dr. Murray was '_completely satisfied_ with the _incalculable_ benefit that had resulted to the colony from the Ordinance of 1857'"[A] [Footnote A: An extreme form of C.D. Acts, without parallel in any other place under British rule.] "In 1865 (after eight years' experience) he wrote, 'the _good_ the Ordinance does _is undoubted_; but the good it might do, were all the unlicensed brothels suppressed, was incalculable.'" "In 1867 (after ten years' experience) the _public_ was informed that the Ordinance had been 'on trial for nearly ten years, and _had done singular service_.'" _Yet in this very same year_--1867, April 19th--"Dr. Murray stated in an _Official Report not intended for publication_, but found by the Commission among other Government papers, and published,--'That venereal disease has been _on the increase_, in spite of all that has been done to check it, _is no new discovery_; it has already been brought before the notice of His Excellency.'" (Report, p. 35, pars. 4 and 5.) What is to be thought of the character of such reports for the _Public_, and such an _Official Report_, "not _intended_ to be _published_"? This same Dr. Murray's Annual Report for the _Public_ for 1867, was _actually put in evidence before the House of Lords' Committee_ on venereal diseases--1868, page 135. "Venereal disease here has now become of _comparatively rare occurrence_." Yet the _Army_ Report for the previous year (1866, page 115) states that "the admissions to hospital for venereal disease were 281 per 1000 men;" i.e., more than one man in four of the whole soldiery had been in hospital for this "comparatively rare" disease. As regards the Navy, Dr. Murray says, "the evidence of Dr. Bernard, the Deputy Inspector-General of Hospitals and Fleets, is even more satisfactory. He writes (Jan. 27), 'I am enabled to say that true syphilis is now rarely contracted by our men in Hong Kong.'" Yet the "China station," in which Hong Kong occupies so important a position, had at the time 25 per cent. more _secondary (true) syphilis than any other naval station in the world, except one (the S.E. American_); it had 101 of _primary (true) against 68 in the North American_, 31 in the S.E. American, and 22 in the Australian stations (_all unprotected_); and _gonorrhoea_ was _higher than in any other naval station in the world_. This _official_ misleading feature is to be found in other quarters than Dr. Murray's Reports; for in the _Navy_ Report for 1873 (p. 282), Staff Surgeon Bennett, medical officer of the ship permanently stationed in Hong Kong, says--"Owing to the excellent working of the Contagious Diseases Acts, venereal complaints in the colony are reduced _to a minimum_. The _few cases_ of syphilis are chiefly due to private prostitutes not known to the police." In a representation made to the Secretary of State by W.H. Sloggett, Inspector of Certified Hospitals, October 7, 1879, we get an exact account of what led to the passage of the Contagious Diseases Ordinance of 1857. He says: "In 1857, owing to the very strong representations which had been made to the Governor during the previous three years, by different naval officers in command of the China Station, of the prevalence and severity of venereal disease at Hong Kong, a Colonial Ordinance for checking these diseases was passed in November of that year." When Lord Kimberley was Secretary of State he wrote (on September 29, 1880) Governor Hennessy of Hong Kong in defence of the Ordinance of 1857,--at least as to the motive expressed by Mr. Labouchere for consenting to the passing of the Ordinance: "These humane intentions of Mr. Labouchere have been frustrated by various causes, among which must be included that the police have from the first been allowed to look upon this branch of their work as beneath their dignity, while the sanitary regulation of the brothels appears from recent correspondence to have been almost entirely disregarded." To this Governor Hennessy replied: "On the general question of the Government system of licensing brothels, your Lordship seems to think that I have not sufficiently recognized that the establishment of the system was a police measure, intended to give the Hong Kong Government some hold upon the brothels, in hope of improving the condition of the inmates, and of checking the odious species of slavery to which they are subjected. I can, however, assure your Lordship, whatever good intentions may have been entertained and expressed by Her Majesty's Government when the licensing system was established, that it has been worked for a different purpose." ... "The real purpose of the brothel legislation here has been, in the odious words so often used, the provision of clean Chinese women for the use of the British soldiers and sailors of the Royal Navy in this Colony." The real object of the Ordinance, commended by the Secretary of State as answering to "an urgent claim" on the part of slaves "upon the active protection of the Government," the operation of which was placed in the hands of the so-called Protector of Chinese, was plainly described in the preamble of the Ordinance as making "provisions for checking the spread of venereal diseases within this Colony." No other object was stated. The intention of the Government was that the Ordinance should be worked by the aid of the whole police force; but as early as 1860 we find the Protector, or Registrar General, D.R. Caldwell, reporting to the Colonial Secretary that "upon the first promulgation of the Ordinance, the Superintendent of Police manifested an indisposition to interfere in the working of the Ordinance, from a belief that it opened a door to corruption to the members of the force under him." Later, Mr. May, the superintendent of police alluded to, said before the Commission of Inquiry: "That he would not have permitted the police to have anything to do with the control or supervision of brothels under the Ordinance, being apart from the general objects of police duties, and from the great probability of its leading to corruption." Let this be told to Mr. May's lasting credit. Whereupon, on the Registrar General's application, the office of Inspector of Brothels was created. We have referred several times to a certain Commission which was appointed to inquire into the working of the Contagious Diseases Ordinances of Hong Kong. This Commission was appointed by Governor Hennessy on November 12th, 1877, and was composed of William Keswick, unofficial member of the Legislative Council, Thomas Child Hallyer, Esq., "one of Her Majesty's Counsel for the Colony," and Ernest John Eitel, M.A., Ph.D., Chinese Interpreter to the Governor. We shall have frequent cause to quote from this Commission's report, and as it is the only Commission we shall quote, we shall henceforth speak of it merely as "the Commission." This report says, concerning inspectors of brothels: "These posts, although fairly lucrative, do not seem to be coveted by men of very high class." For instance, we find in a report dated December 11, 1873, by the captain superintendent of police, Mr. Dean, and the acting Registrar General, Mr. Tonnochy, that they were not prepared to recommend anyone for an appointment to a vacancy which had just occurred, owing to the reluctance of the police inspectors to accept "the office of Inspector of Brothels." Mr. Creagh says, that the post is not one "which any of our inspectors would take. They look down on the post." "They are a class very inferior to those who would be inspectors with us. I don't believe anyone wishes it, but constables, or perhaps sergeants, would take the post for the pay." Mr. Dean would also "object to its being made a part of the duty of the general police to enforce the Contagious Diseases Acts." "My inspectors and sergeants," he says, "would so strongly object to taking the office that I should be unable to get anyone on whom I could rely.... The Inspector of Police looks down on the Inspector of Brothels." Dr. Ayres tells us: "You cannot get men fitted for the work at present salaries, and you have to put tremendous powers into the hands of men like those we have." Yet into the hands of men lower in character than the lowest of the police force was committed, in large part, the operation of Ordinance 12, 1857, recommended by Mr. Labouchere as a sort of benevolent scheme for the defense of poor Chinese slaves under the British flag, who had "an urgent claim on the protection of Government." CHAPTER 3. HOW THE PROTECTOR PROTECTED. Dr. Bridges, the Acting Attorney General at Hong Kong, who had framed the Contagious Diseases Ordinance of 1857, had given an assurance concerning it expressed in the following words: "There will be less difficulty in dealing with prostitution in this Colony than with the same in any other part of the world, as I believe the prostitutes here to be almost, without exception, Chinese who would be thankful to be placed under medical control of any kind; that few if any of the prostitutes are free agents, having been brought up for the purposes of prostitution by the keepers of brothels, and that whether as regards the unfortunate creatures themselves, the persons who obtain a living by these prostitutes, or the Chinese inhabitants in general, there are fewer rights to be interfered with here, less grounds for complaint by the parties controlled, and fewer prejudices on the subject to be shocked among the more respectable part of the community than could be found elsewhere." Mr. D.R. Caldwell, Protector, confirmed these views. But the views of the Chinese themselves had never been elicited, and immediately such prejudice was aroused among them that it was considered wise to subject only those houses resorted to by foreigners and their inmates, to medical surveillance. Says the report of the Commission: "So great has been the detestation of the Chinese of the system of personal examination, that it has been found practically impossible to apply it to purely Chinese houses of ill-fame [that is, places resorted to by Chinese only], to the present day." At once, then, the business of the Ordinance, as far as disease was concerned, became restricted to a fancied "protection" of foreign men given over to the practice of vice. But, as we show elsewhere on the statements of the officials who operated the Ordinance (made confidentially, but not intended for publication), that object was not realized, and in the very nature of things, never will be, by such measures. When the State guarantees the service of "clean women" to men of vicious habits, it actively encourages those vicious habits; and since these diseases are the direct outcome of such vice, the more the vice itself is encouraged the more the diseases resulting therefrom will increase in frequency. The treachery and perfidy of the profession that this Ordinance was in large measure one intended to "protect" poor slaves, is clearly exposed in this letter of Dr. Bridges. "There will be less difficulty" in operating the measure because the women are not "free agents!" The very success of the measure, their own language betrays, depended upon their servitude. Then were they likely to strike a blow at that slavery? Their measure would, then, of course, lead to an increase and not to a mitigation of the hardships of servitude. They had "fewer rights to be interfered with" in Hong Kong "than could he found elsewhere." Away with a measure of "protection" which finds its chief source of gratulation in the curtailed rights of the "protected!" The much-vaunted "protection" of the slaves, through medical surveillance, became limited at once to a certain class who associated with foreigners, whose interests were supposed to be "protected" by that surveillance. Nevertheless from that time almost to the present hour whenever it has been proposed to discontinue the compulsory medical examination, officials have raised a cry of pity for the poor slave-girls who would be left without "protection." Since each registered house was to pay a fee to the Colonial Government, which was turned into the fund to meet general expenses (although the express reading of the Ordinance was against this practice), this gave additional reason for registering all immoral houses, beyond their being listed for the compulsory examinations, hence all houses of prostitution were registered whether for foreigners or for Chinese. The Commission's report says: "This Ordinance seems to have been worked with energy by all concerned. Dr. Murray, who assumed charge of the Lock Hospital on the 1st of May, 1857,... discharged his duty with undoubted zeal. The Magistrates certainly threw no obstruction in the way of the working of the Ordinance; and the Government having, at a very early stage, determined that its efficacy 'should have a fair trial,' it doubtless received it at all hands." During the ten years this law was in operation, there were 411 prosecutions, of which 140 were convictions for keeping unregistered houses, or houses outside the prescribed bounds. Fines were inflicted for these offenses and others, adding considerably to the amount collected regularly each month from each registered house. The Superintendent of Police, having refused to allow his force to operate as inspectors of brothels, in 1860 the first inspector was appointed, and he engaged an English policeman named Barnes to render services as an informer. This man brought charges in two cases, as to unlicensed (unregistered) brothels. The second case ended in acquittal, manifestly on the ground that the charges were trumped up. In the same year another inspector, Williams, acted as informer, and secured a conviction against a woman. Later, an inspector by the name of Peam, who succeeded Williams, employed police constables as informers, and lent them money for the purpose. All these performed their tasks in "plain clothes," as was the practice through subsequent years. In 1861, constables (Europeans) acted frequently as informers, and in one instance the Acting Registrar General,--in other words, the "Protector,"--played the role of informer. He took a European constable with him to a native house and caused him to commit adultery there, and on this evidence prosecuted the woman for keeping an unregistered brothel. During this year, an inspector named Johnson presented a woman with a counterfeit dollar, and because she accepted the money she was condemned as a keeper of an unregistered house, and fined twenty-five dollars. This sum she would be less able to pay than the average American woman ten times as much, so low are wages in that country. In 1862, an inspector of brothels, a policeman, and the Bailiff of the Supreme Court, acted as informers; also in eleven cases European constables in plain clothes, and on two occasions a master of a ship. In 1863 the sworn belief alone of the inspector secured convictions in 10 cases. In 1864, as far as the records show, public money was first used by informers to induce women to commit adultery with them, in order to secure their conviction, fine them, and enroll their abodes as registered brothels. Inspector Jones and Police Sergeant Daly, having spent ten dollars in self-indulgence in native houses, the Government reimbursed them and punished the women. In 1865, on three separate occasions, the "Protector," (Acting Registrar General Deane), "declared" houses, nine in number. Soon any sort of testimony was gladly welcomed, and Malays, East Indians and Chinese all turned informers, and money was not only given them with which to open the way for debauchery, but awards upon conviction of the women with whom they consorted. "The Chinese used for this work were chiefly Lokongs, [native police constables], Inspector Peterson's servant and a cook at No. 8 Police Station. The depositions show that in at least five cases the police and their informers received rewards. Three times their exertions were remunerated by sums of twenty dollars, although in one of these instances the evidence was apparently volunteered. Arch and Collins [Europeans] once got five dollars each, and Chinese constables received similar amounts." In many of these cases the immorality on the part of the informers who brought the charges seems to have been unblushingly stated. "The zeal of inspectors of brothels and informers had been stimulated by occasional solid rewards from the Bench, and the numerous prosecutions commenced seldom failed to end in conviction and substantial punishment." Ten years after the Ordinance of 1857 had been in operation, the Registrar General, C.C. Smith, wrote: "There is another matter connected with the brothels, licensed and unlicensed, in Hong Kong, which almost daily assumes a graver aspect. I refer to what is no less than the trafficking in human flesh between the brothel-keepers and the vagabonds of the Colony. Women are bought and sold in nearly every brothel in the place. They are induced by specious pretexts to come to Hong Kong, and then, after they are admitted into the brothels, such a system of espionage is kept over them, and so frightened do they get, as to prevent any application to the police. They have no relatives, no friends to assist them, and their life is such that, unless goaded into unusual excitement by a long course of ill-treatment, they sink down under the style of life they are forced to adopt, and submit patiently to their masters. But cases have occurred where they have run away, and placed themselves in the hands of the police; who, however, can do nothing whatever toward punishing the offenders for the lack of evidence, the women being afraid to tell their tale in open court. Women have, it is true, willingly allowed themselves to be sold for some temporary gain; but that brothel-keepers should be allowed to enter into such transactions is of serious moment. I have myself tried to fix such a case on more than one brothel-keeper, but failed to do so, though there was no doubt of the transaction, as I held the bill of sale. The only mode of action I had under the circumstances was to cancel the license of the house. In the interest of humanity, too, it might be enacted that any brothel-keeper should be liable to a fine for having on his or her premises any child under 15 years of age." This statement as to the increase of slavery under this Ordinance is just what might have been expected, but it is especially valuable as made by the Registrar General who knew most about the matter, and it contains most damaging admissions against himself, for as the Colonial Secretary, W.T. Mercer, states in a foot-note in the State document printing the Registrar General's statement: "Surely the bill of sale here would have been sufficient evidence." It is plainly to be seen from such statements that after a few efforts to take advantage of anti-slavery laws at Hong Kong, after a few appeals to the police for protection and liberty, slave girls would learn by terrible experience to cease all such efforts. Think of the fate of a girl when thrust back into the hands of her cruel master or mistress, by the heartless indifference of the "Protector," after having ventured to go to the length of producing her bill of sale into slavery. We should remember these things, when we hear of American officials going through Chinatown and asking the girls if they wish to come away, and in case they do not at once declare they wish it, reporting that there are no slave girls in Chinatown. These poor creatures have been trained in a hard school, and have no reason to believe that any foreign officials have the least interest in helping to obtain their liberty. And if they cannot secure protection by complaint, far better never admit that there is reason for complaint. Note the calm admission of the Registrar General that nothing was being done to prevent the rearing of children in these registered brothels, where every detail was subject to Government surveillance. "It might be enacted," says the "Protector," that such a brothel-keeper should be "liable to a fine!" But why, in the face of such frank acknowledgement of the existence of slavery, were not the Queen's proclamation against slavery, and the many other enactments of the same sort, enforced? Listen, and we will tell why. These officials believed _vice was necessary_, and as there was no class of "fallen women," in our understanding of the term, the Oriental prostitute being a literal slave, then _slavery was necessary_ when it ministered to the vices of men. Hence the Government-registered brothels were filled with women slaves. As to the unregistered brothels, the "protected woman" protected that, and also the nursery of purchased and stolen children being brought up and trained for the slave market, excepting those children which, as we have seen, were being trained in the registered houses. If an officer attempted to enter the house of a "protected woman," he was told: "This is not a brothel. This is the private family residence of Mr. So and So," mentioning the name of some foreigner. Thus the foreigners who kept Chinese mistresses furnished, in effect, that protection to slavery that led the Chinese to go forward so boldly in their business of buying and kidnaping children. Even when women were brought into court for keeping unregistered brothels, and although they were keeping them, yet if they could show that they were "protected women," they had a fair show of being acquitted. Legislative enactments directed to the object of making the practice of vice healthy for men are called, in popular language, "Contagious Diseases Acts," because that was the first name given them. But of late years all such laws have met with such bitter opposition, that, like an old criminal, the measures seek to hide themselves under all sorts of _aliases_. Mrs. Josephine Butler describes such legislation in general in the following simple, lucid manner: "By this law, policemen,--not the local police, but special Government police, in plain clothes,--are employed to look after all the poor women and girls in a town and its neighborhood. These police spies have power to take up any woman they please, on _suspicion_ that she is not a moral woman, and to register her name on a shameful register as a prostitute. She is then forced to submit to the horrible ordeal of a personal examination of a kind which cannot be described here. It is an act on the part of the Government doctor such as would be called an indecent or criminal assault if any other man were to force it upon a woman. And it is the _State_ which forces this indecent assault on the persons of the helpless daughters of the poor. "If a woman refuses to submit to it, she is punished by imprisonment, with or without hard labor, _until_ she does submit. "If, after she has endured this torture, she is found to be healthy and well, she is set free, with a certificate that she is _fit to practice prostitution_; but observe, she is never more a free woman, for her name is on the register of Government prostitutes, and she is strictly under the eye of the police, and is bound to come up periodically,--it may be weekly or fortnightly,--to be again outraged. "If she is found to have signs of disease, she is sent to a hospital, which is practically a prison, where she is kept as long as the doctors please. She may be kept for weeks or months, without any choice of her own. When cured, she is again set free with her certificate. During the first years of this law, a certificate on paper was given to every woman who had passed through this cruel ordeal; on this paper was the name of the woman, and the date of the last examination. The Abolitionist party, however, represented so strongly the shame of the whole proceeding, that the Government ordered that the piece of paper or ticket should not be given to the women any longer. But this change made no real difference, for it was well known that the women were forced to submit to the outrage of enforced examination.... You know that every criminal,--murderer, or thief, or any other,--has the benefit of the law; he or she is allowed an open trial, at which witnesses are called, and a legal advocate appears for the defense of the accused. But these State slaves are allowed no trial. It is enough that the police suspects and accuses them; then they are treated as criminals.... It will be clear to you that this law is not for simple healing, as Christ would have us to heal, caring for all, whatever their character or whatever their disease. This law is invented to _provide beforehand_ that men may be able to sin without bodily injury (if that were possible, which it is not). If a burglar, who had broken into my house and stolen my goods, were to fall and be hurt, I would be glad to get him into a hospital and have him nursed and cured; but I would not put a ladder up against my window at night and leave the windows open in order that he might steal my goods without danger of breaking his neck. "You will see clearly, also, the cowardliness and unmanliness of this law, inasmuch as it sacrifices women to men, the weak to the strong; that it deprives the woman of all that she has in life, of liberty, character, law, even of life itself (for it is a process of slow murder to which she is subjected), for the supposed benefit of men who are mean enough to avail themselves of this provision of lust. "Besides being grossly unjust, as between men and women, this law is a piece of class legislation of an extreme kind. The position and wealth of men of the upper classes place the women belonging to them above any chance of being accused of prostitution. Ladies who ride in carriages through the street at night are in no danger of being molested. But what about working women? what about the daughters, sisters and wives of working men, out, it may be, on an errand of mercy at night? and what, most of all, of that girl whose father, mother, friends are dead or far away, who is struggling hard, in a hard world, to live uprightly and justly by the work of her own hands,--is she in no danger of this law? Lonely and friendless, and poor, is she in no danger of a false accusation from malice or from error? especially since under this law _homeless_ girls are particularly marked out as just subjects for its operation; and if she is accused, what has she to rely on, under God, except that of which this law deprives her, the appeal to be tried 'by God and my country,' by which it is understood that she claims the judicial means of defense to which the law of the land entitles her? "I will only add that this law has a fatally corrupting influence over the male youth of every country where it is in force. It warps the conscience, and confuses the sense of right and wrong. When the State raises this immoral traffic into the position of a lawful industry, superintended by Government officials, what are the young and ignorant to think? They cannot believe that that which the Government of the country allows, and makes rules for, and superintends, is really wrong." Such measures as these have acquired a foothold in the United States more than once, but have been driven out again. They are proposed every year almost, at some State Legislature, and often have been proposed at several different legislatures during a single year. They are in operation, to some extent at least, under the United States flag at Hawaii, in the Philippines, and at Porto Rico. The enforcement of the Acts must depend to a large extent upon the co-operation of the male fornicator with the police and officers of the law, and places good women and girls terribly in the power of malicious or designing libertines. It appears from official records, that in Hong Kong, during six months in 1886-7, out of 139 women denounced by British soldiers and sailors as having communicated contagion, 102 were on examination found free from disease, and only 37 to be diseased; and during a similar period in 1887-8, out of 103 women that were denounced, 101 were on examination found free from disease and only two diseased. We can judge from this of both the worthlessness of the measure for tracing diseased women, and the mischievousness of the measure as an aid to libertines in getting girls they are endeavoring to seduce so injured in reputation that they can easily capture their prey. As a sanitary measure, the Acts have invariably proved a failure, as shown by honestly handled statistics. There have, to be sure, been many doctors, some of high scientific qualifications, who have produced statistics strongly tending to prove the sanitary benefits of such measures on superficial survey. But these statistics have afterwards been shown to be mistakenly handled or designedly manipulated to make such a showing. This is not a medical book, and any extended treatment of figures as to disease would be entirely out of place in it, so we will content ourselves by saying that during late years physicians of prominence from every part of the world have assembled twice at Brussels for Conferences in regard to this matter. These physicians are in large numbers Continental doctors, the very ones who have had most to do in enforcing such measures. Each time the number of opponents to the Contagious Diseases Acts has rapidly increased, after listening to the testimony from all sides as to their inutility; in fact, the whole force of opinion at each of these Conferences, in 1899 and 1902, was against State Regulation, though there was a division of opinion as to the substitute for it. In 1903, the Minister of the Interior of France, the country where these Acts originated, nominated an extra-Parliamentary Commission to go thoroughly into these questions. This Commission held its numerous sittings in 1905, and in the end by almost a two-thirds' majority condemned the existing system of regulation in France, and furthermore rejected the alternative proposal of notification with compulsory treatment, by sixteen votes to one. In reporting on the Conferences held in Brussels, the _Independence Belge_ said, in a leading article: "Regulation is visibly decaying, and the fact is the more striking because the country that instituted it (France) is at present the one that meets it with the most ardent hostility." CHAPTER 4. MORE POWER DEMANDED AND OBTAINED. In 1866 the Governor of Hong Kong, Sir Richard Graves MacDonnell, determined upon the repeal of Ordinance 12, 1857, in order to inaugurate "a more vigorous policy of coercion," (says the Commission's report): "The key note of the new regime was struck by the Governor's first minute on the subject, dated 20th October, 1866, in which he wrote he was 'anxious early to introduce to the Council an amended Brothel Ordinance, conferring _necessarily_ almost despotic powers on the Registrar General." ... Be it said to the honor of Attorney General (now Sir Julian) Pauncefote, that in the face of this he urges the most weighty objections to the policy of "subjecting persons to fine and imprisonment without the safeguards which surround the administration of justice in a public and open court." But these objections were not allowed to prevail. It appears that some hesitation was felt on the part of the home authorities in giving approval to the new ordinance. It may have been the warning given by Attorney General Pauncefote, it may have been something else. Whatever it was, the Commission informs us: "The Ordinance 10 of 1867 received its final sanction when the conclusion arrived at by the Colonial Government was before the home authorities, showing that in the event of the ordinance becoming law, _revenue would be derived_ from the tainted source of prostitution among the Chinese." (The italics are the authors'). Ordinance 10, 1867 now came into operation, with the following additional powers in the hands of the "Protector" of Chinese, the Registrar General: 1st, Not only were keepers of unregistered houses to be fined or sent to prison, but the women--"held in practical slavery for the purposes of prostitution"--when found in unregistered houses were also subject to fine and imprisonment. 2nd, The Registrar-General, otherwise the "Protector" of Chinese, could break into any house suspected of being a brothel, and arrest the keeper thereof without warrant. And he could authorize his underlings to do the same. 3rd, The Registrar General could exercise both judicial and executive powers in the prosecution of the duties of his office. 4th, All outdoor prostitutes could be arrested without warrant, fined and imprisoned. The new law possessed one virtue over the old. It frankly, and more honestly, employed the word "licensed," where the old law said "registered," brothels. The report of the Commission says: "Although the new Ordinance conferred such extensive and unusual powers on the Registrar General and Superintendent of Police as to breaking into and entering houses and arresting keepers without warrant, no serious difficulty whatever, so far as the records show,--and we have paid special attention to the point,--seems to have been experienced under the previous enactments in bringing the keepers of such houses before the court.... Nor can we in the second place find among the foregoing records proof of the necessity of the transfer to the Registrar General of the judicial powers.... As a matter of fact, witnesses do not seem to have been at all squeamish in divulging repulsive details in open Court, nor, on the other hand, do the magistrates ever seem to have shown too exacting a disposition as to the nature or amount of the evidence they required to sustain convictions; and the astonishing system of detection which had grown up had met, so far as we can see, with neither discouragement nor remonstrance." We pause to lift our hearts to God in prayer before venturing to lift the curtain and disclose even a faint outline of the reign of terror now instituted over poor, horror-stricken Chinese women of the humbler ranks of life at Hong Kong. But, in order that we may understand the conditions under which the slave women coming to our Pacific Coast have lived in times past, the recital is necessary. Happy for us if we never needed to know any of these dark chapters of human history and human wrongs! Sad indeed for the thoughtless, and bringing only harm, if such an account as we have to give should be read merely out of curiosity or for entertainment. There is either ennoblement or injury in what we have to say, according to the spirit brought to the task of reading it. Think quietly, then, dear reader, for one moment. From what motive will you read our recital? We do not write what is lawful to the merely inquisitive. Then, will you continue to read from a worthier motive? If not, we pray you, close the book, and pass it on to someone more serious minded. Our message is only for those who will hear with the desire to help. But do not say: "I am too ignorant as to what to do, I am too weak, or I am too lowly, and without talents or influence." No, you are not. There is a place for you to help. God will show it to you, if this book does not suggest a practicable plan for you. What we wish to accomplish, and what we must accomplish, if at all, by just such aid as you can give, sums itself up in this: We must make our officers of the law understand that _the question of slavery has been settled once for all_ in the United States, by the Civil War, and we will have none of it again. It will never be tolerated under the Stars and Stripes; and when you can think of nothing else to do, you can always go aside and cry to the Judge of all the earth to "execute righteousness and judgment for all that are oppressed," as He has promised to do, if we but call upon Him. Now read on with a heart full of courage, not caring for the haunting pain that will be left when you lay the book aside. What others have had to suffer, you can at least endure to hear about, in order to put a check upon like suffering in the future, and in our own land, too. A country bathed in blood as ours has once been has met already its terrible judgment for not throttling the monster, Slavery, in its infancy, before it cost so much blood and treasure. We will be wiser another time, and refuse to trifle with such great wrongs. We cannot brave the Omnipotent wrath in a second judgment for the same offense, lest He say to us: "Ye have not hearkened unto Me, in proclaiming liberty, everyone to his brother, and every man to his neighbor; behold, I proclaim a liberty unto you, saith the Lord, to the sword and to the pestilence and to the famine." From the first days of the enactment of this measure, and all the way through until 1877, the inspectors of brothels had standing orders to enter any native house that they suspected of containing any women of loose character, and arrest its inmates in accordance with the following plan: The inspector would secure an accomplice, called an informer, or often more than one. The accomplice would enter a native house plentifully supplied with marked money out of the Secret Service Fund. This accomplice was often a friend or relative of the family he called upon. He would often offer them a feast and drinks, and send to a near-by restaurant and procure them at Government expense. After feasting and drinking, he would try to induce some woman of the house to consort with him, showing her a sufficient sum of money to fairly dazzle her eyes. This he could well afford to do, for the Government put the money in his hands to offer, and if the woman accepted, it would not be a loss to the Government, for it would be taken back again afterwards. Perhaps some poor half-starved creature would yield to the tempter; perhaps some heathen man would press his wife to accept the offer, in his greed for the money; perhaps some foolish young girl would think she had suddenly come into great fortune in having a man of such great wealth proposing marriage to her. It must not be forgotten that the poorest people in China often marry in a manner which is _almost devoid of all ceremony_, and yet it is considered perfectly right and honorable, and the couple remain faithful to each other afterwards. It is not unlikely, then, a young woman might, with the consent of her parents, look upon such a proposal as this as about to eventuate in real marriage, if it were so put before her. No such thing as courting ever takes place in China, previous to marriage. In other cases, doubtless, the informer who had thus intruded himself for the basest reasons into a native house, might really find a woman of loose character there. It were certainly more to the credit of such a woman that she was in hiding, and preferred it to flaunting her shame in a licensed house of infamy. What business have Governments hounding down these women, tearing away their last shred of decency and obliging them if inclining to go wrong to sink at once to the lowest depths of infamy? But that is what the attempt to localize vice in one section of a town, or to legalize it always means. When the informer at Hong Kong had insinuated himself into a native house and by means of the bait of "marked money" caught a victim and sinned with her, at once he threw open the window and summoned the Inspector, who was in waiting outside, who would rush in and arrest all the women and girls in the house, down to children often only 13 or 14 years old. This was not all according to law, but it seems to have been the regular practice. Says Mr. Lister, who was Registrar General for the first year after the Ordinance of 1867 came into operation: "As a general rule, the first thing I knew of a case of an unlicensed brothel coming before me was the finding of a string of women in my office in the morning." "Almost despotic powers" had been put into the hands of the "Registrar General," and these were some of the results. The "marked money" that had caught the victim would now be sanctimoniously taken away from her and restored to the Secret Service Fund. The woman would be fined or imprisoned, and the other inmates of the house put through trial as accused of being "common prostitutes" and inmates of an unlicensed brothel, and if the Registrar General so decided, the house from which they came declared in the Government Gazette as a licensed house of prostitution. The keepers of licensed brothels, slave-dealers, procurers and such characters hung around the court room to help these women pay their fines, and so get them under bonds to work off these fines by prostitution. Sometimes the women sold their children instead of themselves. If boys, for "adoption," as it is called; a form of slavery which is permitted in Hong Kong. If girls, into domestic slavery or worse, probably with the thought that they could buy them back soon, but if the mother herself went the daughter would be sure to be caught by kidnapers, or fall into prostitution anyway, as the only means she would have of getting along without her mother's protection. Mr. Lister said before the Commission: "I became suspicious of the whole system of convictions against houses for Chinese. I was certain that the informers could not be depended on for one moment. My inspector employed his own boatmen as informers. I became convinced that _I could lock up the whole Chinese female population by this machinery_." Married men were often knowingly hired on Government money to commit adultery with native women, then the money would be taken away from the woman and she could not even have that toward her fine, while the man would be given a further reward for hunting down an "unlicensed woman." Quickly, strong organizations of brothel-keepers were formed, and the whole infernal system from that day to this of brothel slavery passed under the secret management of "capitalists"--Chinese merchants of large means. We have made a general statement as to abuses; now for some specified details. Sometimes the inspectors took their turn as informers, and often men of higher official rank did so, even to the Registrar General himself. In 1868, Inspectors Peterson and Jamieson visited houses as informers, dressed in plain clothes. Jamieson went once disguised as a soldier. Inspectors Burns, Sieir and Deane were also employed as informers, this year. In one case, a woman escaped the persecution of an informer who had intruded into her house by means of ladder; in another case, a woman risked her life getting out of the window upon a flimsy shade adjusted to keep the sun out; in another, a woman managed to escape to the roof; one poor creature let herself down to the ground from an upper window by means of a spout. When women were ready to take such risks as these (and undoubtedly the official records would mention only a few such cases out of the many) rather than be compelled to keep open houses of prostitution, one would have thought it would have counted as some proof of the respectable character of the women,--but it does not seem to have been reckoned so. The women were generally driven into the business of keeping an open house of prostitution anyway, and the Government benefited in cash by just so much more. "It may be mentioned here," says the report of the Commission, from which we cull these cases, "that from this date (July 6th, 1868) the practice has apparently prevailed of apprehending all the women found in unlicensed brothels" (in more correct language, those houses penetrated into by informers and reported to the Registrar as brothels). These accusations were not always true, by any means. Seven women were apprehended at one time during this year, on the charge of a watchman, that they kept and were inmates of an unlicensed brothel, "the chief witness being a child 10 years old ... five of the women were married, and two, children of 13 and 14 years old, are described as unmarried." They were all, even the children, convicted, and sent to the Lock Hospital for the indecent examination, in order to determine if they were in proper health to practice vice. Afterwards the Registrar concluded that the case had been got up by the watchman to extort money from the women. But the establishment of their innocence did not put them right again. Think of the horrible ordeal and the dirty court details through which these young girls had been put, on the testimony of a child of ten, and of a watchman determined that they should learn to give him money when he demanded it, or he would drive them into prostitution. One wonders how many hundreds of respectable families were thus bled of their small incomes by the vile informers who were being rewarded by Government for their extortion. Imagine the terror that respectable Chinese women suffered, knowing that any man might denounce them, out of malice, and thereby reduce them to the very worst conceivable form of slavery! Within a few years, nearly all the respectable Chinese women had disappeared from Hong Kong. Chief Inspector Whitehead testified before the Commission: "When an unlicensed brothel [i.e., a native house accused of being such] is broken up, the women have to resort to prostitution in most cases for a living." During 1869, one poor woman signed a bond to deport herself for five years rather than be taken to the Lock Hospital. But the "protected women," with their nursery of children they were raising for brothel slavery, being the mistresses of foreigners, were not persecuted in this manner, so, by a kind of mad infatuation the Government seemed bent on encouraging and developing immoral women and driving decent women either into prostitution, or, by the reign of terror, out of the Colony. In 1869, five women were charged before the Registrar General, and three of them were discharged as innocent. Then the Registrar General decided _to make the punishment of the first of the remaining two depend upon the state of health of the second_. This second was examined and found diseased, and in consequence of that fact, the first one was fined fifty dollars or two months' imprisonment! The Commission speaks of this as a "somewhat curious" case. We wonder how the punished woman described it. Afterwards, the case was reopened, and "evidence was given calculated to throw the gravest doubts on the credibility of the informers" against these five women. What was then done? Were the informers punished for giving false evidence designed to work incalculable injury to five innocent women? Not at all. A few days later the same informers were employed again as witnesses, and secured the conviction of three more women. In one case, in 1870, it was proved that an informer had entered a house and made an indecent assault upon a woman, doubtless expecting to get his reward as usual. But he was fined ten pounds instead. But how many others may have done the same thing under circumstances where a sufficient number of witnesses to the assault could not be produced. And then, the man would be rewarded and the woman forced at once to take up her residence in a licensed house of shame. The Acting Registrar General played the part of informer during 1870, and punished as judge the woman he accused before himself,--for the law, as we have said, that came into force in 1867 gave the Registrar General both prosecuting and judicial powers. He probably also induced the woman on Government money to commit adultery with him. Then as the judge he would confiscate the money again, and give her a fine of fifty dollars instead. We wonder if he likewise gave himself a "substantial award from the bench," as the Registrar General was accustomed to give other informers when they succeeded in getting evidence sufficient for conviction. It is noticed by the Commission that one woman this same year escaped by the roof at the peril of her life. No one knows how many more may have done the same. An inspector, Peterson, and a constable, Rylands, each induced women on the street to accept money of them, and these women were punished as prostitutes in hiding and not registered. Two prosecutions during this same year are mentioned as having been instituted from malice. One woman jumped from her window and severely injured herself, trying to escape Inspector Douglass. One woman dared to assault an informer who was after her, and was punished by ten days' imprisonment, with hard labor. Inspector Jamieson brought charges against three women for obstructing him in the discharge of his official duties, and was himself found guilty of illegal conduct. In the records of 1871 is the case of two men who had a falling out, Alfred Flarey and Police Constable Charles Christy, for some reason not mentioned. Each of these men kept a private mistress. Flarey went to an inspector, and obtained money to be used in tempting the mistress of Christy. He then accused her before the courts, she was condemned, and paid a fine of ten dollars. On the following day, Christy appeared in court against the mistress of Flarey, with two fellow-policemen, to describe their own vileness in order to get revenge on Flarey by depriving him of his mistress and reducing her to the level of a common prostitute. The woman was discharged, indicating that it was a trumped up case. The Commission's report, in describing the details declares: "The law, in these two instances, was put in motion obviously for the vilest of purposes." In 1872, Inspector Lee, who had become an inspector in 1870, and of whom we shall have more to say, acted himself as informer, and employed his boy twice in the same capacity. Inspector Horton acted as informer eleven times, and Inspector King four times. During this year the Registrar General so far forgot that there was even a sanitary pretext for the Ordinance for the law he was set to operate as to employ as an informer one Vincent Greaves, whom he knew to be diseased. From about this time on, many cases of conviction were secured against women where it was evident the matter had gone no further than that they had accepted the marked money of the informers, or, as was actually proved in some cases, this marked Government money had been secreted by the informers in the rooms occupied by women. Inspector Lee in one instance found the money on a table in a room into which an informer had insinuated himself. The woman denied having ever accepted it of him, yet she was convicted on that evidence alone. With rewards offered to men of the lowest character, who would secure the conviction of women so that the latter could be forced into the life of open prostitution, all the presumptive evidence should have turned such a case as this against the informer. Many similar cases of the conviction of women of being keepers and inmates of secret brothels, were secured on this sort of evidence. One young girl of 14 was entrapped by marked money being found in her toilet table. The court records showed that this was the second time she had been entrapped in this manner. This second time she was convicted and sent to the Lock Hospital where, upon examination, exceptional conditions demonstrated beyond doubt that she was still a virgin. But what of the many young girls with whom exceptional conditions did not exist, when _they_ were brought to the examination table? During the year 1873, two women were severely injured by jumping out of their windows to escape the informers. One fractured her leg. The cook of Inspector King testified in the Registrar General's court: "Yesterday I received orders of Mr. King to go to Wanchai, and see if I could catch some unlicensed prostitutes." This man was employed, and his employer orders him off to this wicked business, and he must either obey or take his discharge. A Chinese servant ordered to go commit adultery by the man who employed him as his cook. These things were constantly done by employers of Chinese men. Yet these native servants are all married men, for they marry so young in the Orient. And Government money was furnished them besides to pay for the debauchery, and if they brought in a good case for prosecution they got a reward in money besides. So this cook is ordered off by his master to "catch some unlicensed prostitutes," with the same _sang froid_ as though ordered to go catch some fish for dinner. The cook seemed to know where to get the most ardent assistance for the task his employer had set him, for he says: "I got the assistance of a man who is master of a licensed brothel in Wanchai." To be sure; who would be so interested in capturing women and getting them condemned to go and live in a house licensed by the Government as the man in the town at the head of the licensed house? The cook was given a dollar as bait, with which to catch the woman. Inspector Lee, who followed up the men to make sure of the capture, found the dollar given by King to his cook "lying on the bed" in the room occupied by the women, and they were convicted on no other evidence than this and Lee's "suspicions." Private Michael Smith of the 80th Regiment was given four dollars by Inspector Morton and instructed to go to a certain Mrs. Wright at her quarters, and try to debauch her; he drank brandy with her [at Government expense?] from 10 p.m. until 5 a.m., but failed in his errand. Why did she not turn him out of the house? Women were frequently fined for daring to resent the aggressions of these informers. In one case a man was struck for trying to obstruct the arrest of a girl of 14, and later was punished. This girl was proved to be a virgin afterwards. Many women and girls, against whom there was no sufficient evidence, were sent to the Lock Hospital for examination in order to determine in that manner their character. In half-a-dozen cases or so, it is recorded that the result determined the virginity of the person. But such a test as this rests upon the accidental presence of an exceptional condition among even virgins, and what became of those who did not answer to the exceptional test, and yet were as pure as the rest? They would everyone of them be consigned to the fate of a brothel slave. One informer, "with the assistance of public money, and in the interests of justice," according to the Commission's report, sinned with a child of fifteen in order to get her name on the register. Inspector Horton bargained for the deflowering of a virgin of 15, "in the interests of justice," with the owner of the slave child. The child as well as the owner were then taken to the Lock Hospital, where the latter was proved to be a virgin. A Chinese informer consorted with a girl named Tai-Yau "against her will, which led to his being rewarded, and to her being fined one hundred dollars." She was unable to pay the fine, and sold her little boy in part payment for it, in order to escape a life of prostitution. But need we go into further painful details? There are hundreds more of such cases of cruel wrong on record, and God alone knows how many thousands of cases there are that have never been put on record. We only aim to give a case here and there in illustration of the many forms of cruelty practiced upon innocent women in order to force them into prostitution, and to demonstrate that brothel slavery at Hong Kong cannot truthfully be represented as the outcome of Chinese customs which foreign officials have found difficulty in altering. But why should Americans be called upon to acquaint themselves with such loathsome details? In order that Americans may have some just conception of their duty toward the large number of these poor, unhappy slaves who have been brought from Hong Kong to their own country. CHAPTER 5. HOUNDED TO DEATH. Sir John Pope Hennessy went to Hong Kong as Governor of the Colony in the early Spring of 1877. In the following October a tragedy occurred, which drew his attention to the administration of the Registrar General, and he set himself to the task of trying to right some of the wrongs of the Chinese women. The case last mentioned in the previous chapter related to a woman by the name of Tai-Yau, whom an informer humbled "against her will," which led to his being rewarded and her being fined $100, to pay which she sold her little boy. This seems to have been the only way open for her to escape a life of prostitution. To make this point clear, we will here insert the explanation of conditions given by Dr. Eitel in a communication for the information of Governor Hennessy at a little later period than the incident we are about to relate. He speaks of Chinese women who secretly practiced prostitution [but, as we have shown, many respectable Chinese women suffered also], as "preyed upon by informers paid with Government money, who would first debauch such women and then turn against them, charging them before the magistrate under the Ordinance 10, 1867, before the Registrar General as keepers of unlicensed brothels in which case a heavy fine would be inflicted, to pay which these women used to sell their children, or sell themselves into bondage worse than ordinary slavery, to the keepers of brothels licensed by the Government. Whenever a so-called sly brothel was broken up these keepers would crowd the shroff's office [money exchanger's office] of the police court or the visiting room of the Government Lock Hospital to drive their heartless bargains, _which were invariably enforced with the weighty support of the inspectors of brothels_,[A] appointed by Government under the Contagious Diseases Ordinance. The more this Ordinance was enforced, the more this buying and selling of human flesh went on at the very doors of Government offices." [Footnote A: We italicise this to call attention to the active part officials took in encouraging slavery.] We can then readily imagine Tai-Yau as sentenced to pay her fine of one hundred dollars, and nothing to pay with. The money exchanger's office next the court room was crowded with slave-dealers, waiting to offer to pay the fines of such unhappy creatures, and she probably turned to them. If she were sent to jail what would become of her little boy? And if she sold herself to the licensed brothel-keepers, as the inspectors of brothels were urging her to do, the fate of her boy would be even worse. She could see a hope that if she sold the boy for "adoption," a form of slavery the Hong Kong Government permitted, of which we will tell more,--then if she had her freedom she could at least hope to redeem him some time. So the little fellow was sold for about forty dollars, and she went away sixty dollars in debt,--probably to the brothel-keepers, who would never let her out of their sight until, through the debt and the interest thereon, they would in time be enabled to seize her as their slave. But she went out hoping for some honest way of earning the money, or else she would have bargained with them at once to work off the debt by prostitution. But what could a Chinese woman do in the face of such a debt? A painter's wages at Hong Kong at this time were five dollars a month. A woman's wages at any respectable occupation would not have been more than half that amount. Ten cents a day would be a fair computation. And all the time she would be trying to earn the money the debt would be increasing by the interest on it; and her little boy would increase more rapidly in value than in years. All this occurred in November, 1876. About the first of October, 1877, nearly a year later, she engaged a single room for herself and a servant[A] at 42 Peel street, of a woman named Lau-a Yee. Mrs. Lau, the landlady, had the top floor of a little house. Another family had the first floor, and the street door leading up to Mrs. Lau's apartments ended in a trap door which was shut down at night. There were also folding doors half way up the stairway, not reaching to the ceiling, however, that could be locked at night to make the place doubly secure from intruders. The little upper flat consisted of only three rooms. Mrs. Lau occupied the front room, and her servant woman slept on the floor in the passage-way, and took care of Mrs. Lau's little child. This servant woman had a friend come over from Canton to spend the night with her and seek for employment. The middle room was occupied by Tai Yau, the woman who had sold her little boy into slavery, and her servant. The back room was vacant. Tai Yau was about twenty-six years old, and her servant nearly sixty. [Footnote A: The evidence does not make it clear how so poor a woman should have a servant. Might she not in reality have been acting the part of "pocket-mother" to the girl?] On the evening of October 16th, 1877, Inspector Lee gave ten one dollar bills to his interpreter, telling him to go out and use it in catching unlicensed women. The interpreter found two friends and gave one three dollars and the other seven dollars to help him in his errand. Think of it! The man to whom the three dollars were given was a worthless fellow who in his own words, lived "on his friends." When he worked he earned about 14 cents a day. The other man to whom was given seven dollars for a night of pleasure, earned five dollars a month when he worked at his trade--painting. These men went to an opium shop where they found a pander. Apparently they did not know where to find unlicensed women without his help. Two other men joined them, and they all went to No. 9 Lyndhurst Terrace, the interpreter lingering about in waiting somewhere outside. When two of the men learned that they had been brought with the purpose of using their testimony against the women they withdrew. There were three women in the house. One was of loose morals, or at any rate she trifled with temptation; the other two managed to withdraw. A supper of fowls, stuffed pigs' feet, sausages, eggs, and plenty of native wine was brought in, and they feasted, the men getting under the influence of drink. A-Nam, the pander, went out and hunted up two more girls for the feast. Perhaps these suspected a plot, for they withdrew. Then A-Nam went again, and returned with Tai-Yau. It was about nine o'clock when A-Nam came to 42 Peel street and called Tai Yau out. Mrs. Lau saw her go out with him, but was not uneasy, for she had seen him there before as a friend of Tai Yau. Is it not quite likely it was from him she borrowed the money? He was the kind of man whose profession would lead him to hang around the Registrar's court in order to get on the track of unlicensed women and to get them in his power. If such were the case, and she owed him money, she would be terribly in his power.[A] She went away with him to the feast near by at No. 9 Lyndhurst Terrace, and at twelve o'clock she returned in company with A-Nam and a strange man. Mrs. Lau was up and worshipping in her room. She came and said to Tai Yau: "Who is this?" seeing the strange man sitting on a chair. "What is this strange man doing here?" Tai Yau replied, "Oh, he is a shopman and is my husband." [Footnote A: Chief Inspector Whitehead testified before the Commission: "When an unlicensed brothel is broken up the women have to resort in most cases to prostitution for a living." Though the wrong done Tai Yau had been "against her will," yet it had brought her into court upon the charge of being a "common prostitute," and thrown her heavily into debt. It is not unlikely she now found it almost beyond her power to resist becoming enslaved as a prostitute.] The name of the man with A-Nam was A-Kan, and A-Kan had been a witness against her when she had been condemned before and fined $100. Now he was here in her room again at this time of night, with the man who had brought them together. Meanwhile Inspector Lee and the interpreter who had given this A-Kan seven dollars to entrap an unlicensed woman, were hunting along the street below to trace the house into which A-Kan had managed to get an entrance. They began to call "A-Kan! A-Kan!" Someone, probably quite innocently said, "I think the man you are looking for went into the house opposite. I saw some one enter there." This was all the clue they had, yet on that evidence alone, Inspector Lee began to pound on the street door of the house, No. 42. A woman on the first floor looked out, and the Inspector ordered her to open the street door. If she recognized him as an officer she would not have dared refuse. The inspector and the interpreter went up the stairs, but encountered folding doors half way up, locked across the stairs. The Inspector managed to get over them and unlock them from the inside, and on they went, and paused to listen beneath the trap door. They did not hear A-Kan's voice, and did not know whether he was there. They had only the conjecture of the woman across the street to proceed upon, nevertheless they had forced their way into this private abode occupied by women, knowing nothing whatever about the place, whether it was respectable or not. At this moment Mrs. Lau heard voices of men on her stairs, and said in alarm to A-Kan, "The inspector is coming, looking for you, isn't he?" A-Kan said "Yes." Then Tai Yau threw herself at the feet of A-Kan and begged for mercy, saying: "I was arrested before and fined a hundred dollars. I sold my son to pay the fine, and you must not say anything now." He sanctimoniously shook his head, as though weighing his responsibility, saying: "I don't know, I don't know." She did not recognize him, but he was the very man who had before informed against her and secured her conviction, when she was humbled "against her will." He now opened the trap door to let the inspector and his interpreter in. Tai Yau exclaimed to Mrs. Lau, "He is coming to arrest women for keeping an unlicensed brothel, let us flee!" Tai-Yau ran up a ladder through a scuttle out upon the flat roof of the house, her old servant following and Mrs. Lau behind. The inspector and interpreter followed, while the informer escaped from the house. Mrs. Lau managed to reach the hatch of the next house, No. 44, and ran down that into the street, hotly chased by the inspector. He said in his testimony: "I pursued the woman down the trap, and followed her right into the street. I pursued and she ran up the steps of Peel street and up to Staunton street, and a Lokong [Chinese constable] caught her about ten yards from Aberdeen street." Then the occupants of the ground floor of 44 Peel street called to Inspector Lee and told him that some people had fallen from the roof into their cook-house, and Inspector Lee said in his testimony: "I went into the cook-house and saw the deceased [the old servant of Tai Yau] lying on the granite on her face, with her head close to an earthenware chatty [water-bottle] which I pointed out, and the bundle of clothing with a Chinese rule lying on the top of her head, or on the back of the neck. Close beside her was another woman lying on the other side of the chatty with her feet against the wall and her head out toward the cook-house door. I had a Chinese candle. I took up the bundle of clothes off deceased's head, and turned her on her back, and there were no signs of life apparent. The other woman was bleeding from the face, and her face and neck were covered with blood. She was moving as if in great pain. I sent for the ambulance at once, and by this time the whole street was aroused." The two women, Tai Yau and the old servant, had fallen through a smoke-hole in the roof. Tai Yau had a fractured jaw and left thigh, besides internal injuries. She lived but ten days. The verdict rendered in each of these cases was nearly the same. That of Tai Yau's calamity reads in part: "Mok Tai-Yau, on the morning of the 17th of October, in the year aforesaid, being on the roof of a house, known as 44, Peel Street, Victoria, and having fled there in consequence of the entry of an Inspector of Brothels into the house known as 42, Peel Street, where she lived, accidentally and by misfortune fell down an open area, known as a smoke-hole, unto the granite pavement beneath, and by means thereof did receive mortal bruises, fractures and contusions, of which she died.... The jury aforesaid are further of opinion that Inspector Lee, the aforesaid Inspector of Brothels, exceeded his powers by entering the house, No. 42, Peel Street, without a warrant, or any direct authority from the Registrar General or the Superintendent of Police, and would strongly recommend that the whole system of obtaining convictions against keepers of unlicensed brothels be thoroughly revised, as the present practice is, in our opinion, both illegal and immoral."[A] [Footnote A: Inspector Lee testified on this occasion that he sometimes had chased women over the roofs of as many as twenty contiguous houses.] On Nov. 1st, 1877, Governor Hennessy wrote to the Colonial Office, London: "I have taken the responsibility of putting a stop to a practice which has existed in this Colony since September, 1868, when Sir Richard MacDonnell sanctioned the appropriation of Government money for the pay of informers who might induce Chinese women to prostitute themselves, and thus bring them under the penal clauses of the Contagious Diseases Ordinance. For many years past this branch of the Registrar General's office has led to grave abuses. It has been a fruitful source of extortion, but what is far worse, a department of the State, as one of the local papers now points out, which is supposed to be constituted for the protection of the Chinese, has been employing a dangerously loose system, whereby the sanctity of native households may be seriously compromised. I had no idea that the Secret Service Fund was used for this loathsome purpose until my attention was drawn to an inquest on the bodies of two Chinese women who were killed by falling from a house in which one of the informers employed by the Registrar General was pursuing his avocations.... I am taking steps to institute a searching inquiry into the whole subject. The European community are ashamed at the revelations that have been made at the inquest, and amongst the Chinese the practice that has been brought to light is, viewed with abhorrence." This was the incident which led to the appointment of the Commission of Inquiry into the working of the Contagious Diseases Ordinance, the report of which Commission we have already had occasion to quote from more than once. Later, Governor Hennessy wrote to the Colonial Office: "Whilst the Attorney General is of opinion that, strictly speaking, there is a _prima facie_ case of manslaughter made out against Inspector Lee, and that possibly a conviction might be obtained, he advises against a prosecution. I do not concur with the Attorney General in the reasons he gives for not instituting a prosecution in this case." During the year previous, 1876, Ordinance No. 2 had been passed, depriving the Registrar General of the much-abused judicial powers he had exercised since 1867, and transferring them to the police magistrates. Speaking of the incident of Tai Yau having sold her boy to pay her fine, Governor Hennessy wrote the Colonial Office, under date of December 6th, 1877: "I am now informed that the Commissioners have obtained from the records of the Registrar General's department and from Mr. Smith's evidence the clearest proof that this practice of selling human beings in Hong Kong was well known to the department. One of the records has been shown to me in which a witness swears, 'I bought the girl Chan Tsoi Lin and placed her in a brothel in Hong Kong'; and on that particular piece of evidence no action was taken by the department." Lord Carnarvon was Secretary of State for the Colonies at this time, and his replies to Sir John Pope Hennessy were small encouragement to the course the Governor had taken. He criticises his "somewhat unusual course" in the appointment of a Commission "composed of private persons to inquire into the administration of an important department of the Government." He says: "I am unable to concur in the suggestion made in your despatch as to the advisability of prosecuting Inspector Lee." He implies that in his opinion "Inspector Lee was acting strictly within his powers on this unfortunate occasion." "It is quite possible," Lord Carnarvon continues, "that there may be abuses connected with the Contagious Diseases Ordinance which ought to be removed; but I would point out that such abuses arise from the imperfections in the system as established by law.... While ready to give consideration to the subject of amending the system, if necessary, I fail at present to observe wherein the officers ... have exceeded the duty imposed upon them by law." From such responses as these we readily learn that it was not alone in Hong Kong that these outrageous abuses of every principle of justice in dealing with Chinese women failed to arouse more than a lukewarm interest in their behalf, and all the way through Sir John Pope Hennessy, with one or two notable exceptions, so far as the records go, was shown but scant sympathy in his efforts to correct these abuses. On April 2nd, 1878, Sir Harcourt Johnstone asked in the House of Commons the Secretary of State for the Colonies, "whether his attention has been directed to a recent outrage committed ... at Hong Kong, which is now forming the subject of inquiry by a Commission appointed by the Governor. And if he will cause special investigation to be made as to the manner in which the revenue derived from licensing houses of ill-fame is raised and expended for the service of the Colony." In answer to this question, the Commission reported that, "the monies raised both by the licenses from houses of ill-fame, and from the fines inflicted under the provisions of these Ordinances, have been expended in the general services of the Colony; and that the actual revenue derived from this source, since and including 1857 down to the end of 1877, amounted to $187,508, to which must be added the Admiralty allowance from 1870 to 1877, amounting to $28,860, and fines estimated at $5,000, making a total of $221,368.00." After July 1st, 1878, the fund derived from brothels was used for the operation of the provisions of the Contagious Diseases Ordinance only. Later, on July 28, 1882, Governor Hennessy received in London a large deputation of gentlemen interested in the abolition of the Contagious Diseases Ordinance of Hong Kong. To these he addressed the following words descriptive of the condition of things at Hong Kong unearthed by the Commission: "I saw in the Colony abuses existing which have effect far beyond the range of Hong Kong. Let me instance one or two only. We get from Great Britain some European police. They are men selected with care for good conduct, and they are sometimes married men; their passages and their wives' passages have been paid to Hong Kong, where married police quarters are provided. But what transpired when that Commission was held? The Registrar General had recorded in his book, morning after morning, the evidence of informers _selected from that police force_, whom _he had employed to commit adultery_ with unlicensed Chinese women; and borne of these men were married police, whose wives were brought to Hong Kong; so that in point of fact, he was _not only encouraging adultery but paying for it with the money of the State_. Well, I stopped that, of course.... At the head of the Registrar General's Department in Hong Kong, we appoint an officer, as we believe, of the highest character. One of the gentlemen so employed puts on a false beard and moustache, he takes marked money in his waistcoat pocket, and proceeds to the back lanes of the Colony, knocks at various doors, and, at length, gains admission to a house. He addresses the woman who opens the door and tells her he wants a Chinese girl. There is an argument as to the price, and he agrees to give four dollars. He is shown up to the room, and gives her the money. What I am now telling you is the gentleman's own evidence. He records how he flung up the window and put out his head and whistled. The police whom he had in attendance in the street, broke open the door and arrested the girl. She is brought up the next day to be tried for the offence; but, before whom? Before the Acting Registrar General--before the same gentleman who had the beard and moustache the night before. He tries her himself, and on the books of the Registrar General's office (I have turned to them and read his own evidence recorded in his own handwriting) there is his own conviction of the girl, of the offence, and his sentence, that she be fined fifty dollars and some months' imprisonment! I mention this for this reason--that the officer who did this was appointed because he was supposed to be a man of exceptionally high moral tone, and good conduct and demeanour. But what would be the effect on any man having to administer such an Ordinance? There was laid before my Legislative Council a case of one of the European Inspectors of brothels, and I was struck by this fact in his evidence. He says: 'I took the marked money from the Registrar General's office, and followed a woman, and consorted with her, and gave her the money; and the moment I had done so, I put my hand in my pocket and pulled out the badge of office, and pointed to the Crown, and arrested the woman.' She was henceforth 'a Queen's woman'." CHAPTER 6. THE PROTECTOR'S COURT AND SLAVERY. The justification for the passage of the Contagious Diseases Ordinance at the beginning, as set forth in Mr. Labouchere's dispatch on the 27th of August, 1856, to Sir John Bowring was, that the "women" "held in practical slavery" "through no choice of their own," "have an urgent claim on the _active protection_ of Government." It has been claimed again and again by officials at Hong Kong and Singapore that protection is in large part the object and aim of the Ordinance. For instance: In 1877, Administrator W.H. Marsh, of Hong Kong, learning that there was a likelihood of the Contagious Diseases Ordinance being disallowed by the Home Government, wrote to the Secretary of State for the Colonies: "It is the unanimous opinion of the Executive Council that the laws now in existence have had, when they have been properly worked, a most beneficial effect in this Colony ... in putting the only practical check on a system of brothel slavery, under which children were either sold by their parents, or more frequently were kidnaped and sold to the proprietors of brothels. These unfortunate girls were so fully convinced that they were the goods and chattels of their purchasers, or were so terrified by threats, that they rarely if ever made any complaints even when interrogated. It was very seldom that sufficient evidence could be obtained to punish such nefarious traffickers." A document enclosed in this letter to the Colonial Secretary at London, signed by the Acting Colonial Secretary at Hong Kong, the Colonial Surgeon, and the Registrar General, states: "Perhaps the strongest argument in favor of the Ordinances is the means they place in the hands of the Government for coping with _brothel slavery_." From the moment Mr. Labouchere put this false claim to the front it has been the chief argument advanced by officials eager for the Contagious Diseases Ordinance as a method of providing "clean women," in order to win to their side the benevolent-minded. On this point the Commission reported: "In regard to the only result worthy of a moment's consideration, viz., that referred to by Mr. Labouchere's dispatch, of putting down the virtual slavery of women in brothels, the conclusions of those in the best position to form trustworthy opinions is not encouraging." Mr. Smith, who took over charge of the Registrar General's office in October, 1864, and who had many years of experience in that position, is quoted as saying: "I think it is useless to try and deal with the question of the freedom of Chinese prostitutes by law or by any Government regulation. From all the surroundings the thing is impracticable." Mr. Lister, another Registrar General, says: "I don't think the new Ordinance had any real effect, or could have had any effect upon the sale of women. I don't think any good is done by preventing women emigrating to San Francisco or other places, as their fate is just the same whether they go or not." The Commissioners state: "The well-meant system devised by the Registrar General's Department which requires every woman personally to appear before an Inspector at the office, and declare her willingness to enter a licensed brothel, and that she does so without coercion, before she can be registered, may probably act as some check upon glaring cases of kidnaping, so far as the licensed brothels are concerned. But it seems clear that for the supply of such establishments, there is no need to resort to kidnaping, in the ordinary acceptance of the term. There can be no doubt that, with the exception of a comparatively few who have been driven by adversity to adopt a life of prostitution, when arrived at a mature age, the bulk of the girls, in entering brothels, are merely fulfilling the career for which they have been brought up, and even if they resent it, a few minutes' conversation with a foreigner, probably the first many of them have ever been brought into communication with, is but little likely to lead them to stultify the results of education, according to whose teachings they are the property of others and under the necessity of obeying their directions. The idea that they are at liberty not to enter a brothel unless they wish it, must, to girls so brought up, be unintelligible. To what other source indeed could they turn for a livelihood? Who can tell, moreover, what hopes or aspirations have been instilled into the minds of these girls? The life on which she is about to enter has probably not been painted to her in its true colors. Why should they shrink from it? As a matter of fact they never do.... Mr. Smith, however, thinks, with regard to these women, Government supervision does ameliorate their condition somewhat. The women are periodically seen in their houses by the inspectors, and the cleanliness and comfort of the houses is carefully looked after.' With the internal cleanliness and comfort of brothels, we think the Government has little to do. But the amelioration of the inmates is a matter which certainly stands on a different footing, and is one in which the Government has a deep interest." The Report goes on to state that the Commissioners do not endorse the views of Mr. Smith as to the amelioration of the condition of the inmates of brothels, through Governmental registration and supervision, and states: "Young girls, virgins of 13 or 14 years of age, are brought from Canton or elsewhere and deflowered according to bargain, and, as a regular business, for large sums of money, which go to their owners.... The regular earnings of the girls go to the same quarters, and the unfortunate creatures obviously form subjects of speculation to regular traders in this kind of business, who reside beyond our jurisdiction. In most of the regular houses, the inmates are more or less in debt to the keepers, and though such debts are not legally enforceable, a custom stronger than law forbids the woman to leave the brothel until her debts are liquidated, and it is only in rare cases that she does so." "As to the brothel-keepers, there is nothing known against them, and they are supported by capitalists. Mr. Lister speaks of them as 'a horrible race of cruel women, cruel to the last degree, who use an ingenious form of torture, which they call prevention of sleep,' which he describes in detail.... It seems that although the Brothel Ordinances did not call into being this 'horrible,' 'cruel,' and 'haughty' race of women, they have armed them with obvious powers, which they would not otherwise have possessed, and there is consequently reason to apprehend that Government supervision accentuates in some respects rather than relieves the hardships of the servitude of the inmates." The records furnish many instances to prove that the Registrar General's Department was not operated with the least idea of relieving the slave from her bondage. These are culled from the court records. We will condense some of them. 1. Three sisters were brought by their foster-mother from Macao to Hong Kong, on the promise of a feast; they were taken to the house of an old brothel-keeper, to whom the foster-mother sold the girls, receiving ten dollars apiece for them, to bind the bargain, and she went away, leaving the girls with this old woman, who began immediately to urge them to become prostitutes; they cried and refused, asking to be allowed to go to their foster-mother who had brought them up,--not suspecting that they had been already sold by her into shameful slavery. The old woman locked them up, and beat one of the girls, who had resisted her cruel fate. Their meals were all taken into the room where they were kept close prisoners from that time. Brought into court, the foster-mother was set at liberty, although the history was fully set forth, and the old woman declared: "She pledged the girls in my house, by receiving thirty dollars from me.... I have a witness who saw the money paid." The brothel-keeper was convicted only of assault for beating the girl, and sentenced to three months' imprisonment with hard labor. No reference was made to her own admissions as to buying these girls, and endeavoring to force them into prostitution. Ten days later, her case was brought up again, and the remaining portion of her sentence was remitted, and she was fined twenty-five dollars. No record is made as to what became of these hapless girls; it is to be assumed that they were sent back to the brothel. 2. Two girls brought before the Registrar General, both of whom pleaded for protection against their owner, stating that she intended to sell them to go to California. One of these had been bought by this woman for eighty dollars; the girl saw the price paid for her; the other said her mother was very poor, and sold her for twenty dollars. Each declared she had been living under the "protection" of a foreigner until recently, and that she had not "acted as a prostitute"; they now feared being "sold into California" by the woman in charge. The Inspector said: "There has been at times a number of women residing in the house, and I do not know what has become of them. I believe that they have been sent to California by the defendant." One of the girls being recalled, and seeming to have gained courage, witnessed that she had been in the house when several women had been brought there and after some time had been sent away to California. She had been present when bargains were struck for the women, the price being various; bought here, the women cost from fifty to one hundred and fifty dollars, and when sold in California they were to be disposed of from two hundred and fifty to three hundred and fifty each.[A] She said the woman had "made a great deal of money. She has told me so." She also said some were unwilling to go, but were afraid to resist. She said between ten and twenty women had passed through the woman's hands, to her knowledge. The brothel-keeper's reply was, that the last witness owed her money, and had taken some ornaments which belonged to her--together with a denial that she had bought anybody or sent anyone to California. What was the outcome of this dreadful arraignment of crimes against Chinese girls? The woman was "ordered to find security (two sureties of $250 each) for her appearance in any court, for any purpose and at any time within twelve months." No record as to the fate of the two girls who had sought "protection" of the authorities. [Footnote A: The market price of a Chinese girl at the present time (1907) in California is $3000.] 3. Two young girls were found in a licensed house of shame, whose names were not on the list, the keeper and a woman, Ho-a-ying, who had brought the girls from Canton to Hong Kong, were summoned before the Registrar General. Ho-a-ying represented the girls as sisters, and that she visited them in Canton and found their mother dead, and that she brought them to Hong Kong because of their appeal to her to find them work, and that she put them into defendant's brothel. She contradicted herself in her testimony as to the name and house of the girls' mother, and the girls themselves declared that they were not sisters, and had never seen each other until they met on the steamer at Canton the day before. One of the girls declared: "I was sold by Ho-a-ying to the mistress of the brothel. I heard them talking about it, and so I know it. Ho-a-Ying also told me that I had been sold. I do not know for what sum." The brothel-keeper stated that Ho-a-Ying came and asked if she wanted two girls, as she had two who had come from Canton. "The girls were brought, and after being in the house a short time the Inspector came. I purposed having their names entered on the following morning." The brothel-keeper was fined five dollars for keeping an incorrect list of inmates. Ho-a-Ying was convicted of giving false testimony, and fined fifty dollars; in default, three months' imprisonment. No information as to the disposal of the girls, and no punishment for this bargaining in human flesh. 4. Six Chinese persons from licensed brothel No. 71, Wellington Street, were arraigned before the Registrar General, charged with buying and selling girls for evil purposes, and also with selling girls to go to California, and with disturbing the peace. The Inspector described the house thus: "I found all the defendants on the first floor. I found six girls in the house and three children. The floor was very crowded ... four of the girls were in a room by themselves at the back of the house. They were all huddled up together, and seemed frightened. The defendants were in the front part of the house. The girls at the back part of the house could not have got out without passing through the room where the defendants were. This house has been known to me for a long time as one where young girls were kept to be shipped off to California." A watch-repairer and jeweler who had resided opposite this place for three or four years declared that he knew the first defendant, A-Neung, and that she had lived there some years, on the first floor; that he had seen a number of girls going in and out of the house, seeming to arrive by steamer, some in chairs and some walking, and that he knew from what he had seen of her and the girls that she was a buyer and seller of girls. A carpenter living below in the same house deposed: "I have always seen a number of young girls being taken in and out of the house. The age of the girls ranged from 10 to 20 years. There was always a great deal of crying and groaning amongst the girls up-stairs. I have not heard any beating, but the girls were constantly crying. The crying was annoying to me and the other people in the shop. The people living in the neighborhood have, together with myself, suspected that the girls were bought and sold to go to California." Another neighbor deposed to knowing the third defendant as "in the habit last year of taking young girls of various ages, from 10 to 20, about the Colony for sale. I knew this defendant wanted to sell the girls, as she asked me if I knew any woman who wanted to buy them. She comes from Canton." A girl from Wong-Po found in No. 71 brothel, told of being taken to Canton at eleven years of age and sold by her sister as a servant to the Lam family. After being in this family three or four years, her mistress and the second defendant, Tai-Ku, a relation of her mistress and daughter to the first defendant (A-Neung, keeper of the brothel), took her to a "flower-boat," and the next day by steamer to Hong Kong, and she was taken to the house of A-Neung. Her mistress stayed in the house three days, and sold her to the first and second defendants (mother and daughter) for $120. She added: "This was in the tenth month last year.... I was never allowed to go out. I have never been out of the house since I came to Hong Kong [nearly six months]. First, second and third defendants never went out of the house together [some one always being on guard]. Last year Tai-Ku and A-Neung told me that I should have to go to San Francisco. This year I was again told that I was going to San Francisco. I said I did not want to go. Tai-Ku then beat me." Another girl only 19 years old, married about four years, declared that in consequence of a quarrel between herself and another wife of her husband, he sold her to Sz-Shan, fifth defendant, for $81, who brought her from Tamshui by steamer to Hong Kong, and took her to A-Neung's house, where she was being held for sale. She finished her testimony thus: "Several men have been up to the house to see me. They were going to buy me if they liked me." A letter was produced by the Inspector, which he found in A-Neung's house, from Canton to the writer's sister-in-law in Hong Kong, urging that as the owner had lost money on the "present cargoes," a higher price must be set on them and the sale hastened, as soon as the letter should arrive, and word returned that they had been disposed of; also directing that "after the transaction, one cue-tassel and one shirting trouser" were to be taken back and sent to Canton by the hand of a friend at first opportunity. (This as a pledge of good faith.) A-Neung, first defendant, declared that she was "a widow, supported by her son-in-law now in California. Mine is a family house. The girls are visitors at my house." The second defendant, Tai-Ku, daughter of the preceding, declared herself to be a married woman, and that her husband was in California, on a steamer; that the girls were not hers, and that she was "not in the habit of sending girls to California." The third defendant deposed that she came from Canton to ask A-Neung for some money, and added: "I never buy and sell girls." Fourth defendant claimed to be utterly ignorant of the girls being sent to California, and said she was supported by Tai-Ku; the fifth defendant declared she knew nothing of the buying and selling of girls; and the sixth defendant claimed she had gone to the house to obtain the payment of a debt; she was discharged. The sentence was:--First, second, third, fourth and fifth defendants to find two securities, householders, in $500 each, to appear at any time within the next six months, to answer any charge in any court in the Colony. Whether the girls were sent to California to swell the number of wretched slaves on the Pacific Coast, or remained in slavery in Hong Kong, there is no record to be found; nor, even with abundant evidence concerning this licensed brothel which the Inspector himself declared he was long familiar with as a place "where young girls were kept to be shipped off to California," and with the evident collusion between A-Neung and Tai-Ku with the son-in-law and husband respectively of the two women, situated most favorably on a steamer for managing this wicked business at the California end of the line, and with all the testimony of the neighbors and the girls, yet no effort was made by the Registrar-General to punish these people for trafficking in human flesh. 5. An old man complained before the Registrar-General, that his granddaughter, A-Ho, had got into debt because of sickness, and in order to pay the money, she was induced by an uncle of Su-a-Kiu to apply to the latter for help. Su-a-Kiu promised to advance her the money, $52, if A-Ho would serve her eight months in a brothel kept by a "friend" of the woman in Singapore. A-Ho's stress was so great that she entered into these hard terms, the woman paying her $52 at the steamer, as it was going, and A-Ho handed it to her grandfather to pay her debt. A-Ho left on the "26th of the 8th moon" for Singapore. On the evening of "the fourth day of the 10th moon" he received a letter from A-Ho to the effect that she had been sold for $250, to another party. When the grandfather went to Su-a-Kiu and asked her why she had sold his granddaughter, she cajoled him by promising to take him to Singapore to see A-Ho. Later, the man who lived with Su-a-Kiu, came and threatened to accuse him of extortion, acknowledging of himself that he "lived by selling women into brothels of Singapore." The grandfather reported the case to the Registrar-General. The woman Su-a-Kiu stated: "I took A-Ho to Singapore. I took her to the "Sai-Shing-Tong Brothel" in Macao Street. She is still in that brothel." The Registrar-General ordered her to find security in the sum of $100 to appear to answer any charge within the next three months. The grandfather was also ordered to find similar security in the sum of $70. The girl A-Ho, in seeking to pay her debt contracted through sickness, by servitude for eight months, was entrapped and sold as a slave for life, and the Registrar-General, when acquainted with the facts, seems to have taken no steps to punish this slave-trader. Governor Hennessey, in calling the attention of the Home Government to these, out of many similar ones, says: "The accompanying extracts from the printed evidence [taken by the Commission] show that the Registrar-General's Department was not ignorant of the fact that Chinese women were purchased for Hong Kong brothels, and that the head of the Department thought it useless to try to deal with the question of the freedom of such women.... That the buying and selling was not confined to places outside the Colony is clear from the evidence of other witnesses, and from the notes of cases taken by the Registrar-General himself. It will also be seen that where the persons guilty of such offences were sometimes punished, it was generally for some minor offence, such as not keeping a correct list of inmates, or for an assault." Doubtless slavery would spring into prominence in almost any land when once it became known that in places actually licensed by Government, such as were the houses of ill-fame at Hong Kong, where the inspectors made almost daily visits, slaves could be held with impunity, and that when slave girls made a complaint, and their cases were actually brought into court, charging the buying and selling of human beings, the officers of the law would ignore the complaints. CHAPTER 7. OTHER DERELICT OFFICIALS. The Registrar General was not the only official at Hong Kong who did not believe in the extermination of slavery, as we shall proceed to show, although the Governor had strong sympathy from the Chief Justice. On May 30th, 1879, Sir John Smale, Chief Justice of the Colony of Hong Kong, wrote a letter for the information of the Governor, Sir John Pope Hennessy, to the effect that he had sentenced, on the previous day, two poor women to imprisonment with hard labor, for detaining a boy 13 years old. The women sold the little boy to a druggist for $17.50. The relatives traced their lost boy, came from Canton and claimed him, but the druggist refused to give him up, producing a bill of sale, and the boy was not given up until they appeared in the police court. The Chief Justice adds: "I am satisfied from the evidence that the great criminal is this druggist, and that it is an opprobrium to the administration of justice to punish these poor women as I have done, and allow the druggist to escape. I therefore ask His Excellency to direct that proceedings be forthwith taken against the man, and that the case be conducted at the magistracy by the Crown Solicitor, so that he may be committed for trial before the Supreme Court." He then speaks of a case of a woman whom he sentenced on May 6th, 1879, to two years' imprisonment with hard labor for stealing a female child. He adds: "The woman was merely a middle woman, and received a small sum, but it came out in the evidence that Leung A-Luk had bought the child for $53, and was actually confining her in a room where the child was discovered. She was the great criminal. It is an opprobrium to justice to punish this poor woman, and to allow Leung A-Luk to go unpunished. I am aware that, according to precedents here and at home, it is within the province of the presiding judge to direct prosecutions such as these to be instituted, but I think it more convenient to ask His Excellency, as the head of the Executive (whose province it especially is to originate criminal proceedings) to direct prosecution. To let these chief offenders go unprosecuted, and to punish such miserable creatures, exposes the court to the contempt of the community, and tends to destroy all respect for the administration of justice in the Chinese community." Accordingly the Governor forwarded this request on the part of the Chief Justice to the Attorney General, saying: "It is clear from the evidence and from documents published by the Contagious Diseases Commission that practices of this kind have prevailed unchecked, or almost unchecked, for many years past in this Colony." The Governor then referred to a case in point that he had submitted to the former Attorney General, but he "did not seem disposed to enforce the rights of the father, on the ground that he had sold the child." The Governor concludes: "I did not agree with his view of the law." The last case was referred back to the Acting Police Magistrate to know why the woman, Leung A-Luk, was allowed to go unprosecuted. The Police Magistrate replied: "It appeared to me that 4th defendant (Leung A-Luk) being a well-to-do woman, and having no children of her own, had purchased the girl with a view to adopting her." He adds: "When Acting Superintendent of Police last year, I wished to prosecute a man for detaining a child ... but as it was shown that the boy had been sold by his father some months previously, the Attorney General considered the purchaser was _in loco parentis_, [in the place of a parent] and could not be purchased." On the two cases to which the attention of the Governor had been brought, the Attorney General reported: "With the greatest respect for the Chief Justice, I doubt the policy of prosecuting the woman he refers to, having regard to the fact that the magistrate had discharged her for want of testimony, and looking to his further report. The magistrate should always be supported if possible; and if he discharged the woman, and put her at the bar as a witness, and she was used again at the Supreme Court, it might look like a breach of good faith to treat her now as a criminal.... As to the druggist's case, I think that the only thing that can be said is that it would look to be a breach of faith to proceed against him now." When the case was referred to the Crown Solicitor, he said: "As to the druggist the parties had now left the Colony, and there were no witnesses against him. The purchase by Chinese of young orphans, and indeed of others whose parents are too poor to keep them, is a social custom amongst the natives, and is of constant occurrence in Hong Kong. These 'pocket-children,' as they are usually termed, are often treated with great affection, and are far better off than they were previous to their being so bought." It was the 30th of May when the Chief Justice called the Governor's attention to these cases. It was July before the Attorney General and the Crown Solicitor seem to have paid any attention to the cases. It was no wonder, then, that some of the witnesses could not be found. Meanwhile the Governor had left the Colony for a trip to Japan, and W.H. Marsh was acting in his place. On July 16th, he returned answer to the Chief Justice that he had now received a report on the cases from the Attorney General, the committing magistrate and the Crown Solicitor, and "I regret to inform you that ... I do not see my way to directing the prosecutions of the two persons indicated by you; first ... because I do not agree with you in looking upon them as the principal criminals; and, secondly, because I think that after the evidence of these persons has been taken both before the committing magistrate and the Supreme Court without any warning having been given them that their evidence might be used against them, it would appear like a breach of faith to treat them now as criminals." "Should the prosecution of these persons result in their acquittal, which seems to me not improbable, I fear that the good effect produced by the severe reprimand, which I understand that your Honor administered publicly to all the parties concerned in these two cases, might be to a great extent neutralized." (!) On September 29th, 1879, the Chief Justice sentenced more criminals for trafficking in children. A Japanese girl, Sui Ahing, eleven years old, was brought to the Colony by a Chinaman who had bought the child in Japan of its parents. Needing money to go on to his native place, this Chinaman borrowed $50 of a native resident at Hong Kong, and left the child as security for the debt. The wife of the man in whose custody the child was left beat the child severely and she ran out of the house. She was found wandering on the street late at night, and the finder took her and sold her to another Chinese party, who threatened to send her to Singapore as a prostitute. It was plain the last purchaser intended either to send her to Singapore or keep her at Hong Kong for vile purposes. This case illustrates well the frequency with which children are sold and re-sold in that country. The parties to the last transaction, the finder of the child and the purchaser of the child from the finder, were both found guilty, one of selling, the other of buying a child for the purposes of prostitution. His Lordship, the Chief Justice, said: "I will call upon the prisoners at another time. This is a case of far larger proportions than the guilt or innocence of the two prisoners at the bar. I take shame to myself that the appalling extent of kidnaping, buying and selling slaves for what I may call ordinary servile purposes, and the buying and selling young females for worse than ordinary slavery, has not presented itself before to me in the light it ought. It seems to me that it has been recognized and accepted as an ordinary out-turn of Chinese habits, and thus that until special attention has been excited it has escaped public notice. But recently the abomination has forced itself on my notice. In some cases convictions have been had; in two notable instances, although I called for prosecution, the criminals escaped. They were Chinese in respectable positions, and I was given to understand that buying children by respectable Chinamen as servants was according to Chinese customs, and that to attempt to put it down would be to arouse the prejudices of the Chinese. The practice is on the increase. It is in this port, and in this Colony especially, that the so-called Chinese custom prevails. Under the English flag, slavery, it has been said, does not, cannot ever be. Under that flag it does exist in this Colony, and is, I believe, at this moment more openly practiced than at any former period of its history. Cyprus has been under our rule for about a year, and already, both in the House of Commons and in the House of Lords, questions have been asked, and the Members of the present Ministry have assured the country that slavery in every form shall be speedily put down there. Humanity is of no party, and personal liberty is held to be the right of every human being under English law, by, I believe, every man of note in England. My recent pleasant personal experience in England assures me of that. But here in Hong Kong, I believe that domestic slavery exists in fact to a great extent. Whatever the law of China may be, the law of England must prevail here. If Chinamen are willing to submit to the law, they may remain, but on condition of obeying the law, whether it accords with their notions of right or wrong or not; and, if remaining they act contrary to the law, they must take the consequences.... I shall deal with these people when I shall have more fully considered the case." During the proceedings of the trial of these two prisoners, the Attorney General had declared his intention not to call the former owners of the child, Wai Alan, the woman who beat the child, or Pao Chee Wan, her husband. The Chief Justice now said: "I now direct you, Mr. Attorney General, to prosecute these two people, Pao Chee Wan and Wai Alan." Attorney General:--"My Lord, I intimated before that this matter was under consideration; I do not think I am at liberty to say under whose consideration." His Lordship:--"I direct the prosecution, and will take the responsibility. It is the course in England and I will pursue it here." The Attorney General:--"You have publicly directed it; and I will report it to the proper quarter." His Lordship:--"The Attorney General at home is constantly ordered by the Court to prosecute. On my responsibility alone I do this." The Attorney General:--"May I ask your Lordship to say on what charge?" His Lordship:--"Under Sections 50 and 51 of No. 4 of 1865, and also for assault." The Attorney General continued to raise objections, when the Chief Justice said: "I have said as much as I choose to say, and I will not be put to question by the Attorney General. If you have any difficulty, come to the Court in Chambers." Governor Hennessy, in reporting the incident to the Secretary of State at London, adds: "I sent a note to the Attorney General, saying I thought that the prosecution suggested by the Chief Justice should take place; but it was found that the accused parties were not in the Colony." After this manner many cases brought to the attention of the officers of the law by parents or guardians of children of kidnaping and trading in girls and children failed to secure the attention they deserved. It seems to us not at all amazing, when one reads this past history, that by the time Chinese girls have seen and learned all that they must in the Colony of Hong Kong, when brought to this country they are utterly incredulous as to the good faith of police and other officials. They must enter a complaint at the risk of their lives, and if the officer of the law will not prosecute the case in spite of all its difficulties (which are largely imaginary on the part of lukewarm officials), then the girl must be returned to the master she has informed against, to be in his power for him to vent his wrath upon her. A case in point occurred in Oakland only a few months ago, and we had a chance to interview the girl. The Captain of Police went through the brothels of Oakland's Chinatown, accompanied by some missionary ladies, in order to discover if possible any girls who would acknowledge that they wished to come away. Every girl was questioned, in the absence of the keepers, and not one, or perhaps only one, said she wished to come away. There were some one hundred and fifty Chinese slave girls in Oakland at this time, and one might say they all had a chance to escape, and of their own will chose to remain. But was that the truth? Not at all; the result did not prove at all that one, and only one wished to come away. It proved merely that only one was inspired with sufficient confidence and courage, after her long, hard experience with foreigners, to _say what she wished._ It is the universal testimony of all the girls who have been rescued, so we have been told, by those who have been engaged in this rescue work for many years--that every slave in Chinatown plans and dreams of nothing else but of the day when, having served long enough to buy her freedom, she will be granted it by her master or mistress, and then she can be honorably married. But unless her freedom is purchased for her by some lover, the cases are rare, indeed, that a girl is allowed to earn her own freedom, though they are kept submissive by constant promises that the goal is just ahead of them. A few days after the Oakland papers had triumphantly asserted that it had been demonstrated that there was not a single slave girl in Chinatown--a statement that everyone who had any intelligence on the subject, including the newspapers themselves, knew to be false--a lady in mission work received a cautious hint in a round-about way that one of the girls she had seen when the rounds were made desired to be set at liberty. "How did you learn this?" we eagerly and quite naturally asked the missionary. She replied that on no account could she tell a human being how the intelligence was conveyed to her, as it might cost others very dearly, even to the sacrifice of life, if the knowledge leaked out. "But," she said, "I will show you the girl and you may talk with her yourselves." We gathered from the girl that she was a respectable widow, the mother of two children, living with her parents not far from Hong Kong on the mainland. As they were very poor, she went to Hong Kong to work at sewing to help support the family. An acquaintance there told her that she could earn as much as thirty dollars a month at sewing in California, and he could secure her passage for her at economical cost. She returned to her home and consulted her parents, and they thought the chance a good one, so bidding her little ones good bye, she returned to Hong Kong and paid for the ticket, being instructed that a certain woman would meet her at the wharf at San Francisco whom she must claim as her "mother," since the immigration laws were so strict that she must pass herself off as the daughter of this woman (for this daughter, who was now in China, having lived in the United States was entitled to return to her mother). Reader, have you ever traveled on another's ticket? If so, or if you have known a professing Christian to have done so, do not be too harsh in your judgment of this heathen, and declare she deserved the terrible fate that overtook her. The "mother" met the sewing-woman, brought her to Oakland, and imprisoned her in a horrible den to earn money for her. With utmost caution our missionary friend rescued her. The Captain of Police and other officers were at hand to help the missionary, and when the girl was taken, she struggled frantically and called for help as though being kidnaped. Had the policemen been there alone they would have let the captors have their slave, believing they had made a mistake. But they had not; the missionary knew that; the girl was only thinking ahead of the possibility of the plot failing and of falling back into the hands of her captors. She must never betray to them, until safely out of their clutches, that she _wished_ to come away. She must make it appear that she was dragged away against her will. And this is free America! Do you wonder that these girls do not tell everybody who asks them that they are unwilling captives? Doubtless they would if our officers of the law showed their good faith by laying hold of these slave dealers. Nothing was done or attempted to punish the horrible creatures who captured this girl. They are going on unmolested with their nefarious business, though many of them could be easily punished. This part of the work--punishing slave-dealers--has never been taken up seriously here on the Pacific Coast. And until these terrible criminals are immured in prison, most certainly these Chinese slave girls will not declare their desire for freedom, for if it were granted them they would not be safe--at least they have no reason to believe they would be, though there are missions where they would be protected. But what reason have they for believing this is the case, after the years of training they have had in the perfidy of all those with whom they come in contact! Many girls have been rescued on this Pacific Coast, by brave missionary workers. But it is to the lasting shame of our country that such wicked creatures are allowed to exist here to import these slaves. Imprison the importers, and the slaves are rescued. That is the short road to freedom. But that was not the path pursued by officials in general at Hong Kong, nor is that course being pursued in the United States. This sewing woman has been returned to her home. Many another woman has at equal peril to herself made her complaint and it has fallen upon the deaf ears of officials, and the poor slave has had to settle with her masters for her fool-hardiness. Now we will return to Hong Kong, and to past history. We will cite just one more case to show something of the reluctance of officials there to prosecute the traffickers in human flesh. A Chinaman, Tsang San-Fat, petitioned the Colonial Secretary at Hong Kong in regard to the custody of his little daughter, whom, "under stress of poverty," he had given away to a man named Leung A-Tsit, the October previous, the understanding being that the latter should find her a husband when she grew up, and should not send her away to other ports. In May the parents learned from A-Sin, employed by Leung A-Tsit, that the latter was going to take away the little girl to another place. After taxing the man with this, and receiving only excuses in reply, the father petitioned that Leung A-Tsit should be prevented from carrying out his design. Leung A-Tsit filed a counter-petition, stating that Tsang San-Fat, being unable to support a family, handed over to him his little daughter, aged six years; that the little girl was to become his daughter and to be brought up by him, he paying $23 to the parents. He accused the father of trying to extort money from him, and appealed for "protection" from "impending calamities." Later, further facts came out, showing that the father of the child had borrowed $5 three years before from Leung A-Tsit, which, with interest at ten cents per month for every dollar, now amounted to $23. The September before, his creditor came and demanded payment, and when the father told him he had no money, and found it very difficult to provide for his family, Leung A-Tsit said: "Very well, you can give me your daughter instead, and when she is grown up I will find her a husband." It was finally agreed that he should have the little girl for $25, viz., the $23 already owing, and $2 to the mother as "tea-money." The $2 were paid and he took the child away. The mother said: "I was very sorry about it and cried." (But mothers have little to say as to the disposal of the children they bear in the Orient). The Governor, Sir John Pope Hennessy, took a deep interest in this case, when he heard of it, regarding it as "an illegal transaction," and urged upon the Attorney General, Mr. G. Phillipo, to prosecute, on his behalf, the purchaser of the girl, and that both the father of the child and Leung A-Tsit be notified that the father was entitled to the child by British law, and referring the father to the police magistrate. The police magistrate requested of the Colonial Secretary that the Attorney General's opinion be obtained, as to what course the magistrate should pursue. The final outcome of the case is told by Governor Hennessy in a despatch to the Secretary of State for the Colonies. "I made a minute on the petitions, directing them to be sent to the Attorney General, as 'the parties appear to acknowledge being concerned in an illegal transaction.' In a few days the papers were returned to me with the following opinion of the Attorney General: 'The transaction referred to would not be recognized in our laws as giving any rights, except perhaps as to guardianship, but I am unable to say there is anything illegal in the matter beyond that. I do not think it a criminal offence if it goes no further than the adoption of a child and the payment of money to its parents for the privilege.'" Later, when His Excellency was calling the attention of Acting Attorney General Russell to a somewhat similar case, he states, in reference to this above-described case: "Mr. Phillipo, before whom the papers were laid, did not seem disposed to enforce the rights of the father, on the ground that he had sold the child. I did not agree with Mr. Phillipo's view of the law." CHAPTER 8. JUSTICE FROM THE SUPREME BENCH. On October 6th, 1879, Sir John Smale, the Hon. Chief Justice for Hong Kong, passed judgment in three cases on prisoners convicted of various degrees of crime connected with the enticing, detaining, buying and selling of children. Governor Hennessy, in reporting the remarks made by the Chief Justice on that occasion to the Secretary of State for the Colonies, pronounced it "an able and elaborate judgment on the existence of slavery at Hong Kong." Said Sir John Smale: "Various causes have occasioned delay in passing sentence, of which I will only refer to one: The gravity of the fact that these and other cases have recently brought so prominently to the notice of the Court that two specific classes of slavery exist in this Colony to a very great extent, viz., so-called domestic slavery, and slavery for the purposes of prostitution. The three cases now awaiting the sentence of the Court are specially provided for by Ordinances of 1865 and 1872, prohibiting kidnaping and illegally detaining men, women, and children; and no difficulty ever arose in my mind as to the crimes of which these prisoners are severally convicted, or as to the sentences due to such crimes; and there is no question as to crimes or punishment of cases where women are smuggled into brothels, some licensed and others unlicensed, or otherwise dedicated to immoral purposes. But the enormous extent to which slavery in this Colony has grown up has called into existence a greatly increasing traffic, especially in women and children. The number of Chinamen in this Colony has increased and is increasing rapidly, whilst their great increase in wealth has fostered licentious habits, notably in buying women for purposes sanctioned neither by the laws nor customs on the mainland. I hold in my hand a placard in Chinese, torn down from the wall of the Central School, Cough Street steps, in this city. The translation appears at length in the Hong Kong _Daily Press of_ August 15th, 1879. The purport of that translation is shortly that the advertiser, one Cheong, has lost a purchased slave girl named Tai Ho, aged 13 years. After a full description of the girl a reward is offered in these terms:--'If there is in either of the four quarters any worthy man who knows where she is gone to, and will send a letter, he will be rewarded with four full weight dollars, and the person detaining the slave will be rewarded with fifteen full weight dollars.' These words are subsequently added:--'This is firm, and the words will not be eaten.' I recently spoke in reprobation of slavery from this Bench, and in consequence of my remarks a gentleman who tore down this placard gave it to the editor of the _Daily Press_, and in a letter in that paper he stated that such placards are common, and that he had torn down a hundred such placards. Has Cuba or has Peru ever exhibited more palpable, more public evidence of the existence of generally recognized slavery in these hotbeds of slavery, than such placards as the one I now hold in my hand, to prove that slavery exists in this Colony? The notices have been posted in a most populous neighborhood, and have been in all probability read--they ought to have been, they must have been read--by scores of our Chinese policemen. "Important as this Colony is, politically and commercially, it is but a dot in the ocean; its area is about half that of the county of Rutland; the circumference of this island is calculated at about 27 miles, whilst that of the Isle of Wight is about 56 miles. The cultivated land on this island may be to the barren waste about one-half per cent, and there is no agrarian slavery here in nearly the total absence of farms, and on this dot in the ocean it is estimated that the slave population has reached ten thousand souls! I first became fully alive to the existence of so-called domestic slavery in this Colony at the Criminal Sessions in May last, on the trial of two cases.... But it is said that what is called domestic slavery, as it exists in Hong Kong, is mild, and it is said to be the opinion of a gentleman of great experience in Chinese, that, as it exists here, it is not contrary to the Christian religion, and that it is as general a fashion for Chinese ladies in Hong Kong to purchase one or more girls to attend on them as it is for English ladies to hire ladies' maids, and that the custom is so general that it would be highly impolitic, if not impossible, to put down the system. It may be that slavery as it exists in the houses of the better classes in Hong Kong is mild, and that custom among the better classes renders servitude to them a boon as long as it lasts. It is, I believe, an admitted duty that when the young girl grows up and becomes marriageable she is married; but then it is the custom that the husband buys her, and her master receives the price always paid for a wife, whilst he has received the girl's services for simple maintenance; so that, according to the marriageable excess in the price of the bride over the price he paid for the girl, he is a gainer, and the purchase of the child produces a good return. But the picture has another aspect. What, if the master is brutal, or the mistress jealous, becomes of the poor girl? Certain recent cases show that she is sold to become a prostitute here or at Singapore or in California, a fate often worse than death to the girl, at a highly remunerative price to the brute, the master. It seems to me that all slavery, domestic, agrarian, or for immoral purposes, comes within one and the same category." Every word uttered on this occasion by Sir John Smale, Chief Justice, has value, but it is impossible for us to quote it all. Referring to the purchase of kidnaped children from the kidnapers by well-to-do Chinese residents of Hong Kong, without effort on the part of these purchasers to ascertain from whence the children came, he says: "In each of these cases I requested the prosecution of these well-to-do persons, purchasers of these human chattels, who had bought these children, whose money had occasioned the kidnaping, just as a receiver of stolen goods buys stolen property without due or any inquiry to verify the patent lies of the vendors. I have reason to believe that H.E. the Governor was desirous that my request should, if proper, be complied with; but on reference to former cases it appeared that a former Attorney-General had found that the system had been almost if not altogether unchecked for many years past, and that in particular, when His Excellency had desired to enforce the rights of a father to recover his child, he was not disposed to enforce that right because the father had sold that child." He relates the details of yet another case concerning which he says: "I took the responsibility to direct the Acting Attorney General to prosecute this man and his wife." But the Attorney General, it seems, did not. "Is it possible that such a being as man can, according to law ... become a slave even by his own consent?" asks the Chief Justice. "I say it is impossible in law, as Sir R. Phillimore, 1 Phill., International Law, vol. 1, p. 316, has said in a passage I read with the most respectful concurrence, but too long for full quotation." "It is unnecessary for me to trace how it became the Common Law of England that whosoever breathes the air of England cannot be a slave." After reference to notable decisions on the part of England's highest authorities as to the unlawfulness of slavery; to the claim that slavery was secured to the Chinese residents by the promise not to interfere with their customs, and reminding his hearers that the promise was made only "pending Her Majesty's pleasure"; after quoting the Queen's proclamation against slavery at Hong Kong, and the assurance in that proclamation that "these Acts will be enforced by all Her Majesty's officers, civil and military, within this Colony," he asks: "Have all Her Majesty's officers, civil and military, enforced these Acts within this Colony? I think they have not; I confess I have not. Our excuse has been in the difficulty of enforcing these Acts, but mainly in our ignorance of the extent of the evil. What is our duty, now that we know that slavery in its worst as in its best form exists in this dot in the ocean to the extent of say 10,000 slaves,--a number probably unexceeded within the same space at any time under the British Crown, and, so far as I believe, the only spot where British law prevails in which slavery in any form exists at the present time?" Then he deals with the pretext that this slavery is Chinese custom, in words we have already quoted in the first chapter of this book. He passes on to consider and affirm the propriety of the Chief Justice directing the Attorney General to prosecute these cases, and answers some of the objections raised by the latter officer, concluding this portion of his remarks with the words: "What I have said has been said to meet arguments, doubts, and difficulties which have paralyzed public opinion and public action here; which arguments, doubts and difficulties are the less easy to combat because they have been rather hinted at than avowed." The Chief Justice then sentenced several prisoners for enticing, kidnaping or detaining children with intent to sell them into slavery, to penal servitude for terms ranging from 18 months to 2 years. On October 20th, Sir John Smale wrote the Governor: "I cannot understand why such classes should as classes increase in this Colony at all, unless it be that (in addition to the Chinese demand for domestic servants and brothels) there be an increased foreign element increasing the demand. I fear that a high premium is obtained by persons who kidnap girls in the high prices which they realize on sale to foreigners as kept women.[A] No one can walk through some of the bye-streets in this Colony without seeing well dressed China girls in great numbers whose occupations are self-proclaimed; or pass those streets, or go into the schools in this Colony, without counting beautiful children by the hundred whose Eurasian origin is self-declared. If the Government would inquire into the present condition of these classes, and still more, into what has become of these women and their children of the past, I believe that it will be found that in the great majority of cases the women have sunk into misery, and that of the children the girls that have survived have been sold to the profession of their mothers, and that, if boys, they have been lost sight of or have sunk into the condition of the mean whites of the late slave-holding states of America. The more I penetrate below the polished surface of our civilization the more convinced am I that the broad undercurrent of life here is more like that in the Southern States of America, when slavery was dominant, than it resembles the all-pervading civilization of England." "My suggestion that the mild intervention of the law should be invoked was ignored. It was also met by the assertion that custom had so sanctioned the evils in this Colony as that they are above the reach of the law, and that by custom the slavery was mild." [Footnote A: Rather, it would seem in later years, by renting them for a monthly stipend.] The Governor, in a letter to the Colonial Secretary at London about this time, informs the Colonial Secretary of his own failure also to induce the Attorney General to prosecute cases to which His Excellency had called his attention, and furthermore he explains that other of his principal executive officers held to the same views as the Attorney General. CHAPTER 9. THE CHINESE PETITION AND PROTEST. We get additional and valuable light on social conditions at Hong Kong, through statements drawn up by prominent Chinese men and laid before the Governor. As a representation from the Chinese standpoint it has peculiar value at all points excepting where self-interest might afford a motive for coloring the truth. The occasion of these statements was as follows: On November 9, 1878, a month before the report of the Commission was published, certain Chinese merchants had petitioned the Governor to be allowed to form themselves into a society for suppressing kidnaping and trafficking in human beings. This petition states that the worst kidnapers are "go-betweens and old women who have houses for the detention of kidnaped people." They declare that these "inveigle virtuous women or girls to come to Hong Kong, at first deceiving them by the promise of finding them employment (as domestic servants), and then proceeding to compel them by force to become prostitutes, or exporting them to a foreign port, or distribute them by sale over the different ports of China, boys being sold to become adopted children, girls being sold to be trained for prostitution." "Your petitioners are of opinion that such wicked people are to be found belonging to any of the [neighboring] districts, but in our district of Tung Kun such cases of kidnaping are comparatively frequent, and all the merchants of Hong Kong, without exception, are expressing their annoyance." Accompanying the petition was a statement of the situation: "Hong Kong is the emporium and thoroughfare of all the neighboring ports. Therefore these kidnapers frequent Hong Kong much, it being a place where it is easy to buy and to sell, and where effective means are at hand to make good a speedy escape. Now, the laws of Hong Kong being based on the principle of the liberty of the person, the kidnapers take advantage of this to further their own plans. Thus they use with their victims honeyed speeches, and give them trifling profits, or they use threats and stern words, all in order to induce them to say they are willing to do so and so. Even if they are confronted with witnesses it is difficult to show up their wicked game.... Kidnaping is a crime to be found everwhere, but there is no place where it is more rife than at Hong Kong.... Now it is proposed to publish everywhere offers of reward to track such kidnapers and have them arrested.... The crimes of kidnaping are increasing from day to day." This proposal on the part of Chinese merchants to form such a society was cordially accepted by officials, and the Governor requested that two police magistrates, whom he named, the Captain Superintendent of Police and Dr. Eitel, should draw up a scheme to check kidnaping, in concert with the Chinese petitioners. This committee met, and decided that the objects of the "Chinese Society for the Protection of Women and Children" should he as follows: 1. The detection and suppression of kidnapers and kidnaping. 2. The restoration to their homes of women and children decoyed or kidnaped for prostitution, emigration, or slavery. 3. The maintenance of women and children pending investigation and restoration to their homes. 4. Undertaking to marry or set out in life women and children who could not safely be returned home. At a subsequent meeting of these gentlemen, Mr. Francis, Acting Police Magistrate, asked the Chinese merchants present, "If there was of late any special _modus operandi_ observed in the proceedings of kidnapers differing from what had been observed and known formerly?" To this the Chinese gentlemen present replied that "there was indeed a marked difference observable in the proceedings of kidnapers of late, because they had become acquainted with the loopholes British law leaves open, also with the principle of personal freedom jealously guarded by British law, and that through this knowledge their proceedings had not only become less tangible for the police to deal with, but the kidnapers had been emboldened to give themselves a definite organization, following a regular system adapted to the peculiarities of British and Chinese law, and using regular resorts and depots in the suburbs of Hong Kong." In support of this, Mr. Fung Ming-shan laid on the table two documents written in Chinese. One of these contained a list of 38 different houses in the neighborhood of Sai-ying-pim and Tai-ping-shan used by professional kidnapers, whose names are given, but whose residence could not be ascertained. The other document consists of a list of 41 professional kidnapers whose personalia have been satisfactorily ascertained. The foreign Magistrates present then pointed out to the Chinese members of the meeting that one great difficulty the Government frequently met in dealing with such cases was the question, what to do with women or children found to have been unlawfully sold or kidnaped; how to restore them to their lawful guardians in the interior of China; how to provide for them in case such women or children had actually been sold by their very guardians, who, if the woman or child in question were restored to them, would but seek another purchaser; how to deal with persons absolutely friendless, etc. The Chinese members of the meeting replied that they were prepared to undertake this duty. They would employ trustworthy detectives to ascertain the family relations of any kidnaped person, who would see to such persons being restored to their families upon guarantee being given for proper treatment; and in cases where restoration was impossible or not advisable, they would take charge of such kidnaped persons, maintain them, and eventually see them respectably married. It was then decided that the Magistrates present should draw up a succinct statement of the provisions of the British law forbidding the sale of persons and guaranteeing the liberty of the subject, which should be translated into Chinese, and circulated freely in the neighboring districts. Although the action on the part of the Chinese merchants in forming themselves into an organization to put down kidnaping was received with much appreciation by the Governor and Secretary of State at London, as well as by many of the officials at Hon' Kong, there were those who from the first doubted whether the motives of the Chinese in thus uniting were wholly disinterested on the part of the majority. Such were confirmed in their doubts by the action of these same Chinese as soon as Sir John Smale set to work in earnest to exterminate slavery, and declared in his court a year later than the formation of this Chinese Society: "I was given to understand that buying children by respectable Chinamen as servants was according to Chinese customs, and that to attempt to put it down would be to arouse the prejudices of the Chinese.... Humanity is of no party, and personal liberty is to be held the right of every human being under British law.... Whatever the law of China may be, the law of England must prevail here. If Chinamen are willing to submit to the law, they may remain, but on condition of obeying the law, whether it accords with their notions of right or wrong or not; and if remaining they act contrary to the law, they must take the consequences." Sir John Smale's utterance created intense feeling among these Chinese merchants, who at once called upon the Governor to represent their views and to protest. The Governor informed them that "slavery in any form could not be allowed in the Colony." They protested that their system of adoption and of obtaining girls for domestic purposes was not slavery; "and they referred to the more immoral practice of buying girls for the Hong Kong brothels, which, they alleged, Government departments had connived at, though it was a practice most hateful to the respectable Chinese." The Governor then asked them for their views in writing, and they sent them to him in the form of a memorial, containing the following words: "Your petitioners are informed that his Lordship, the Chief Justice, after the trial of a case of purchasing free persons for prostitution, said, in the course of his judgment, that buying and selling of girls for domestic servitude was an indictable offense;--which put all native residents of Hong Kong in a state of extreme terror; all great merchants and wealthy residents in the first instance being afraid lest they might incur the risk of being found guilty of a statutory offence, whilst the poor and low class people, in the second instance, feared being deprived of a means to preserve their lives (by selling children to be domestic servants)." These petitioners claimed: That the buying of boys for "adoption" and of girls for domestic servitude, "widely differs from the above-mentioned wicked practices" of kidnaping and buying and selling of girls into brothels. That the domestic slaves "are allowed to take their ease and have no hard work to perform," and when they grow up, "they have to be given in marriage." That all former Governors had let them alone in the exercise of their "social customs." That Governor Elliott had promised them freedom in the exercise of their native customs. That infanticide "would be extremely increased if it were entirely forbidden to dispose of children by buying and selling;" parents deprived of the means of keeping off starvation by selling their children would "drift into thiefdom and brigandage." Following the petition was an elaborate statement on the subject, full of subtle arguments, misstatements and perversions, together, of course, with some well-put statements, forming ten propositions in favor of domestic slavery. Their first claim is not exactly true, as even Dr. Eitel, who defended domestic servitude, was bound to declare, namely, That Chinese law does not forbid adoption and domestic servitude. We have already quoted Sir John Smale's statement of the Chinese law, which restricted the adoption of boys to the taking of one with the same surname as the family. And as to the buying of girls for domestic servitude, though largely _practiced_ in China, yet these Chinese merchants could hardly have been ignorant of the fact that it was an _illegality_ before the Chinese law. "The reason of this," says the Chinese protest, "is the excessive increase of population, and the wide extent of poverty and distress." But there was neither over-population nor distress at Hong Kong which should necessitate the introduction of the practice into that Colony. "If all those practices were forbidden, poor and distressed people would have no means left to save their lives, but would be compelled to sit down and wait for death." In other words, these men would claim that their motives were wholly, or largely benevolent in purchasing the children of the poor! And what better could the poor do for a living than to beget children and sell them into slavery to the rich! "Whilst all those practices, therefore, may be classed together as buying and selling (of free persons), it is yet requisite to distinguish carefully the good or wicked purposes which each class of practice serve, and accordingly apply discriminately either punishment or non-punishment." But anti-slavery legislation has never done this, and never will. The question is not to any large extent the comfort or misery of the chattel, but the forbidding that one human being should be allowed to deal with another _as a chattel_ at all. This attitude of the Chinese merchants who allied themselves with the British officials for the Protection of Women and Children gave no omen of good from the very first. Yet from that day to the present these men have had a large share in the government of the native women of Hong Kong and Singapore, rendering it very difficult ever to elevate the standard of womanhood, or to educate Chinese women in principles that should be the common inheritance of all who live in a so called free country. The statement continues: "Since the last few years many Chinese have brought their property, wives and families to the place, supposing they would be able to live here in peace, and to rejoice in their property. ...Chinese residents of Hong Kong have, therefore, been in the habit of following all native customs which were not a contravention of Chinese statute law [but it seems _this sort_ of buying and selling of human beings is contrary to Chinese law. This is a misrepresentation]. It is said that the whole increase and prosperity of the Colony from its first foundation to the present day is all based on the strength of that invitation which Sir Charles Elliott gave to intending settlers, and that this present intention of applying, all of a sudden, the repressive force of the law to both the practice of buying or selling boys or girls for purposes of adoption or for domestic servitude is not only a violation of the rule of Sir Charles Elliott, but moreover will, it is to be feared, not fail to trouble the people." They speak of infanticide as an evil that "must be classed with evils almost unavoidable. Now if the buying of adoptive children and of servant girls is to be uniformly abolished, it is to be feared that henceforth the practice of infanticide will extremely increase beyond what it ever was. The heinousness of the violation of the great Creator's benevolence, which constitutes infanticide, is beyond comparison with the indulgence granted to the system of buying and selling children to prolong their existence." As though these benevolent persons only bought slaves for this one laudable purpose, to preserve their lives! "As regards the buyers, they look upon themselves as affording relief to distressed people, and consider the matter as an act akin to charity," etc. A flood of light is let in upon the matter of the reluctance of British officials to move in the putting down of domestic slavery and the buying and selling of boys among the natives, in the following well-deserved thrust at the weak point in the armor of the British officials: "The office of the Registrar-General was charged with the superintendence of prostitutes and the licensing of brothels and similar affairs. But _from 80 to 90 per cent of all these prostitutes in Hong Kong were brought into these brothels by purchase, as is well known to everybody_. If buying and selling is a matter of a criminal character, the proper thing would be, first of all, to abolish this evil (brothel slavery). But how comes it that since the first establishment of the Colony down to the present day the same old practice prevails in these licensed brothels, and has never been forbidden or abolished?" This was a center shot, and calculated to weaken the hands of at least the guilty officials. What could they say? Were the officials prepared, since the report of the Commission a few months before had made public the scandals connected with the licensing and inspection of brothels, to set about reforming the abuses by radical measures? Certainly the Chief Justice was. He did everything in his power to abolish slavery _as slavery_, not simply to abolish slavery when unconnected with brothels. But subsequent history seems to indicate that, from this point on, the British officials were ready to compromise with the Chinese merchants, and the testimony from this time forward was well-nigh universal in Hong Kong circles that domestic slavery, or "domestic servitude," as Dr. Eitel recommended that it should be called instead (since a weed by another name may help the imagination to think it a rose), was very "mild" and "harmless," and that the adoption of purchased boys was a "religious" duty, or at least, had a religious flavor about it, as practiced by the Chinese. But as we have already said, that adoption in order to be lawful in China must be the adoption of one of the same surname. On October 27th, 1879, the Chief Justice, at an adjourned sitting of the Court for the purpose, sentenced two more offenders, one for kidnaping a boy, and the other for detaining a girl with intent to sell her. In the first case the Judge said: "Received as you had been into the father's house in charity, you availed yourself of the opportunity to steal his child, and tried to sell the child openly, probably having hawked him from door to door. The sentence of the Court on you, Tang Atim, is that you be imprisoned and kept to hard labor for two years, and that you be kept in solitary confinement for a period of one week in every two months of your imprisonment." Chan Achit, an old woman, convicted of having unlawfully detained a female child of 11 years of age, with intent to sell her, was next placed in the dock. His Lordship said: "The evidence in this case has shown the extraordinary extent to which, under cloak of China custom, the iniquity of dealing in children has extended. From the evidence, I have no doubt that a vagabond clansman to whom the father had occasionally given out of his penury had originated the crime in enticing the child away, and it seems to me to be clear that the prisoner was as well known as a 'broker of mankind' as a receiver of stolen children, to sell them on commission, as receivers of old iron and marine stores could be found in this Colony to dispose of stolen property. The little girl bought and sold, aged 11 years, is a very intelligent child, and described the negotiations for her sale with great clearness." The Chief Justice then went on to repeat the little girl's testimony as to these "brokers of mankind," and the child's knowledge, from personal observation of these purchases and sales, to which he adds: "Let me here ask, Is the trade, or rather profession, 'broker of mankind,' also a sacred China custom? I will not ask the queries which would naturally arise in case the question were answered in the affirmative. At present, however, I must say that, custom or no custom, the practice of this profession is prohibited by statute, and it is my duty to meet its exercise by punishment." The prisoner was sentenced to two years' penal servitude. The Chief Justice concluded his remarks on that occasion by replying to the statements made in the Chinese petition. He called attention to the Chinese resting their claim on the temporary promise of Governor Elliott in 1841; of the fact that they ignored the proclamation of the Queen in 1845. He said that infanticide was also a Chinese custom in the same sense that slavery was, on the words of the petition: "Amongst the Chinese there has hitherto been the custom of drowning their daughters. The Chinese threaten the increase of this 'custom' of drowning children if their sale is put down.... I can only say that in case father, mother, or relative were convicted of infanticide, Chinese custom would be no protection, and, unless I am grievously mistaken, the presiding judge would have no alternative but to sentence the perpetrator to death ... the one custom is tolerated just as the other custom is tolerated, and both alike or neither must be claimed as sanctioned by Governor Elliott's proclamation. All remedies which ever existed by common law or by statute in England up to 1845 against ownership of human beings, against every form of slavery, extend by their own proper force and authority to Hong Kong; and, if that were not enough, all English laws applicable to Hong Kong, including those against ownership in human beings, were by express Ordinances 6 of 1845, and 12 of 1873, embodied into the laws of Hong Kong, whilst the worst forms of slavery are especially punished by Ordinance 4 of 1865, and 2 of 1875. I am bound by my most solemn obligations to enforce all these laws. I must, therefore, without fear, favour or affection, discharge this duty to the best of my ability." CHAPTER 10. NOT FALLEN--BUT ENSLAVED. The Report of the Commission affords the following instructive account of the difference in the moral and social status between the prostitute of the East and West: "In approaching the subject of prostitution, as it is found in Hong Kong at the present day, it is absolutely necessary for a full and just comprehension of it, to keep in mind two distinct considerations. One is the almost total identity of the whole system of prostitution, which since times immemorial is an established institution all over the large empire of China. The other point to be kept in mind is the radical difference which distinguishes the personal character, the life and the surroundings of Chinese prostitutes from all that is characteristic of the prostitutes of Europe." ... "At the present day the Chinese prostitutes of Hong Kong have but very little to distinguish them, either in the past, present, or future of their personal lives, or in their position and surroundings, from the prostitutes of the 18 provinces of China.... Those of the prostitutes of Hong Kong who are inmates of brothels licensed for foreigners only, or who live in sly brothels for foreigners, have adopted a different style of dress, but are otherwise in no essential point differently situated from prostitutes in China, except that the inmates of brothels licensed for foreigners are subject to compulsory medical examination, and consequently far more despised by their countrymen and even other prostitutes." "Prostitutes in Europe are, as a general rule, fallen women, the victims of seduction, or possibly of innate vice. Being the outcasts of society, and having little, if any, prospect of being again admitted into decent and respectable circles of life, deprived also of their own self-respect as well as the regards of their relatives, occasionally even troubled with qualms of conscience, they mostly dread thinking of their future, and seek oblivion in excesses of boisterous dissipation. The Chinese prostitutes of Hong Kong are an entirely different set of people.... Very few of them can be called fallen women; scarcely any of them are the victims of seduction, according to the English sense of the term, refined or unrefined. The great majority of them are owned by professional brothel-keepers or traders in women in Canton or Macao, have been brought up for the profession, and trained in various accomplishments suited to brothel life.... They frequently know neither father nor mother, except what they call a 'pocket-mother,' that is, the woman who bought them from others.... They feel of course that they are the bought property of their pocket-mother or keeper, but they know also that this is the feeling of almost every other woman in China, liable as each is to be sold, by her own parents or relatives, to be the wife or concubine of a man she never sets eyes on before the wedding day, or liable, as the case may be, to be pledged or sold, by her parents or relatives, to serve as a domestic slave in a strange family.... They have the chance, if they are pretty and accomplished, of being wooed ... and they may look forward with tolerable certainty to being made the second, or third, or fourth, or at any rate the favorite wife of some wealthy gentleman. If not possessed of special attractions or wealthy lovers, they look forward to being taken out of the brothel by an honest devoted man to share the lot of a poor man's wife. Or they may endeavor to save money by singing, music and prostitution combined, and not only to purchase their freedom, but to set up for themselves, buying, rearing, and selling girls to act as servants or concubines or prostitutes, or they may finally come to keep brothels as managers for wealthy capitalists or speculators. There is further a certain proportion of prostitutes in Hong Kong who have, by the hand of their own parents or husbands, been mortgaged or sold into temporary servitude as prostitutes, or who of their own will and accord act as prostitutes under personal agreement with a brothel-keeper, for a definite advance of a sum of money, required to rescue the family, or some member of it, from some great calamity or permanent ruin." "There is, however, one class of women in Hong Kong who can scarcely be called prostitutes, and who have no parallel either in China, outside the Treaty Ports, or in Europe. They are generally called 'protected women.' They may originally have come forth from one or other of the above-mentioned classes of prostitutes, or may be the offspring of protected women...." The Report describes the situation of the "protected woman" in the following terms: "She resides in a house rented by her protector, who lives generally in another part of the town; she receives a fixed salary from her protector, and sublets every available room to individual sly prostitutes, or to women keeping a sly brothel, no visitor being admitted unless he have some introduction or secret pass-words. If an inspector of brothels attempts to enter, he is quietly informed that this is not a brothel, but the private family residence of Mr. So and So.... This system makes the suppression of sly brothels an impossibility.... The principal points of difference between the various classes of Chinese prostitutes of Hong Kong and the prostitutes of Europe amount therefore to this, that Chinese prostitution is essentially a bargain in money and based on a national system of female slavery." "It must not be supposed, however, from what is said above, that the Chinese, as a people, view prostitution as a matter of moral indifference. On the contrary, the literature, the religions, the laws and the public opinion of China, all join in condemning prostitution as immoral, and in co-operation to keep it under a certain check. The literature of the Confucianists, which, as regards purity and utter absence of immoral suggestions, stands unrivalled by any other nation in the world, does not countenance prostitution in any form.... The laws and public opinion ... agree in keeping prostitution rigidly out of sight. Although the Chinese are a Pagan nation, they have no deification of vice in their temples, no indecent shows in their theatres, no orgies in their houses of public entertainment, no parading of lewd women in their streets.... In short, as far as outward and public observation goes, China presents a more virtuous appearance than most European countries." The report goes on to show that nevertheless the practice of polygamy, "leaving the childless concubines liable to be sold or sent adrift at any moment, the law of inheritance neglecting daughters in favour of sons," and "the universal practice of buying and selling females combined with the system of domestic servitude," makes the suppression of prostitution difficult. "This intermixture of female slavery with prostitution has been noticed in Hong Kong at the very time when the Legislature first attempted to deal with Chinese prostitution." We now understand the nature of this wretched form of slavery as carried on at Hong Kong. There did not exist a class of women brought to the pitiable plight of prostitution by the wiles of the seducer, or through the mishap of a lapse from virtue, after which all doors to reform are practically closed against such, as in Western civilization, nor were there those known to have fallen through innate perversity; but such as existed among the Chinese were literal slaves, in the full sense of that word. From the standpoint of these officials, for the most part, prostitution was necessary. This was plainly declared in many official documents. The fact that they licensed brothels proves also that prostitution was considered necessary. And since necessary, if the means failed whereby brothels in the Occident are maintained, then they must be maintained by Oriental means,--which was slavery. Under such circumstances, to license prostitution meant, from the very nature of the case, to license slavery. To encourage prostitution, as it always is encouraged by the Contagious Diseases Acts, meant to encourage slavery. Hence they reasoned, and declared--to use the language of the Registrar General, Cecil C. Smith--that it was "useless to try and deal with the question of the freedom of Chinese prostitutes by law or by any Government regulation. From all the surroundings the thing is impracticable." It must be admitted that the conditions at Hong Kong favored the development of social impurity. From the moment of British occupation, and before, in fact, there were at that place large numbers of unmarried soldiers and sailors, many of very loose morals; also many men in civil and military positions as officials, and numerous merchants, etc., most of them separated far from their families and the restraints that surrounded them at home. On the Chinese side, there were men accustomed to deal with their women as chattels, willing to sell them to the foreigners. But we need to inquire a little further into the matter before conceding that because a thing will almost inevitably take place, therefore it is best to license it in order to keep it within bounds. The superficial sophist says: "Prostitution always has existed and always will exist. Painful as the fact is, such is the frailty of human nature. You cannot make men moral by act of parliament, and it is foolish to try. We will have to license the thing, and thus control it as best we can. That is the only practical way to deal with this evil." Such reasoning as this exhibits the most confused notions as to the nature of law. No law is ever enacted except with the expectation that an offense against it will take place. Law anticipates transgression as much as license; but law provides a _check_ upon offenses and license provides an _incitement_ to them. "The law was not made for a righteous man, but for the lawless and disobedient." Have not murder and stealing always existed? Are they not likely to exist in spite of laws against them, so long as human nature remains so frail? Then why not license _them_ in order to keep _them_ under control? It is perfectly apparent to all that to license murder and stealing; would be the surest way of allowing them to get quickly beyond control. "But you cannot make men moral by act of parliament, and it is foolish to try; to put a man in jail will not change him from a thief into an honest man." "But," you reply, "we do not punish men for stealing and for murder for their own good, but for the good of the community at large." Certainly. Then what becomes of the argument that because men will not become pure by act of parliament they are to be allowed to commit their depredations unmolested? The primary object of law is not reformatory but protective,--for the victims of lawlessness. Our great Law-Giver, Jesus Christ, admitted a certain necessity of evil, but He did not say, "therefore license it, to keep it within bounds." He said, "It _must needs be_ that offenses come." But His remedy for keeping the offenses within bounds was, "woe to that man by whom the offense cometh." As inevitably as the offense was committed so invariably must the punishment fall on the offender's head. That is the only way to keep any evil within bounds. This is the principle that underlies all law. These Hong Kong officials who believed in the licensing of brothel slavery and brought it about, have much to say about the "unfortunate creatures" who were the victims of men. But if the advocate of license is self-deceived in his attitude toward this social evil, we need not be deceived in him. One does not propose a license as a remedy for an evil, except as led to that view by secret sympathy with the evil. A license of an evil is never proposed excepting upon the mental acquiescence in that evil. British officials who licensed immoral houses at Hong Kong did not wish the libertine to be disturbed in his depredations. The Chinese merchants were able to see this fact if those officials were not ready to admit it even to themselves. They knew how to throw a stone that would secure their own glass houses. Hence they said in their memorial to the Governor: "From 80 to 90 per cent of all these prostitutes in Hong Kong were brought into these [licensed] brothels by purchase, as is well known to everybody. If buying and selling is a matter of criminal character the proper thing would be first of all, to abolish this evil (connected with the brothels). But how comes it that since the first establishment of the Colony down to the present day the same old practice prevails in these licensed brothels, and has never been forbidden or abolished?" It is to be noted that none of the officials at Hong Kong accused the Chinese merchants of slander in saying that from 80 to 90 per cent of the thousands of prostitutes in the Colony were absolute slaves. The Government was placed in a very awkward position by this challenge on the part of the Chinese. How could a Government that held slaves in its licensed brothels forbid Chinese residents holding slaves in their homes? But the Governor did not propose to be compromised. He wrote to the Secretary of State at London: "I believe I only anticipate your instructions, in giving orders that the law, whatever may be the consequences to the brothel system, should be strictly enforced so as to secure the freedom of the women." But he reckoned without his host. The Secretary of State did not stand by the Governor. So far as the records show, the Governor and Chief Justice stood alone, his entire Executive Council taking the opposing side. What was to be done? CHAPTER 11. THE MAN FOR THE OCCASION. Consistency demanded that either the brothel system at Hong Kong should be abolished, or domestic slavery and so-called "adoption" should be tolerated. No other courses were open. In his perplexity, the Governor asked his learned Chinese interpreter, Dr. Eitel, to give him further light as to this domestic slavery and "adoption" prevalent among the Chinese. This request was granted in a document entitled "Domestic servitude in relation to slavery." Dr. Eitel's main points were: Slavery as known to the Westerner "has always been an incident of race." "Slavery, therefore, has such a peculiar meaning ... that one ought to hesitate before applying the term rashly" to Chinese domestic slavery. Slavery in China grows out of the fact that the father has all power, even to death, over his family. The father, on the other hand, "has many duties as well as rights." Therefore his power over his family "is not a mark of tyranny, but of religious unity." "Few foreigners have comprehended the extent of social equality, ... the amount of influence which woman, bought and sold as she is, really has in China,... the depth of domestic affection, of filial piety, of paternal care." "To deal justly with the slavery of China, we ought to invent another name for it." "The law, although sanctioning the sale of children for purposes of adoption within each clan, and even without, is here in advance of public opinion, as it expressly allows, by an edict, ... the sale of children only to extremely poor people in times of famine, and forbids even in that case re-sale of a child once bought." This last admission on the part of Dr. Eitel, a fact already pointed out by Sir John Smale, seems to us to clearly demonstrate that a pretext was now being sought to justify at Hong Kong a state of things as to slavery that the laws of China forbade and which in no wise could be justified as Chinese "custom." "The reason for this immense demand for young female domestics lies in the system of polygamy which obtains all over the empire, and which has a religious basis." By this he means that it is from the Chinese standpoint a religious duty for a father to leave a son, upon his death, to continue the family sacrifices. Therefore if the father has no son by his first wife, he will "take a second or third or fourth wife until he procures a son." "A family being in urgent distress, and requiring immediately a certain sum of money, take one of their female children, say five years old ... to a wealthy family, where the child becomes a member of the family, and has, perhaps, to look after a baby.... But the child may be sold out and out. In that case invariably a deed is drawn up." And this is the state of things concerning which Dr. Eitel says: "Few foreigners have comprehended the extent of social equality ... the amount of influence which woman, bought and sold as she is, really has in China ... the depth of domestic affection, of filial piety, of parental care," etc. He adds: "Considering the deep hold which this system has on the Chinese people, it is not to be wondered at that Chinese can scarcely comprehend how an English judge could come to designate this species of domestic servitude as 'slavery.' On the contrary, intelligent Chinese look upon this system as the necessary and indispensable complement of polygamy, as an excellent counter remedy for the deplorably wide-spread system of infanticide, and as the natural consequence of the chronic occurrence of famines, inundations, and rebellions in an over-populated country. But the abuses to which this system of buying and selling female children is liable, in the hands of unscrupulous parents and buyers, and the support it lends to public prostitution, are too patent facts to require pointing out." "The moment we examine closely into Chinese slavery and servitude," declares Dr. Eitel, "from the standpoint of history and sociology, we find that slavery and servitude have, with the exception of the system of eunuchs, lost all barbaric and revolting features." (!) "As this organism has had its certain natural evolution, it will as certainly undergo in due time a natural dissolution, which in fact has at more than one point already set in. But no legislative or executive measures taken in Hong Kong will hasten this process, which follows its own course and its own laws laid down by a wise Providence which happily overrules for the good all that is evil in the world." There was, indeed, a certain justice in defending the Chinese as against the foreigner, on Dr. Eitel's part. But two wrongs do not make a right. From this time onward, the word of sophistry is put in the mouth of the advocate of domestic slavery, just as the word of sophistry had been put in the mouth of the advocate of the Contagious Diseases Ordinance. Mr. Labouchere had spoken of the latter as a means of protection' for the poor slaves, and the expression, 'protection,' has been kept prominently to the front ever since Dr. Eitel suggested, likewise, not a change in the conditions, but a change in the name by which they were known. Let it be called 'domestic _servitude_' instead of 'domestic _slavery_.' All the advocates of this domestic slavery from that time have called the noxious weed by the sweeter name. Governor Hennessey asked the opinion of others of his officials. One Acting Police Magistrate replied 'When the servant girls (or slaves girls, as some prefer to term them) in the families in this Colony are contented with their lot, and their parents do not claim them, the police cannot be expected to interfere.' Another said 'Buying and selling children by the Chinese has been considered a harmless proceeding, its only effect being to place the purchaser under a legal and moral obligation to provide for the child until the seller chose to repudiate the bargain, which he could always do under English law.' The Attorney General, Mr. O'Malley, when asked (at a later period) his opinion as to the utterances Sir John Smale had made from time to time on the subject of slavery, replied to the Governor "With regard to Sir John Smale's observation, I know that difficulties national, social, official and financial beset the Government in reference to the special questions I have raised, I have only to observe that I have never heard of those difficulties. My own impression is that the respectable parts of the community, Chinese as well as European, including the Government and the police, are fully alive to the brothel and domestic servitude systems, and as well informed as Sir John Smale himself as to the real facts. One would suppose from the tone of his pamphlet that he stood alone in his perception and denunciation of evil. But I believe the fact is that the Executive and the community generally are quite as anxious is he is to insist upon practical precautions necessary to prevent the abuses, and to diminish the evils naturally connected with these systems, but they look for this to practical securities and not to declamation. The obvious line of practical suggestions to take is that of careful registration and constant inspection of brothels, so that full and frequent opportunity may be given to all persons whose freedom may be open to suspicion to know their legal position, and to assert their liberty if they like ... Particularly it might be thought right to create a system of registration applicable to domestic servants and strangers in family houses. It would be a good thing if Sir John Smale would place at the disposal of the Government (as I believe he has never yet done) any facts connected with the brothel system or the domestic servitude of which he possesses any real knowledge." This letter gives us some conception of the almost insuperable difficulties Sir John Smale had to encounter in his endeavor to put down slavery, for not a case could come up in the Superior Court for conviction on the Judge's information, of course, for that would be assuming both prosecuting and judicial powers, and the men who occupied in turn that office, during Sir John Smale's incumbency, refused to act in unison with him, and this Attorney General's language betrays hot prejudice, lack of candor as regarded the facts, and insolence toward Sir John Smale. The Attorney General has a fling at the Chief Justice as "impracticable," yet the only practical suggestion that the former makes in his letter as to how to meet the conditions he seems to have taken from Sir John Smale's own words upon which he was asked to express an opinion. The Chief Justice had said: "I think the evils complained of might be lessened,--(1) By a better registration of the inmates of brothels, and by frequently bringing them before persons to whom they might freely speak as to their position and wishes, and by such authoritative interference with the brothel-keepers as should keep them well in fear of exercising acts of tyranny. (2) By a stringently enforced register of all inmates of Chinese dwelling-houses, &c., (at least of all servants) with full inquiry into the conditions of servitude, and an authoritative restoration of unwilling servants to freedom from servitude. This would apply to 10,000 (according to Dr. Eitel 20,000) bond servants in Hong Kong." The injustice of the attack of the Attorney General upon Sir John Smale was not ignored by Governor Hennessy, when he forwarded Mr. O'Malley's letter to London. He said: "The apparent difference between Mr. O'Malley's views on brothel slavery and the views of Sir John Smale is due to the fact that Sir John Smale knew that the real brothel slavery exists in the brothels where Chinese women are provided for European soldiers and sailors, whereas Mr. O'Malley, in discarding the use of the word slavery, does so on the assumption that all the Hong Kong brothels form a part of the Chinese social system, and that the girls naturally and willingly take to that mode of earning a livelihood. This is a misconception of the actual facts, for though the Hong Kong brothels, where Chinese women meet Chinese only, may seem to provide for such women what Mr. O'Malley calls 'a natural and suitable manner of life' consistent with a part of the Chinese social system, it is absolutely the reverse in those Hong Kong brothels where Chinese women have to meet foreigners only. Such brothels are unknown in the social system of China. The Chinese girls who are registered by the Government for the use of Europeans and Americans, detest the life they are compelled to lead. They have a dread and abhorrence of foreigners, and especially of the foreign soldiers and sailors. _Such girls are the real slaves in Hong Kong._" We underscore the last sentence as a most painful fact in the history of the dealings of the British officials with the native women of China, set forth on the authority of the Governor of Hong Kong, who, with the help of Sir John Smale, the Chief Justice, waged such a fearless warfare against slavery under the British flag, with such unworthy misrepresentation and opposition on the part of the other officials equally responsible with them in preserving the good name of their country, and in defending rather than trampling upon its laws. Governor Hennessy continues "To drive Chinese girls into such brothels [i.e., those for the use of foreigners] was the object of the system of informers which Mr. C. C. Smith for so many years conducted in this Colony, and which in his evidence before the Commission on the 3rd of December, 1877, he defended on the ground of its necessity in detecting unlicensed houses, but which your Lordship [Lord Kimberley, Secretary of State for the Colonies] has now justly stigmatized as a revolting abuse. On another point the Attorney General also seems not to appreciate fully what he must have heard Sir John Smale saying from the Bench in the Supreme Court. It would be a mistake to think that the Chief Justice had not before he left the Colony, realized the public opinion of the Chinese community on the subject of kidnaping. In sentencing a prisoner for kidnaping, on the 10th of March, 1881, Sir John Smale said he was bound to declare from the Bench that, to the credit of the Chinese, a right public opinion had been growing up, and on the 25th of March, 1881, (the last occasion when Sir John Smale spoke in the Supreme Court of Hong Kong), he said, in a case in which the kidnapers had been convicted--This case presents two satisfactory facts first, that a Chinese boat woman handed one of these prisoners to the police, and that afterward an agent of the Chinese Society to suppress this class of crime caused the arrest and conviction of these prisoners. These facts are indicative of the public mind tending to treat kidnaping as a crime against society, calling for active suppression. On the same occasion, in sentencing a woman who had severely beaten an adopted child, Sir John Smale said, 'In finally disposing of these three cases, with all their enormity, sources of satisfaction present themselves in the fact that, in each of these cases, it has been owing to the spontaneous indignation of Chinese men and women that these crimes have been brought to the knowledge of the police.' The Governor closes his letter with the statement, 'It is only due to Sir John Smale to add that his own action has greatly contributed to foster the "healthy" public opinion of the native community, which induced him, when quitting the Supreme Court, to take a hopeful view of the future of this important subject.'" CHAPTER 12. THE CHIEF JUSTICE ANSWERS HIS OPPONENTS. The Acting Attorney General at the time of Sir John Smale's first pronouncement against slavery had suggested to Governor Hennessy that Sir John Smale's statements should be sent to London to the Secretary of State for the Colonies; and he and other advisers recommended that no prosecutions in connection with "adoption" and "domestic servitude" should be instituted, pending the receipt of instructions from the Home Government. The Chief Justice concurred in these views, and also suggested that the Chinese be told that no prosecutions as to the past should take place, but that in future, in every case where _buying and selling_ occurred in connection with adoption or domestic service, the Government would undoubtedly prosecute. The replies that came from the Secretary of State indicated scant sympathy with Sir John Smale's position. His action was likely to disturb the system of regulation of vice at Hong Kong, and these health measures were in high repute with that official at London. He could not sympathize with the Governor's view that laws securing the freedom of the women were to be executed, whatever the result to the brothel system. He wrote in reply as though Sir John Smale had said many things that had not been put in the same light, demanded to know what law could be put into operation to improve conditions, and wished to know if Sir John Smale accepted Dr. Eitel's views on "domestic servitude," and later he wrote pronouncing the views expressed in the insolent attack of Mr. O'Malley upon Sir John Smale's anti-slavery pronouncements as "well considered and convincing." He also referred to the "humane intentions" of Mr. Labouchere in the passing of the Contagious Diseases Ordinance of Sir John Bowring's time, which "were intended to ameliorate the condition of the women." But it does not so much concern us what the officials in London did and said, excepting at the one point, namely, that they did not at this time back the noble efforts of the Governor and of Sir John Smale to put down slavery, and so rendered it practically impossible for them to accomplish what they wished to do. The replies from Sir John Smale are, however, of much value to us, as throwing light upon social conditions at Hong Kong. On August 26, 1880, Sir John Smale replied in a letter meant for the Secretary of State at London, but sent in due form to the Colonial Secretary at Hong Kong for forwarding: "My observations in Court arose out of cases of kidnaping; and, according to the practices of judges in England, in their addresses to the Grand Juries, and on sentencing prisoners, I did as I thought it my duty to do. I traced the cause of the kidnaping to the demand for domestic bond servants, as Dr. Eitel calls them, and for brothels ... I said on the 7th of October I expressly indicate these two, and these two only, as the specific classes of slavery in Hong Kong as then rapidly increasing ... I cannot find a sentence in it which indicates any attempt by the Court to reach criminally cases of concubines." "All that I contended for in what I then said beyond punishing kidnapers was to bring within the cognizance of the law those who bought from such kidnapers,--the receivers of such stolen 'chattels,'--leaving such buyers to set up and prove a justification if they could." "On the 31st of March, 1880, prisoners in four cases of kidnaping,--one most harrowing,--were sentenced. I there lamented, and I am sure every right-minded man will concur with me, that it was the fact that the very poor were punished and the rich escaped. In that case it clearly appeared that one Leong Ming Aseng, apparently a respectable tradesman, at all events a man of means, had given $60 for a young girl aged 13 years, to one of the kidnapers, and he took her away beyond the reach of her distracted mother under circumstances from which he must have known that the child had been kidnaped. But although the facts were known at the Police Court, and this man remained exceeding ten days afterward in the Colony, no charge was ever made against him. After passing sentences at this time, I made some observations on the '_patria potestas_' [power of the father] theory. Dr. Eitel having painted this condition in China in what I thought too favorable colors, I quoted from Doolittle's 'Social Life in China,' unquestioned testimony as to what _patria potestas_ was in China before the controversy now raised, and from Mr. Parker, Her Britannic Majesty's Consul at Canton, as to its present state in China. After these quotations, I simply asked, Can greater tyranny, more unchecked caprice, be described or even conceived as inexcusable over wife, concubine, child, or purchased or inherited slave?'--the quotations I made being up to this time undisputed ... what I said was necessary to introduce the expression of my conviction ... that none of the elements of the system of _patria potestas_ exist in Hong Kong, including of course adoption. It is to this conviction that I point as the moral ground for enforcing English law against kidnaping and buying and selling human beings. The gravamen of all my complaints is, that the pauper kidnapers and sellers are punished, while the rich buyers go free. No case can come on for trial in this Court except upon an information by the Attorney-General. I have called on the Attorney-General of the day to prosecute a man against whom there was evidence that the boy he was keeping as a servant had been bought by him direct from a kidnaper. The then Attorney-General exercised his discretion, and did not prosecute." "There are no difficulties in the way of carrying out the punishment of kidnaping, and sellers and buyers of children, or of keeping children by the purchasers, or in selling and buying of women for brothels, or in dealing with cases of brutal bondage." "I have spoken from criminal facts and circumstances deposed to in Court; the Chinese and Dr. Eitel have spoken from the favorable surroundings of respectable domestic life in China. The conflicting views thus presented are but a reproduction of conflicting testimony in reference to negro slavery in the West Indies, and more lately in the United States. Very benevolent persons, some my own friends, looking at facts from the respectable standpoint, thought that such slavery was based on human nature, and conduced to the spread of Christianity. But the contrary view prevailed. I am quite satisfied that the right view on this question will ultimately prevail. As a man I have very decided views on these subjects, but as a judge I feel it is not for me further to debate them. I expressly retired from doing so on the 27th of October, 1879, although I thought it necessary in March last to comment on what I thought to be an erroneous view of the _patria potestas_." Later, in response to a suggestion on the part of the Governor, for a more explicit statement as to wherein his views differ from those of the Chinese and of Dr. Eitel, the Chief Justice says, among other things: "I do not admit the statements of Dr. Eitel. They do not apply to Hong Kong, but they may, and probably do, apply to certain respectable classes in China proper, where China family life proper exists. What I assert is that family life does not, in the proper Chinese sense, exist in Hong Kong, and that although, under certain very restricted conditions, the buying and selling, and adopting and taking as concubines, boys and girls in China proper, is permitted as exceptions to the penalties inflicted by Chinese law in China proper, these conditions do not exist in Hong Kong; and that the conditions necessary to these exceptions in their favor in the Chinese Criminal Code do not exist in Hong Kong, and that the penalties would apply, if in China, to all such transactions as I have denounced in Hong Kong, of that I have no doubt. Dr. Eitel's vindication is of a system as recognized in an express exception to the Penal Code in China proper, which may, for aught I know, work well in China. What I have said is that the practices in Hong Kong do not come within the cases which are only the exception to the penal enactments in the Chinese Code against all such bondage in China. I have never said ... that all buying and selling of children for adoption or domestic service is contrary to Chinese law. What I have said is that all such buying and selling of children as has come within my cognizance in Hong Kong is contrary to Chinese law; but I do think that buying and selling even for adoption and domestic servitude under the best circumstances, constitutes slavery; legal according to Chinese law, but illegal according to British law. Reference is made to Chinese gentlemen; I believe that not one of them has his 'house' in Hong Kong; the wife (small-footed) is kept at the family home in China. Each of them has his harem only in Hong Kong. There may be an exception to this rule, but I have never heard of any such exception. (I know of only one, of a Chinese gentleman, who, for certain reasons, was afraid to return to China.) ... I have not known a single case of adoption by a Chinaman in Hong Kong. They may exist in China proper, and possibly in Hong Kong ... They are not in China proper a sacred religious obligation, except in rare cases indeed, in which the conditions of clanship and other stringent conditions are precisely complied with; and they have as much to do with the necessities of the poor, and no more, than would be the case in England or Ireland in the time of a famine. These Chinese gentlemen say that the children are well cared for. If girls eligible for marriage or concubinage, they are sold for that, and form a profitable investment to a Chinese gentleman. If not so eligible, they are sold for any, even the worst purpose,--brothels, according to my experience in the Criminal Courts of Hong Kong. If the former, it may be that they do well; but if the latter, no slavery is worse. This as to females. And as to males, the purchaser holds them until they can redeem themselves, and, according to my experience, generally never. Again, the Chinese gentlemen allege that if the adoptive parent or master does not do his duty the actual parents have their remedy. The answer is, so far as Hong Kong is concerned, the far greater number of actual parents are far away in China, have entirely lost sight of the child, and are far too poor to seek a remedy in Hong Kong. They would have a remedy, if they were present and knew it, but they do not know that there is a remedy. They had their remedy from the first in China proper. Well, a remedy in the Mandarin Court, where the longest purse prevails, and into which a poor man seldom dares to enter a complaint." "Lastly, it is said that the lot of these children is far happier than if they had been left to their ordinary fate. So say these Chinese gentlemen; so said the noble and wealthy, the much respected slave trader and holder, a century ago in England. The answer to him then is the only answer for these Chinese gentlemen. It is a long one which presents itself to everyone who has studied the slavery and the slave-trade question. Besides this long argumentative answer, one question must be answered:--Is it right to do or sanction wrong that good may come?" "A very long time has elapsed since I received your letter forwarding that dispatch [containing the request of the Secretary of State for the Chief Justice to state his views as to Dr. Eitel's representations], in June last; but the delay has been advantageous, as it has enabled me to obtain a memorandum on the subject by Mr. Francis, barrister here, and for a year Acting Puisne Judge ... I write on this subject from an experience in Hong Kong since early in 1861; Mr. Francis from a very extensive experience in both China proper and in this Colony since some years previously." He then enters into history to show that "Mr. Francis of necessity studied ... the whole law on the subject of slavery or bondage in every form here." Mr. Francis first reviews all the legislative measures existent at Hong Kong concerning slavery, in the clearest manner possible, leaving no doubts in the mind of any fair-minded person that laws were not wanting to put down slavery: First: Hong Kong, being a Crown Colony, "the power of the Sovereign in respect of legislation is absolute." Second: The proclamation of Sir Charles Elliott, of tolerance of native customs was "pending Her Majesty's pleasure," and no longer. Third: Her Majesty's pleasure was declared at Hong Kong: (a) By the Proclamation of 1845; (b) "By Ordinance 6 of 1845, 2 of 1846, and 12 of 1873, by the combined operation of which the law of England, common and statute, as it existed on the 5th day of April, 1843, became the law of Hong Kong." Says Mr. Francis of Ordinance 6 of 1845, "The relations of husband and wife, parent and child, guardian and ward, master and servant, whatever they may have been when Hong Kong was Chinese, became from the date of that Ordinance what English law made them, and nothing more or less." "But in addition to the declarations of the Common Law," declares Mr. Francis, the following are in full force at Hong Kong: "The Act of the 5th George IV. c. 113, the Act of the 3rd and 4th William IV. c. 73, and the Act 6th and 7th Victoria c. 98, which have in the widest terms abolished slavery throughout the British dominions." "These Acts declare it unlawful for anyone owing allegiance to the British Crown, whether within or without the dominions of the Crown, to hold or in any way deal in slaves, or to participate in any way in such dealing, or to do any act which would contribute in any way to enable others to hold or deal in slaves. This simple declaration, if it stood alone, would make every act of slave-holding a misdemeanour, but the Acts themselves make it piracy, felony, or misdemeanour, as the case may be, to do any of the acts declared to be unlawful. These Acts further declare that persons holden in servitude as pledges or pawns for debt shall, for the purpose of the Slave Trade Acts, be deemed and construed to be slaves, or persons intended to be dealt with as slaves. Hundreds of persons are held in such servitude as pledged or pawned in Hong Kong, and not one of the parties to such transactions has ever been proceeded against under these Acts." "In addition to the above-mentioned Acts of George, William and Victoria, there is also the Imperial Act, entitled The Slave Trade Act, 1873, which consolidates the laws for the suppression of the Slave Trade, and which is in force in Hong Kong by its own authority. We have also the provisions of the Local Ordinance 4 of 1865, sections 50 and 51, and 2 of 1875." "Offenses against the provisions of these Ordinances, so far as they relate to women or children, are still very common, and are growing more numerous every day, and until the system of prostitution which prevails in this Colony, and the system of breeding up young girls from their infancy to supply the brothels of Hong Kong, Singapore, and San Francisco, _is declared to be slavery_, and is treated and punished as such in Hong Kong, no stop will ever be put to the kidnaping of women and the buying and selling of female children in Hong Kong. This buying and selling is only an effect of which the existing system of Chinese prostitution is the cause. Get rid of that, and there is an end of kidnaping." Again the nail had been struck on the head. _Licensed brothel slavery_, as it exists at Hong Kong, was put forward by the Chinese merchants as something to be dealt with before British officials could consistently lay violent hands on the more trivial offenses of _domestic slavery and so-called "adoption." Brothel slavery_, says Mr. Francis, must be dealt with _as slavery_ before the practice of _kidnaping_ can be put under control. This lesson was learned long ago. What did all the laws against man-stealing and slave-trading ever accomplish so long as the slave owner was allowed to keep his slave? As soon as slave-holding was declared impossible in the United States, there was no more trouble with slave-traders. Traders go to a market where they can dispose of their goods, not to a place where their kind of goods are a drug on the market. Says Mr. Francis bluntly: "The Chinese custom of adoption, whether of boys for continuing the family and worship of ancestors, or of girls for the ordinary purposes of domestic service, is not the foundation of all this buying and selling of women and girls; it is only the pretext and excuse." Mr. Francis states that the buying and selling of boys is rare as compared with the buying and selling of girls. That there are few Chinese families in Hong Kong. "The better class Chinese leave their wives in China. The transaction of purchase of these boys takes place at the home of the fathers of them in China. Seldom is it necessary to buy a son, as the usual custom when a wife has no son is to take another wife, not to buy a boy for a son,--hence such buying of boys is for servitude and for ransom, at Hong Kong." "Girls are not bought and sold in Hong Kong for domestic servitude under Chinese custom. They are bought and sold for the purpose of prostitution, here and elsewhere, and instead of being apprenticed to the domesticities, and of being brought up to be good wives and mothers, they are bought and sold,--brought up and trained for a life of prostitution, a life of the most abject and degrading slavery.... By the last census [this was written in 1880], there were in Hong Kong 24,387 Chinese women to 81,025 men. Of these 24,387 women the late Mr. May [Superintendent of Police] was of opinion that 20,000, or five-sixths, come under the denomination of prostitutes ... A Chinese doctor of large experience fixed the number of quasi-respectable women at one-fourth the whole number, or say 6,000, leaving 18,000 prostitutes. These opinions were taken and adopted by the Commission of 1877-1879 ... Who and what are these prostitutes who form by far the greater bulk of the Chinese female population of Hong Kong? The Report of the Commission answers the question: 'The great majority of them are owned by professional brothel-keepers or traders in women in Canton or Macao; they have been brought up for the profession, and trained in various accomplishments suited to their life ... They frequently know neither father nor mother, except what they call a pocket-mother,--that is, the woman who bought them from others ... They are owned in Macao and Canton. They are bought as infants. They come to Hong Kong at 13 or 14, and are deflowered at a special price which goes to the owners. The owner gets the whole of their earnings, and even gets presents given to the girls, who are allowed three or four dollars a month pocket-money. When some of the girls are sent away on account of age, new ones are got from Canton. If these girls are not slaves in every sense of the word, there is no such thing as slavery in existence. If this buying and selling for the purpose of training female children up for this life is not slave-dealing, then never was such a thing as slave-dealing in this world. There are 18,000 to 20,000 prostitutes in Hong Kong to 4,000 or 5,000 respectable Chinese women.... Once in five years the stock has to be renewed. It is for this purpose, and not for the legitimate or quasi-legitimate purposes of Chinese adoption and Chinese family life, that children and women are kidnaped and bought and sold ... Until this slave-holding and slave-dealing are entirely suppressed, the grosser abuses arising out of it and incidental to it (kidnaping of women and children) can never be put an end to." It was on May 20th, 1880, that the Secretary of State asked for the first statement of Sir John Smale's views as to kidnaping and domestic slavery. His reply is dated August 26th, and in it he refers to reasons for his delay in replying, of which the Governor is "well aware." His supplementary letter enclosing the Memorandum of slavery by Mr. Francis, was dated Nov. 24th, 1880. On April 2nd, 1881, he wrote a third time to the Colonial Secretary, from which we gather that even up to that time his explanations had not been forwarded to Lord Kimberley, Secretary of State. Said he: "I had hoped that these letters would have been forwarded last year, in the belief that they might have induced a less unfavorable view by Lord Kimberley of my judicial action as to these matters, and with the more important object of presenting what appears to me to be the great gravity of the evils I have denounced, as they affect the moral status of the Colony, in order that some remedy may be applied to them.... I am informed that His Excellency the Governor has been unable to obtain the opinion of the Attorney-General on the points raised." ... It is impossible not to feel that this neglect on the part of someone at Hong Kong to forward the Chief Justice's letters until the first of these was a year old (for they were actually sent in August, 1881), was a designed obstruction of his endeavors to set himself in the correct light, and to enlighten the Christian public of Great Britain as to the abuses existing at Hong Kong. In this letter expressing regret at the delay of his letters, he speaks of convictions of eight more cases of kidnaping, and "almost unprecedented brutal assaults on bought children." "Considering the special waste of life in brothel life, and the general want of new importations to keep up the bondage class of 20,000 in this Colony, the cases of kidnaping detected cannot be one-half of one per cent of the children and women kidnaped." "Two cases of brutal treatment of young girls by purchasers, their pocket-mothers, one little girl having had her leg broken by beating her, and the other having been shockingly and indecently burnt,--both probably weakened for life,--illustrate the cruel passions which ownership in human beings engenders here, as it ever has done elsewhere. In a case now before the magistrate, the evidence tends to show that a girl thirteen years old was bought by a brothel-keeper for $200, and forced, by beating and ill-treatment, into that course of life in a brothel licensed by law. Subject to such surveillance as these houses are by law, it seems to me such slavery is easy of suppression." At this time the official career of Sir John Smale at Hong Kong terminated. CHAPTER 13. THE EXTENSION OF SLAVERY TO THE STRAITS SETTLEMENT. We have traced the development of slavery from State-protected brothel slavery to State-tolerated domestic slavery and "adoption" of boys. Now we turn to Singapore, to find that all these forms of slavery exist there under the British flag, with the addition of a coolie-traffic dangerously like slavery, also, and they are all under the management of the Registrar General, or "Protector of the Chinese," as he is always called at the Straits. For the general description of conditions in the Straits Settlements, more especially at Singapore, we give in full a paper read by an Englishman, a resident of Singapore for many years, at the Annual Conference of American Methodist Missionaries, held in Singapore in 1894,--a paper which was endorsed by that body: It has come to be almost universally acknowledged that Singapore is indebted as much to Chinese as to British enterprise for its present commercial prosperity, and therefore the subject of Chinese labour which is vexing America and Australia, assumes a very different aspect in the Straits Settlements, and the fact that Chinese immigration has increased 50 per cent in the last ten years is looked upon as an unmitigated blessing. The magnitude of the Singapore labour trade will be understood when it is known that the number of Chinese who came to this port last year, either as genuine immigrants or for transshipment to other ports, was 122,029, which is actually more than the entire Chinese population of the town. In connection with the immigration of this multitude of men and women, speaking many dialects of a language which is wholly unknown to the officials of the British Government in the Straits, with the exception of perhaps half a dozen persons, it cannot be wondered at that many abuses arise, and the suspicion has gained ground and is frequently given expression to, in the public press and elsewhere, that many of the immigrants do not come to Singapore of their free will. Moreover, it cannot be denied that the circumstances under which the Chinese come to Singapore and are forwarded to their destination lend colour to this suspicion, so that it may fairly be inquired whether the efforts made by the Government of the Straits Settlements to control the Chinese coolie traffic and to prevent a secret form of slavery have been attended with any success, or are at all adequate to the requirements of the case. The Annual Report for the year 1892 on the Chinese Protectorate in the Straits Settlements which is the department charged with the control of immigration, was published on the 5th of May, 1893, and states that of the 122,029 Chinese deck passengers who arrived in Singapore from China during the year, 111,164 were males, 6,867 women and 3,998 children. The circumstances under which the men and the women are brought to Singapore are in many respects the same, but inasmuch as a large number of the women and some of the children are imported for immoral purposes, this part of the subject will be dealt with separately. Turning then to the above mentioned Report, we find as regards male immigration, that out of the 111,164 who arrived in Singapore 23,647 proceeded direct to Penang, and 1,798 to Malacca, Bangkok and Mauritius, leaving 85,719 remaining in Singapore, of whom 76,601 are classed as 'paid passengers,' and 9,118 as "unpaid passengers received into depots." With the former class the Chinese Protectorate has nothing more to do, unless they come to the Protector to sign a Government labour contract with planters or other employers of labor, but with the 'unpaid passengers' the case is very different. These men are brought to the Straits to the number of about 15,000 a year, under what is spoken of in the Report as "the much objurgated depot and broker system," and the facts as presented below will speak for themselves as to whether the objurgations are warranted or not. The brokers are all China men, and are admitted to be men of the worst character. They have their assistants or partners in the chief ports of China, who scout the country round in search of men and are known to be not very particular as to the means they employ in obtaining them. Nothing is required of the recruit except a willingness to hand himself over with his scanty outfit to the tender mercies of the broker, who pays his passage and provides him with food and such things as he considers needful. While the vessels, however, with their decks crowded with emigrants, are leaving the Chinese ports, it is a common occurrence for the cry of "man overboard" to be raised, so common indeed that few Captains now take the trouble to stop their ships, leaving the fugitive coolie to his fate or to be picked up by one of the native craft which are usually close at hand. The readiness of the Chinese emigrant thus to risk his life for the purpose of regaining his freedom, is explained by the advocates of the depot and broker system as arising from a desire on his part to outwit the broker and perhaps obtain another bonus by offering himself a second time as a candidate for the honour of a free passage, but it seems quite as likely that nothing less than kidnaping or forcible detention would induce men to run so great a risk. On arrival at Singapore the broker is again on the _qui vive_ to see that his captives do not jump into the sea, and as each coolie ship arrives at the wharf, a small force of police is in waiting to keep a space clear and prevent any attempt at escape, while the officers of the Protectorate board the ship, accompanied by a further force of marine police, for the purpose of inspecting the coolies. When permission is given to disembark, the unpaid passengers are made up into small parties and marched through the town to the depots under the escort of the brokers and several of their assistants, with much yelling and good deal of rough handling, and an occasional halt while a straggler or a would be runaway is brought back to the party. That the coolies are frequently successful in their attempts to escape is shown in the Report of the Chinese Protectorate, 160 being returned as 'absconded either when landing or at depot' in Singapore, and 101 at Penang, or about 1-3/4 per cent of the "unpaid passengers". On arrival at the depot, the coolies are probably surprised to find themselves securely confined in houses which look uncomfortably like prisons, and the passer-by may see the dirty and unkempt _sin-khehs_ or "new men," as these emigrants are called, peering out between the thick wooden bars of the windows. The coolies are thus forcibly detained at the depots until the brokers are successful in finding employers who are prepared to pay the price per head which they demand, a sum of about L10. In the meanwhile however, it appears from the Report that nearly 4-1/2 per cent of the inmates of the depots are discovered and redeemed by their friends, the numbers being 414 at Singapore, and 278 at Penang, and a further 1-3/4 per cent, or 236 at Singapore, and 55 at Penang, are shown under the headings "released and returned to China," having presumably been discovered to have been kidnaped. Of the total number of "unpaid passengers" arriving at Singapore and Penang, about 91 per cent eventually sign contracts and are made over to their employers or their agents, the majority of these being shipped off, under escort as before to the Native States of the Malay Peninsula or other neighboring countries, to labour for a fixed term of years after which the coolie is free to return to his native land or to seek such other employment as he may see fit. Such are the circumstances under which thousands of our fellow beings are annually brought to the labour market at Singapore, and it must be admitted that, to say the least of it, the system does not seem worthy of Western nineteenth century civilization. At the same time the extreme difficulty of controlling the 'depot and broker system,' or even of providing an efficient substitute for it, must be freely admitted. The system of Government contracts and inspection of immigrants has already done something toward ameliorating the condition of the coolie, and guarding him against illegal detention after his arrival at Singapore or Penang. Much more, however, remains to be done before the coolie trade will cease to be a reproach to the Straits Settlements, and it is doubtful whether any satisfactory reforms will be accomplished until the Chinese Government is moved in the matter with a view to checking the evil at the fountain head. Failing this, it would be worth considering whether the system of "unpaid passengers" might not advantageously be abolished, especially as this class of immigrant represents only 11 per cent of the total immigration, and more than one-third of the labor contracts last year were voluntarily signed by "paid passengers." It seems probable that if the "unpaid passenger" system were abolished, and the market thus thrown open to free competition, a much larger number of "paid passengers" would offer for contracts. But, even if this plan should appear to involve too great a risk of diminishing the flow of Chinese coolies to Singapore, it surely would not too severely tax the ingenuity of the Straits Government to devise a system of State-aided immigration, closely resembling that which has for many years been working in Canada, and more in accord with the dictates of ordinary humanity and English ideas of the liberty of the subject. Among the Chinese at Singapore the women number less than one-fifth of the population, and at Penang the proportion between males and females is practically the same. In the immigration returns the disparity is even more marked, for there is only one female immigrant to every eighteen men. This extraordinary preponderance of males in the Chinese population of these towns has given rise to, and is made the standing excuse for, a wholesale system of prostitution to which it would be difficult to find a parallel. Government registration and protection have favored the growth of this diabolical plague spot, for, strange to say, this gigantic system of debauchery is under the direction of the department which is euphemistically entitled "The Chinese Protectorate," the "Protector of Chinese" at Singapore being also the Inspector of over 200 brothels, and the Registrar of about 1,800 prostitutes. Many streets of well built three-story houses, chiefly in one particular quarter of the town, are devoted to this nefarious traffic, and are thronged every night with Chinamen who loaf about and gaze into the front rooms and verandahs of the brothels, for these front rooms open on the street and there the women and girls are assembled in their best attire for the inspection of the passers-by. Anything more ostentatiously and revoltingly public could hardly have been devised, and it is painful to reflect that the whole arrangement is the product of Western civilization, such scenes being utterly unknown in China except in the treaty ports, where public prostitution has also been introduced by Europeans. Taking Singapore as a sample of the working of this system of regulated vice in the Straits Settlements, we will now proceed to inquire into the means by which this army of prostitutes is recruited. Out of the total of 1,800 prostitutes in Singapore the Chinese women number on the average 1,600, and last year (1892) no less than 621 women entered brothels from China and Hong Kong, in spite of which the number of inmates fell from 1,657 in January to 1,601 in December, so that it may fairly be inferred that more than 650 women are required annually to fill up the vacancies which occur. In order to explain the manner in which this large number of girls and young women are obtained each year, it must be stated that all the affairs connected with the inmates of houses of ill-fame in the Straits Settlements are in the hands of the brothel-keepers. These persons in Penang have formed a "Brothel-keepers' Guild," which appears in the Report of the Chinese Protectorate as one of the registered societies of that town and boasts of 297 members. The brothel-keepers of Singapore are probably banded together in the same way, and in proportion to the number of brothels should be more than twice as numerous as those in Penang. These brothel-keepers have their confederates in China, who search for girls and young women in the same way that the coolie-brokers search for the men, and these unfortunate young persons are brought to Singapore in batches under escort in the same way as the men, but are taken from the ships in closed carriages instead of being driven through the town like sheep, as the men are. All these young women and girls, who are brought to Singapore for immoral purposes, with the full knowledge and consent of the Government, are taken direct from the ships to the office of the Protector of Chinese, to be questioned as to their willingness to lead a life of shame; but the value of this interrogation may be inferred from the fact that the subordinate officer to whom this duty is generally assigned is not acquainted with the language spoken by the women. As a further precaution against the illegal detention of women and girls in brothels, a Government notice is posted in each of these houses, to the effect that the inmates are perfectly at liberty to leave whenever they like, but this is of little use, as hardly any of them can read, and it would be more to the purpose if the Government ordered the removal of the bars from the doors and windows of the brothels. The fact is that these precautions against illegal detention are practically useless, and this is admitted even by the editor of such a paper as the _Hong Kong Daily Press_, who some time ago discussed the question _apropos_ of the suicide of a Hong Kong prostitute who was desirous of being married. The man who wished to marry her offered the pocket-mother a sum of $2,000, but she demanded $2,300 and refused to part with the woman for less; whereupon she hung herself. The following comments on this case are from the _Hong Kong Daily Press_: "It would appear on the face of it that the efforts of the Government are absolutely impotent, the notices so much waste paper, and the 'rights of liberty' mere empty phrases of no meaning or significance to the Chinese mind ... A Chinawoman would never dream of effecting her escape for the purpose of evading the blood money. Of course such transactions are absolutely illegal, there is no tittle of reason why the man should pay a cent for the girl, but it is nevertheless an indubitable fact that the custom is widely prevalent, and that Hong Kong is a market for the buying and selling of women which the Government is powerless to touch. Exeter Hall in possession of these facts would indeed have a theme for pious lucubrations." Commenting upon the same case the _Singapore Free Press_ says: "A recent investigation into a case of suicide in Hong Kong brings into strong prominence what is really a system of slavery of the worst kind, and which is not unknown in Singapore." Such testimony is valuable from papers which have consistently supported the Contagious Diseases Ordinances and vilified the opponents of the State regulation of vice. There can be little doubt that a large proportion of the girls and young women who are brought to the Straits Settlements for immoral purposes have been sold in China to the brothel-keepers' confederates. In many cases girls are thus sold by their parents for the payment of gambling and other debts, and sometimes, alas, to provide money for the purchase of opium. Surely it is a burning shame that British Colonies should have become the market for the sale of Chinese women into this diabolical form of slavery. This article cannot be closed without a brief reference to another and more subtle form of slavery which is well known to exist in the Straits. The last Report of the Chinese Protectorate reveals the fact that during last year (1892) in Singapore alone 426 prostitutes left brothels and went into private houses, and in the same period 148 left private houses and entered brothels. The wealthy Chinese in the Straits Settlements keep up very large establishments, and the uninitiated visitor cannot fail to be surprised at the number of young women in the quarter assigned to the servants. They are employed on house work, and keep the magnificent furniture and wardrobes in splendid order, and in many cases they make cakes and sweetmeats which are sold on the streets by their own offspring. The question naturally arises,--Are these women and girls free agents? It is very difficult to say with certainty whether they are free or not, but it is generally admitted that a subtle form of domestic slavery does exist in the Straits, and that boys as well as girls are bought and sold with impunity. This account in no way exaggerates conditions, as official documents plainly show. We will confine our thoughts, however, to the women. In a plea for the continuance of the Contagious Diseases Ordinance at Singapore, Mr. Pickering, "Protector," describes two classes of prostitutes, a proportion of free women "who come down here to gain a livelihood, and girls purchased when very young.... These are absolutely the property of their owners, chiefly women whom the girl calls 'mother,' and whom they regard as such.... The mistress brings her girls down to the Straits, and either sells them, or takes them from place to place, lodging them in licensed brothels where she resides, nominally a servant, but receiving the earnings of her girls, and paying a commission to the licensed keeper. In case of sale, the so-called 'mother' receives the price paid for her 'daughter,' and the 'daughter' signs a promissory note for the amount, with heavy interest; the former owner returns to China, and the victim is bound to serve the Straits mistress; at the same time, the girl is comparatively (!) fortunate in that, coming here under the protection we can give through the Contagious Diseases Ordinances, she has some chance of becoming a free woman." Now listen, reader, to the wonderful chances of becoming a free woman under the British flag, this "Protector" holds out to the slave girls who are placed in his officially managed brothels: "The girls with their promissory notes are passed from hand to hand in sale, or as pledges for loans; and in one brothel I found two girls, who had, on arrival in Singapore from China some six years previous, signed a note for $300 each, of which every cent had been received and taken back to China by the person who had disposed of them. During the six years they had been the property of two or three successive owners, and when I found them in Penang they were still being detained with the original promissory note hanging over them, though the sum had been paid over and over again. On my insisting on accounts being produced by the brothel-keeper, I discovered that for three years the girls had been earning from 20 to 30 dollars each per month, all of which went to the master, who was surprised when the girls were released and himself threatened with the law." (!) From this we discover that Mr. Pickering intends that we shall think that the reason why he has a salary from the British Government, is, among other things, to see that slave girls only need to redeem themselves by hard earned money through unspeakable humiliation from one, or two, or more owners, and then there is an end to the patience of the "Protector" with the slave-trader, who will be surprised to find himself "threatened"--not punished--with the law! But Cecil C. Smith, formerly Protector of Chinese (Registrar General) at Hong Kong, was knighted and made Governor at Singapore, and about a year later than this, says, in reference to this very representation: "The Protector of Chinese has no efficient means of dealing with the accounts of the inmates of brothels, nor has he ever dealt with them. The Government should hold itself entirely aloof from interfering with such matters." We see, then, of how much account the representations of Mr. Pickering were as to the usefulness of the "Protector" to the women at this point, but incidentally he has revealed a shocking state of slavery perfectly known and not in the least interfered with by the "Protector." Mr. Pickering continues: "At that time the majority of inmates of brothels were in the same condition; besides this, they were subject to great cruelty and restraint." He professes a great improvement, since then, but we may take his word for what it is worth on such a point. "We, indeed ... have asked for, and trust to get, more legislation to enable us to rescue the numbers of small children who, purchased in China, are brought down here and trained for a life of prostitution." Nothing of the sort. He knew perfectly well, as did every Englishman in the Colony, that the Common Law alone of Great Britain, if there were nothing more, was quite sufficient to deliver every one of these children, as well as every slave girl, in the country. If more legislation were desired it was for some other purpose than to empty the brothels of their slaves. He goes on to state that children born in brothels "in case of free women belong to the mother, but when prostitutes, their issue is claimed by their owners, unless their mothers complain to the Registrar," which of course, he knew, they would never venture to do. "We know well that even now there is a deal of traffic in young girls going on, and that a number of inmates of brothels are really slaves.... The only Europeans I have heard object to the Contagious Diseases Ordinance are those who, in their well-meant zeal, would abolish prostitution, and punish all parties engaged as criminals." Precisely! Sir John Smale at Hong Kong had undertaken to "punish all parties engaged" in this nefarious slave business, and his methods were declared unwise and unpractical, simply because his methods endangered prostitution in the form of brothel-slavery. Says Mr. Pickering in conclusion: "I myself profess to be a Christian, and endeavor according to my light, and as far as my nature will allow, to conform my conduct to the standards of my religion; while holding these principles, I certainly feel that I should not be acting in accordance with the wishes of my Master, were I not to advocate most strongly that healing should be extended to the poor, the helpless, and afflicted, whether they be harlots or any other kind of sinners, who; unless the Government assist them by forced examinations, will suffer and often die in misery from the want of medical assistance." Perhaps the most charitable view to take of this creature is that suggested by himself. He was a Christian, he claims, "as far as my nature will allow." Had his nature only allowed him to see further, he would have perceived a distance as wide as heaven is from hell between the conduct of the Divine Master who "went about healing all that were oppressed," and the man who prostitutes the healing art to the service of libertines, in making it healthier, if possible, for them to defy the commandments of that same Divine Master. Such doctors are the offscouring of the medical profession. A Chinaman one day entered Mr. Pickering's office at the Protectorate in Singapore, accused him of selling his brother into slavery, and tried to brain him with an axe. The blow was not fatal, but the "Protector," if living, is still in a mad house. The attitude of the average official mind in this part of the world, among the British, as betrayed by innumerable expressions in their own documents, is perhaps most precisely put by Mr. Swettenham. British Resident at Perak. Speaking of measures adopted to make vice more healthy, he says: "As to the Chinese, the only question in the minds of members (of the Council) was whether such an Order would not drive the women from the state," and then he declares the measures were introduced cautiously and gradually ... "The steps already taken have been with the object of protecting Chinese women from ill treatment and oppression in a state of life ... where the labour required is compulsory prostitution for the benefit of unscrupulous masters ... and secondly, in the interest of public order and decency ..." "always remembering that where the males so enormously outnumber the females, the prostitute is a necessary evil," "I have avoided any reference to the moral question," continues Mr. Swettenham, "Morality is dependent on the influence of climate, religious belief, education, and the feeling of society. All these conditions differ in different parts of the world." CHAPTER 14. PROTECTIVE ORDINANCES. After eighteen years' hard struggle, the British Abolitionists succeeded in getting Parliament to repeal the Contagious Diseases Acts in force in certain military stations in England, and in force in other parts of the British Empire. It now became the duty of the Secretary of State for the Colonies to see that all the Crown Colonies, such as Hong Kong and Singapore followed suit. This was in 1886, and the Contagious Diseases Ordinances for these two places were not replaced by other legislation until 1888 at Singapore, and 1890 at Hong Kong. From what we have seen of the spirit of these officials in general it seems needless to say that the old Contagious Diseases Ordinances were repealed amid a storm of protests. One of the Municipal Commissioners of Singapore "said that the repeal of the Contagious Diseases Ordinance was the most cruel and merciless act which had ever been done." A statement from the unofficial members of the Legislative Council at Hong Kong declared: "In England abuses might have arisen under the recent law, but here it is impossible," and very much more of the same false nature. The new Ordinances are excellent reading, and in the hands of the right sort of officials would do incalculable good. _But laws were not needed in the Colonies to put down slavery._ Mr. Francis' Memorandum, and Sir John Smale's pronouncements have clearly demonstrated that fact, but the right sort of men were needed to enforce the laws already in existence, in the same disinterested manner in which Sir John Smale had wrought so effectually. The new law was, however, put in each case under the administration of the "Protector" and his staff of officials, and the result has been, and could but be unsatisfactory, to the present day. For instance, in 1893, Mr. H.E. Wodehouse, Police Magistrate at Hong Kong, in reporting on a case of suicide of a slave girl to the Colonial Secretary at Hong Kong, to be transmitted for the information of Lord Ripon, Secretary of State for the Colonies, who had asked for the information, goes quite fully into a description of conditions at this time, three years after the passage of the Protective Ordinance. He says: "The name of the deceased was Chan Ngan-Kin.... She was registered as a prostitute in this brothel on the 23rd of December, 1890. When registering her name she said she had no pocket-mother, that her parents were both dead, and that she became a prostitute of her own free will. The inspector said that that was the description of themselves that nearly all prostitutes give, and that it was very rarely that it was true. The further evidence went to prove that she and a young man were mutually attached to each other, and he was anxious to redeem her, and that she was desirous of being redeemed, but that the price asked, two thousand three hundred dollars, was more than he was willing to give, though he was willing to give two thousand dollars.... There is little doubt that his inability to redeem her caused her to commit suicide.... The pocket-mother was not produced [at the inquest], and there was a general disposition on the part of the Chinese witnesses to withhold information." Lord Ripon said in his letter of inquiry: "If the facts were as stated in the above-mentioned paper, it would seem to prove that it is not generally understood in the Colony that a brothel keeper has no legal right to demand any redemption money for the release of one of the inmates." To this the Magistrate replies, in explanation: "It is not quite correct to speak of the brothel-keeper as demanding redemption money. The person whose property the prostitute is is the pocket-mother, that is to say, the purchaser of the girl. Nearly every prostitute has her own pocket-mother, and she it is who has sole control over the prostitute's movements. All the earnings go to her, and the redemption money when redemption takes place. The 'brothel-keeper' is a creation of the Government, and the term has, I think, led to some misappreciation of the actual state of things. It is true that, being registered by the Government, she becomes in a manner responsible for the proper conduct of the establishment, but the property in the girl does not rest in her, except in the case of the two or three girls to whom she may herself be pocket-mother, that is to say, whom she may herself have purchased. The pocket-mothers are the real proprietresses of their purchases, and a brothel-keeper would not regard herself as in any way connected with such girls, beyond the obligation devolving upon her of registering the inmates of the house of which she, as tenant or owner, was the proprietress. A Chinese brothel is in fact merely a collection under one roof of several different establishments, consisting of the pocket-mothers and their purchases, the pocket-mothers for the most part being the body-servants of their charges, and administering to their daily wants, though in reality their mistresses and their absolute owners." The document scarcely needs comment. It illustrates the fact that one may have most ideal laws, but laws never operate automatically, and in the absence of any desire to "let the oppressed go free," but rather an eager desire to hold them in subjection to the base propensities of profligate men, as all the State documents representing the situation tend to show, there is small proof that the "Women and Girls' Protective Ordinance of 1889" has had any appreciable effect in altering the slave conditions at Hong Kong. The same old notorious inspector, John Lee, who, Governor Hennessy thought, ought to have been prosecuted for manslaughter, after he hounded those native women to their death, was Chief Inspector of Brothels at Hong Kong in 1894, when we made investigations in that Colony, and personally interviewed many of these slave girls, and heard their stories. The most recent official documents relating to the matter have been commented upon in _The Shield_ (organ of the British Committee of the International Purity Federation), in its issue dated London, June, 1906, as follows: "One of the most important parliamentary papers of recent years on our question has just been issued in response to questions put in the House of Commons by Mr. Henry J. Wilson, M.P., on March 8th last. The title is, 'Further Correspondence relating to Measures Adopted for Checking the Spread of Venereal Disease' (Cd. 2903), and relates to enactments in the Straits Settlements, Hong Kong, and Gibraltar, during the period in which the Rt. Hon. Joseph Chamberlain was at the head of the Colonial office. "The correspondence in question further reveals the existence and extent of a 'Yellow Slave Trade' in the East of large dimensions. The girls in question are stated to be 'bought when young,' and 'believe themselves bound body and soul to the brothel-keepers.' Nine hundred and sixty-eight Chinese women, presumably of this kind, are reported at Penang, and 62 Japanese women. There were 176 admissions of Japanese women, and 141 admissions of Chinese women in 1899 to the public hospital at Singapore, besides numbers of other cases to private hospitals maintained by the keepers of the houses of ill-fame. "Many passages in the correspondence give evidence of a continual import traffic going on, which the head of the Regulation Department, the 'Protector of Chinese,' at Singapore, seems to have made some effort to counteract. He speaks of ten girls between 9 and 15 that he attempted to rescue from sale to a traveling dealer, but who were returned to their former surroundings on a writ of _habeas corpus_ by the Supreme Court; but upon information in regard to this case reaching the Colonial office in London, correspondence ensued which resulted in Mr. Chamberlain directing an alteration of the law to meet the case of the prosecution which had so lamentably failed. "The Protector of Chinese also tells of 'girls under ten years of age who are bought and sold in the colony,' 'brought from China for purposes of sale,' 'generally sold to inmates of brothels,' and of women who are 'in the habit of arriving from China with relays of babies' for the same purpose. The Straits Settlements Government thus attempts to cut off a twig here and there of the tree of this evil traffic, whilst leaving untouched the root and trunk of the tree itself, the State protection of vice, by which it is made practicable safely to invest large capital in this most nefarious but lucrative traffic. "Page 4 of this Correspondence shows that an ordinance was passed in 1899, imposing very heavy fines and imprisonment on any keeper of a brothel who allowed any of the inmates suffering from contagious disease to remain in the house. This has led to a system of private arrangements with medical men for the periodical sanitary inspection and treatment of the inmates. "At page 19 the Acting Colonial Surgeon says: 'A large number of Japanese houses had some time before made private arrangements with my partner, Dr. Mugliston and myself, for medical attendance, and the rumor regarding the intended legislation induced most of the remainder to follow their example during the month of September. The increase of Japanese inmates (of the hospital) for this month, therefore, was caused by our sending in those cases of disease then found among these fresh houses.' Paragraph 4, the same page, says: 'With regard to the Chinese women we already had long had a number of Chinese brothels to attend professionally; during September of 1899 a large proportion of the remainder made similar arrangements with us.' "It is difficult to say positively what the precise nature of these transactions is, but it is only too evident that the acting Colonial surgeon, with his professional partner, was most improperly mixed up with the business arrangements of the brothel-keepers. These people, indeed, figure so that they must have constituted a very good, and perhaps the most lucrative portion of the practice of these doctors. "To cope with the extra business brought in by these arrangements, section 2 of paragraph 4, page 19, says: 'In September, 1899, four private lock hospitals were organized, one in each of the four main sections of brothels, by the keepers under our direction.' Paragraph 6 says: 'We make frequent periodic inspections of the Chinese brothels, seeing each inmate, and visit our private hospitals daily.' Here, again, it may be asked what are the precise relations of the acting Colonial surgeon to 'our private hospitals?' It is satisfactory to know that inquiries are being made by our Parliamentary friends in regard to this peculiar, if not suspicious, circumstance. "Mr. Chamberlain, with all the foregoing facts before his eyes, says on page 21: 'I am glad to find that the Protector of Chinese and the acting Colonial surgeon have, so far, been able to give such a satisfactory report of the working of the ordinance.' "At Hong Kong, 'the keepers of Chinese and Japanese brothels frequented by Europeans have retained private practitioners as their medical advisers, and a small private lock-hospital has been instituted for Japanese women.' This followed on 33 prosecutions instituted by the police in respect of 89 complaints made by soldiers and sailors of the British forces. Page 35 and elsewhere show that prosecutions have taken place of 'sly brothels,' competing with the 'regular professed brothels.' "It is to be hoped that this Blue-book will, with facts now being published in various parts of Europe and in America, draw attention to the necessity of a new movement (supplementary to the great movement now on foot for the suppression of the 'White Slave Trade'), for the suppression of the 'Yellow Slave Trade,' which is becoming almost world-wide in character." As the supply of girls both in Singapore and Hong Kong comes very largely from Canton, let us first describe the conditions we found there. Our Journal of February 14th, 1894, reads as follows: "We went in company with a missionary and a native, both of whom could talk both English and Chinese, and visited some 'flower-boats' on the river. Many of these boats are quite pretentious, with their rich wood-carving, fine furniture, and gaudy display of tinsel. There were whole streets of them,--floating houses moored together; we walked along the length of the street on one side, stepping from the bow of one boat to the next, the bows of the boats constituting front verandahs. We called at almost every place, but a description of one will do for all. First, as we entered, was a couch for opium smoking; just beyond this a reception room, very gaudy, with dozens of hanging lamps, and at one end a shrine for the gods, and offerings before it. In a room back of the reception room, and also upstairs, there were girls in large numbers. A hard-featured old woman came forward from the back room, who, our interpreter said, was as good a specimen as we could possibly have seen of an old brothel-keeper of Canton, one who had been in the business for many years of buying or otherwise obtaining babies and girls, and training them for prostitution. The girls came crowding to the door of the back room, and looked in upon us with eager curiosity. Our interpreter called our attention to the manner of dressing the hair,--like married women,--as indicating their bad life. The interpreter said they were inducted usually at about thirteen years of age. They were all dressed very showily, and heavily powdered and painted, excepting some mere babies who were plainly dressed. Troops of little girls, from four to five years of age, swarmed out of the neighboring 'flower-boats' and gathered around us, screaming and scrambling, falling, laughing, and following us the full length of the street, which was made up of about twenty such boats on either side. And none of these innocent little things at all realized the fate in store for them. In one place we saw two very old women in the front room. In another, a woman knelt before the idolatrous shrine engaged in her devotions. At one point there was a very large boat brilliantly fitted up for music, dancing, smoking opium, and feasting. At the far end of the street was a 'kitchen-boat,' from which supplies of food, ready cooked, could be bought. All the way along we saw little girls with the unmistakable signs of their destiny upon them. Our interpreter said the girls were usually made to stay upstairs during the day time, but at night the whole place was illuminated and alive; then they were brought down and to the front. Occasionally we would see one of these huge house boats full of painted girls, floating down the middle of the stream, for they move about from place to place at will. "At Canton, February 18th, 1894, we met and conversed with a missionary lady who had just come from a station in the interior. She had travelled from her station on a Chinese boat, which had been chartered by her adopted son for his use going up, and for hers coming down the river. When she was about to embark, she required that the men should search the boat, and down below, in the very bottom, were a lot of little girls--_child slaves_--being smuggled to Canton for the trade of a vile life. She made the men take the children off the boat, but with great difficulty. They resisted, but she stood courageously, and saw her commands executed. After she had accomplished this, and started down the river, all alone, so far as any English-speaking person was concerned, the men, who were still deeply enraged at being defeated in their plans, greatly annoyed her by intruding on her constantly, and finally they threatened to kill her; but she presented as brave a front as possible, and at last took hold of one man who was especially insolent, by the shoulder, in an authoritative manner, bidding him to go out of her presence. He went away cowed, and they all said, as was reported to her by one of her attendants, 'She is not afraid'; they then became very superstitious at the idea of a woman taking hold of them, and troubled her no more. "The five or six Christian friends where we were staying in Canton all agreed that it was the most common occurrence for little girls to be bought and sold for immoral purposes. One of the group has often heard the wretched blind girls singing just under her window, on the river bank, and under conduct of the old brothel-keeper, their owner, thus attracting custom. The proportion of blind people in Oriental countries is much greater, owing to the prevalence of eye diseases and the poverty and ignorance of the people in coping with these, than in the West; and as blind girls do not bring much money when disposed of as wives, so they are sold in large numbers into a life of shame. Poor little slaves! Because they are deprived of the natural light of day, so they are destined never to see a ray of moral light enter their miserable existence! We saw three or four little blind girls who had been rescued, by these Christian workers, from their terrible fate; but these are only a few rare exceptions out of the thousands that are borne on into the tide of shame and anguish continually." Of the many girls we interviewed at Hong Kong the story of the following seems typical of her class, so we extract it from our journal: "At the first place we called there were six inmates--four of whom were present at the interview. The keeper went out of the room as we entered, and did not return. The girls were very friendly, and one of them talked a little English. This one told us that she came from Canton, and, in broken English, said that she had 'no father, no mother, no brother; a poor man took her when a _very_ little child and raised her to sell. By and by a woman came and offered to buy poor man's little girl, and as he had but little food, he asks, 'How much?' then she buys the little girl and brings her to Hong Kong. Then woman take her to Englishman and say, 'She first-class girl,' and he say, 'I make her my wife,' but he not good; he no husband; he go away to his house--England.' Thus she described in a few simple words the tragedy of her life with tears in her eyes; her training for vice; her sale; her hopes of marriage; her desertion; the outcome, her consignment to a Government-licensed brothel. She was but one of the tens of thousands at Hong Kong. We asked, 'How would a girl have to do in order to live in this house?' They said, 'She must be registered at the Lock. Hospital, and would have to go to the Court and Mr. Lockhart (the Registrar-General) would ask her questions; whether she had a father and mother; how old she was; _where the money went to that was paid for her_; and whether she wanted to be a prostitute or not.' We asked, 'If a girl should say that she _did not_ want to be a prostitute what would be done?' They answered, 'No girl would _dare_ to say this _when she had been bought_.' We asked the girl who talked English over again about this, and she said the same. "All the places of infamy reserved for the use of Europeans which we visited in Hong Kong, were within three minutes' walk of Victoria Hotel, in the very busiest part of the city. Close by our hotel were such world-famed shops as 'Watson and Co.,' 'Kelly and Walsh,' etc.; a short distance down the street were the Postoffice and the Supreme Court buildings. The respectable English residents of Hong Kong cannot go about the streets of the city without seeing these places; there are draper-shops and other places visited daily and hourly by respectable foreigners and natives, occupying the ground floor of these brothels. The fine new building of the Girls' High School, under the management of the Government, is within five minutes' walk; yet all these brothels are glaringly numbered, as registered by the city, in huge figures eight or ten inches high, of red on a white background, painted on the doors of the stairways leading to the second story of the buildings occupied by these shops. The school children cannot pass by without noting these officially numbered houses, and seeing the girls sitting at all hours of the day and into the night conspicuously in the balconies over the shops of drapers, grocers, tailors, silk-merchants, shoe-dealers, &c., &c., and often hearing them calling to each other from house to house, and to the men in the public streets below. Mrs. Andrew, when in the street, March 2nd, saw a group of these slave-women calling down to three policemen, who were looking up and laughing at them. These are daily sights." The unblushing parade of forms of vice, which have been manufactured in the Orient especially to meet the demands of renegade members of Christian civilization, can be seen in a peculiarly painful and brazen form in the city of Hong Kong. While we were at Hong Kong, there occured a great celebration in honor of the repair and rededication of an important Buddhist temple. There was a grand procession, and many thousands of Chinese from the mainland came over to witness the celebration. The parade formed in the early morning and went at once to the residence of the Governor to do him honor, after which it marched through the principal streets of the city. It was a curious, interesting, and withal a painful sight, in some regards not unlike industrial parades in our own country. At night we saw something totally unique and difficult to describe to those who have not witnessed the same in China. Men bore aloft great dragons and fishes innumerable, of all sizes and shapes, (but very true to life), given a natural color and lighted up within, like Chinese lanterns. These were held aloft on the ends of long poles, and as the men who carried them were invisible, because of the darkness, and trod noiselessly because of bare, or merely sandaled feet, the impression was of an immense train of these creatures floating or swimming silently through the air. The procession was made up of men of all sorts and kinds. Great fat men with enormous fans panted along, and little boys ran by their side with stools upon which they gravely seated themselves whenever the line of march was halted for a moment. Little boys progressed painfully along with the rest, walking on their hands, with their feet thrown up into the air, or spinning along on all fours like wheels, or going through various other antics. And, contrary to anything that could have happened away from the open ports of China, there were many women in the parade, and girls too. They were on horseback, in sedan chairs, borne on wheeled platforms, like our "Goddess of Liberty" representations on the Fourth of July; walking, and sometimes riding on bullocks. We counted 150 women in all. These were dressed and painted up in such a style that a single glance showed they belonged to the disreputable class, and their old "pocket-mothers," were to be seen walking along close to them and keeping a sharp lookout over their gaudily dressed slaves. Yet more painful was the sight of the little girls, bound to heavy wires and placed in all manner of contortions. Here was a girl about sixteen, standing cross-legged on a moving platform, holding a spear in each hand, the spears crossed in front of her breast, and a little girl dangling from each spear-point. So it appeared, but in fact all were well wired into the distressing shape they occupied, and it was said that none of them could have endured the position for a moment but for plentiful doses of opium. Next passed a girl standing on the moving platform, holding a spear at arm's length, and a three-year-old girl standing on its point. Then a little boy holding a long rod from which was suspended a tiny child. A girl passed sitting on a stool and holding a sword by its point with a child of four suspended from its handle, and next a girl holding a sword by its handle, and the child suspended from its point. One girl sat playing a flute held up high in the air, and a girl of six appeared to be suspended from it. One poor little thing was borne high up in the air, astride a turning-pole, with legs well crossed beneath the pole. And then there came along a little girl swaying about on the end of a long pole carried by men in the procession. We were on the second floor of a great verandah of the hotel, and the child swung so close to us, that we started forward toward her with a cry of pity. Great tears were rolling down her cheeks, and she seemed to look straight into our eyes, and attempted a sickly smile at our expressions of pity. Later, after the procession of fishes, we sat in company with two Chinese ministers of the Gospel who came to call upon us, and discussed in sadness the scenes of the day. They said, if we had understood the native language and joined in the procession, as they did at times, we would have heard the old "pocket-mothers" and other owners of these girls driving bargains for their sale, temporarily or permanently, with the men of the crowds. These native Christians marvelled that Englishmen and American men who called themselves "Christians" could have joined in these festivities in honor of a heathen temple, and that the Governor should have made a speech of congratulation, with no rebuke of these scenes of inhuman torture of women and child slaves, when the procession paused at his door. These parades continued two or three days, always accompanied by the great paper dragons, whether in the daytime or at night, by the noise of deafening tom-toms, and the sickening sight of tortured slave-girls. CHAPTER 15. "PROTECTION" AT SINGAPORE. "Ladies, I wish to introduce to you Mr. ---- He is eager to meet you, and I am sure you will be glad to meet him. You are working along much the same lines. Mr. ---- I assure you, is, in fact, interested in every good thing that is done in this City, and in every good thing that comes this way. We all count on his sympathies. I am glad to have the privilege of bringing you together." With this our friend of many years, the good Doctor, withdrew to speak to another group, and we entered into a short conversation with the white-headed old man to whom we had been introduced. He was profuse in his expressions of sympathy for our purity work, but somehow, we could hardly have defined why, we were not interested in him, and soon turned away. The occasion that gave the opportunity for his introduction, was a missionary conference at Singapore. The man in question had explained to us that he was not of the same denomination as the church that had called together the reception of that evening, but that he seldom failed to attend all such gatherings, no matter of what denomination, because of his interest in every part of the "Father's Kingdom". Although we were very weary, and the air was intensely close, Singapore being only about seventy-five miles from the Equator, we spent most of that night and of several others in company with a Christian friend and interpreter, in the worst parts of the city; and this, with visits to various regions during the day, gave us a pretty clear understanding of the situation as to the matter of enforcement or non-enforcement of the Protective Ordinance. "On the night of February 1st, 1894, we went to Tringanu street, and ascended to the third story of a large building. The front windows of this upper floor were gaily lighted up by many colored lamps, and could be seen far down the street. There was a small opium den at the foot of the stairway, on the ground floor. On reaching the head of the stairs, and turning, we entered a large front room. There were bedrooms at the back of the house, to be let to patrons of the establishment. At the opposite end of the front room from the windows was the ever-present idolatrous shrine. On either side of the room were elegantly-carved ebony chairs, with marble or agate panels. Rich Chinese pictures decorated the walls. Toward the back of the room hung the sign, '283 Licensed Eating House.' There was a large table in the centre of the room. Toward the front, on either side, in alcoves, partitioned off in part from the remainder of the room, were opium couches, with pipes and lamps ready for use. We give this description in full, as it applies, almost without variation, to all the others which we visited in the immediate neighborhood. Food was furnished on order, intoxicating drinks, and opium. At the second place, on the opposite corner of the same block, the men told us that the place was used for the same purposes. We asked where the women were, and they answered that it was too late to see them, but if we would come earlier we would find them. When asked where the women came from, they pointed down to the street below, to the open brothels, and said there were a great number of degraded women who lived close by; said the brothel-keepers sent them. They said that white men as well as Chinese came to their place. After this we walked the length of the several streets and side-streets, in the near vicinity, and proved the truth of what the men had told us as to the swarming numbers of degraded girls and women. "The next night we went to the same neighborhood, and revisited the two places already mentioned, and others also. As we reached the top of the stairway and passed into the front room of the place where they had invited us to return, there was quite a flutter of excitement, and we instantly saw that there was a number of girls present, all very young, and several mere children. On our left a fat, middle-aged Chinese man sat, with two or three little girls, one in his lap and one on either side of him, in his arms; two more were throwing something that resembled dice on a table within the front alcove, and the rest were sitting on the opium couches. There were ten girls in all; the two youngest could not possibly have been more than eight years old; only one, out of the ten, claimed to be over sixteen; we all doubted her claim, because of her extreme immaturity of appearance. The two youngest children were immediately sent away by order of the fat man, who was evidently in authority. The men explained that these girls belonged to different women who were not their own mothers; that they came to sing and dance, and pour wine for the patrons who came to the place. They also explained that all these girls were brought from the brothels, and were either already living a bad life or were being trained up for prostitution. They were powdered heavily, had flowers and ornaments in their hair, the upper part of the forehead made bare, and the hair dressed elaborately, like married women (even the very youngest children); of course they were not married, for they were declared to be the property of the brothel-keepers, and this manner of dress must, therefore, have been an advertisement of their shame. "A curious musical instrument was brought--somewhat like a dulcimer--on which two of the girls played in succession, singing in a high, monotonous way. "From here we went to the first place visited the night previous, on the opposite corner of the same block. There was quite an excitement here when we came in. Two men and two girls were playing on native instruments--one of the men on a sort of fiddle, and the other on a rude guitar; the girls, one striking, in sharp staccato fashion, a wooden perforated bowl inverted on a standard or post, and the other a kind of cymbal; they were singing in the same shrill, monotonous way we had heard before. We counted eight girls here. There was a piece of unpainted tin or zinc, about eight by twelve inches, set upon the table toward one end, with a list of fifty names on it, and a Chinese man, who talked fair English, explained it thus: 'These are the names of singing and dancing girls who come here; a man looks over the list and calls for a girl to sing or dance; then he chooses his girl.' "We then went to a third place on the same side of the street. Here there was a wild confusion as we reached the top of the second flight of stairs and entered the front room, and several young girls were hustled out through the other door and into the little back rooms, and the list of girls' names was hurried out of sight. The Chinese men were evidently much frightened. A bold little girl, very smartly dressed, was put forward, who answered our questions in a loud, brazen manner. One of our party asking her if she could sing, she thought the statement was made that she was not 'sixteen' (the age under which girls are supposed to be 'protected' from going into prostitution by British rule), and shouted, 'I am _seventeen_.' We stayed only a few minutes, but were informed that they provided opium and intoxicating liquors here." We told our hostess one day that we desired jinrikshas that we might be conveyed to the Protectorate to interview the Chief Inspector, having heard that he desired an interview. As we were leaving the house she detained us a moment to say, timidly: "Ladies, do pardon me, but I feel I must caution you that that man has a very violent temper, and it will not do in case you see anything, to criticise,--no matter what you think. I don't wish to seem to intrude, but I know the man's reputation as to temper, and I cannot bear to think of his having a chance to treat you rudely." We thanked her heartily, and promised to be doubly careful. We knew the place. A very imposing Government building standing apart by itself, upon which much money had been expended to give it a fine appearance. We were soon ushered into the presence of the man who held the same relation to the work at Singapore that John Lee holds, or at least held the last we knew, at Hong Kong. Will you believe us, when we tell you that to our amazement it was that same white-haired old man to whom we had been introduced at the church gathering as such an active Christian, "working along much the same lines as ourselves, and at the head and front of every good work in the Colony?" To be sure we had heard the name of this Inspector, but we had never in our remotest conception connected it with the man the Doctor had introduced to us. Concealing our surprise we sat down for a few moment's interview. The man knew his lesson "like a book." We could have prompted him, had he made a mistake in reciting it, from the State documents which we had with us,--the same from which we have compiled the chapters of this little book. "The work of the Protectorate is really rescue work, _and that only_." He had lived in Singapore nearly thirty years. He said he had disapproved of the Contagious Diseases Ordinance, when it was in existence, but a good thing had grown out of it in the matter of provisions for the "protection", of women. We asked, in reference to his remark that the Protectorate was a Rescue Society, if it did not look after men, too. He replied, "Oh yes, the coolies; all are brought here, but the men go to the other side of the building; the women come here." We asked if all the women came before him; he said, "Before the Protector; but in his absence before me." We pondered on the thought of this "rescue work" carried on by this particular Protector of whom we had heard that he had been almost unspeakably vile from boyhood up. He showed us a book which contained a list of all deck-passengers coming to Singapore, who had been passed under review at the Protectorate; they were listed by families. He then showed us a separate list of women and girls who came alone, without families. He had underscored with red ink the names of those in the list who had gone into brothels. He said that suspicious cases either went to the Protectorate Refuge, or those under whose charge they went to live were obliged to give bonds or securities, 500 Mexican dollars was the usual amount of the security in the cases recorded. He also showed us the form of these bonds, both blank forms and some that had been made out; these bonds required that the girls named therein should not be removed from Singapore, and that the girls should be produced from time to time at the Protectorate, upon demand of the Protector, and within twenty-four hours. The bond was good for a specified time named thereon. Then he showed us a book containing "_Warrants of Removal and Detention to the Chinese Refuge_" for girls under sixteen years of age. He also showed us little tickets (we had already seen them in a brothel) and said these contained the number and address of the girls, and if one of these tickets was sent back by a girl to the Protectorate, by any hand or in any manner, the Protectorate would immediately send for the girl and listen to her complaint. He showed us a book of cases, and read us the story of one girl in particular, Ah Moi, and congratulated himself on the Protectorate being at hand to rescue this girl. We will give this case in full further on. He repeated his assertion that he abominated the C.D. Ordinance, and said that there were now no compulsory examinations, and no Lock Hospital, and that the Government had nothing to do with examinations in any form. But we replied that we had already visited the Lock Hospital, and that there were about fifteen patients there, and asked him how they came to be there. He said anyone could go there; that it was a general hospital for women, and that all diseases would be treated there; that the patients could go away at any time they wished; the Colonial Surgeon was in charge of it. But we asked him how it happened that the degraded women knew enough to go there in such numbers; he said they might be ill, and any doctor in a private capacity would send them. He had sent them, and would like to send a good many more, when they were very ill. He told us of going over the records, for years back, and of finding that the average of time spent in the brothel by these girls was three years and a half, while, if they stayed in Canton, they would be life-long prostitutes. He made much of this point, and argued that it was better for them to come to Singapore in order to be set free by the Protectorate, but acknowledged that many of them became concubines (in "following a man," as the Chinese express it). He spoke of domestic slavery in Singapore, but declared it was slavery of a very mild sort. We asked who came with the Chinese girls when they came to the Protectorate. He answered, "Oh, a friend--the woman or 'mother' who owns them." We asked if nothing could be done against these traffickers in girls; he said they could not often get sufficient proof against them. We saw in one of the records something about "women traffickers," and pressed him to know why these could not be caught and banished by means of paid detectives watching the incoming boats. He replied that it was very hard to get evidence; the girls' own statements were not enough; the Protectorate needed more power. When asked what powers were further necessary, he suggested the power to punish the traffickers of girls by simply the statement of the girls who were brought to Singapore through fraud, or who were kidnaped. He then spoke of a drug which was used by the women traffickers to destroy the girls' wits; he believed in its existence and its use. He said of these cases of fraud and kidnaping, "We can usually do nothing." We asked if a woman was found bringing girls over and over again whether she could not be prosecuted: he answered that she might be. We then asked if the Protectorate had ever prosecuted: he replied, "Oh yes, a few times." But he grew uneasy under these questions; said no one could know or appreciate the present situation who did not know the conditions of the things in the past, but now he thought they had the best arrangement possible for protecting the women and girls, and exclaimed, "But if this ordinance were abolished I do not know what would become of them." He confessed at the close of our talk that he would like to speak freely to us about certain things connected with the work which could not be mentioned publicly, and said there were "perplexities--great perplexities." Yet at the beginning of the conversation, when speaking of the criticism passed upon the Protectorate's work, he had said, "Why do they not come here for information instead of going about criticising? our books are all open to public inspection." But we had noticed that throughout the interview he kept the books in his own hands, and only allowed us to see what he himself turned up for our inspection. Now as to some of this official's statements--we deal with them, not with the object of criticising his _personal_ opinions and views and statements, but as an _official_ representation to us of a Government institution. To begin with, he had told us two absolute falsehoods, at least. One was that there was no Lock Hospital at Singapore, whereas we had visited this Government institution and by careful inspection found it was used for _the one purpose only_, having no equipment for any other uses, and there were fifteen prostitutes there. When confronted with this knowledge, which, remembering our hostess' caution as to his temper, we expressed as gently as possible, he then declared it was a general hospital, which it was not. He declared there were no compulsory examinations, and that the Government had nothing to do with examinations in any form. We thought it wisest not to give him the information that we held at that time, and hold to the present day,--dozens of papers of committment to the Lock Hospital for compulsory examinations both in his own handwriting and in that of the Protector. And some of these cases, as the records we have copied show, were those of perfectly innocent girls, acknowledged to be virgins, until assaulted by these abominable medical officials and robbed of the fresh bloom of maidenly chastity. The official spoke of the work of the Protectorate as "Rescue work, and that only," in so far as it dealt with women. But it must be borne in mind that the "Protector" of women and girls was likewise the Registrar of brothels; and that the rules and regulations under the Women and Girls' Protection Ordinance provided, in both Singapore and Hong Kong, for every detail in the management of brothels, even to the granting of a permit to keep a brothel, and the description of the "duties" of brothel-keepers. Surely this part of the Protector's work cannot be called "Rescue work," as we are accustomed to use the phrase. According to the Annual Report of the Protectorate for 1893, 1,183 women and girls entered brothels with the sanction of the Protector; and quite apart from any discussion of whether this sanction should have been given or not, it is quite apparent that this also was not "Rescue work." During the same year 1,034 women and girls left the brothels of Singapore, and it is apparent that we must look among these mainly for rescued cases. Of this 1,034 the following account is given: Absconded 63 Died 21 Gone to "Private Houses" 346 Married 69 To be accounted for 451 We have an explanation in the Protector's own words of what is meant by a girl who has "absconded." "It is common now, when an owner notices one of her girls contracting a continued intimacy with a male visitor (and therefore to be suspected of an intention to apply to our office for release), for the owner to sell the girl away to another country. When this has been accomplished, the brothel keeper reports the prostitute has absconded, and, if we cannot prove the contrary, we are obliged to accept the story and strike the name off our books." What would we think in America of a "Rescue work, and that only," with all the advantages of Government backing; under constant surveillance; every girl registered; that permitted 63 girls in a year to be defeated in their desire to marry by being sold as slaves into foreign parts; that allowed 346 of the girls to "go to private houses," as domestic slaves or concubines; that did not account at all for 451 girls; and saw only 69 married; and all this out of 1,034 cases it had absolutely within its control? The Inspector spoke of the _personal tickets_ given into the hands of each girl, which if sent to the Protectorate at any time, would secure a hearing for her before the Protectorate. It is also declared that notice is posted up in every brothel in a conspicuous place, that no girl can be detained against her will. We visited a place on Fraser Street the night of February 2nd; quoting from our journal: "There was a middle-aged woman in charge, with a baby beside her on the couch where she was sitting. There were six girls present, the oldest barely sixteen years old in appearance, and one between fourteen and fifteen--a thin, immature little creature. We asked about this young girl, and one of our interpreters overheard the keeper instruct her to say she had been in the house two years. Then we asked the girl her name, and the keeper told her to tell us a different name from the one she first gave us. We saw hanging on the wall, a black bag, which we were allowed to take down and examine. It contained a board eight by ten inches square, on which was pasted a paper bearing a list of the inmates. The list was headed by the keeper's name, Moo Lee, in writing. Then was printed across the top in Chinese characters a statement that inmates could not be confined against their will. (The question was whether, in our absence, the girls would be allowed to take this bag down, open it, and read the sentence of liberty inside.) We showed this to the girls, and asked them if they could read the Chinese written thereon, and they all, even to the brothel-keeper, said they could not. We then asked them what was the _meaning_ of the words, and none of them could tell. One girl said, 'We cannot read them, but the great man at the Protectorate can read them.' We asked them if they had tickets, and they showed us little square pieces of paper exactly similar to one which we hold in our possession. The tickets were all so blurred that the educated Chinese gentleman who accompanied us tried in vain to make out its full meaning. It is by means of these things, put in the hands of Chinese women who are utterly unable to read a word of Chinese, that their liberty is professedly given them." Now as to the case of Ah Moi, of whom the Inspector spoke as illustrating the beneficent work of the Protectorate. He had little idea how much we knew of the case or he would never have brought it up. There is at Singapore a Refuge for girls, managed by the Chinese Society, the Po Leung Kuk, organized originally at Hong Kong and Singapore to put down kidnaping. The Inspector one day, January 4th, 1894, sent a girl of fifteen over to the Refuge with a note to the Matron, and on the following morning, ordered her sent to the Lock Hospital for examination. We saw the recorded result of that examination in the handwriting of the doctor at the hospital, and it was to the effect that the girl was suffering from disease due to vice. After that the Matron got a note from the Inspector saying: "Ah Moi can be written off your books, as she has been sent to hospital, and after she leaves hospital she intends going to a house of ill-fame." Now the rules forbade all religious instruction, or any sort of instruction in this Refuge, since the Chinese men who contributed to its support were opposed to women being taught anything. But the Matron had threatened to leave if she could not teach and train the girls. So she was allowed, out of her own slender salary, to hire a teacher on her own account, and this she did. The good Christian man whom she had hired came and told her he had learned that Ah Moi was a good girl, and was from a Mission School in Canton, and finally he brought the girl's own mother, who testified that this was true. We have not space to go into this story in detail, but we later visited the school at Canton from which the girl had been brought, talked with the teachers who had had her under their care for years, and it was literally true,--that she was a perfectly pure girl (and how could she have been suffering from such a disease?), who had been entrapped for such a dreadful fate. She would have been put into a life of shame by the Inspector, never to have escaped her terrible servitude, probably, but for the energetic efforts of this Chinese Christian man and the Refuge Matron, who rescued her from the Protectorate and its wicked business of assigning girls to brothels. And here sat the Inspector, telling us this story, of which we knew so much, (and learned more at Canton later), as an instance of the "rescue work" of his office! Almost the last day of our painful work at Singapore had come. We had gathered much evidence, and had good hope that something could be done with it in London. "This is my birth-day," one of us said to the other, as we spun along in our jinrikshas toward the Refuge. "I think we ought to have some unusual good fortune in gathering information today. At least we can get some of these little children taken out of their terrible peril in the brothels. The Matron of the Refuge says she _knows_ the officials are ignorant of their presence there. They have so often talked of their extreme care at that point. Will it not be good to see something actually done and at once about that matter? She was to interview the Inspector yesterday, and will report to us today." And so we chatted on, We had been horrified to encounter in a single night's work some thirty little girls playing about the rooms of brothels. That at least would never be allowed. We were so glad the law was so very strict, and we had been assured strictly enforced at that point. It read: "Any person who receives a girl under the age of sixteen into a brothel, or harbors any such girl in a brothel, shall (until the contrary be proved) be deemed to have obtained possession of such girl with the intent or knowledge in clause one of sub-section one mentioned." This clause reads: "with the intent that such girl shall be used for the purpose of prostitution," and the penalty, "liability to imprisonment for a term not exceeding one year, or to a fine not exceeding $500, or to both." If that law failed because of what would pass as proof to the contrary, at any rate there was the further provision that the children could be removed to places of safety, at least to the Refuge. "A girl found living in or frequenting a brothel shall be deemed to be a girl who is being trained for immoral purposes." And "The Protector, if on due inquiry he is satisfied that any girl is being ... trained for such purposes, and that such girl is under the age of sixteen years, may ... order such girl to be removed to a place of safety," etc., etc. The way seemed perfectly clear under such laws, to secure the safety of the children. At the door of the Refuge we were glad to escape from our jinrikshas into the cool shade of the house. The Matron seemed much troubled, and spoke of things that she had not understood previously, but now that she had learned many things from our investigations and from her own questioning of the girls, they had taken on a painful meaning to her. Our hearts grew heavier and heavier as we talked together. The Matron, said: "Why, I thought when I came here it was to do a regular Christian work for these girls. That was my purpose, but the more I inquire into the matter, and study over the things I am expected to do and ask no questions, such as sending girls over to the Lock Hospital at the Chief Inspector's request, the more I feel that I am being worked for purposes of which I cannot approve. I cannot stay here." At last we got to ask her about her talk with the Inspector. "What did he say when you told him what we discovered the other night--that little girls go freely to the Licensed Eating Houses, and live in the brothels?" "Is it really true that the authorities have been deceived, and did not know of this flagrant violation of the Ordinance to protect women and girls?" The Matron's face was sadly troubled. She gazed at us a moment quietly, and then said: "He told me, Why, of course he knew about those children. There were scores of them." "But will he do nothing about the matter?" we exclaimed. She replied: "He said: 'What can I do? I caught a whole handful of them once and sent them to the Lock Hospital, and had them all examined. The doctor pronounced them all virgins, so I could do nothing as yet, and I let them all go back.'" We uttered exclamations of horror. "A handful!"--did he think no more of them than of so many minnows! And they had gone through the horrible ordeal at the Lock Hospital! And he must leave them in the brothels yet for awhile,--until when?--until, Oh pitiful God!--until they were all "deflowered according to bargain." And then he might consider the advisability of doing something. The head reeled. We felt stilled. We must get out in the fresh morning breeze. Something broke somewhere about the heart. We went out and got into our jinrikshas, and went away home as in midnight darkness, calling upon the name of our God all the way. Life on this hell-scorched earth has never held the same happy delusions for us since, but there is a city out of sight "whose Builder and Maker is God." That we will seek. CHAPTER 16. SLAVERY IN THE UNITED STATES. During the incumbency of a certain Mayor of San Francisco a surprising condition of things was brought into existence. There was a large tract of land in the heart of Chinatown owned by an American family, relatives, it is declared, of said Mayor, the passages entering which were deliberately blocked by gates, so as to stop all entrance excepting to patrons of the place. This section lay between Dupont and Stockton, Jackson and Pacific streets, and included within its enclosure Baker and New World alleys, connecting Dupont street with Sullivan Place, which divided this tract in two. Gates were erected at the entrance of the two alleys on Dupont street, and two gates blocked the entrance to Sullivan Place, at the end opening upon Pacific street. Within this region, both above and below ground, were housed numbers of Chinese slave girls, particularly in Baker alley, where, it is said, were placed the young girls of tender years, generally about fifteen years old, when first brought over the water, or when first initiated into brothel slavery, having served their apprenticeship as domestic slaves. We are informed that fully seven-tenths of the domestic slave girls found in Chinese homes in America--and every well-to-do Chinese family (except Christians) keeps at least one or two slaves--end their lives in immorality. Some of them when they become old enough are seized by their masters as concubines, others are sent to the brothels. Reports of conditions at Hong Kong which we have already quoted, speak of the special celebration of the entrance of a virgin into prostitution, and the high prices paid by patrons for this initiation, but leave it obscure as to the nationality of the men who initiate girls into the life of a brothel slave. But Chinese in San Francisco do not hesitate to make the charge that Chinamen recoil, through moral sense or superstition, from deflowering a virgin, and that this horrible privilege is purchased at a special price by the white, not the yellow patrons of Chinese houses of ill-fame. Baker alley has probably been the scene of more terrible brutality of this sort than any other part of San Francisco. Before the rubbish was cleared away, in the oasis of a broad desert of ashes in the burned city, we visited this region, and found carpenters busy at the work of reconstructing brothels. The slave pen was existent again, and we entered the gateway leading to it and gazed upon the rapidly growing structures within. Two white men of a class called "Watch-dogs," in the days before the fire, occupied a sort of look-out and kept guard, more especially upon the entrance to Baker alley. This region, so largely of American manufacture, like other sections of San Francisco's Chinatown, was displayed, by means of Chinatown guides for pay to tourists, who were led to believe that they were looking upon _Chinese_ views of life. The truth is, as we have shown in previous chapters, a display of vice is practically unknown in regions of China uninfluenced by Western civilization. Almost any wicked man, any tourist who would pay well, man or woman, could enter this place. The "Watch-dogs" were kept merely to prevent the entrance of mission workers to rescue slaves, and these "Watch-dogs" were, and always are, American, or, at least European men, not Chinese. There were more "Watch-dogs" than those about Sullivan Place, before the earthquake in San Francisco,--they were to be found in many parts, always for the one purpose,--to resist interference with the enforcement of brothel slavery upon Chinese women. American men undertook this part of the business, because a certain timidity in the Chinese character when dealing with American women, and a fear of arousing race-prejudice, unfitted the Chinaman for coping with the American women,--Miss Culbertson, the pioneer, now sainted, Miss Lake, Miss Cameron and Miss Davis, who have fought their brave battles for many years, to deliver the captives from the hand of the spoilers, often at the risk of life, unaided for the most part, unappreciated and unsympathized with, by a guiltily ignorant Christian public, and too often persecuted by corrupt officials. Yet they have never stood alone, but have always had the presence of their Master, and the sympathetic co-operation of a few ardent supporters,--Christian women, lawyers, magistrates, and other officials. One of the "Watch-dogs" struck Miss Lake on one occasion. On another, a "Watch-dog" went boldly up to two policemen to whom a fugitive slave had appealed for help, seized his prey, and without resistance from the policemen, carried her bodily back to slavery along the public street, in view of many spectators. At another time several of them rushed in upon a scene of rescue, overcame the police officer, and hurled him down stairs, dealt in the same manner with some men in the rescue party, and then turned upon the missionary and would have subjected her to the same treatment. She said firmly: "Do not lay a hand upon me! I will go out by myself," and overawed, they allowed her to walk out untouched through their midst into fresh air and to safety. It is hardly necessary to add that the missionary did not, on this occasion, get the poor slave. We have already said, but it bears repeating, that white men as well as Chinese, resort to these slaves. One rescued girl told of another captive, bound by night to her bed and to her unwilling task. Think of the education of the youths of San Francisco in such schools of vice as this,--what a menace they must necessarily become to the women of their own family and acquaintance! A young woman managed to get a request for help sent to a rescue worker. The missionary responded by a carefully arranged plot for the identification of the girl. It included the understanding that when the rescuer with the officer should enter the place, she was to have in her hands, and to raise to her lips a handkerchief which the missionary had managed to get conveyed to her. They entered, saw her with the handkerchief held to her face, at the little soliciting window, but the poor girl had endured so much that at the sight of friends she lost her nerve and presence of mind, fluttered her handkerchief, and cried out, "Oh, teacher!" Alas! a locked door still separated her from her rescuers, and the plot was exposed. She was dragged back, and became lost to the rescue party. Other girls who escaped from the den afterwards told of the rest of the scene. Kick upon kick fell upon her poor little body, and the enraged owner of the brothel never ceased until she was dead and mashed almost to a jelly before the eyes of the other inmates, to teach them a lesson of warning against trying to escape. Let us not mourn. It was better so than to have been left alive unrescued. The pity is that the keepers and the "Watch-dogs" hold them alive to their task as long as they do. The angels of heaven, God's rescue party, are not far off from such victims, nor His angels of wrath and vengeance from such inhuman fiends. We wonder how many of the little slaves were lifted up into a better life than this by the merciful earthquake; and how many of their masters and outragers saw hell gape and themselves swallowed up in the horrible earthquake,--God's deliverance or God's judgment,--according to the character of the individual. When the missionary enters a den, and by means of some carefully devised scheme identifies the girl who has had conveyed to the missionary her desire to be rescued, and attempts to take the girl, she often screams for help, kicks, fights, bites, scratches, spits, and sometimes swears at her liberator, but often is secretly clutching with almost a death-grip the rescuer's hand. She will sometimes fight at being thrust through the doorway into the street, calling lustily for help, but whisper to the missionary, "Tell the officer to carry me out." When once, in spite of the feigned struggle, she is carried outside, and her pursuers are well behind in the chase, the ruse is cast aside, and it becomes a race for dear life between the rescuer and the rescued to make the city of refuge,--the mission home,--and generally the fugitive gets there first. Once a rescue worker found her girl secreted with four others in a loft, to which she had been removed because the brothel-keeper feared an attempt at rescue. She was so carefully guarded and watched that the poor thing dared not signify to the missionary that she was the one who wished to be taken, and all five struggled with equal apparent fierceness against rescue. What was the missionary to do! She lifted her heart in the despairing cry, "Oh, God, if ever you heard a human prayer and answered it, for Christ's sake hear me now! Tell me which one to take!" She instantly seized one of them, who fought savagely, and bit and scratched and swore. Out she went with her, and all the way to the mission the girl abused her terribly. But the instant the door closed behind them and they were safe inside the home, she fell to the floor, seized her deliverer's feet and bathed them with her tears, crying bitterly as she said: "Oh, forgive me, forgive me! You know I did not mean it, but it was the only way to do to be safe." God had guided aright. No mistake had been made in the choice. Do you believe God did that, reader? Try such heroic work for yourself, and you will find a miracle-working God who seldom reveals His identity to the self-indulgent. That rescued girl has turned out to be a wonder of grace and of natural gifts, and is pursuing a professional career now, after fine opportunities in training. It is worth while to save such material, even from a slave-pen; such as she enrich the community in which they live. This slave-trade could not go on between Hong Kong and the United States but for the white men who are in it, one way or another. White lawyers defend the traffickers in court, and secure the return of slaves by writ of habeas corpus, or by means of false accusations of various sorts, such as of stealing. It is significant that, with rare exceptions, the policemen seem not to have been trusted with definite information as to the place about to be searched or raided, when told off to accompany a rescue party, lest word be sent ahead, allowing a chance to spirit away the girl for whom search is instituted. American men are said to go all the way to Hong Kong to get girls and smuggle them into the country, as better able to cope with the strict immigration laws than Chinese. Sometimes they go a long way around to get a girl into San Francisco,--by Victoria, B.C., through Mexico and El Paso (Texas), and by other routes. But the price paid for the slaves assures a good profit to the traders. Since the laws against Chinese immigration became more stringent, the market price of these slaves has risen to three thousand dollars, while the more beautiful ones bring a much higher price. Judges, lawyers, seafaring men, hirelings of the Immigration Bureau, Chinatown guides, "Watch-dogs," officials and policemen, have all been accused of having imbrued their hands at different times in the slaughter of the virtue of Chinese women through this wretched slave business, besides the white patrons of the Chinese slave-pens. But probably none are so guilty of complicity as the property-owners, who build the places for housing the slaves, and make enormous profits in the business. There seems to be a misapprehension as to the status of these Chinese prostitutes, to which the mind recurs again and again, in spite of careful explanations. Some imagine that only those who are rescued, or at least those who have managed to convey word to the missionaries that they desire to be rescued, are the literal slaves, and that those left behind are free. Such is not the case. We have already shown that nearly all the Chinese prostitutes at Singapore and at Hong Kong are literal slaves, the only exception being, in fact, a small percentage (estimated at 10 per cent by the Chinese merchants at Hong Kong), composed almost entirely of women who have mortgaged their own bodies, or who have been thus mortgaged by relatives, for a limited time in payment for a debt, and who, at the end of the stated time, are generally set free, though sometimes they find themselves in a trap from which there is no escape. It is through the misfortune of debt, and in countries where Chinese women are cheap, that this mortgaging of the person takes place. Such conditions do not surround Chinese women in America, so that this form of service in houses of ill-fame must be correspondingly rare, and this is according to the testimony of the missionaries. For this reason, therefore, we may rule out the temporary servitude, and assert without fear of contradiction from those who understand the situation, that practically all the Chinese prostitutes in the United States are literal slaves. Some are _willing_ slaves, some _unwilling_; and a small fraction of the unwilling slaves have managed by stroke of good fortune, and because of unusual courage, to get a request conveyed to a mission, and thus in some instances they have secured their freedom. But not all who have appealed for help have been rescued, for they cannot always be found upon search, and often, when they have been found and their cases brought up in court, they have been again consigned to the care of their former owners because courage has failed, and they have refused in open court to acknowledge that they wished to go free. One girl who desired to escape fell under suspicion, and her master decided to remove her to Watsonville, and so defeat her rescue. At the San Francisco Ferry Station she made a dash for liberty, pursued by the two men who had her in charge, and ran to a policeman, handing him a crumpled piece of paper, which proved to be a note that a missionary had placed in her hand when she landed in America. The officer could not read the note, in its old and crumpled condition, but divining its nature he hailed a cab and drove with the girl straight to the mission door, where she was welcomed. There were at least five hundred Chinese brothel slaves in San Francisco before its destruction, and none in Oakland up to that time. Since the calamity, there have been many in Oakland. They have been estimated at as high a figure as 300, and must have numbered until quite recently at least 150. The frontispiece represents a structure erected for their housing. This building is three stories high, and occupies every foot of one-half square. It contains more than 600 rooms, and is built throughout of rough boards, one inch thick, on flimsy beams and studding. It is unlathed and unplastered, a veritable fire-trap, within four blocks of the County Court House. It could never have passed inspection had it been erected for _decent_ purposes. When the photograph was taken the building was not completed. A row of shops has been added at the left, over which is a large Chinese theatre. A respectable Chinese man of literary pursuits informed us that the theatre was "to attract custom there." A very broad stairway, scarcely less imposing than the front entrance to the theatre, leads down into the alley, and to the brothel. The seats for women in the theatre are reached by a special door leading to this alley. The heart of this building is approached through "Washington Place," an alley, at the entrance of which one encounters a sign, "No White Men Admitted Here, Only Chinese." This notice, which has been put up at the entrance of Oriental brothels in Chinatown, has been ordered by the Chief of Police, it is claimed, to prohibit Americans associating with Orientals in vice, so as to prevent demoralization and race quarrels. We do not dispute the motive, but the _effect_ is, that those who would work for the rescue of slaves are kept at a distance, and no one who is likely to make a complaint against abuses and law-breaking can approach the place without permission from the police, which gives ample opportunity for getting everything objectionable out of sight. As far as prevention of the commingling of the different races is concerned, that may be hindered at certain points, but American men are on the inside track here, as to making money through these slaves. The building has been erected and is owned by Americans, and one man of European name is a partner in the immediate management of the place. On our first visit to this building we were informed on reliable information that there were 125 Japanese and over 50 Chinese girls in the place, and 100 more were expected to arrive within a few days. Besides these, there are also Chinese slaves in almost every Chinese settlement throughout the United States. In California, they are to be found largely at San Francisco, Oakland, Sacramento, Stockton, Fresno, Bakersfield, San Jose, Watsonville, Monterey and Los Angeles. Willing or unwilling, the Chinese prostitute is none the less a slave, bought and sold at pleasure from one to another, earning wealth for others and never for herself. Recently, three girls who were taken from a den in San Francisco, declared that they had been sold for three thousand dollars apiece to the keeper, and that they were flogged when their earnings for the keeper fell below three hundred dollars each a month. If the prostitute were not willing to be a slave, that would not procure her liberty,--it would only procure her more abuse than the willing slave. On the ship coming over, the slaves are well drilled in their task on arrival, of swearing themselves into slavery, and well threatened if they dare to disobey. Then they are packed with stories as to the terrible character of Americans, particularly the rescue workers. One Chinese girl concluded she would take all the abuse of the rescue home rather than forego a chance for liberty, though she knew of no reason to disbelieve the fearful warnings she had received. On the first night of her arrival she did not undress nor go to bed when the other girls retired. Someone found her standing about, and asked her why she was not off for bed. She replied pathetically: "I am waiting for my beating." She had been informed that it was in that fashion all the girls were put to bed each night. At a very conservative estimate, there are not less than one thousand Chinese brothel slaves in California alone, besides those in the Chinese settlements all over the United States. When children are born to Chinese prostitutes, they are seized by the brothel keepers as their own property, the girls being sold into domestic slavery to be passed on into brothel slavery at the age of about 15, and the boy babies sold for a good price--several hundred dollars--to become "adopted" sons. Very many Chinese men of the United States secure their wives by purchase from brothels, and as a consequence often have no children by them, hence the high value of a child who can be purchased for a son. The real wife and family of the Chinese man generally remain in China, the matrimonial relations of the man in America being wholly spurious. This admixture of the brothel element with all Chinese home life in the United States makes this country very undesirable as a residence for virtuous Chinese women, and largely discourages the immigration of respectable Chinese wives, whose presence with their husbands might greatly tend to the uplifting of the entire Chinese community. There are probably as many domestic slaves as brothel slaves among the Chinese of the United States. Every well-to-do heathen Chinese family keeps a slave or two, and the rich Chinese keep a large number. Polygamy is practiced, as at Hong Kong, to a larger extent than prevails generally in China, and it is not uncommon to find a Chinese in California with from five to seven concubines. The Chinese man in the United States takes his domestic slave, if he wishes, for a concubine, or sells his concubines into brothel slavery, if displeased with them, or wishing to raise a sum of money. It is a burning disgrace to the United States that this polygamy is not stamped out. In one case related to us, a girl was taken from a rescue home by a writ of habeas corpus, and returned by the judge to her position as second wife of a Chinaman. During President Hayes' administration, Mr. D.H. Bailey, United States Consul-General at Shanghai, sent a message to him relating to Chinese slavery, and the menace to our country from it. He enclosed in his communication a translation of the Chinese laws relating to slavery, which is permitted under certain restrictions in that country. Nothing could exceed their stringency at the point of any resistance on the part of the slave to the condition of servitude. From that set of laws we quote the following: "If a female slave deserts her master's house she shall be punished with 80 blows." ... "Whosoever harbours a fugitive wife or slave, knowing them to be fugitives, shall participate equally in their punishment." ... "A slave guilty of addressing abusive language to his master shall suffer death by being strangled.... If to his master's relations in the first degree he shall be punished with 80 blows and two years' banishment. If to his master's relations in the second degree, the punishment shall be 80 blows. If in the third degree, 70 blows. If in the fourth degree, 60 blows." "The master or the relations of a master of a guilty slave may ... chastise such slave in any degree short of death, without being liable to punishment. Nevertheless, if a master or his aforesaid relations, in order to correct a disobedient slave or hired servant, should chastise him in a lawful manner on the back of the thighs or on the posteriors, and such slave or hired servant should happen to die, or if he is killed in any other manner accidentally, neither the master nor his aforesaid relations shall be liable to any punishment in consequence thereof." "All slaves who are guilty of designedly striking their masters shall, without making any distinctions between principals and accessories, be beheaded. "All slaves designedly killing their masters, or designedly striking so as to kill their masters, shall suffer death by a slow and painful execution. "If accidentally killing their masters, they shall suffer death by being strangled. "If accidentally wounding, they shall suffer 100 blows and perpetual banishment to the distance of 3,000 li (1,000 miles). "Slaves who are guilty of striking their master's relations in the first degree ... shall be strangled.... All slaves who strike so as to wound such persons shall ... be beheaded." The "painful execution" which is the penalty of killing a master, means execution by slicing the criminal into 10,000 cuts. Foreigners who have witnessed it say it is too horrible to recite. It is under such slave laws as these that the young girl is trained as a brothel slave before she is brought to California. After such tuition, it seems hardly credible that girls do, in San Francisco, dare to escape from their masters, and flee to the missions for protection. Governor C.C. Smith, who was for years the Registrar General of Hong Kong, previous to being knighted and sent to Singapore as Governor of the Straits Settlements, replied to the Secretary of State for the Colonies, in reference to the freedom of prostitutes, "out of an experience of over a quarter of a century": "There are no restrictive regulations on the part of the Government which go to prevent or interfere with the entire freedom of the inmates of brothels, and they can go abroad alone. This statement will not, I hope, deceive you into believing that as a consequence they are really free agents ... such is actually not the case. A child who strikes its parent is liable to a death sentence. The girls in brothels are in the position of daughters to the keepers, and ... call them mother. There is no sense of freedom, as we understand the term, possible in such a state of affairs. The women are fearful of the unknown; of what should happen to them if they should disobey their pocket-mothers, and are terribly ignorant of everything connected with the Government under which they nominally live. It is out of the question to educate them up to the English standard of liberty of the subject. They stay but a few short years in an English Colony, seeing nothing but the worst phases of a life of vice and immorality, and only know of the officers of Government as 'foreign devils' or 'barbarians'." This is all only too true as regards California also, excepting that the experiment of educating them by just treatment in the "English standard of the liberty of the subject," has certainly never been tried either in Singapore or America. The brothel keepers, however, have learned to understand that matter of "liberty of the subject" only too well, and take advantage of the habeas corpus act at every turn to capture a slave who is trying to escape their clutches. These words of Governor Smith should be borne in mind and brought to attention every time our law officers in California put brothel girls through the farce of asking them if they are desirous of liberty, and when they say no, proclaim triumphantly to the world that "there isn't a slave girl in Chinatown." These officers deceive others by these falsehoods, but they know too well the conditions to be themselves deceived. When certain Chinese girls appeared before a committee appointed to investigate conditions at San Francisco, the members of the committee were put under promise not to divulge their names or stories, as "their lives would not be safe for five years to come," if the brothel-keepers and their former owners knew that they had informed against them. It is a little difficult to describe the various secret societies of Chinatown in full, but for practical purposes and as relates to the welfare of Chinese women, it may be said that the secret society, or tong, is a sort of mutual benefit society and has generally a very commendable sort of name; but it exists to divide the profits of the trade in women, among other villainies. When anyone gives any evidence against such a society, or informs a rescue worker where a girl will be found who desires her liberty, then some one from the tong that has a special interest in the profits of that girl's slavery, deposits a sum of money in a place mutually arranged for, and the highbinder society undertakes for the sum paid to see that the informer is assassinated within twenty-four hours. That is the length of time usually claimed for the act. But sometimes years may pass before the marked victim can be traced and killed. We will next give a few cases from the records of the Presbyterian and Methodist Mission Rescue Homes of San Francisco, which will clearly show the similarity between the state of affairs in Hong Kong and California. CHAPTER 17. STRUGGLES FOR FREEDOM. A Chinese girl of 14 was brought to this country, and served six months as a domestic slave, and was then put into a brothel. She was rescued. Her Chinese master got out a writ of habeas corpus, went to the Mission with an officer and took the girl away at once to court before a corrupt judge. It was just at noon-time, and the missionary pleaded for a little time in which to summon a lawyer. The judge said: "I have no time to fool with this case." The lawyer arrived in haste and pleaded for a little time in which to prepare the defense. The judge said to the lawyer: "You shut up, or I'll have you imprisoned for contempt of Court." He awarded the slave to the care of her master. This and other such cases led to a valuable alteration of the law at the point of the protection of minors. We will explain the change in the words of Miss Cameron: "In years past it was necessary in each case to in a way break the _letter_ though not the _spirit_ of the law when we rescued a Chinese child, for there was no written law to uphold us in entering a house and carrying off a child--then, too, before it was possible to carry out guardianship proceedings, the ever-available writ of habeas corpus would in many cases deliver the child back into the care of the Chinese, until the matter could be settled in the Superior Court--in such instances we seldom won our case. Our attorney saw wherein the difficulty lay, and proposed an amendment to the law of the State in the matter of the guardianship of minor children, which would give power to a presiding judge to sign an order to the Sheriff, commanding him immediately to take into custody the child whose name appeared on the warrant and place her in the care of those applying for guardianship, until such time as the hearing could be had." This means of protection for minors was secured by the combined efforts of mission workers and their friends. This explanation will prepare the way for a rehearsal of some cases of rescue which might puzzle the reader as being carried out by unusual methods of procedure. The following cases are from the records of the Methodist Home for Chinese Girls, located, since the earthquake, at Berkeley: No. 1. Made the following statement: "I am 12 years old; born in Canton; father a laborer; mother a nurse; parents very poor. Mother fell sick, and in her need of money sold me. Took me to Hong Kong and sold me to a woman; saw the money paid, but do not know how much; it looked a great deal. This was 3 years ago. The woman promised my mother to make me her own daughter, and little did my mother know I was to be a slave, to be beaten and abused by a cruel mistress. My mother cried when she left me; it was very hard to part. The big ship, 'City of Pekin,' took me soon out of sight. I have heard that she is now dead. On arriving we did not come ashore immediately. I was landed after 4 days. There was trouble in landing me. I had a red paper, bought at Hong Kong, that they called a certificate, and there was trouble about it. The woman who bought me had no trouble getting ashore because she had lived in California before. She told me what I was to say when I was questioned. She told me I must swear I was her own daughter. The Judge asked, 'Is this your own mother?' and I said, 'Yes.' This was a lie, but I did not know it was wrong to do as I was told, and I was afraid of my mistress. The Judge said, 'Did this woman give you birth?' and I said, 'Yes.' The Judge said, 'Did anybody tell you to say all this?" and I said, 'No,' because my mistress had instructed me how to answer this question, if it was asked me. She taught me on ship-board what to say if I was taken to court. My mistress was an opium smoker, and she and her husband had awful quarrels, which made her bad-tempered, and then she would beat me for no reason. I used to get so tired working hard, and then she would beat me. She beat me with thick sticks of fire-wood. She would lay me on the bench, lift my clothes, and beat me on the back. Another day she would beat me thus with the fire tongs. One day she took a hot flat-iron, removed my clothes, and held it on my naked back until I howled with pain. (There was a large scab on her back from this burn when she came to the Mission.) The scars on my body are proof of my bad treatment. My forehead is all scars caused by her throwing heavy pieces of wood at my head. One cut a large gash, and the blood ran out. She stopped the bleeding and hid me away. She beat my legs one day until they were all swollen up. I thought I better get away before she killed me. When she was having her hair washed and dressed I ran away. I had heard of the Mission, and inquired the way and came to it. A white man brought me here. I am very happy now." While being brought to the Mission by this gentleman, she laid hold of his coat, and would not let go until she was safely inside. It is significant that in this case and the following, methods of punishment allowed even unto death by Chinese law, are administered by the mistresses of slaves in America. No. 2. "One day I was playing in the street near my home in Canton, and a man kidnaped me. He said: 'Come with me; your mother told me to take you to buy something for her, and you are to take it back.' I have never seen my father and mother since. In 3 or 4 days I was taken to the Hong Kong steamer. I dared not cry on the street, but on board the steamer I cried very much. The kidnaper said: 'Don't you cry, or you will have the policeman after you, and they'll take you off to the foreign devils' prison.' At Hong Kong he sold me to a woman, and after staying at her house a few days she brought me to California. I had a yellow paper given me, but I don't know what it was. The woman told me I must say I was born in California. I came here last winter. I am 11 years old. I don't remember the name of the steamer. The woman sold me to another woman. I had to work as cook, and nurse her little bound-footed child, who was strapped to my back to carry. The child I carried was 9 years old; and I was 11. My mistress was very cruel. Often she took off all my clothes, laid me on a bench and beat me with a rattan until I was black all over. Then she said: 'I will get rid of you and sell you.' The keeper of a brothel came to buy me, and look me over to see how much I was worth. A Chinaman living next door, knowing how I was treated and that I was going to be put in a brothel, when I saw him in the passageway, asked me if I wished to come to the Mission, and I said 'Yes.' My mistress had gone out into the next room, leaving her daughter and another slave girl in the room. I said I would go at once, and he brought me. I am very glad to live here and lead a good life." No. 3. The rescuer was requested to meet a girl at the corner of Stockton and Jackson streets. She did so. K---- Y---- was comely and refined looking. She had been sold into a brothel at a tender age. When about 22 she met a young Chinese man who wished to marry her, and he paid down $600 for her, promising $1,400 more in time. Another man objected to the sale, because the girl had mortgaged herself to him for $600. Through the Mission the girl was released from her bondage, and remained at the Mission one year and then married the first man, and they left San Francisco and resided for a time in an inland town. Here an effort was made to kill her in her own garden one evening. Her husband brought her back to San Francisco, and later she went back to China. No. 4. Came from a brothel on Spofford alley. She was occasionally allowed to attend the (Chinese) theatre. One evening when at the theatre she had word conveyed to the Mission to come get her immediately. The rescuer did so, and the girl promptly arose, when the rescuer entered the room, from the front tier of seats, and seizing the hand of the missionary in the presence of them all climbed over the backs of two seats, regardless of their occupants, and escaped. Later she was married and returned to China. No. 5. In a dark, dismal room where the sun never shone lay a poor Chinese woman helpless with rheumatism. She had a baby girl 10 months old and was too sick to care for it. The invalid felt forced to put the child in the hands of a friend she trusted, who promised to care for it, and advanced money for the sick woman. When the mother got better she worked two years and saved until she had enough money to buy the child back, but the cruel woman who had got possession of it refused to give it up unless paid three times as much as was originally borrowed. The mother could not do this, and finally, hearing of the Mission, reported the case there. The baby was traced to a horrible den in Church alley, where it was in the possession of a notorious brothel-keeper. The mother secretly visited the Matron at the Mission, who had secured the child, urging her to keep possession of the baby, saying she would not dare testify against the woman on the witness stand, as it would cost her her life. The case was a long time in court, but after six months the Judge committed the child to the Home, and the mother was made very happy. No. 6. She ran into the Mission leading her little son. She was chased to the very door of the Mission, but kept her pursuers at bay, by means of a policeman's whistle which she held in her mouth, walking backward and threatening to blow it if they dared touch her child. She was a widow with this only child, and her relatives were bound to sell her into an immoral life and take the boy away. After being in the Mission a few months she became a Christian. Her little boy was placed in an orphanage. Later the widow married respectably. No. 7. This girl was aged 14 when rescued, and had been placed in a vile life four weeks before. Two days later she was taken to court on a writ of habeas corpus. Her case was put off three times, and finally came to trial. The Judge remanded the girl to the custody of the M.E. Mission Home. He said, on dismissing the case, that never in all his experience had he listened to such perjury, and that the alleged mother should be punished to the fullest extent of the law for her lying. The girl seemed very happy and contented in the Home, but nine days after she was committed to it she was again taken out on a writ of habeas corpus and appeared before another Judge, who returned her to the brothel-keeper. (This was before the new guardianship law came into operation). No. 8 proves that the buying and selling of children takes place in America up to the present day. It is but one instance of this sort out of scores of others given by the missionary: "She was sold when she was but four weeks and five days old. Her parents being very poor and having several other children, she was disposed of to a man who was a friend of the father. The wife, however, was an inmate of an immoral house. Part of the time the child was kept there and part of the time in a family house where we often saw her in our rounds of visiting prior to the earthquake and fire. We did not know but that she belonged to the family in whose care we saw her. "After the fire the man returned to China, leaving the woman and child. The woman took to abusing the child, and word was brought to us of the condition of things. We appeared on the scene one morning about 10 o'clock with an officer. Leaving him outside, we entered, and found the woman and child eating breakfast. Three other women and two men soon came in. After talking for a while I saw the woman was anxious to get the child away from the table, so I informed her we had come to take her, and proceeded to do so, catching the child up and darting into the street, leaving my interpreter and the officer to follow. We ran several blocks, followed by the irate woman. Finally hailing a man with a horse and wagon, we sprang in and were driven away to where we could take the street cars for home. The child did some screaming and crying, at first. But once we were seated in the street car, her tears were dried and her little tongue rattled along at a rapid rate; she was delighted to get away. "The case was in court for some weeks, but the woman was afraid to appear, and had no one to assist her but the lawyer, and as he could not prove any good reason why the child should remain with an immoral woman, we were given the guardianship." No. 9. A young girl came to San Francisco from China as a merchant's wife, and missionaries used to visit her at her home in Chinatown. Once when they went they were told that the wife had gone to San Jose, but she could not be traced at the latter place, and the missionary was suspicious. A year passed, and one night the door bell at the Mission rang, and when it was opened a Chinese girl fell in a faint from exhaustion, across the threshold. A colored girl stood by her holding her by the cue. The colored girl said she saw her running, and divined where she wished to go, and seizing her by the hair to prevent her being dragged back, rushed her to the Mission. It was the merchant's young wife. She had been confined in a brothel not two blocks from the Mission, and often saw the missionary pass by, but had no means of attracting her attention. The merchant told her one day that he wished to take her to a cousin to learn a different way of dressing her hair, and he would leave her there a day or two while he was away from town on business. The young wife went without fear, but never to return to virtue until she escaped to the Mission. She was tied to a window by day to attract custom, and at night tied to a bed, for she was no willing slave. When rescued she was horribly diseased. Three days before her rescue, the Chief of Police and an interpreter had gone through the house questioning every inmate as to whether they wished to lead a life of shame or not. She was asked the question in the presence of the brothel-keeper, the head mistress, and all the girls. She had been told beforehand, "If you dare say you want to escape, we will kill you." The Chief of Police had it announced in the papers that he had made this investigation, and that no slaves existed in Chinatown. Immediately after his visit, she was removed to a family house, lest her rescue might be effected, and one man and two women set to watch her day and night. She feigned willingness to lead a bad life, and the two women, lulled into a sense of security, turned aside to gossip, while the man dropped off asleep. She suddenly rushed out of the house, and but for the quick wit and good offices of the colored girl might have missed the way to a safe harbor. The following are cases of rescue reported from the Mission Home of the Occidental Board of Missions of the Presbyterian Church: No. 1. Qui Que. This little girl was taken from a gambling den at Isleton, a small town on the Sacramento river. The woman who brought her from China died, and she was thus left to the care of this gang of gamblers. When Miss Cameron and her escort arrived at the house, the little girl of six or seven years sat on a table rolling cigarettes for the men who sat around it gambling. They were taken by surprise, and before they quite understood the situation the rescuers were gone with the little girl. When they discovered this, they fired several shots after the party, but no harm was done. The officer, with one hand on his revolver, drove rapidly for the boat landing, and Qui Que, safe in Miss Cameron's arms, will probably never know the danger risked in securing her freedom. No. 2. Ngun Fah. This child was a domestic slave in the family of a well-to-do merchant in Chinatown, but so cruelly was the child overworked and abused that the matter was finally reported to the Mission, and little Ngun Fah rescued. When found at the home of her master, she was in a most pitiable condition. Weary from hard work and worn out with crying, after the cruel punishment which had just been administered, the lonely little girl crawled on to the hard wooden shelf which served as a bed, and with no covering but the dirty, forlorn garment worn through the day, had dropped off to sleep. Thus she was easily captured and carried to the Mission, where upon examination it was found that her head had been severely cut from blows administered with a meat knife, the hair was matted with blood and the child's whole body was covered with filth, and showed signs of former punishments. After the first fears of "being poisoned" were allayed, Ngun Fah expressed herself as being very happy to be rescued from the suffering and weariness of her life in Chinatown. Her master sent many emissaries to the Home with offers of bribes, and many promises of better treatment in the future, but all these overtures were rejected, and when at length the matter of guardianship came up, there was no one present to claim the child but her new friends at the Mission Home. No. 3. Suey Ying. Our dear baby was surely sent to dispel any clouds of sadness which may be hovering round, for she takes all of life as a huge joke. And where did Suey Ying come from? From a part of Chinatown, dear friend, that you would not dare to enter, and the strangest thing about her coming is that she was carried to the Home by a fugitive slave woman, who was escaping to China. Long ago this woman had spent a day or two in the Mission and was impressed by the happy life of the children here and by the kind treatment she herself received. Later on she purchased for $120 a little baby girl. She grew to love the tiny waif, and when at length troubles of many kinds drove her to sudden flight across the ocean, instead of selling the baby she brought it to this Home of happy memory and asked that we keep it always. No. 4. How Wan. A frail young girl with bound feet was brought to this country to be the wife of a man who had died while she was en route. Refused a landing, she was detained in the Mission by immigration officials, while the young man's parents made frantic efforts to secure her admission to the country. She remained here, a prisoner, for two years. Thousands of dollars were expended without avail, and How Wan was deported. Nothing daunted, they accompanied her as far as Japan, and returned with her, secured a license and landed her as a merchant's wife. She lived with the family in a dark basement on Sacramento street, where the mother-in-law abused her with such cruelty that, shrinking girl as she is, she found courage to send word to us if we did not come to her rescue she must relieve herself by suicide--the Chinese woman's only hope. We began at once to plan to get her taken to the steamer to hid good-bye to some friends, and rescued her at the Pacific Mail dock. She is now a grateful member of our household family, and is unbinding her feet. No. 5. During the St. Louis Exposition a Chinese company brought from China a large number of women for exhibition in the Fair. Four of these, upon learning that they were not to be returned at the close of the exposition, as agreed, but were destined to be sold into houses of prostitution in San Francisco, refused to land, and were brought to the Mission by the Commissioners of Immigration. These Chinese were arrested, the case tried in Federal Court, these girls being the principal witnesses; yet twelve supposedly good men dismissed the criminals, and the case was lost. Surrounded by the genial environment of our Mission, the minds of these four girls unfolded in a remarkable manner; fascinated with their studies, they constantly begged us to intercede with the authorities that they might remain in the Mission and obtain an education; but, although every effort was made, they were deported after a seven months' stay. They had learned to love our Home life, had united with our Christian Endeavor Society and had become interested in all our work, and we would be quite unreconciled to their departure did we not know that our missionaries in Shanghai stand ready to receive and care for them when they arrive. No. 6. Seen Fah. The first beams of the rising sun shone bright and hopefully into a pleasant room in the Presbyterian Mission Home one morning last autumn. It threw its cheerful radiance over a group of three gathered there to plan an important undertaking, lighting the bright, eager faces of two young Chinese girls, and giving renewed courage to the anxious heart of the Superintendent. What important event had to be discussed? What serious matter decided? News had reached the Mission Home, a few hours before, of a young Chinese girl just landed in San Francisco and sold for three thousand dollars. Plans to save this helpless and innocent child, before it was too late, were the subject of discussion at that early morning meeting. In such a serious undertaking every possibility of failure must be carefully guarded against. Each possible device of the wily Highbinder slave-owner must he conjectured and frustrated. So the three planned this campaign: "When is Detective ---- coming?" asked Chan Yuen, as a step sounded on the quiet street below. "At six he promised to be here with one of his trustiest men. It is best to reach Chinatown early, that our coming may not be signaled by those on the streets at a later hour. If the alarm is given, every slave den will be doubly bolted and barred; and perhaps little Seen Fah, whom we wish to save, will be spirited away beyond reach of help." Well did the questioner know the terrible truth of these words. A sympathetic shade of sorrow and anxiety crossed her bright face. She, too, was a rescued girl and had not forgotten the dark, mysterious ways of Chinatown. The Superintendent rose to answer the summons of a small electric bell. Two trusted detectives had arrived. After a short conference, the rescuing party set forth on its strange mission. One who had eagerly thought and planned for the success of the undertaking felt her heart throbbing between hope and fear, but was reassured when a slender hand slipped into hers and a sweet, encouraging voice whispered: "I have faith to believe God will give us the girl." Faith triumphed that day. Through two of Chinatown's most desolate old tenements, upstairs and downstairs in dark closets and unexpected corners, while Highbinders uttered imprecations in the alleys below, the rescue party kept up a diligent search for many hours. When at last the quest was about to be abandoned as hopeless, suddenly a cry of success echoed through every gloomy corner of the old building--Seen Fah was found! A small, dark closet, overlooked in the earlier hours of the search, was discovered. A lighted candle soon revealed a pile of empty rice bags and broken boxes. Pulling these away, the object of the long search was discovered, nearly smothered beneath the debris. Dazed and terrified, but safe, Seen Fah was at last in the hands of friends--and the slave ring had lost just three thousand dollars. Later on, Seen Fah and her new friends were haled into court. As usual, the sleek, well-paid attorney appeared for the Chinese owners. But they and he were alike powerless to drag back into slavery the rescued girl. There was but one course for the court to pursue. _Finding that Seen Fah was over fourteen, she was allowed to choose for herself_ between the life of Chinatown and that offered by the Mission. She chose the Christian Home; so to its care Judge Cook consigned her. To-day, a free happy girl, Seen Fah joins gayly in the simple, wholesome life of her new surroundings. Rescued before the blight of slavery actually darkened her life, she will never fully understand from how great a danger her guardian angel snatched her. But we who do know thank daily the kind Providence who thus protects His own. No. 7. Kum Ping. She was married in the American Consulate at Hong Kong in the most approved European way. Her new husband had made a good impression on the old aunt who was her guardian, and for a small consideration in Mexican coin, Kum Ping became his property according to Chinese custom, as well as his legal wife by American law. When these arrangements were completed, passage was immediately engaged on the Korea, bound for that harbor of romance, San Francisco Bay. There was, however, to be little romance in the life of our small Chinese heroine. The man who made her his wife did so simply as a means toward an end, and that end was to be a life of slavery and degradation in California. The landing of slave girls in free America is prohibited by law, thus the slave-dealers must resort to the best means at their command to thwart or circumvent our laws. A witnessed marriage in China gives an American-born Chinaman the right to land his wife in this country, so many an innocent village girl crosses the ocean secure in the belief that she is the honored wife of a respectable husband. She is landed as such, and, alas! often finds out when too late that she is merely the chattel of an evil and unscrupulous Highbinder society, whose paid agent is the man to whom she is bound. Soon after the Korea's arrival in port, on the voyage in which we are interested, I visited the ship to interview the Chinese women on board, and there for the first time met our little dark-eyed friend, Kum Ping. She had been carefully coached on the way as to the visits she might receive from foreign missionaries, and the replies to all our questions showed a guarded suspicion that seemed quite hopeless. Our cheerful interpreter talked on, nevertheless, and finally won a quiet smile and the offer of some roast duck (a great delicacy among Chinese). All warnings about the dangers and wickedness of Chinatown apparently fell on deaf ears. "I am a married woman, my husband can take care of me. I do not need your protection!" was the rather indignant response. So we presented some bright flowers as a token of good will and friendship, and with them slipped into the small, soft hand a talisman that might help her out of future trouble. Just a slip of paper, but the magic of the name and number written there many an escaped slave girl can bear witness to. Some weeks passed by after our visit to Kum Ping on the steamer. She had landed, and, like hundreds of others, had simply disappeared from view in that place of many mysteries, old Chinatown. One night perhaps a month later, I was called to the reception room to see a strange visitor (Chinese) who refused to divulge either name or business to any one else. On meeting this messenger I noticed his great excitement and nervousness. Only after the door was tightly shut did he tell his errand. We listened with interest to his story of a young girl sold to a very cruel master, who beat her daily and never allowed her to leave the place in which she was closely guarded. Unless relief came soon she must end her life. Would the Mission try to save this poor girl? We gladly promised what help we could give, and our visitor left as quickly and mysteriously as he came, only leaving for our guidance a roughly sketched diagram of alley and house where the little captive could be found. There followed much planning and plotting. Our staunch friend, Sergeant Ross of the Chinatown squad, was summoned and consulted. The place was a difficult one to reach, but at last satisfactory plans were made, the day and hour set. There were three officers and three Chinese girls from the Mission. It was a good-sized rescue party and divided into three companies, we guarded well the three exits from the low-roofed house on Spofford alley. With Sergeant Ross leading and our courageous young interpreter at our side, we stealthily ascended the dark, narrow stairs to the second floor, where a heavy door barred the way, but for such obstacles our good officer was prepared. A few blows of his strong hammer made bolts and bars yield. We passed through into a small dark passage. From there could be heard on all sides sounds of excitement; light feet running hither and thither to places of escape, only to be turned back by the sight of our guards, who stood on watch. As we cautiously felt our way further in we were met by the baffled and angry keeper of the den--a woman, but not worthy the name. She fiercely demanded our business--there was no need to tell it, for she knew as well as we; but she wished to find some means of hindering our search for her newest and most valuable slave. A room was at length discovered in which we felt sure the treasure was hidden. Again Sergeant Ross had to force open a door. As it gave way, a small, dimly-lighted room opened before us. In the center cowered a Chinese girl. It needed not a second look to recognize in the frightened, anxious face before me Kum Ping of the steamer. Our talisman had worked its charm. She had proved to the depths the terrible truth of our warning, and now gladly entrusted herself to our care, while her almost frantic owner stormed, threatened and at last laid violent hands on the officer who was helping us. As we led the trembling Kum Ping out, a greatly excited crowd of chattering Chinese met us at the end of the passage at Spofford alley, and the news passed from lip to lip, "The Mission people have taken Woon Ha's new slave girl!" We would be glad to end the story of our little friend's troubles and safe escape with her arrival at last in the Mission Home that day. But how few rescues ever do end in that peaceful and pleasant way! There followed the usual train of lawyers and warrants. To avoid these unpleasant experiences, Kum Ping had to change her place of residence several times, the last time being the night before the fatal eighteenth of April. A warrant was served at ten o'clock that night, but being forewarned, the one named in it was with friends at some distance from the city. The warrant summoned us to court at two o'clock next day. God disposed of that case! No court has ever passed judgment on it. Long after the excitement of these days was over, Kum Ping returned to our Home; country air and a free life are working their spell. It is hard to recognize in the round, sun-tanned, happy face we see today, the unhappy slave girl of Woon Ha's den on Spofford alley. CHAPTER 18. PERILS AND REMEDIES. It is a matter of no small importance that the Christian public of America should realize that in the Oriental slavery of its Pacific Coast it faces a flood. One can gaze with indifference upon a little stream that trickles through a wall, so long as it is thought to be merely a natural spring of water; but when one is informed that this is the trickling of water through a dike which dams out the raging sea, the sensations are changed to a realizing sense of imminent peril. If some are disposed to criticise this book for leading its readers into past history and far distant countries, to tell them harrowing tales, let them know it is intended to take them for a view behind the dike,--that they may understand the source of the trickling stream of brothel slaves that, almost unobserved, flows steadily into our fair land, and know that the stream is the precursor of a flood. No mere wall of immigration restrictions will ever get control of the flow so long as men are permitted to hold slaves after they have once been landed. And for the further reason, that so soon as China and Japan have drilled a little longer with the fire-arms furnished them by Western nations, they will force a free entrance to America. The yellow flood is sure to come, and we must make ready for it. We must realize what may happen to American women if almond-eyed citizens, bent on exploiting women for gain, obtain the ballot in advance of educated American women. We must realize how impossible it is to throttle this monster, Oriental Brothel-Slavery, unless we take it in its infancy. For these reasons, we wish to sound the cry long and loud: "At once to arms! Not a moment to be lost! We cannot build a dam in the midst of the raging sea. The new dam must be finished before the old one bursts." And beside the peril arising directly from the flood of Orientals who are accustomed to dealing with women as chattels, there will be the peril from a debased American manhood. Men cannot live in the midst of such slavery as this, tolerate it, defend it, make gain through it, patronize it, without losing all respect for woman and regard for her rights. And then, the slave business is fast becoming a vested interest of large dimensions to American men as well as to Chinese. There are fully as many (probably more) Japanese slaves as Chinese in the United States, and at the moderate reckoning that they are worth three thousand dollars each, that represents six million dollars in capital; and at the present time the Japanese traffic is more threatening to the United States than the Chinese, with which alone this book deals.[A] [Footnote A: When we undertook the task of writing this book we intended to include in it also a representation of the Japanese slave-trade, but have been obliged to desist for want of space.] In these latter days, when everything in the business line tends to take on the form of trusts and combines, bent on defeating all law and exploiting the common people for gain, it casts a shadow of gloom over one's spirits to think of capitalists entering so largely upon the active culture and development of vice for pecuniary profit. This can no longer be looked upon as an evil due to the frailty of human nature and the strength of the sex appetite; it is rather the expression of a greed for gold, and should be actively combated as such. The owners of property, especially those who have a monopoly in the matter of housing vice because of municipal measures for its segregation, are most potent offenders against decency, and should be punished as such, instead of their being admitted, as too often they are, not only to good society, but to membership on the church roll. No individual can afford to be indifferent and ignorant as to the existence of social vice in the community. The only escape from moral blight and confusion is by active conflict with the forces of evil. The wrong training of youths who grow up in the presence of tolerated evils, cannot be overcome in a single generation, nor in a single century. There is a confusion of the moral sense in the presence of evil to which one has become accustomed, that is truly terrible. When it was first learned in England that such an official had been appointed at Singapore and Hong Kong as the inspector of brothels, the matter could scarcely gain credence. Mr. Benjamin Scott, Chamberlain of the City of London, in his valuable book, "A State Iniquity," in mentioning this exclaims: "Her Majesty's Inspector of Brothels! Curiosity is aroused to inquire what were the attributes, duties, rank and status of this official. From the evidence taken by the Commission [at Hong Kong], we gather that he kept a register of 'Queen's Women,' and saw that their names were duly inscribed on the door-posts of the Government establishments, as lawyers' names are inscribed on nests of Chambers in the Temple, and those of merchants and traders are written on offices in the City. He comptrolled the receipt of the fees paid by the women into the Colonial Treasury.... But, what was the fashion of his uniform? Did he attend the receptions of His Excellency and the Port Admiral? Was he allowed precedence of chaplains, or how otherwise? and was he expected to dine with the Bishop? Was he decorated on the abolition of his office, and allowed a good service pension? or is he still in the service of 'our religious and gracious Queen?'" That officer still remains in the service of the Government, both at Singapore and at Hong Kong. By the ruse of denominating all the tasks connected with the Government management of immoral houses at Singapore "protection," the Chief Inspector of brothels in this place holds a more honored place in the community than at Hong Kong. As to Mr. Scott's ironical questions in regard to that officer's rank, we cannot answer, nor whether he is invited to the Governor's receptions; but Mr. Scott would have been astounded, indeed, had he, like ourselves, first met the Chief Inspector of brothels at a reception given to ministers of the Gospel and missionaries; had he, like ourselves, been introduced to the official by a minister of the Gospel than whom none stands higher in British India, and that in terms of eulogy of the Inspector's activity in Christian work. How can we explain such a state of affairs? Just as we would explain the religiousness of early days of America and England associated with the monstrous cruelty of the slave traffic. There is often in connection with great human wrong great moral confusion, and without judging the individuals living under such conditions, we can say emphatically, those conditions are most undesirable, and attended by moral peril, especially to the young. It is a truly lamentable thing when prolonged familiarity with vicious conditions leads to such lack of discernment as to a man's true character, even among the best portion of a community. We do not wish such a state of things as this in America. California does not lack in excellent laws (as they read, in the Statute Book), for the suppression of prostitution. There are laws against procuring; against trading in Oriental women for evil purposes; against buying or selling a female, with or without her consent, for prostitution; against a husband forcing or influencing a wife to lead an evil life; against a husband even consenting to his wife practicing prostitution; against keeping a house of ill-fame; and against knowingly renting a house for a place of prostitution. But all these laws, almost the world over, as well as in California, are weak at one point, namely, that they provide for imprisonment _or_ fine, whereas they should provide for imprisonment _and_ fine. This is not because the penalty would then be heavier, of necessity, but in order that the law may not be prostituted into license. The alternative of a fine instead of imprisonment defeats the object the public-spirited citizens have in demanding a law for the discouragement of vice, and places before the police officials a temptation to corruption. A mild sentence, which invariably puts the procurer or brothel-keeper in prison, is worth more than a heavy sentence by way of fine, which can be met by further oppression of his slaves. Besides, the heavier the sentence threatened, if there be an alternative fine, the more potent implement it furnishes for blackmail in the hands of corrupt police officials. Penalties by means of fines invariably tend to degenerate into a monthly squeeze to the police, in payment for toleration, and thus tend to make the police official a defender of social vice, rather than an exterminator. It has always been considered, among experienced workers, a most difficult thing to attack prostitution itself by means of penalties, for the reason that the punishment is invariably visited with greatest severity upon the head of the female partner in shame, who is often the mere victim, while the male partner goes free. But surely those men who make a business of cultivating vice and vicious practices,--who use every sort of device to corrupt the youth and develop the trade in women, can be reached by just and wholesome laws. We cannot make men moral by act of parliament, but we can restrict their depredations. It has long been our feeling that every form and kind of spurious marriage, such as bigamy, polygamy, illegal divorce and remarriage, seduction, adultery, and bastardy, besides constituting sometimes cause for civil action, might with good results be lifted into offenses against the State. National development depends not upon the individual but upon the _family unit_, and that family unit is non-existent outside the monogamous relation, or, at least, is so frail as to easily crumble. Nothing could be more vicious in moral education to the youth than the average suit for civil damages, in which the whole decision of the case is made to depend upon whether some young girl can or cannot be ruined in reputation by lawyers of the defense and by their client, concerning whom there is not a question as to their lack of a decent reputation. When the State rises to defend itself against counterfeit marriage, just as it defends itself against counterfeit coin, then the whole horizon of the life of a profligate woman will not be brought before the public gaze every time she comes into court, but will be kept in deserved obscurity, and the woman will be tried for a _single_ offense, just as the man is tried, and not for all the offenses and indiscretions of a life-time. The penalty for such wrong doing may not be placed at even so high a figure in the Statute Book as it now stands, while accounted a civil injury, but the dignity of the trial would give serious lessons in virtue to the youth. No nation can long exist that does not incessantly discourage the practice of every sort of offense against the sanctity of the marriage relation. But after all, there will be no success in attempting to cope with Oriental prostitution by means of laws against prostitution and kindred vices, for the reason that the evil is a far graver one than this. Innocent children are reared for vice, and at a certain age thrust into the life through no choice of theirs; and not infrequently perfectly respectable women of mature years are kidnaped for the vile service. The effect upon the moral character of a man who resorts to a _slave_ class of victims to his evil propensities, must be to make that man a menace to society wherever he goes, through deeds of violence which he is willing to commit, and accustomed to commit, of the worst imaginable sort. And an attack upon the slave _traffic_ alone will never prove adequate. The history of our country's dealing with negro slavery is instructive on this point. There were laws in abundance for the suppression of the _traffic_ between Africa and America; it was forbidden to bring slaves into the country, and devices were invented looking to an eventual liberation of all the slaves in certain regions; but what did all these amount to, so long as slavery could exist? There had to be one sweeping, general emancipation of slaves wherever they were found, under whatever circumstances, and when the state of slavery was abolished, the trade in slaves died a natural death. The words of Mr. Francis concerning conditions at Hong Kong bear directly on this point: "Until the system of prostitution which prevails in this Colony ... is declared to be _slavery_, and treated and punished as such in Hong Kong, no stop will ever be put to the kidnaping of women and the buying and selling of female children in Hong Kong. This buying and selling and kidnaping is only an effect, of which the existing system of Chinese prostitution is the cause." In 1880, Mr. Berry, a member of the House of Representatives from California, made use, in a debate in the House, of the argument that "if the British authorities had not been able to prevent slavery from being practiced in Hong Kong, there would be great danger that, if an unlimited immigration of Chinese were allowed, it would be followed by the prevalence of slavery in this country." It is perfectly true that immigration of Chinese, even though it has been greatly restricted, has been followed by the introduction of slavery into the United States, yet the premises laid down in this argument, may not pass unchallenged, for the following reasons: There was never any serious attempt to put down slavery at Hong Kong, excepting in the efforts of Sir John Smale and perhaps one or two others, whose efforts were opposed by others, and in large part defeated. The records go to show that there was at once a growth of healthy moral sentiment created among the Chinese, through Sir John Smale's endeavor, that promised much good for the future had his course of action been continued. This official planted his feet squarely upon the doctrine that all buying and selling of human beings was slavery, and that a human being cannot, in law, "become a slave, even by his own consent." And moreover this official, with Governor Hennessey's encouragement, prosecuted his cases without any tender consideration as to the demands of European libertines, who would be left with scant opportunities to be self-indulgent unless slaves were placed at their disposal. The truth is, from the foreign standpoint, the plea for brothel slavery was based upon the "necessity" of vice, and from the Chinese standpoint the plea for slavery was based upon so-called Chinese "custom." The Government was impressed that it must have consideration for the demands of libertines, and consideration for Chinese "custom." Neither of these arguments has any worth when applied to the slave conditions of California, and therefore the most serious, baffling obstacles to a removal of the evil are out of the way. Both pretexts, we maintain, were false. There is no necessity for furnishing vice to libertines; there was no lawful Chinese custom to be opposed in opposing brothel slavery. But even if these were claimed to be sufficient arguments across the water, they have no force in California. There are women, alas! willing to make a trade of their virtue for _their own gain_, without forcing Chinese women to make a trade of their virtue for _the gain of masters_. As to Chinese custom: America is not setting forth inducements for the Chinese to come and live in our midst, as did Sir Charles Elliott when he promised the Chinese the privilege of practicing their own social and religious rites and customs, "pending Her Majesty's pleasure." If Chinese or any other class of foreigners come to reside in the United States, it is with the understanding that they must conform to the laws of the country, whatever modification or radical alteration it obliges them to make in their native customs, and if they will not do this they must take the consequences. No class of people, taken as a whole, are possessed of a greater moral sense or can be reached more readily by moral suasion, than the Chinese. We believe that if a proper condition of public moral sentiment were maintained, by the enforcement of the laws of the United States in Chinese communities, no class of people would be more delighted than the respectable Chinese themselves, who are now left in a state of terror for their own lives from the highbinders, and who often dare not bring over their lawful wives from China, to live in the midst of this reign of terror, at the mercy of slave-traders and women-stealers. Then Chinese criminals would seek safer shelter elsewhere, and respectable Chinese family life would take the place, in our Chinatowns, of a combination of criminal men and slave women. And Chinese men of weak character, separated far from home influences, would not be met on every hand by temptations of the most potent sort. Such is the real worth of the sort of Chinese character that one meets in other parts of that country from those vitiated by familiar contact with foreign profligates, that the presence of such could not but be a benefit to us, and would afford peaceable, thrifty, useful Chinese settlements in our midst, of which we would feel justly proud. In order to see that the entrance of Chinese to our country from China is not made a cover for this dreadful slave trade, there is an urgent need of cooeperation between rescue workers of the California coast and rescue workers in all the open ports of China. Chinese men are constantly returning to China to "marry," in duly prescribed form, and then return with their wives and reenter the United States, merely to put the women into the brothels. Any man who is willing to run the risk of detection can thus get a trip home to China to see his lawful wife and family, and make it a profitable business trip besides,--with all expenses more than paid by the importation, and sale of a slave. Chinese women are constantly returning to China to bring "daughters" to put in the slave pens. No woman (even lawfully married to a Chinaman), should be allowed to take a ticket at Hong Kong or any of the open ports of China for the United States, whose case has not been thoroughly investigated by days of acquaintance with a woman inspector in a house of detention, if necessary, on the other side. And no Chinese woman should be allowed to enter on this side of the water, until she has passed the second time under such surveillance in a house of detention. And such rescue workers should have the Government authority signified by a policeman's star. The evil to be combated should be met with the right remedy. "Fitches are not threshed with a thresher, neither is a cart wheel turned about upon the cummin; but the fitches are beaten out with a staff, and the cummin with a rod." Much of the failure to control brothel slavery has grown out of the application of the wrong remedy, not out of a difficulty in controlling the Chinese. These cases of trading in human flesh have generally been treated in the courts as though coming under the laws against ordinary prostitution. To illustrate: Within the past month, three Chinese girls were captured by a rescue worker. They were cooped up, with a man who had charge of them, in a tiny closet scarcely sufficient to hold the four, which had been entered by a panel door which was securely nailed up and bags of rice piled against it. The rescuer pulled away the bags, pried open the door of the secret receptacle with her hatchet, and drew out the girls, dripping with perspiration and panting for breath, in consequence of the two hours' confinement, while the brothel was being searched for them. They were conveyed to the mission home, and were very happy, and expressed their eager wish to remain. A Chinese woman came to call at the mission home, in the absence of the superintendent, and, unfortunately, was allowed to get access to an acquaintance of these girls, and she conveyed to them a promise that if they would come back, in a very little while they would all be given their liberty. After that the girls said they wished to go, and for the following reasons: They could not dwell in safety among their Chinese people, if in debt to a brothel-keeper, for he would be always on their track, and if he could not capture them and they would not return, he would certainly secure their death at the hands of high-binders. The case came up in court. The girls told there all the details of their being recently smuggled into this country; that they were bought by their present owner for $3,030 each; that they were flogged when their earnings for their owner fell below $300 a month, and other similar details,--_but_ they also declared their wish to go back to the brothel and to their owner. To be sure, they had expressed elsewhere a contrary wish, and the wish to return had been begotten in their hearts by the threats and inducements conveyed to them by the woman who came to the home. The judge was one who could not be bought nor bribed, and who sincerely wished the good of the girls, but they said they chose a life of prostitution, and to that life they were returned. We do not pretend to understand as well as that judge the laws that were available, on which he rendered his decision, but this we do say: If California has not a law that will not permit the introduction of slavery into the state, even though Chinese women _consent_ to slavery, then it needs such a law at once. _Slavery is too formidable an evil for free Americans to allow its existence on the consent of enslaved Chinese women._ Age of consent legislation, as applied to the question of social vice, is one thing, and consent as applied to the question of slavery, quite another thing. Sir John Smale, in the Supreme Court of Hong Kong, quoting from Sir R. Phillimore on International law (vol. I, p. 316), declared that it was not possible for a human being legally to "become a slave _even by his own consent_." Had the matter of consent or non-consent of slaves been consulted as to negro slavery, we have no reason for believing that the negro would ever have had his freedom. Though prostitution is entangled with the conditions of servitude, under which Chinese women and girls groan in California, yet only about half the slaves are as yet prostitutes, and slavery looms up so large against the western sky, as compared with the mere consent or wish of a creature brought up from babyhood in familiarity with vice, that to consult the option of such an one in determining the existence or non-existence of _slavery_ in America, is a thing that ought not to be tolerated for a moment. We have shown how every Chinese girl who has escaped from her servitude to the city of refuge,--the mission home,--is received and welcomed. How the rescued and rescuer run the race for dear life, and the pursuers are obliged to turn back at the door. But what a state of things in this country which we call free! Should not the entire country be one great city of refuge? Do we not pretend that it is such to all who are oppressed? Why should not the pursuer be turned back at the Golden Gate, rather than at the door of an exceptional home in San Francisco? We are fond of saying that under the stars and stripes slavery cannot exist. We must make it good, or acknowledge, in dust and ashes of repentance, that we are hypocrites. Idle words will not do in place of deeds; we must make good our profession at any cost. Everyone of these Chinese women should be removed from the brothels, wherever these exist, consent or no consent, placed in houses of detention, instructed as to the condition of liberty of the person in which she _must_ live, and then, if she _prefers_ a slave's life, he deported to China,--a land in which slavery is permitted. Every Chinese man who attempts to interfere with this radical treatment of the situation, should be imprisoned or driven from the country. These "Watch-dogs," who are perfectly known to the police, both by name and by face, should be put behind bars and in stripes, for a long time to come. This is not prostitution, _merely_,--Oh, how tenderly men are inclined to deal with the male harlot! but for once the libertine has not a shadow of a shade of defense,--the patrons of _slaves_ are something worse than fornicators; they are guilty of as many offenses of criminal outrage as they are guilty of visits to the slave-pens stocked with Chinese girls, and they deserve a prison sentence for every such visit. Girls are afraid to come out of Chinese brothels until they have earned their freedom. This is because powerful Chinese societies have been formed that will either kidnap such a girl or kill her. So she declares in court that she consents freely to be returned to the brothel, and an extraordinary misconstruction of the doctrine of the "liberty of the person," leaves the judge with nothing to do but to deliver the girl over to compulsory voluntariness. Again, Chinese young men do not wish to marry liberated Chinese girls, but they go, rather, to the brothel and buy a wife; and for much the same reason. If a man marries the liberated slave of a brothel keeper, the high-binders will teach the lesson that he has stolen another man's property, by watching their chance and assassinating him. Why are not these societies broken up, root and branch? Cannot? Nonsense; the officers of the law have not made the attempt with any degree of earnestness as yet. For years, the "Protectors" at Singapore and at Hong Kong have summoned the slaves into their offices and informed them that they were free, and asked them if they freely consented to going into a life of shame, before putting them there? But to what purpose? Let the Police Magistrate, H.E. Wodehouse, reply, as he did concerning a case of suicide: "When registering her name she said she had no pocket-mother, that her parents were both dead, and that she became a prostitute of her own free will. The inspector said that that was the description of themselves that nearly all prostitutes gave, and that it was very rarely that it was true." Remember that, reader, when the columns of your morning paper inform you that all the girls of Chinatown have been interrogated, and that they all said they were there of their own free will? It is "very rarely that it is true." Referring to this case, which we describe on page 118, the Marquess of Ripon wrote to Hong Kong that the brothel-keeper who attempted to extort money from the young man before delivering up his captive to him for marriage, should have been prosecuted, and adds: "A single successful prosecution in a case of this kind would, in all probability, do more to show that the inmates of brothels are free to leave such places when they wish, than could ever be effected by the present system, under which efforts are indeed made to explain their positions to the inmates of brothels." This is a very clear statement of exactly what is needed in California. The public should refuse to be satisfied with visits of the police officials to the girls, to ascertain the girls' state of mind as to a sense of liberty, and demand to know the official's state of mind,--whether he is ready to _prove_ the freedom of the slave by hounding the slave dealers out of the community. There was recently a war of secret societies in Oakland's Chinatown. One of the "tongs" quarreled with another, and three or four Chinese men were shot on the streets of Oakland,--one fatally, named Lee Bock Dong, in his own house. Lee Bock Dong had a slave girl who saw the shooting, so she was taken into custody by police officers. But the Chinese got her out of jail by means of the usual writ of habeas corpus, and she was sent to Sacramento to another person, who had disputed her ownership with Lee Bock Dong. It seems, Lee Bock Dong had been holding the slave girl for a debt owed to him by her real owner in Sacramento, of $2,000. The Oakland _Enquirer, of_ Feb. 20th, 1907, informed its readers a few days after the affray as follows: "This girl's possession was one of the points in dispute between the two tongs, and it was this that was settled at yesterday's conference." It is interesting to note that other newspapers gave the information that police officials attended the conference of these tongs, to help settle the dispute. The report continues: "Lee Bock Dong's widow demands the return of the girl as security for the money, or the payment of the $2,000. This the Bing Gongs (one of the tongs) finally agreed to, and it was for them to determine the course they would pursue. The police say that this step is only preliminary to a settlement of the whole affair ... that peace will be declared, the complaint against the alleged murderers withdrawn, and the case dismissed ... it is now expected that within a few days the extra police force, which has been maintained in Chinatown ever since the night of the shooting affray, will be withdrawn and peace reign once more." This article is headed: "Warring Tongs Hold a Conference, and it is Agreed Chinese Maiden is to be Returned, or Equivalent in Cash." The _Enquirer_ of March 9th reported that the "Chinese tong men have been dismissed." "Equivalent in cash" for a Chinese maiden! Can it be possible that this is the United States of America, and the twentieth century! One actual murder, and two murderous assaults on the public streets, all dismissed by an understanding entered into with the police that they could now withdraw their extra force, since the Chinese girl had been passed over as security for a debt, until the "equivalent in cash" is paid! Have we spent hundreds of millions of dollars, and shed the blood of thousands of young men, and widowed and orphaned tens of of thousands besides, in a civil war to put down African slavery, introduced from the Atlantic Coast, merely to turn about and welcome Chinese slavery from the Pacific Coast? "Behold this is a people robbed and spoiled; they are all of them snared in holes, and they are hid in prison houses: they are for a prey, and none delivereth; for a spoil, and none saith, Restore. "Who among you will give ear to this? Who will hearken and hear for the time to come?" 16261 ---- [Transcriber's Note: The letter o with a caron is indicated as [)o] in this text version.] SOME CHINESE GHOSTS BY LAFCADIO HEARN _Copyright_, 1887, by ROBERTS BROTHERS * * * * * _To my friend_ HENRY EDWARD KREHBIEL _THE MUSICIAN_ WHO, SPEAKING THE SPEECH OF MELODY UNTO THE CHILDREN OF TIEN-HIA,-- UNTO THE WANDERING TSING-JIN, WHOSE SKINS HAVE THE COLOR OF GOLD,-- MOVED THEM TO MAKE STRANGE SOUNDS UPON THE SERPENT-BELLIED SAN-HIEN; PERSUADED THEM TO PLAY FOR ME UPON THE SHRIEKING YA-HIEN; PREVAILED ON THEM TO SING ME A SONG OF THEIR NATIVE LAND,-- THE SONG OF MOHLÍ-HWA, THE SONG OF THE JASMINE-FLOWER [Illustration: Line drawing of a man's head] * * * * * _PREFACE_ I think that my best apology for the insignificant size of this volume is the very character of the material composing it. In preparing the legends I sought especially for _weird beauty_; and I could not forget this striking observation in Sir Walter Scott's "Essay on Imitations of the Ancient Ballad": "The supernatural, though appealing to certain powerful emotions very widely and deeply sown amongst the human race, is, nevertheless, a _spring which is peculiarly apt to lose its elasticity by being too much pressed upon_." Those desirous to familiarize themselves with Chinese literature as a whole have had the way made smooth for them by the labors of linguists like Julien, Pavie, Rémusat, De Rosny, Schlegel, Legge, Hervey-Saint-Denys, Williams, Biot, Giles, Wylie, Beal, and many other Sinologists. To such great explorers, indeed, the realm of Cathayan story belongs by right of discovery and conquest; yet the humbler traveller who follows wonderingly after them into the vast and mysterious pleasure-grounds of Chinese fancy may surely be permitted to cull a few of the marvellous flowers there growing,--a self-luminous _hwa-wang_, a black lily, a phosphoric rose or two,--as souvenirs of his curious voyage. L.H. NEW ORLEANS, March 15, 1886. _CONTENTS_ THE SOUL OF THE GREAT BELL THE STORY OF MING-Y THE LEGEND OF TCHI-NIU THE RETURN OF YEN-TCHIN-KING THE TRADITION OF THE TEA-PLANT THE TALE OF THE PORCELAIN-GOD * * * * * NOTES GLOSSARY [Illustration: Decorative motif] [Illustration: Line drawing of a head] The Soul of the Great Bell _She hath spoken, and her words still resound in his ears._ HAO-KHIEOU-TCHOUAN: c. ix. THE SOUL OF THE GREAT BELL The water-clock marks the hour in the _Ta-chung sz'_,--in the Tower of the Great Bell: now the mallet is lifted to smite the lips of the metal monster,--the vast lips inscribed with Buddhist texts from the sacred _Fa-hwa-King_, from the chapters of the holy _Ling-yen-King_! Hear the great bell responding!--how mighty her voice, though tongueless!--_KO-NGAI!_ All the little dragons on the high-tilted eaves of the green roofs shiver to the tips of their gilded tails under that deep wave of sound; all the porcelain gargoyles tremble on their carven perches; all the hundred little bells of the pagodas quiver with desire to speak. _KO-NGAI!_--all the green-and-gold tiles of the temple are vibrating; the wooden goldfish above them are writhing against the sky; the uplifted finger of Fo shakes high over the heads of the worshippers through the blue fog of incense! _KO-NGAI!_--What a thunder tone was that! All the lacquered goblins on the palace cornices wriggle their fire-colored tongues! And after each huge shock, how wondrous the multiple echo and the great golden moan and, at last, the sudden sibilant sobbing in the ears when the immense tone faints away in broken whispers of silver,--as though a woman should whisper, "_Hiai!_" Even so the great bell hath sounded every day for well-nigh five hundred years,--_Ko-Ngai_: first with stupendous clang, then with immeasurable moan of gold, then with silver murmuring of "_Hiai!_" And there is not a child in all the many-colored ways of the old Chinese city who does not know the story of the great bell,--who cannot tell you why the great bell says _Ko-Ngai_ and _Hiai_! * * * * * Now, this is the story of the great bell in the Ta-chung sz', as the same is related in the _Pe-Hiao-Tou-Choue_, written by the learned Yu-Pao-Tchen, of the City of Kwang-tchau-fu. Nearly five hundred years ago the Celestially August, the Son of Heaven, Yong-Lo, of the "Illustrious," or Ming, dynasty, commanded the worthy official Kouan-Yu that he should have a bell made of such size that the sound thereof might be heard for one hundred _li_. And he further ordained that the voice of the bell should be strengthened with brass, and deepened with gold, and sweetened with silver; and that the face and the great lips of it should be graven with blessed sayings from the sacred books, and that it should be suspended in the centre of the imperial capital, to sound through all the many-colored ways of the City of Pe-king. Therefore the worthy mandarin Kouan-Yu assembled the master-moulders and the renowned bellsmiths of the empire, and all men of great repute and cunning in foundry work; and they measured the materials for the alloy, and treated them skilfully, and prepared the moulds, the fires, the instruments, and the monstrous melting-pot for fusing the metal. And they labored exceedingly, like giants,--neglecting only rest and sleep and the comforts of life; toiling both night and day in obedience to Kouan-Yu, and striving in all things to do the behest of the Son of Heaven. But when the metal had been cast, and the earthen mould separated from the glowing casting, it was discovered that, despite their great labor and ceaseless care, the result was void of worth; for the metals had rebelled one against the other,--the gold had scorned alliance with the brass, the silver would not mingle with the molten iron. Therefore the moulds had to be once more prepared, and the fires rekindled, and the metal remelted, and all the work tediously and toilsomely repeated. The Son of Heaven heard, and was angry, but spake nothing. A second time the bell was cast, and the result was even worse. Still the metals obstinately refused to blend one with the other; and there was no uniformity in the bell, and the sides of it were cracked and fissured, and the lips of it were slagged and split asunder; so that all the labor had to be repeated even a third time, to the great dismay of Kouan-Yu. And when the Son of Heaven heard these things, he was angrier than before; and sent his messenger to Kouan-Yu with a letter, written upon lemon-colored silk, and sealed with the seal of the Dragon, containing these words:-- "_From the Mighty Yong-Lo, the Sublime Tait-Sung, the Celestial and August,--whose reign is called 'Ming,'--to Kouan-Yu the Fuh-yin: Twice thou hast betrayed the trust we have deigned graciously to place in thee; if thou fail a third time in fulfilling our command, thy head shall be severed from thy neck. Tremble, and obey!_" * * * * * Now, Kouan-Yu had a daughter of dazzling loveliness, whose name--Ko-Ngai--was ever in the mouths of poets, and whose heart was even more beautiful than her face. Ko-Ngai loved her father with such love that she had refused a hundred worthy suitors rather than make his home desolate by her absence; and when she had seen the awful yellow missive, sealed with the Dragon-Seal, she fainted away with fear for her father's sake. And when her senses and her strength returned to her, she could not rest or sleep for thinking of her parent's danger, until she had secretly sold some of her jewels, and with the money so obtained had hastened to an astrologer, and paid him a great price to advise her by what means her father might be saved from the peril impending over him. So the astrologer made observations of the heavens, and marked the aspect of the Silver Stream (which we call the Milky Way), and examined the signs of the Zodiac,--the _Hwang-tao_, or Yellow Road,--and consulted the table of the Five _Hin_, or Principles of the Universe, and the mystical books of the alchemists. And after a long silence, he made answer to her, saying: "Gold and brass will never meet in wedlock, silver and iron never will embrace, until the flesh of a maiden be melted in the crucible; until the blood of a virgin be mixed with the metals in their fusion." So Ko-Ngai returned home sorrowful at heart; but she kept secret all that she had heard, and told no one what she had done. * * * * * At last came the awful day when the third and last effort to cast the great bell was to be made; and Ko-Ngai, together with her waiting-woman, accompanied her father to the foundry, and they took their places upon a platform overlooking the toiling of the moulders and the lava of liquefied metal. All the workmen wrought their tasks in silence; there was no sound heard but the muttering of the fires. And the muttering deepened into a roar like the roar of typhoons approaching, and the blood-red lake of metal slowly brightened like the vermilion of a sunrise, and the vermilion was transmuted into a radiant glow of gold, and the gold whitened blindingly, like the silver face of a full moon. Then the workers ceased to feed the raving flame, and all fixed their eyes upon the eyes of Kouan-Yu; and Kouan-Yu prepared to give the signal to cast. But ere ever he lifted his finger, a cry caused him to turn his head; and all heard the voice of Ko-Ngai sounding sharply sweet as a bird's song above the great thunder of the fires,--"_For thy sake, O my Father!_" And even as she cried, she leaped into the white flood of metal; and the lava of the furnace roared to receive her, and spattered monstrous flakes of flame to the roof, and burst over the verge of the earthen crater, and cast up a whirling fountain of many-colored fires, and subsided quakingly, with lightnings and with thunders and with mutterings. Then the father of Ko-Ngai, wild with his grief, would have leaped in after her, but that strong men held him back and kept firm grasp upon him until he had fainted away and they could bear him like one dead to his home. And the serving-woman of Ko-Ngai, dizzy and speechless for pain, stood before the furnace, still holding in her hands a shoe, a tiny, dainty shoe, with embroidery of pearls and flowers,--the shoe of her beautiful mistress that was. For she had sought to grasp Ko-Ngai by the foot as she leaped, but had only been able to clutch the shoe, and the pretty shoe came off in her hand; and she continued to stare at it like one gone mad. But in spite of all these things, the command of the Celestial and August had to be obeyed, and the work of the moulders to be finished, hopeless as the result might be. Yet the glow of the metal seemed purer and whiter than before; and there was no sign of the beautiful body that had been entombed therein. So the ponderous casting was made; and lo! when the metal had become cool, it was found that the bell was beautiful to look upon, and perfect in form, and wonderful in color above all other bells. Nor was there any trace found of the body of Ko-Ngai; for it had been totally absorbed by the precious alloy, and blended with the well-blended brass and gold, with the intermingling of the silver and the iron. And when they sounded the bell, its tones were found to be deeper and mellower and mightier than the tones of any other bell,--reaching even beyond the distance of one hundred _li_, like a pealing of summer thunder; and yet also like some vast voice uttering a name, a woman's name,--the name of Ko-Ngai! * * * * * And still, between each mighty stroke there is a long low moaning heard; and ever the moaning ends with a sound of sobbing and of complaining, as though a weeping woman should murmur, "_Hiai!_" And still, when the people hear that great golden moan they keep silence; but when the sharp, sweet shuddering comes in the air, and the sobbing of "_Hiai!_" then, indeed, all the Chinese mothers in all the many-colored ways of Pe-king whisper to their little ones: "_Listen! that is Ko-Ngai crying for her shoe! That is Ko-Ngai calling for her shoe!_" [Illustration: Chinese calligraphy] The Story of Ming-Y THE ANCIENT WORDS OF KOUEI--MASTER OF MUSICIANS IN THE COURTS OF THE EMPEROR YAO:-- _When ye make to resound the stone melodious, the Ming-Khieou,-- When ye touch the lyre that is called Kin, or the guitar that is called Ssé,-- Accompanying their sound with song,-- Then do the grandfather and the father return; Then do the ghosts of the ancestors come to hear._ THE STORY OF MING-Y _Sang the Poet Tching-Kou: "Surely the Peach-Flowers blossom over the tomb of Sië-Thao."_ Do you ask me who she was,--the beautiful Sië-Thao? For a thousand years and more the trees have been whispering above her bed of stone. And the syllables of her name come to the listener with the lisping of the leaves; with the quivering of many-fingered boughs; with the fluttering of lights and shadows; with the breath, sweet as a woman's presence, of numberless savage flowers,--_Sië-Thao_. But, saving the whispering of her name, what the trees say cannot be understood; and they alone remember the years of Sië-Thao. Something about her you might, nevertheless, learn from any of those _Kiang-kou-jin_,--those famous Chinese story-tellers, who nightly narrate to listening crowds, in consideration of a few _tsien_, the legends of the past. Something concerning her you may also find in the book entitled "Kin-Kou-Ki-Koan," which signifies in our tongue: "The Marvellous Happenings of Ancient and of Recent Times." And perhaps of all things therein written, the most marvellous is this memory of Sië-Thao:-- Five hundred years ago, in the reign of the Emperor Houng-Wou, whose dynasty was _Ming_, there lived in the City of Genii, the city of Kwang-tchau-fu, a man celebrated for his learning and for his piety, named Tien-Pelou. This Tien-Pelou had one son, a beautiful boy, who for scholarship and for bodily grace and for polite accomplishments had no superior among the youths of his age. And his name was Ming-Y. Now when the lad was in his eighteenth summer, it came to pass that Pelou, his father, was appointed Inspector of Public Instruction at the city of Tching-tou; and Ming-Y accompanied his parents thither. Near the city of Tching-tou lived a rich man of rank, a high commissioner of the government, whose name was Tchang, and who wanted to find a worthy teacher for his children. On hearing of the arrival of the new Inspector of Public Instruction, the noble Tchang visited him to obtain advice in this matter; and happening to meet and converse with Pelou's accomplished son, immediately engaged Ming-Y as a private tutor for his family. Now as the house of this Lord Tchang was situated several miles from town, it was deemed best that Ming-Y should abide in the house of his employer. Accordingly the youth made ready all things necessary for his new sojourn; and his parents, bidding him farewell, counselled him wisely, and cited to him the words of Lao-tseu and of the ancient sages: "_By a beautiful face the world is filled with love; but Heaven may never be deceived thereby. Shouldst thou behold a woman coming from the East, look thou to the West; shouldst thou perceive a maiden approaching from the West, turn thine eyes to the East._" If Ming-Y did not heed this counsel in after days, it was only because of his youth and the thoughtlessness of a naturally joyous heart. And he departed to abide in the house of Lord Tchang, while the autumn passed, and the winter also. * * * * * When the time of the second moon of spring was drawing near, and that happy day which the Chinese call _Hoa-tchao_, or, "The Birthday of a Hundred Flowers," a longing came upon Ming-Y to see his parents; and he opened his heart to the good Tchang, who not only gave him the permission he desired, but also pressed into his hand a silver gift of two ounces, thinking that the lad might wish to bring some little memento to his father and mother. For it is the Chinese custom, on the feast of Hoa-tchao, to make presents to friends and relations. That day all the air was drowsy with blossom perfume, and vibrant with the droning of bees. It seemed to Ming-Y that the path he followed had not been trodden by any other for many long years; the grass was tall upon it; vast trees on either side interlocked their mighty and moss-grown arms above him, beshadowing the way; but the leafy obscurities quivered with bird-song, and the deep vistas of the wood were glorified by vapors of gold, and odorous with flower-breathings as a temple with incense. The dreamy joy of the day entered into the heart of Ming-Y; and he sat him down among the young blossoms, under the branches swaying against the violet sky, to drink in the perfume and the light, and to enjoy the great sweet silence. Even while thus reposing, a sound caused him to turn his eyes toward a shady place where wild peach-trees were in bloom; and he beheld a young woman, beautiful as the pinkening blossoms themselves, trying to hide among them. Though he looked for a moment only, Ming-Y could not avoid discerning the loveliness of her face, the golden purity of her complexion, and the brightness of her long eyes, that sparkled under a pair of brows as daintily curved as the wings of the silkworm butterfly outspread. Ming-Y at once turned his gaze away, and, rising quickly, proceeded on his journey. But so much embarrassed did he feel at the idea of those charming eyes peeping at him through the leaves, that he suffered the money he had been carrying in his sleeve to fall, without being aware of it. A few moments later he heard the patter of light feet running behind him, and a woman's voice calling him by name. Turning his face in great surprise, he saw a comely servant-maid, who said to him, "Sir, my mistress bade me pick up and return you this silver which you dropped upon the road." Ming-Y thanked the girl gracefully, and requested her to convey his compliments to her mistress. Then he proceeded on his way through the perfumed silence, athwart the shadows that dreamed along the forgotten path, dreaming himself also, and feeling his heart beating with strange quickness at the thought of the beautiful being that he had seen. * * * * * It was just such another day when Ming-Y, returning by the same path, paused once more at the spot where the gracious figure had momentarily appeared before him. But this time he was surprised to perceive, through a long vista of immense trees, a dwelling that had previously escaped his notice,--a country residence, not large, yet elegant to an unusual degree. The bright blue tiles of its curved and serrated double roof, rising above the foliage, seemed to blend their color with the luminous azure of the day; the green-and-gold designs of its carven porticos were exquisite artistic mockeries of leaves and flowers bathed in sunshine. And at the summit of terrace-steps before it, guarded by great porcelain tortoises, Ming-Y saw standing the mistress of the mansion,--the idol of his passionate fancy,--accompanied by the same waiting-maid who had borne to her his message of gratitude. While Ming-Y looked, he perceived that their eyes were upon him; they smiled and conversed together as if speaking about him; and, shy though he was, the youth found courage to salute the fair one from a distance. To his astonishment, the young servant beckoned him to approach; and opening a rustic gate half veiled by trailing plants bearing crimson flowers, Ming-Y advanced along the verdant alley leading to the terrace, with mingled feelings of surprise and timid joy. As he drew near, the beautiful lady withdrew from sight; but the maid waited at the broad steps to receive him, and said as he ascended: "Sir, my mistress understands you wish to thank her for the trifling service she recently bade me do you, and requests that you will enter the house, as she knows you already by repute, and desires to have the pleasure of bidding you good-day." Ming-Y entered bashfully, his feet making no sound upon a matting elastically soft as forest moss, and found himself in a reception-chamber vast, cool, and fragrant with scent of blossoms freshly gathered. A delicious quiet pervaded the mansion; shadows of flying birds passed over the bands of light that fell through the half-blinds of bamboo; great butterflies, with pinions of fiery color, found their way in, to hover a moment about the painted vases, and pass out again into the mysterious woods. And noiselessly as they, the young mistress of the mansion entered by another door, and kindly greeted the boy, who lifted his hands to his breast and bowed low in salutation. She was taller than he had deemed her, and supplely-slender as a beauteous lily; her black hair was interwoven with the creamy blossoms of the _chu-sha-kih_; her robes of pale silk took shifting tints when she moved, as vapors change hue with the changing of the light. "If I be not mistaken," she said, when both had seated themselves after having exchanged the customary formalities of politeness, "my honored visitor is none other than Tien-chou, surnamed Ming-Y, educator of the children of my respected relative, the High Commissioner Tchang. As the family of Lord Tchang is my family also, I cannot but consider the teacher of his children as one of my own kin." "Lady," replied Ming-Y, not a little astonished, "may I dare to inquire the name of your honored family, and to ask the relation which you hold to my noble patron?" "The name of my poor family," responded the comely lady, "is _Ping_,--an ancient family of the city of Tching-tou. I am the daughter of a certain Sië of Moun-hao; Sië is my name, likewise; and I was married to a young man of the Ping family, whose name was Khang. By this marriage I became related to your excellent patron; but my husband died soon after our wedding, and I have chosen this solitary place to reside in during the period of my widowhood." There was a drowsy music in her voice, as of the melody of brooks, the murmurings of spring; and such a strange grace in the manner of her speech as Ming-Y had never heard before. Yet, on learning that she was a widow, the youth would not have presumed to remain long in her presence without a formal invitation; and after having sipped the cup of rich tea presented to him, he arose to depart. Sië would not suffer him to go so quickly. "Nay, friend," she said; "stay yet a little while in my house, I pray you; for, should your honored patron ever learn that you had been here, and that I had not treated you as a respected guest, and regaled you even as I would him, I know that he would be greatly angered. Remain at least to supper." So Ming-Y remained, rejoicing secretly in his heart, for Sië seemed to him the fairest and sweetest being he had ever known, and he felt that he loved her even more than his father and his mother. And while they talked the long shadows of the evening slowly blended into one violet darkness; the great citron-light of the sunset faded out; and those starry beings that are called the Three Councillors, who preside over life and death and the destinies of men, opened their cold bright eyes in the northern sky. Within the mansion of Sië the painted lanterns were lighted; the table was laid for the evening repast; and Ming-Y took his place at it, feeling little inclination to eat, and thinking only of the charming face before him. Observing that he scarcely tasted the dainties laid upon his plate, Sië pressed her young guest to partake of wine; and they drank several cups together. It was a purple wine, so cool that the cup into which it was poured became covered with vapory dew; yet it seemed to warm the veins with strange fire. To Ming-Y, as he drank, all things became more luminous as by enchantment; the walls of the chamber appeared to recede, and the roof to heighten; the lamps glowed like stars in their chains, and the voice of Sië floated to the boy's ears like some far melody heard through the spaces of a drowsy night. His heart swelled; his tongue loosened; and words flitted from his lips that he had fancied he could never dare to utter. Yet Sië sought not to restrain him; her lips gave no smile; but her long bright eyes seemed to laugh with pleasure at his words of praise, and to return his gaze of passionate admiration with affectionate interest. "I have heard," she said, "of your rare talent, and of your many elegant accomplishments. I know how to sing a little, although I cannot claim to possess any musical learning; and now that I have the honor of finding myself in the society of a musical professor, I will venture to lay modesty aside, and beg you to sing a few songs with me. I should deem it no small gratification if you would condescend to examine my musical compositions." "The honor and the gratification, dear lady," replied Ming-Y, "will be mine; and I feel helpless to express the gratitude which the offer of so rare a favor deserves." The serving-maid, obedient to the summons of a little silver gong, brought in the music and retired. Ming-Y took the manuscripts, and began to examine them with eager delight. The paper upon which they were written had a pale yellow tint, and was light as a fabric of gossamer; but the characters were antiquely beautiful, as though they had been traced by the brush of Heï-song Ché-Tchoo himself,--that divine Genius of Ink, who is no bigger than a fly; and the signatures attached to the compositions were the signatures of Youen-tchin, Kao-pien, and Thou-mou,--mighty poets and musicians of the dynasty of Thang! Ming-Y could not repress a scream of delight at the sight of treasures so inestimable and so unique; scarcely could he summon resolution enough to permit them to leave his hands even for a moment. "O Lady!" he cried, "these are veritably priceless things, surpassing in worth the treasures of all kings. This indeed is the handwriting of those great masters who sang five hundred years before our birth. How marvellously it has been preserved! Is not this the wondrous ink of which it was written: _Po-nien-jou-chi, i-tien-jou-ki,_--'After centuries I remain firm as stone, and the letters that I make like lacquer'? And how divine the charm of this composition!--the song of Kao-pien, prince of poets, and Governor of Sze-tchouen five hundred years ago!" "Kao-pien! darling Kao-pien!" murmured Sië, with a singular light in her eyes. "Kao-pien is also my favorite. Dear Ming-Y, let us chant his verses together, to the melody of old,--the music of those grand years when men were nobler and wiser than to-day." And their voices rose through the perfumed night like the voices of the wonder-birds,--of the Fung-hoang,--blending together in liquid sweetness. Yet a moment, and Ming-Y, overcome by the witchery of his companion's voice, could only listen in speechless ecstasy, while the lights of the chamber swam dim before his sight, and tears of pleasure trickled down his cheeks. So the ninth hour passed; and they continued to converse, and to drink the cool purple wine, and to sing the songs of the years of Thang, until far into the night. More than once Ming-Y thought of departing; but each time Sië would begin, in that silver-sweet voice of hers, so wondrous a story of the great poets of the past, and of the women whom they loved, that he became as one entranced; or she would sing for him a song so strange that all his senses seemed to die except that of hearing. And at last, as she paused to pledge him in a cup of wine, Ming-Y could not restrain himself from putting his arm about her round neck and drawing her dainty head closer to him, and kissing the lips that were so much ruddier and sweeter than the wine. Then their lips separated no more;--the night grew old, and they knew it not. * * * * * The birds awakened, the flowers opened their eyes to the rising sun, and Ming-Y found himself at last compelled to bid his lovely enchantress farewell. Sië, accompanying him to the terrace, kissed him fondly and said, "Dear boy, come hither as often as you are able,--as often as your heart whispers you to come. I know that you are not of those without faith and truth, who betray secrets; yet, being so young, you might also be sometimes thoughtless; and I pray you never to forget that only the stars have been the witnesses of our love. Speak of it to no living person, dearest; and take with you this little souvenir of our happy night." And she presented him with an exquisite and curious little thing,--a paper-weight in likeness of a couchant lion, wrought from a jade-stone yellow as that created by a rainbow in honor of Kong-fu-tze. Tenderly the boy kissed the gift and the beautiful hand that gave it. "May the Spirits punish me," he vowed, "if ever I knowingly give you cause to reproach me, sweetheart!" And they separated with mutual vows. That morning, on returning to the house of Lord Tchang, Ming-Y told the first falsehood which had ever passed his lips. He averred that his mother had requested him thenceforward to pass his nights at home, now that the weather had become so pleasant; for, though the way was somewhat long, he was strong and active, and needed both air and healthy exercise. Tchang believed all Ming-Y said, and offered no objection. Accordingly the lad found himself enabled to pass all his evenings at the house of the beautiful Sië. Each night they devoted to the same pleasures which had made their first acquaintance so charming: they sang and conversed by turns; they played at chess,--the learned game invented by Wu-Wang, which is an imitation of war; they composed pieces of eighty rhymes upon the flowers, the trees, the clouds, the streams, the birds, the bees. But in all accomplishments Sië far excelled her young sweetheart. Whenever they played at chess, it was always Ming-Y's general, Ming-Y's _tsiang_, who was surrounded and vanquished; when they composed verses, Sië's poems were ever superior to his in harmony of word-coloring, in elegance of form, in classic loftiness of thought. And the themes they selected were always the most difficult,--those of the poets of the Thang dynasty; the songs they sang were also the songs of five hundred years before,--the songs of Youen-tchin, of Thou-mou, of Kao-pien above all, high poet and ruler of the province of Sze-tchouen. So the summer waxed and waned upon their love, and the luminous autumn came, with its vapors of phantom gold, its shadows of magical purple. * * * * * Then it unexpectedly happened that the father of Ming-Y, meeting his son's employer at Tching-tou, was asked by him: "Why must your boy continue to travel every evening to the city, now that the winter is approaching? The way is long, and when he returns in the morning he looks fordone with weariness. Why not permit him to slumber in my house during the season of snow?" And the father of Ming-Y, greatly astonished, responded: "Sir, my son has not visited the city, nor has he been to our house all this summer. I fear that he must have acquired wicked habits, and that he passes his nights in evil company,--perhaps in gaming, or in drinking with the women of the flower-boats." But the High Commissioner returned: "Nay! that is not to be thought of. I have never found any evil in the boy, and there are no taverns nor flower-boats nor any places of dissipation in our neighborhood. No doubt Ming-Y has found some amiable youth of his own age with whom to spend his evenings, and only told me an untruth for fear that I would not otherwise permit him to leave my residence. I beg that you will say nothing to him until I shall have sought to discover this mystery; and this very evening I shall send my servant to follow after him, and to watch whither he goes." Pelou readily assented to this proposal, and promising to visit Tchang the following morning, returned to his home. In the evening, when Ming-Y left the house of Tchang, a servant followed him unobserved at a distance. But on reaching the most obscure portion of the road, the boy disappeared from sight as suddenly as though the earth had swallowed him. After having long sought after him in vain, the domestic returned in great bewilderment to the house, and related what had taken place. Tchang immediately sent a messenger to Pelou. In the mean time Ming-Y, entering the chamber of his beloved, was surprised and deeply pained to find her in tears. "Sweetheart," she sobbed, wreathing her arms around his neck, "we are about to be separated forever, because of reasons which I cannot tell you. From the very first I knew this must come to pass; and nevertheless it seemed to me for the moment so cruelly sudden a loss, so unexpected a misfortune, that I could not prevent myself from weeping! After this night we shall never see each other again, beloved, and I know that you will not be able to forget me while you live; but I know also that you will become a great scholar, and that honors and riches will be showered upon you, and that some beautiful and loving woman will console you for my loss. And now let us speak no more of grief; but let us pass this last evening joyously, so that your recollection of me may not be a painful one, and that you may remember my laughter rather than my tears." She brushed the bright drops away, and brought wine and music and the melodious _kin_ of seven silken strings, and would not suffer Ming-Y to speak for one moment of the coming separation. And she sang him an ancient song about the calmness of summer lakes reflecting the blue of heaven only, and the calmness of the heart also, before the clouds of care and of grief and of weariness darken its little world. Soon they forgot their sorrow in the joy of song and wine; and those last hours seemed to Ming-Y more celestial than even the hours of their first bliss. But when the yellow beauty of morning came their sadness returned, and they wept. Once more Sië accompanied her lover to the terrace-steps; and as she kissed him farewell, she pressed into his hand a parting gift,--a little brush-case of agate, wonderfully chiselled, and worthy the table of a great poet. And they separated forever, shedding many tears. * * * * * Still Ming-Y could not believe it was an eternal parting. "No!" he thought, "I shall visit her tomorrow; for I cannot now live without her, and I feel assured that she cannot refuse to receive me." Such were the thoughts that filled his mind as he reached the house of Tchang, to find his father and his patron standing on the porch awaiting him. Ere he could speak a word, Pelou demanded: "Son, in what place have you been passing your nights?" Seeing that his falsehood had been discovered, Ming-Y dared not make any reply, and remained abashed and silent, with bowed head, in the presence of his father. Then Pelou, striking the boy violently with his staff, commanded him to divulge the secret; and at last, partly through fear of his parent, and partly through fear of the law which ordains that "_the son refusing to obey his father shall be punished with one hundred blows of the bamboo,_" Ming-Y faltered out the history of his love. Tchang changed color at the boy's tale. "Child," exclaimed the High Commissioner, "I have no relative of the name of Ping; I have never heard of the woman you describe; I have never heard even of the house which you speak of. But I know also that you cannot dare to lie to Pelou, your honored father; there is some strange delusion in all this affair." Then Ming-Y produced the gifts that Sië had given him,--the lion of yellow jade, the brush-case of carven agate, also some original compositions made by the beautiful lady herself. The astonishment of Tchang was now shared by Pelou. Both observed that the brush-case of agate and the lion of jade bore the appearance of objects that had lain buried in the earth for centuries, and were of a workmanship beyond the power of living man to imitate; while the compositions proved to be veritable master-pieces of poetry, written in the style of the poets of the dynasty of Thang. "Friend Pelou," cried the High Commissioner, "let us immediately accompany the boy to the place where he obtained these miraculous things, and apply the testimony of our senses to this mystery. The boy is no doubt telling the truth; yet his story passes my understanding." And all three proceeded toward the place of the habitation of Sië. * * * * * But when they had arrived at the shadiest part of the road, where the perfumes were most sweet and the mosses were greenest, and the fruits of the wild peach flushed most pinkly, Ming-Y, gazing through the groves, uttered a cry of dismay. Where the azure-tiled roof had risen against the sky, there was now only the blue emptiness of air; where the green-and-gold facade had been, there was visible only the flickering of leaves under the aureate autumn light; and where the broad terrace had extended, could be discerned only a ruin,--a tomb so ancient, so deeply gnawed by moss, that the name graven upon it was no longer decipherable. The home of Sië had disappeared! All suddenly the High Commissioner smote his forehead with his hand, and turning to Pelou, recited the well-known verse of the ancient poet Tching-Kou:-- "_Surely the peach-flowers blossom over the tomb of SIË-THAO._" "Friend Pelou," continued Tchang, "the beauty who bewitched your son was no other than she whose tomb stands there in ruin before us! Did she not say she was wedded to Ping-Khang? There is no family of that name, but Ping-Khang is indeed the name of a broad alley in the city near. There was a dark riddle in all that she said. She called herself Sië of Moun-Hiao: there is no person of that name; there is no street of that name; but the Chinese characters _Moun_ and _hiao_, placed together, form the character 'Kiao.' Listen! The alley Ping-Khang, situated in the street Kiao, was the place where dwelt the great courtesans of the dynasty of Thang! Did she not sing the songs of Kao-pien? And upon the brush-case and the paper-weight she gave your son, are there not characters which read, '_Pure object of art belonging to Kao, of the city of Pho-hai_'? That city no longer exists; but the memory of Kao-pien remains, for he was governor of the province of Sze-tchouen, and a mighty poet. And when he dwelt in the land of Chou, was not his favorite the beautiful wanton Sië,--Sië-Thao, unmatched for grace among all the women of her day? It was he who made her a gift of those manuscripts of song; it was he who gave her those objects of rare art. Sië-Thao died not as other women die. Her limbs may have crumbled to dust; yet something of her still lives in this deep wood,--her Shadow still haunts this shadowy place." Tchang ceased to speak. A vague fear fell upon the three. The thin mists of the morning made dim the distances of green, and deepened the ghostly beauty of the woods. A faint breeze passed by, leaving a trail of blossom-scent,--a last odor of dying flowers,--thin as that which clings to the silk of a forgotten robe; and, as it passed, the trees seemed to whisper across the silence, "_Sië-Thao_." * * * * * Fearing greatly for his son, Pelou sent the lad away at once to the city of Kwang-tchau-fu. And there, in after years, Ming-Y obtained high dignities and honors by reason of his talents and his learning; and he married the daughter of an illustrious house, by whom he became the father of sons and daughters famous for their virtues and their accomplishments. Never could he forget Sië-Thao; and yet it is said that he never spoke of her,--not even when his children begged him to tell them the story of two beautiful objects that always lay upon his writing-table: a lion of yellow jade, and a brush-case of carven agate. [Illustration: Chinese calligraphy] The Legend of Tchi-Niu A SOUND OF GONGS, A SOUND OF SONG,--THE SONG OF THE BUILDERS BUILDING THE DWELLINGS OF THE DEAD:-- _Khiû tchî yîng-yîng. Toû tchî hoûng-hoûng. Tch[)o] tchî tông-tông. Si[)o] liú pîng-pîng._ THE LEGEND OF TCHI-NIU. In the quaint commentary accompanying the text of that holy book of Lao-tseu called _Kan-ing-p'ien_ may be found a little story so old that the name of the one who first told it has been forgotten for a thousand years, yet so beautiful that it lives still in the memory of four hundred millions of people, like a prayer that, once learned, is forever remembered. The Chinese writer makes no mention of any city nor of any province, although even in the relation of the most ancient traditions such an omission is rare; we are only told that the name of the hero of the legend was Tong-yong, and that he lived in the years of the great dynasty of Han, some twenty centuries ago. * * * * * Tong-Yong's mother had died while he was yet an infant; and when he became a youth of nineteen years his father also passed away, leaving him utterly alone in the world, and without resources of any sort; for, being a very poor man, Tong's father had put himself to great straits to educate the lad, and had not been able to lay by even one copper coin of his earnings. And Tong lamented greatly to find himself so destitute that he could not honor the memory of that good father by having the customary rites of burial performed, and a carven tomb erected upon a propitious site. The poor only are friends of the poor; and among all those whom Tong knew; there was no one able to assist him in defraying the expenses of the funeral. In one way only could the youth obtain money,--by selling himself as a slave to some rich cultivator; and this he at last decided to do. In vain his friends did their utmost to dissuade him; and to no purpose did they attempt to delay the accomplishment of his sacrifice by beguiling promises of future aid. Tong only replied that he would sell his freedom a hundred times, if it were possible, rather than suffer his father's memory to remain unhonored even for a brief season. And furthermore, confiding in his youth and strength, he determined to put a high price upon his servitude,--a price which would enable him to build a handsome tomb, but which it would be well-nigh impossible for him ever to repay. * * * * * Accordingly he repaired to the broad public place where slaves and debtors were exposed for sale, and seated himself upon a bench of stone, having affixed to his shoulders a placard inscribed with the terms of his servitude and the list of his qualifications as a laborer. Many who read the characters upon the placard smiled disdainfully at the price asked, and passed on without a word; others lingered only to question him out of simple curiosity; some commended him with hollow praise; some openly mocked his unselfishness, and laughed at his childish piety. Thus many hours wearily passed, and Tong had almost despaired of finding a master, when there rode up a high official of the province,--a grave and handsome man, lord of a thousand slaves, and owner of vast estates. Reining in his Tartar horse, the official halted to read the placard and to consider the value of the slave. He did not smile, or advise, or ask any questions; but having observed the price asked, and the fine strong limbs of the youth, purchased him without further ado, merely ordering his attendant to pay the sum and to see that the necessary papers were made out. * * * * * Thus Tong found himself enabled to fulfil the wish of his heart, and to have a monument built which, although of small size, was destined to delight the eyes of all who beheld it, being designed by cunning artists and executed by skilful sculptors. And while it was yet designed only, the pious rites were performed, the silver coin was placed in the mouth of the dead, the white lanterns were hung at the door, the holy prayers were recited, and paper shapes of all things the departed might need in the land of the Genii were consumed in consecrated fire. And after the geomancers and the necromancers had chosen a burial-spot which no unlucky star could shine upon, a place of rest which no demon or dragon might ever disturb, the beautiful _chih_ was built. Then was the phantom money strewn along the way; the funeral procession departed from the dwelling of the dead, and with prayers and lamentation the mortal remains of Tong's good father were borne to the tomb. Then Tong entered as a slave into the service of his purchaser, who allotted him a little hut to dwell in; and thither Tong carried with him those wooden tablets, bearing the ancestral names, before which filial piety must daily burn the incense of prayer, and perform the tender duties of family worship. * * * * * Thrice had spring perfumed the breast of the land with flowers, and thrice had been celebrated that festival of the dead which is called _Siu-fan-ti_, and thrice had Tong swept and garnished his father's tomb and presented his fivefold offering of fruits and meats. The period of mourning had passed, yet he had not ceased to mourn for his parent. The years revolved with their moons, bringing him no hour of joy, no day of happy rest; yet he never lamented his servitude, or failed to perform the rites of ancestral worship,--until at last the fever of the rice-fields laid strong hold upon him, and he could not arise from his couch; and his fellow-laborers thought him destined to die. There was no one to wait upon him, no one to care for his needs, inasmuch as slaves and servants were wholly busied with the duties of the household or the labor of the fields,--all departing to toil at sunrise and returning weary only after the sundown. Now, while the sick youth slumbered the fitful slumber of exhaustion one sultry noon, he dreamed that a strange and beautiful woman stood by him, and bent above him and touched his forehead with the long, fine fingers of her shapely hand. And at her cool touch a weird sweet shock passed through him, and all his veins tingled as if thrilled by new life. Opening his eyes in wonder, he saw verily bending over him the charming being of whom he had dreamed, and he knew that her lithe hand really caressed his throbbing forehead. But the flame of the fever was gone, a delicious coolness now penetrated every fibre of his body, and the thrill of which he had dreamed still tingled in his blood like a great joy. Even at the same moment the eyes of the gentle visitor met his own, and he saw they were singularly beautiful, and shone like splendid black jewels under brows curved like the wings of the swallow. Yet their calm gaze seemed to pass through him as light through crystal; and a vague awe came upon him, so that the question which had risen to his lips found no utterance. Then she, still caressing him, smiled and said: "I have come to restore thy strength and to be thy wife. Arise and worship with me." Her clear voice had tones melodious as a bird's song; but in her gaze there was an imperious power which Tong felt he dare not resist. Rising from his couch, he was astounded to find his strength wholly restored; but the cool, slender hand which held his own led him away so swiftly that he had little time for amazement. He would have given years of existence for courage to speak of his misery, to declare his utter inability to maintain a wife; but something irresistible in the long dark eyes of his companion forbade him to speak; and as though his inmost thought had been discerned by that wondrous gaze, she said to him, in the same clear voice, "_I will provide._" Then shame made him blush at the thought of his wretched aspect and tattered apparel; but he observed that she also was poorly attired, like a woman of the people,--wearing no ornament of any sort, nor even shoes upon her feet. And before he had yet spoken to her, they came before the ancestral tablets; and there she knelt with him and prayed, and pledged him in a cup of wine,--brought he knew not from whence,--and together they worshipped Heaven and Earth. Thus she became his wife. * * * * * A mysterious marriage it seemed, for neither on that day nor at any future time could Tong venture to ask his wife the name of her family, or of the place whence she came, and he could not answer any of the curious questions which his fellow-laborers put to him concerning her; and she, moreover, never uttered a word about herself, except to say that her name was Tchi. But although Tong had such awe of her that while her eyes were upon him he was as one having no will of his own, he loved her unspeakably; and the thought of his serfdom ceased to weigh upon him from the hour of his marriage. As through magic the little dwelling had become transformed: its misery was masked with charming paper devices,--with dainty decorations created out of nothing by that pretty jugglery of which woman only knows the secret. Each morning at dawn the young husband found a well-prepared and ample repast awaiting him, and each evening also upon his return; but the wife all day sat at her loom, weaving silk after a fashion unlike anything which had ever been seen before in that province. For as she wove, the silk flowed from the loom like a slow current of glossy gold, bearing upon its undulations strange forms of violet and crimson and jewel-green: shapes of ghostly horsemen riding upon horses, and of phantom chariots dragon-drawn, and of standards of trailing cloud. In every dragon's beard glimmered the mystic pearl; in every rider's helmet sparkled the gem of rank. And each day Tchi would weave a great piece of such figured silk; and the fame of her weaving spread abroad. From far and near people thronged to see the marvellous work; and the silk-merchants of great cities heard of it, and they sent messengers to Tchi, asking her that she should weave for them and teach them her secret. Then she wove for them, as they desired, in return for the silver cubes which they brought her; but when they prayed her to teach them, she laughed and said, "Assuredly I could never teach you, for no one among you has fingers like mine." And indeed no man could discern her fingers when she wove, any more than he might behold the wings of a bee vibrating in swift flight. * * * * * The seasons passed, and Tong never knew want, so well did his beautiful wife fulfil her promise,--"_I will provide_"; and the cubes of bright silver brought by the silk-merchants were piled up higher and higher in the great carven chest which Tchi had bought for the storage of the household goods. One morning, at last, when Tong, having finished his repast, was about to depart to the fields, Tchi unexpectedly bade him remain; and opening the great chest, she took out of it and gave him a document written in the official characters called _li-shu_. And Tong, looking at it, cried out and leaped in his joy, for it was the certificate of his manumission. Tchi had secretly purchased her husband's freedom with the price of her wondrous silks! "Thou shalt labor no more for any master," she said, "but for thine own sake only. And I have also bought this dwelling, with all which is therein, and the tea-fields to the south, and the mulberry groves hard by,--all of which are thine." Then Tong, beside himself for gratefulness, would have prostrated himself in worship before her, but that she would not suffer it. * * * * * Thus he was made free; and prosperity came to him with his freedom; and whatsoever he gave to the sacred earth was returned to him centupled; and his servants loved him and blessed the beautiful Tchi, so silent and yet so kindly to all about her. But the silk-loom soon remained untouched, for Tchi gave birth to a son,--a boy so beautiful that Tong wept with delight when he looked upon him. And thereafter the wife devoted herself wholly to the care of the child. Now it soon became manifest that the boy was not less wonderful than his wonderful mother. In the third month of his age he could speak; in the seventh month he could repeat by heart the proverbs of the sages, and recite the holy prayers; before the eleventh month he could use the writing-brush with skill, and copy in shapely characters the precepts of Lao-tseu. And the priests of the temples came to behold him and to converse with him, and they marvelled at the charm of the child and the wisdom of what he said; and they blessed Tong, saying: "Surely this son of thine is a gift from the Master of Heaven, a sign that the immortals love thee. May thine eyes behold a hundred happy summers!" * * * * * It was in the Period of the Eleventh Moon: the flowers had passed away, the perfume of the summer had flown, the winds were growing chill, and in Tong's home the evening fires were lighted. Long the husband and wife sat in the mellow glow,--he speaking much of his hopes and joys, and of his son that was to be so grand a man, and of many paternal projects; while she, speaking little, listened to his words, and often turned her wonderful eyes upon him with an answering smile. Never had she seemed so beautiful before; and Tong, watching her face, marked not how the night waned, nor how the fire sank low, nor how the wind sang in the leafless trees without. All suddenly Tchi arose without speaking, and took his hand in hers and led him, gently as on that strange wedding-morning, to the cradle where their boy slumbered, faintly smiling in his dreams. And in that moment there came upon Tong the same strange fear that he knew when Tchi's eyes had first met his own,--the vague fear that love and trust had calmed, but never wholly cast out, like unto the fear of the gods. And all unknowingly, like one yielding to the pressure of mighty invisible hands, he bowed himself low before her, kneeling as to a divinity. Now, when he lifted his eyes again to her face, he closed them forthwith in awe; for she towered before him taller than any mortal woman, and there was a glow about her as of sunbeams, and the light of her limbs shone through her garments. But her sweet voice came to him with all the tenderness of other hours, saying: "_Lo! my beloved, the moment has come in which I must forsake thee; for I was never of mortal born, and the Invisible may incarnate themselves for a time only. Yet I leave with thee the pledge of our love,--this fair son, who shall ever be to thee as faithful and as fond as thou thyself hast been. Know, my beloved, that I was sent to thee even by the Master of Heaven, in reward of thy filial piety, and that I must now return to the glory of His house: I AM THE GODDESS TCHI-NIU._" Even as she ceased to speak, the great glow faded; and Tong, re-opening his eyes, knew that she had passed away forever,--mysteriously as pass the winds of heaven, irrevocably as the light of a flame blown out. Yet all the doors were barred, all the windows unopened. Still the child slept, smiling in his sleep. Outside, the darkness was breaking; the sky was brightening swiftly; the night was past. With splendid majesty the East threw open high gates of gold for the coming of the sun; and, illuminated by the glory of his coming, the vapors of morning wrought themselves into marvellous shapes of shifting color,--into forms weirdly beautiful as the silken dreams woven in the loom of Tchi-Niu. [Illustration: Chinese calligraphy] The Return of Yen-Tchin-King _Before me ran, as a herald runneth, the Leader of the Moon; And the Spirit of the Wind followed after me,--quickening his flight._ LI-SAO. THE RETURN OF YEN-TCHIN-KING In the thirty-eighth chapter of the holy book, _Kan-ing-p'ien_, wherein the Recompense of Immortality is considered, may be found the legend of Yen-Tchin-King. A thousand years have passed since the passing of the good Tchin-King; for it was in the period of the greatness of Thang that he lived and died. Now, in those days when Yen-Tchin-King was Supreme Judge of one of the Six August Tribunals, one Li-hi-lié, a soldier mighty for evil, lifted the black banner of revolt, and drew after him, as a tide of destruction, the millions of the northern provinces. And learning of these things, and knowing also that Hi-lié was the most ferocious of men, who respected nothing on earth save fearlessness, the Son of Heaven commanded Tchin-King that he should visit Hi-lié and strive to recall the rebel to duty, and read unto the people who followed after him in revolt the Emperor's letter of reproof and warning. For Tchin-King was famed throughout the provinces for his wisdom, his rectitude, and his fearlessness; and the Son of Heaven believed that if Hi-lié would listen to the words of any living man steadfast in loyalty and virtue, he would listen to the words of Tchin-King. So Tchin-King arrayed himself in his robes of office, and set his house in order; and, having embraced his wife and his children, mounted his horse and rode away alone to the roaring camp of the rebels, bearing the Emperor's letter in his bosom. "I shall return; fear not!" were his last words to the gray servant who watched him from the terrace as he rode. * * * * * And Tchin-King at last descended from his horse, and entered into the rebel camp, and, passing through that huge gathering of war, stood in the presence of Hi-lié. High sat the rebel among his chiefs, encircled by the wave-lightning of swords and the thunders of ten thousand gongs: above him undulated the silken folds of the Black Dragon, while a vast fire rose bickering before him. Also Tchin-King saw that the tongues of that fire were licking human bones, and that skulls of men lay blackening among the ashes. Yet he was not afraid to look upon the fire, nor into the eyes of Hi-lié; but drawing from his bosom the roll of perfumed yellow silk upon which the words of the Emperor were written, and kissing it, he made ready to read, while the multitude became silent. Then, in a strong, clear voice he began:-- "_The words of the Celestial and August, the Son of Heaven, the Divine Ko-Tsu-Tchin-Yao-ti, unto the rebel Li-Hi-lié and those that follow him._" And a roar went up like the roar of the sea,--a roar of rage, and the hideous battle-moan, like the moan of a forest in storm,--"_Hoo! hoo-oo-oo-oo!_"--and the sword-lightnings brake loose, and the thunder of the gongs moved the ground beneath the messenger's feet. But Hi-lié waved his gilded wand, and again there was silence. "Nay!" spake the rebel chief; "let the dog bark!" So Tchin-King spake on:-- "_Knowest thou not, O most rash and foolish of men, that thou leadest the people only into the mouth of the Dragon of Destruction? Knowest thou not, also, that the people of my kingdom are the first-born of the Master of Heaven? So it hath been written that he who doth needlessly subject the people to wounds and death shall not be suffered by Heaven to live! Thou who wouldst subvert those laws founded by the wise,--those laws in obedience to which may happiness and prosperity alone be found,--thou art committing the greatest of all crimes,--the crime that is never forgiven!_ "_O my people, think not that I your Emperor, I your Father, seek your destruction. I desire only your happiness, your prosperity, your greatness; let not your folly provoke the severity of your Celestial Parent. Follow not after madness and blind rage; hearken rather to the wise words of my messenger._" "_Hoo! hoo-oo-oo-oo-oo!_" roared the people, gathering fury. "_Hoo! hoo-oo-oo-oo!_"--till the mountains rolled back the cry like the rolling of a typhoon; and once more the pealing of the gongs paralyzed voice and hearing. Then Tchin-King, looking at Hi-lié, saw that he laughed, and that the words of the letter would not again be listened to. Therefore he read on to the end without looking about him, resolved to perform his mission in so far as lay in his power. And having read all, he would have given the letter to Hi-lié; but Hi-lié would not extend his hand to take it. Therefore Tchin-King replaced it in his bosom, and folding his arms, looked Hi-lié calmly in the face, and waited. Again Hi-lié waved his gilded wand; and the roaring ceased, and the booming of the gongs, until nothing save the fluttering of the Dragon-banner could be heard. Then spake Hi-lié, with an evil smile,-- "Tchin-King, O son of a dog! if thou dost not now take the oath of fealty, and bow thyself before me, and salute me with the salutation of Emperors,--even with the _luh-kao_, the triple prostration,--into that fire thou shalt be thrown." But Tchin-King, turning his back upon the usurper, bowed himself a moment in worship to Heaven and Earth; and then rising suddenly, ere any man could lay hand upon him, he leaped into the towering flame, and stood there, with folded arms, like a God. Then Hi-lié leaped to his feet in amazement, and shouted to his men; and they snatched Tchin-King from the fire, and wrung the flames from his robes with their naked hands, and extolled him, and praised him to his face. And even Hi-lié himself descended from his seat, and spoke fair words to him, saying: "O Tchin-King, I see thou art indeed a brave man and true, and worthy of all honor; be seated among us, I pray thee, and partake of whatever it is in our power to bestow!" But Tchin-King, looking upon him unswervingly, replied in a voice clear as the voice of a great bell,-- "Never, O Hi-lié, shall I accept aught from thy hand, save death, so long as thou shalt continue in the path of wrath and folly. And never shall it be said that Tchin-King sat him down among rebels and traitors, among murderers and robbers." Then Hi-lié in sudden fury, smote him with his sword; and Tchin-King fell to the earth and died, striving even in his death to bow his head toward the South,--toward the place of the Emperor's palace,--toward the presence of his beloved Master. * * * * * Even at the same hour the Son of Heaven, alone in the inner chamber of his palace, became aware of a Shape prostrate before his feet; and when he spake, the Shape arose and stood before him, and he saw that it was Tchin-King. And the Emperor would have questioned him; yet ere he could question, the familiar voice spake, saying: "Son of Heaven, the mission confided to me I have performed; and thy command hath been accomplished to the extent of thy humble servant's feeble power. But even now must I depart, that I may enter the service of another Master." And looking, the Emperor perceived that the Golden Tigers upon the wall were visible through the form of Tchin-King; and a strange coldness, like a winter wind, passed through the chamber; and the figure faded out. Then the Emperor knew that the Master of whom his faithful servant had spoken was none other than the Master of Heaven. Also at the same hour the gray servant of Tchin-King's house beheld him passing through the apartments, smiling as he was wont to smile when he saw that all things were as he desired. "Is it well with thee, my lord?" questioned the aged man. And a voice answered him: "It is well"; but the presence of Tchin-King had passed away before the answer came. * * * * * So the armies of the Son of Heaven strove with the rebels. But the land was soaked with blood and blackened with fire; and the corpses of whole populations were carried by the rivers to feed the fishes of the sea; and still the war prevailed through many a long red year. Then came to aid the Son of Heaven the hordes that dwell in the desolations of the West and North,--horsemen born, a nation of wild archers, each mighty to bend a two-hundred-pound bow until the ears should meet. And as a whirlwind they came against rebellion, raining raven-feathered arrows in a storm of death; and they prevailed against Hi-lié and his people. Then those that survived destruction and defeat submitted, and promised allegiance; and once more was the law of righteousness restored. But Tchin-King had been dead for many summers. And the Son of Heaven sent word to his victorious generals that they should bring back with them the bones of his faithful servant, to be laid with honor in a mausoleum erected by imperial decree. So the generals of the Celestial and August sought after the nameless grave and found it, and had the earth taken up, and made ready to remove the coffin. But the coffin crumbled into dust before their eyes; for the worms had gnawed it, and the hungry earth had devoured its substance, leaving only a phantom shell that vanished at touch of the light. And lo! as it vanished, all beheld lying there the perfect form and features of the good Tchin-King. Corruption had not touched him, nor had the worms disturbed his rest, nor had the bloom of life departed from his face. And he seemed to dream only,--comely to see as upon the morning of his bridal, and smiling as the holy images smile, with eyelids closed, in the twilight of the great pagodas. Then spoke a priest, standing by the grave: "O my children, this is indeed a Sign from the Master of Heaven; in such wise do the Powers Celestial preserve them that are chosen to be numbered with the Immortals. Death may not prevail over them, neither may corruption come nigh them. Verily the blessed Tchin-King hath taken his place among the divinities of Heaven!" Then they bore Tchin-King back to his native place, and laid him with highest honors in the mausoleum which the Emperor had commanded; and there he sleeps, incorruptible forever, arrayed in his robes of state. Upon his tomb are sculptured the emblems of his greatness and his wisdom and his virtue, and the signs of his office, and the Four Precious Things: and the monsters which are holy symbols mount giant guard in stone about it; and the weird Dogs of Fo keep watch before it, as before the temples of the gods. [Illustration: Chinese calligraphy] The Tradition of the Tea-Plant SANG A CHINESE HEART FOURTEEN HUNDRED YEARS AGO:-- _There is Somebody of whom I am thinking. Far away there is Somebody of whom I am thinking. A hundred leagues of mountains lie between us:-- Yet the same Moon shines upon us, and the passing Wind breathes upon us both._ THE TRADITION OF THE TEA-PLANT "Good is the continence of the eye; Good is the continence of the ear; Good is the continence of the nostrils; Good is the continence of the tongue; Good is the continence of the body; Good is the continence of speech; Good is all...." Again the Vulture of Temptation soared to the highest heaven of his contemplation, bringing his soul down, down, reeling and fluttering, back to the World of Illusion. Again the memory made dizzy his thought, like the perfume of some venomous flower. Yet he had seen the bayadere for an instant only, when passing through Kasí upon his way to China,--to the vast empire of souls that thirsted after the refreshment of Buddha's law, as sun-parched fields thirst for the life-giving rain. When she called him, and dropped her little gift into his mendicant's bowl, he had indeed lifted his fan before his face, yet not quickly enough; and the penally of that fault had followed him a thousand leagues,--pursued after him even into the strange land to which he had come to hear the words of the Universal Teacher. Accursed beauty! surely framed by the Tempter of tempters, by Mara himself, for the perdition of the just! Wisely had Bhagavat warned his disciples: "O ye Çramanas, women are not to be looked upon! And if ye chance to meet women, ye must not suffer your eyes to dwell upon them; but, maintaining holy reserve, speak not to them at all. Then fail not to whisper unto your own hearts, 'Lo, we are Çramanas, whose duty it is to remain uncontaminated by the corruptions of this world, even as the Lotos, which suffereth no vileness to cling unto its leaves, though it blossom amid the refuse of the wayside ditch.'" Then also came to his memory, but with a new and terrible meaning, the words of the Twentieth-and-Third of the Admonitions:-- "Of all attachments unto objects of desire, the strongest indeed is the attachment to form. Happily, this passion is unique; for were there any other like unto it, then to enter the Perfect Way were impossible." How, indeed, thus haunted by the illusion of form, was he to fulfil the vow that he had made to pass a night and a day in perfect and unbroken meditation? Already the night was beginning! Assuredly, for sickness of the soul, for fever of the spirit, there was no physic save prayer. The sunset was swiftly fading out. He strove to pray:-- "_O the Jewel in the Lotos!_ "Even as the tortoise withdraweth its extremities into its shell, let me, O Blessed One, withdraw my senses wholly into meditation! "_O the Jewel in the Lotos!_ "For even as rain penetrateth the broken roof of a dwelling long uninhabited, so may passion enter the soul uninhabited by meditation. "_O the Jewel in the Lotos!_ "Even as still water that hath deposited all its slime, so let my soul, O Tathâgata, be made pure! Give me strong power to rise above the world, O Master, even as the wild bird rises from its marsh to follow the pathway of the Sun! "_O the Jewel in the Lotos!_ "By day shineth the sun, by night shineth the moon; shineth also the warrior in harness of war; shineth likewise in meditations the Çramana. But the Buddha at all times, by night or by day, shineth ever the same, illuminating the world. "_O the Jewel in the Lotos!_ "Let me cease, O thou Perfectly Awakened, to remain as an Ape in the World-forest, forever ascending and descending in search of the fruits of folly. Swift as the twining of serpents, vast as the growth of lianas in a forest, are the all-encircling growths of the Plant of Desire. "_O the Jewel in the Lotos!_" Vain his prayer, alas! vain also his invocation! The mystic meaning of the holy text--the sense of the Lotos, the sense of the Jewel--had evaporated from the words, and their monotonous utterance now served only to lend more dangerous definition to the memory that tempted and tortured him. _O the jewel in her ear!_ What lotos-bud more dainty than the folded flower of flesh, with its dripping of diamond-fire! Again he saw it, and the curve of the cheek beyond, luscious to look upon as beautiful brown fruit. How true the Two Hundred and Eighty-Fourth verse of the Admonitions!--"So long as a man shall not have torn from his heart even the smallest rootlet of that liana of desire which draweth his thought toward women, even so long shall his soul remain fettered." And there came to his mind also the Three Hundred and Forty-Fifth verse of the same blessed book, regarding fetters: "In bonds of rope, wise teachers have said, there is no strength; nor in fetters of wood, nor yet in fetters of iron. Much stronger than any of these is the fetter of _concern for the jewelled earrings of women_." "Omniscient Gotama!" he cried,--"all-seeing Tathâgata! How multiform the Consolation of Thy Word! how marvellous Thy understanding of the human heart! Was this also one of Thy temptations?--one of the myriad illusions marshalled before Thee by Mara in that night when the earth rocked as a chariot, and the sacred trembling passed from sun to sun, from system to system, from universe to universe, from eternity to eternity?" _O the jewel in her ear!_ The vision would not go! Nay, each time it hovered before his thought it seemed to take a warmer life, a fonder look, a fairer form; to develop with his weakness; to gain force from his enervation. He saw the eyes, large, limpid, soft, and black as a deer's; the pearls in the dark hair, and the pearls in the pink mouth; the lips curling to a kiss, a flower-kiss; and a fragrance seemed to float to his senses, sweet, strange, soporific,--a perfume of youth, an odor of woman. Rising to his feet, with strong resolve he pronounced again the sacred invocation; and he recited the holy words of the _Chapter of Impermanency_: "Gazing upon the heavens and upon the earth ye must say, _These are not permanent_. Gazing upon the mountains and the rivers, ye must say, _These are not permanent_. Gazing upon the forms and upon the faces of exterior beings, and beholding their growth and their development, ye must say, _These are not permanent_." And nevertheless! how sweet illusion! The illusion of the great sun; the illusion of the shadow-casting hills; the illusion of waters, formless and multiform; the illusion of--Nay, nay I what impious fancy! Accursed girl! yet, yet! why should he curse her? Had she ever done aught to merit the malediction of an ascetic? Never, never! Only her form, the memory of her, the beautiful phantom of her, the accursed phantom of her! What was she? An illusion creating illusions, a mockery, a dream, a shadow, a vanity, a vexation of spirit! The fault, the sin, was in himself, in his rebellious thought, in his untamed memory. Though mobile as water, intangible as vapor, Thought, nevertheless, may be tamed by the Will, may be harnessed to the chariot of Wisdom--must be!--that happiness be found. And he recited the blessed verses of the "Book of the Way of the Law":-- "_All forms are only temporary._" When this great truth is fully comprehended by any one, then is he delivered from all pain. This is the Way of Purification. "_All forms are subject unto pain._" When this great truth is fully comprehended by any one, then is he delivered from all pain. This is the Way of Purification. "_All forms are without substantial reality._" When this great truth is fully comprehended by any one, then is he delivered from all pain. This is the way of ... _Her_ form, too, unsubstantial, unreal, an illusion only, though comeliest of illusions? She had given him alms! Was the merit of the giver illusive also,--illusive like the grace of the supple fingers that gave? Assuredly there were mysteries in the Abhidharma impenetrable, incomprehensible!... It was a golden coin, stamped with the symbol of an elephant,--not more of an illusion, indeed, than the gifts of Kings to the Buddha! Gold upon her bosom also, less fine than the gold of her skin. Naked between the silken sash and the narrow breast-corslet, her young waist curved glossy and pliant as a bow. Richer the silver in her voice than in the hollow _pagals_ that made a moonlight about her ankles! But her smile!--the little teeth like flower-stamens in the perfumed blossom of her mouth! O weakness! O shame! How had the strong Charioteer of Resolve thus lost his control over the wild team of fancy! Was this languor of the Will a signal of coming peril, the peril of slumber? So strangely vivid those fancies were, so brightly definite, as about to take visible form, to move with factitious life, to play some unholy drama upon the stage of dreams! "O Thou Fully Awakened!" he cried aloud, "help now thy humble disciple to obtain the blessed wakefulness of perfect contemplation! let him find force to fulfil his vow! suffer not Mara to prevail against him!" And he recited the eternal verses of the Chapter of Wakefulness:-- "_Completely and eternally awake are the disciples of Gotama!_ Unceasingly, by day and night, their thoughts are fixed upon the Law. "_Completely and eternally awake are the disciples of Gotama!_ Unceasingly, by day and night, their thoughts are fixed upon the Community. "_Completely and eternally awake are the disciples of Gotama!_ Unceasingly, by day and night, their thoughts are fixed upon the Body. "_Completely and eternally awake are the disciples of Gotama!_ Unceasingly, by day and night, their minds know the sweetness of perfect peace. "_Completely and eternally awake are the disciples of Gotama!_ Unceasingly, by day and night, their minds enjoy the deep peace of meditation." There came a murmur to his ears; a murmuring of many voices, smothering the utterances of his own, like a tumult of waters. The stars went out before his sight; the heavens darkened their infinities: all things became viewless, became blackness; and the great murmur deepened, like the murmur of a rising tide; and the earth seemed to sink from beneath him. His feet no longer touched the ground; a sense of supernatural buoyancy pervaded every fibre of his body: he felt himself floating in obscurity; then sinking softly, slowly, like a feather dropped from the pinnacle of a temple. Was this death? Nay, for all suddenly, as transported by the Sixth Supernatural Power, he stood again in light,--a perfumed, sleepy light, vapory, beautiful,--that bathed the marvellous streets of some Indian city. Now the nature of the murmur became manifest to him; for he moved with a mighty throng, a people of pilgrims, a nation of worshippers. But these were not of his faith; they bore upon their foreheads the smeared symbols of obscene gods! Still, he could not escape from their midst; the mile-broad human torrent bore him irresistibly with it, as a leaf is swept by the waters of the Ganges. Rajahs were there with their trains, and princes riding upon elephants, and Brahmins robed in their vestments, and swarms of voluptuous dancing-girls, moving to chant of _kabit_ and _damâri_. But whither, whither? Out of the city into the sun they passed, between avenues of banyan, down colonnades of palm. But whither, whither? Blue-distant, a mountain of carven stone appeared before them,--the Temple, lifting to heaven its wilderness of chiselled pinnacles, flinging to the sky the golden spray of its decoration. Higher it grew with approach, the blue tones changed to gray, the outlines sharpened in the light. Then each detail became visible: the elephants of the pedestals standing upon tortoises of rock; the great grim faces of the capitals; the serpents and monsters writhing among the friezes; the many-headed gods of basalt in their galleries of fretted niches, tier above tier; the pictured foulnesses, the painted lusts, the divinities of abomination. And, yawning in the sloping precipice of sculpture, beneath a frenzied swarming of gods and Gopia,--a beetling pyramid of limbs and bodies interlocked,--the Gate, cavernous and shadowy as the mouth of Siva, devoured the living multitude. The eddy of the throng whirled him with it to the vastness of the interior. None seemed to note his yellow robe, none even to observe his presence. Giant aisles intercrossed their heights above him; myriads of mighty pillars, fantastically carven, filed away to invisibility behind the yellow illumination of torch-fires. Strange images, weirdly sensuous, loomed up through haze of incense. Colossal figures, that at a distance assumed the form of elephants or garuda-birds, changed aspect when approached, and revealed as the secret of their design an interplaiting of the bodies of women; while one divinity rode all the monstrous allegories,--one divinity or demon, eternally the same in the repetition of the sculptor, universally visible as though self-multiplied. The huge pillars themselves were symbols, figures, carnalities; the orgiastic spirit of that worship lived and writhed in the contorted bronze of the lamps, the twisted gold of the cups, the chiselled marble of the tanks.... How far had he proceeded? He knew not; the journey among those countless columns, past those armies of petrified gods, down lanes of flickering lights, seemed longer than the voyage of a caravan, longer than his pilgrimage to China! But suddenly, inexplicably, there came a silence as of cemeteries; the living ocean seemed to have ebbed away from about him, to have been engulfed within abysses of subterranean architecture! He found himself alone in some strange crypt before a basin, shell-shaped and shallow, bearing in its centre a rounded column of less than human height, whose smooth and spherical summit was wreathed with flowers. Lamps similarly formed, and fed with oil of palm, hung above it. There was no other graven image, no visible divinity. Flowers of countless varieties lay heaped upon the pavement; they covered its surface like a carpet, thick, soft; they exhaled their ghosts beneath his feet. The perfume seemed to penetrate his brain,--a perfume sensuous, intoxicating, unholy; an unconquerable languor mastered his will, and he sank to rest upon the floral offerings. The sound of a tread, light as a whisper, approached through the heavy stillness, with a drowsy tinkling of _pagals_, a tintinnabulation of anklets. All suddenly he felt glide about his neck the tepid smoothness of a woman's arm. _She, she!_ his Illusion, his Temptation; but how transformed, transfigured!--preternatural in her loveliness, incomprehensible in her charm! Delicate as a jasmine-petal the cheek that touched his own; deep as night, sweet as summer, the eyes that watched him. "_Heart's-thief,_" her flower-lips whispered,--"_heart's-thief, how have I sought for thee! How have I found thee! Sweets I bring thee, my beloved; lips and bosom; fruit and blossom. Hast thirst? Drink from the well of mine eyes! Wouldst sacrifice? I am thine altar! Wouldst pray? I am thy God!_" Their lips touched; her kiss seemed to change the cells of his blood to flame. For a moment Illusion triumphed; Mara prevailed!... With a shock of resolve the dreamer awoke in the night,--under the stars of the Chinese sky. Only a mockery of sleep! But the vow had been violated, the sacred purpose unfulfilled! Humiliated, penitent, but resolved, the ascetic drew from his girdle a keen knife, and with unfaltering hands severed his eyelids from his eyes, and flung them from him. "O Thou Perfectly Awakened!" he prayed, "thy disciple hath not been overcome save through the feebleness of the body; and his vow hath been renewed. Here shall he linger, without food or drink, until the moment of its fulfilment." And having assumed the hieratic posture,--seated himself with his lower limbs folded beneath him, and the palms of his hands upward, the right upon the left, the left resting upon the sole of his upturned foot,--he resumed his meditation. * * * * * Dawn blushed; day brightened. The sun shortened all the shadows of the land, and lengthened them again, and sank at last upon his funeral pyre of crimson-burning cloud. Night came and glittered and passed. But Mara had tempted in vain. This time the vow had been fulfilled, the holy purpose accomplished. And again the sun arose to fill the World with laughter of light; flowers opened their hearts to him; birds sang their morning hymn of fire worship; the deep forest trembled with delight; and far upon the plain, the eaves of many-storied temples and the peaked caps of the city-towers caught aureate glory. Strong in the holiness of his accomplished vow, the Indian pilgrim arose in the morning glow. He started for amazement as he lifted his hands to his eyes. What! was everything a dream? Impossible! Yet now his eyes felt no pain; neither were they lidless; not even so much as one of their lashes was lacking. What marvel had been wrought? In vain he looked for the severed lids that he had flung upon the ground; they had mysteriously vanished. But lo! there where he had cast them two wondrous shrubs were growing, with dainty leaflets eyelid-shaped, and snowy buds just opening to the East. Then, by virtue of the supernatural power acquired in that mighty meditation, it was given the holy missionary to know the secret of that newly created plant,--the subtle virtue of its leaves. And he named it, in the language of the nation to whom he brought the Lotos of the Good Law, "_TE_"; and he spake to it, saying:-- "Blessed be thou, sweet plant, beneficent, life-giving, formed by the spirit of virtuous resolve! Lo! the fame of thee shall yet spread unto the ends of the earth; and the perfume of thy life be borne unto the uttermost parts by all the winds of heaven! Verily, for all time to come men who drink of thy sap shall find such refreshment that weariness may not overcome them nor languor seize upon them;--neither shall they know the confusion of drowsiness, nor any desire for slumber in the hour of duty or of prayer. Blessed be thou!" * * * * * And still, as a mist of incense, as a smoke of universal sacrifice, perpetually ascends to heaven from all the lands of earth the pleasant vapor of TE, created for the refreshment of mankind by the power of a holy vow, the virtue of a pious atonement. [Illustration: Chinese calligraphy] The Tale of the Porcelain-God _It is written in the _FONG-HO-CHIN-TCH'OUEN_, that whenever the artist Thsang-Kong was in doubt, he would look into the fire of the great oven in which his vases were baking, and question the Guardian-Spirit dwelling in the flame. And the Spirit of the Oven-fires so aided him with his counsels, that the porcelains made by Thsang-Kong were indeed finer and lovelier to look upon than all other porcelains. And they were baked in the years of Khang-hí,--sacredly called Jin Houang-tí._ THE TALE OF THE PORCELAIN-GOD Who first of men discovered the secret of the _Kao-ling_, of the _Pe-tun-tse_,--the bones and the flesh, the skeleton and the skin, of the beauteous Vase? Who first discovered the virtue of the curd-white clay? Who first prepared the ice-pure bricks of _tun_: the gathered-hoariness of mountains that have died for age; blanched dust of the rocky bones and the stony flesh of sun-seeking Giants that have ceased to be? Unto whom was it first given to discover the divine art of porcelain? Unto Pu, once a man, now a god, before whose snowy statues bow the myriad populations enrolled in the guilds of the potteries. But the place of his birth we know not; perhaps the tradition of it may have been effaced from remembrance by that awful war which in our own day consumed the lives of twenty millions of the Black-haired Race, and obliterated from the face of the world even the wonderful City of Porcelain itself,--the City of King-te-chin, that of old shone like a jewel of fire in the blue mountain-girdle of Feou-liang. Before his time indeed the Spirit of the Furnace had being; had issued from the Infinite Vitality; had become manifest as an emanation of the Supreme Tao. For Hoang-ti, nearly five thousand years ago, taught men to make good vessels of baked clay; and in his time all potters had learned to know the God of Oven-fires, and turned their wheels to the murmuring of prayer. But Hoang-ti had been gathered unto his fathers for thrice ten hundred years before that man was born destined by the Master of Heaven to become the Porcelain-God. And his divine ghost, ever hovering above the smoking and the toiling of the potteries, still gives power to the thought of the shaper, grace to the genius of the designer, luminosity to the touch of the enamellist. For by his heaven-taught wisdom was the art of porcelain created; by his inspiration were accomplished all the miracles of Thao-yu, maker of the _Kia-yu-ki_, and all the marvels made by those who followed after him;-- All the azure porcelains called _You-kouo-thien-tsing_; brilliant as a mirror, thin as paper of rice, sonorous as the melodious stone _Khing_, and colored, in obedience to the mandate of the Emperor Chi-tsong, "blue as the sky is after rain, when viewed through the rifts of the clouds." These were, indeed, the first of all porcelains, likewise called _Tchai-yao_, which no man, howsoever wicked, could find courage to break, for they charmed the eye like jewels of price;-- And the _Jou-yao_, second in rank among all porcelains, sometimes mocking the aspect and the sonority of bronze, sometimes blue as summer waters, and deluding the sight with mucid appearance of thickly floating spawn of fish;-- And the _Kouan-yao_, which are the Porcelains of Magistrates, and third in rank of merit among all wondrous porcelains, colored with colors of the morning,--skyey blueness, with the rose of a great dawn blushing and bursting through it, and long-limbed marsh-birds flying against the glow; Also the _Ko-yao_,--fourth in rank among perfect porcelains,--of fair, faint, changing colors, like the body of a living fish, or made in the likeness of opal substance, milk mixed with fire; the work of Sing-I, elder of the immortal brothers Tchang; Also the _Ting-yao_,--fifth in rank among all perfect porcelains,--white as the mourning garments of a spouse bereaved, and beautiful with a trickling as of tears,--the porcelains sung of by the poet Son-tong-po; Also the porcelains called _Pi-se-yao_, whose colors are called "hidden," being alternately invisible and visible, like the tints of ice beneath the sun,--the porcelains celebrated by the far-famed singer Sin-in; Also the wondrous _Chu-yao_,--the pallid porcelains that utter a mournful cry when smitten,--the porcelains chanted of by the mighty chanter, Thou-chao-ling; Also the porcelains called _Thsin-yao_, white or blue, surface-wrinkled as the face of water by the fluttering of many fins.... And ye can see the fish! Also the vases called _Tsi-hong-khi_, red as sunset after a rain; and the _T'o-t'ai-khi_, fragile as the wings of the silkworm-moth, lighter than the shell of an egg; Also the _Kia-tsing_,--fair cups pearl-white when empty, yet, by some incomprehensible witchcraft of construction, seeming to swarm with purple fish the moment they are filled with water; Also the porcelains called _Yao-pien_, whose tints are transmuted by the alchemy of fire; for they enter blood-crimson into the heat, and change there to lizard-green, and at last come forth azure as the cheek of the sky; Also the _Ki-tcheou-yao_, which are all violet as a summer's night; and the _Hing-yao_ that sparkle with the sparklings of mingled silver and snow; Also the _Sieouen-yao_,--some ruddy as iron in the furnace, some diaphanous and ruby-red, some granulated and yellow as the rind of an orange, some softly flushed as the skin of a peach; Also the _Tsoui-khi-yao_, crackled and green as ancient ice is; and the _Tchou-fou-yao_, which are the Porcelains of Emperors, with dragons wriggling and snarling in gold; and those _yao_ that are pink-ribbed and have their angles serrated as the claws of crabs are; Also the _Ou-ni-yao_, black as the pupil of the eye, and as lustrous; and the _Hou-tien-yao_, darkly yellow as the faces of men of India; and the _Ou-kong-yao_, whose color is the dead-gold of autumn-leaves; Also the _Long-kang-yao_, green as the seedling of a pea, but bearing also paintings of sun-silvered cloud, and of the Dragons of Heaven; Also the _Tching-hoa-yao_,--pictured with the amber bloom of grapes and the verdure of vine-leaves and the blossoming of poppies, or decorated in relief with figures of fighting crickets; Also the _Khang-hi-nien-ts'ang-yao_, celestial azure sown with star-dust of gold; and the _Khien-long-nien-thang-yao_, splendid in sable and silver as a fervid night that is flashed with lightnings. Not indeed the _Long-Ouang-yao_,--painted with the lascivious _Pi-hi_, with the obscene _Nan-niu-ssé-sie_, with the shameful _Tchun-hoa_, or "Pictures of Spring"; abominations created by command of the wicked Emperor Moutsong, though the Spirit of the Furnace hid his face and fled away; But all other vases of startling form and substance, magically articulated, and ornamented with figures in relief, in cameo, in transparency,--the vases with orifices belled like the cups of flowers, or cleft like the bills of birds, or fanged like the jaws of serpents, or pink-lipped as the mouth of a girl; the vases flesh-colored and purple-veined and dimpled, with ears and with earrings; the vases in likeness of mushrooms, of lotos-flowers, of lizards, of horse-footed dragons woman-faced; the vases strangely translucid, that simulate the white glimmering of grains of prepared rice, that counterfeit the vapory lace-work of frost, that imitate the efflorescences of coral;-- Also the statues in porcelain of divinities: the Genius of the Hearth; the Long-pinn who are the Twelve Deities of Ink; the blessed Lao-tseu, born with silver hair; Kong-fu-tse, grasping the scroll of written wisdom; Kouan-in, sweetest Goddess of Mercy, standing snowy-footed upon the heart of her golden lily; Chi-nong, the god who taught men how to cook; Fo, with long eyes closed in meditation, and lips smiling the mysterious smile of Supreme Beatitude; Cheou-lao, god of Longevity, bestriding his aërial steed, the white-winged stork; Pou-t'ai, Lord of Contentment and of Wealth, obese and dreamy; and that fairest Goddess of Talent, from whose beneficent hands eternally streams the iridescent rain of pearls. * * * * * And though many a secret of that matchless art that Pu bequeathed unto men may indeed have been forgotten and lost forever, the story of the Porcelain-God is remembered; and I doubt not that any of the aged _Jeou-yen-liao-kong_, any one of the old blind men of the great potteries, who sit all day grinding colors in the sun, could tell you Pu was once a humble Chinese workman, who grew to be a great artist by dint of tireless study and patience and by the inspiration of Heaven. So famed he became that some deemed him an alchemist, who possessed the secret called _White-and-Yellow_, by which stones might be turned into gold; and others thought him a magician, having the ghastly power of murdering men with horror of nightmare, by hiding charmed effigies of them under the tiles of their own roofs; and others, again, averred that he was an astrologer who had discovered the mystery of those Five Hing which influence all things,--those Powers that move even in the currents of the star-drift, in the milky _Tien-ho_, or River of the Sky. Thus, at least, the ignorant spoke of him; but even those who stood about the Son of Heaven, those whose hearts had been strengthened by the acquisition of wisdom, wildly praised the marvels of his handicraft, and asked each other if there might be any imaginable form of beauty which Pu could not evoke from that beauteous substance so docile to the touch of his cunning hand. And one day it came to pass that Pu sent a priceless gift to the Celestial and August: a vase imitating the substance of ore-rock, all aflame with pyritic scintillation,--a shape of glittering splendor with chameleons sprawling over it; chameleons of porcelain that shifted color as often as the beholder changed his position. And the Emperor, wondering exceedingly at the splendor of the work, questioned the princes and the mandarins concerning him that made it. And the princes and the mandarins answered that he was a workman named Pu, and that he was without equal among potters, knowing secrets that seemed to have been inspired either by gods or by demons. Whereupon the Son of Heaven sent his officers to Pu with a noble gift, and summoned him unto his presence. So the humble artisan entered before the Emperor, and having performed the supreme prostration,--thrice kneeling, and thrice nine times touching the ground with his forehead,--awaited the command of the August. And the Emperor spake to him, saying: "Son, thy gracious gift hath found high favor in our sight; and for the charm of that offering we have bestowed upon thee a reward of five thousand silver _liang_. But thrice that sum shall be awarded thee so soon as thou shalt have fulfilled our behest. Hearken, therefore, O matchless artificer! it is now our will that thou make for us a vase having the tint and the aspect of living flesh, but--mark well our desire!--_of flesh made to creep by the utterance of such words as poets utter,--flesh moved by an Idea, flesh horripilated by a Thought!_ Obey, and answer not! We have spoken." * * * * * Now Pu was the most cunning of all the _P'ei-se-kong_,--the men who marry colors together; of all the _Hoa-yang-kong_, who draw the shapes of vase-decoration; of all the _Hoei-sse-kong_, who paint in enamel; of all the _T'ien-thsai-kong_, who brighten color; of all the _Chao-lou-kong_, who watch the furnace-fires and the porcelain-ovens. But he went away sorrowing from the Palace of the Son of Heaven, notwithstanding the gift of five thousand silver _liang_ which had been given to him. For he thought to himself: "Surely the mystery of the comeliness of flesh, and the mystery of that by which it is moved, are the secrets of the Supreme Tao. How shall man lend the aspect of sentient life to dead clay? Who save the Infinite can give soul?" Now Pu had discovered those witchcrafts of color, those surprises of grace, that make the art of the ceramist. He had found the secret of the _feng-hong_, the wizard flush of the Rose; of the _hoa-hong_, the delicious incarnadine; of the mountain-green called _chan-lou_; of the pale soft yellow termed _hiao-hoang-yeou_; and of the _hoang-kin_, which is the blazing beauty of gold. He had found those eel-tints, those serpent-greens, those pansy-violets, those furnace-crimsons, those carminates and lilacs, subtle as spirit-flame, which our enamellists of the Occident long sought without success to reproduce. But he trembled at the task assigned him, as he returned to the toil of his studio, saying: "How shall any miserable man render in clay the quivering of flesh to an Idea,--the inexplicable horripilation of a Thought? Shall a man venture to mock the magic of that Eternal Moulder by whose infinite power a million suns are shapen more readily than one small jar might be rounded upon my wheel?" * * * * * Yet the command of the Celestial and August might never be disobeyed; and the patient workman strove with all his power to fulfil the Son of Heaven's desire. But vainly for days, for weeks, for months, for season after season, did he strive; vainly also he prayed unto the gods to aid him; vainly he besought the Spirit of the Furnace, crying: "O thou Spirit of Fire, hear me, heed me, help me! how shall I,--a miserable man, unable to breathe into clay a living soul,--how shall I render in this inanimate substance the aspect of flesh made to creep by the utterance of a Word, sentient to the horripilation of a Thought?" For the Spirit of the Furnace made strange answer to him with whispering of fire: "_Vast thy faith, weird thy prayer! Has Thought feet, that man may perceive the trace of its passing? Canst thou measure me the blast of the Wind?_" * * * * * Nevertheless, with purpose unmoved, nine-and-forty times did Pu seek to fulfil the Emperor's command; nine-and-forty times he strove to obey the behest of the Son of Heaven. Vainly, alas! did he consume his substance; vainly did he expend his strength; vainly did he exhaust his knowledge: success smiled not upon him; and Evil visited his home, and Poverty sat in his dwelling, and Misery shivered at his hearth. Sometimes, when the hour of trial came, it was found that the colors had become strangely transmuted in the firing, or had faded into ashen pallor, or had darkened into the fuliginous hue of forest-mould. And Pu, beholding these misfortunes, made wail to the Spirit of the Furnace, praying: "O thou Spirit of Fire, how shall I render the likeness of lustrous flesh, the warm glow of living color, unless thou aid me?" And the Spirit of the Furnace mysteriously answered him with murmuring of fire: "_Canst thou learn the art of that Infinite Enameller who hath made beautiful the Arch of Heaven,--whose brush is Light; whose paints are the Colors of the Evening?_" Sometimes, again, even when the tints had not changed, after the pricked and labored surface had seemed about to quicken in the heat, to assume the vibratility of living skin,--even at the last hour all the labor of the workers proved to have been wasted; for the fickle substance rebelled against their efforts, producing only crinklings grotesque as those upon the rind of a withered fruit, or granulations like those upon the skin of a dead bird from which the feathers have been rudely plucked. And Pu wept, and cried out unto the Spirit of the Furnace: "O thou Spirit of Flame, how shall I be able to imitate the thrill of flesh touched by a Thought, unless thou wilt vouchsafe to lend me thine aid?" And the Spirit of the Furnace mysteriously answered him with muttering of fire: "_Canst thou give ghost unto a stone? Canst thou thrill with a Thought the entrails of the granite hills?_" Sometimes it was found that all the work indeed had not failed; for the color seemed good, and all faultless the matter of the vase appeared to be, having neither crack nor wrinkling nor crinkling; but the pliant softness of warm skin did not meet the eye; the flesh-tinted surface offered only the harsh aspect and hard glimmer of metal. All their exquisite toil to mock the pulpiness of sentient substance had left no trace; had been brought to nought by the breath of the furnace. And Pu, in his despair, shrieked to the Spirit of the Furnace: "O thou merciless divinity! O thou most pitiless god!--thou whom I have worshipped with ten thousand sacrifices!--for what fault hast thou abandoned me? for what error hast thou forsaken me? How may I, most wretched of men! ever render the aspect of flesh made to creep with the utterance of a Word, sentient to the titillation of a Thought, if thou wilt not aid me?" And the Spirit of the Furnace made answer unto him with roaring of fire: "_Canst thou divide a Soul? Nay!... Thy life for the life of thy work!--thy soul for the soul of thy Vase!_" And hearing these words Pu arose with a terrible resolve swelling at his heart, and made ready for the last and fiftieth time to fashion his work for the oven. One hundred times did he sift the clay and the quartz, the _kao-ling_ and the _tun_; one hundred times did he purify them in clearest water; one hundred times with tireless hands did he knead the creamy paste, mingling it at last with colors known only to himself. Then was the vase shapen and reshapen, and touched and retouched by the hands of Pu, until its blandness seemed to live, until it appeared to quiver and to palpitate, as with vitality from within, as with the quiver of rounded muscle undulating beneath the integument. For the hues of life were upon it and infiltrated throughout its innermost substance, imitating the carnation of blood-bright tissue, and the reticulated purple of the veins; and over all was laid the envelope of sun-colored _Pe-kia-ho_, the lucid and glossy enamel, half diaphanous, even like the substance that it counterfeited,--the polished skin of a woman. Never since the making of the world had any work comparable to this been wrought by the skill of man. Then Pu bade those who aided him that they should feed the furnace well with wood of _tcha_; but he told his resolve unto none. Yet after the oven began to glow, and he saw the work of his hands blossoming and blushing in the heat, he bowed himself before the Spirit of Flame, and murmured: "O thou Spirit and Master of Fire, I know the truth of thy words! I know that a Soul may never be divided! Therefore my life for the life of my work!--my soul for the soul of my Vase!" And for nine days and for eight nights the furnaces were fed unceasingly with wood of _tcha_; for nine days and for eight nights men watched the wondrous vase crystallizing into being, rose-lighted by the breath of the flame. Now upon the coming of the ninth night, Pu bade all his weary comrades retire to, rest, for that the work was well-nigh done, and the success assured. "If you find me not here at sunrise," he said, "fear not to take forth the vase; for I know that the task will have been accomplished according to the command of the August." So they departed. But in that same ninth night Pu entered the flame, and yielded up his ghost in the embrace of the Spirit of the Furnace, giving his life for the life of his work,--his soul for the soul of his Vase. And when the workmen came upon the tenth morning to take forth the porcelain marvel, even the bones of Pu had ceased to be; but lo! the Vase lived as they looked upon it: seeming to be flesh moved by the utterance of a Word, creeping to the titillation of a Thought. And whenever tapped by the finger it uttered a voice and a name,--the voice of its maker, the name of its creator: PU. * * * * * And the son of Heaven, hearing of these things, and viewing the miracle of the vase, said unto those about him: "Verily, the Impossible hath been wrought by the strength of faith, by the force of obedience! Yet never was it our desire that so cruel a sacrifice should have been; we sought only to know whether the skill of the matchless artificer came from the Divinities or from the Demons,--from heaven or from hell. Now, indeed, we discern that Pu hath taken his place among the gods." And the Emperor mourned exceedingly for his faithful servant. But he ordained that godlike honors should be paid unto the spirit of the marvellous artist, and that his memory should be revered forevermore, and that fair statues of him should be set up in all the cities of the Celestial Empire, and above all the toiling of the potteries, that the multitude of workers might unceasingly call upon his name and invoke his benediction upon their labors. [Illustration: Chinese calligraphy] NOTES "_The Soul of the Great Bell._"--The story of Ko-Ngai is one of the collection entitled _Pe-Hiao-Tou-Choue_, or "A Hundred Examples of Filial Piety." It is very simply told by the Chinese narrator. The scholarly French consul, P. Dabry de Thiersant, translated and published in 1877 a portion of the book, including the legend of the Bell. His translation is enriched with a number of Chinese drawings; and there is a quaint little picture of Ko-Ngai leaping into the molten metal. "_The Story of Ming-Y._"--The singular phantom-tale upon which my work is based forms the thirty-fourth story of the famous collection _Kin-Kou-Ki-Koan_, and was first translated under the title, "La Bachelière du Pays de Chu," by the learned Gustave Schlegel, as an introduction to his publication (accompanied by a French version) of the curious and obscene _Mai-yu-lang-toú-tchen-hoa-koueï_ (Leyden, 1877), which itself forms the seventh recital of the same work. Schlegel, Julien, Gardner, Birch, D'Entrecolles, Rémusat, Pavie, Olyphant, Grisebach, Hervey-Saint-Denys, and others, have given the Occidental world translations of eighteen stories from the _Kin-Kou-Ki-Koan_; namely, Nos. 2, 3, 5, 6, 7, 8, 10, 14, 19, 20, 26, 27, 29, 30, 31, 34, 35, and 39. The Chinese work itself dates back to the thirteenth century; but as it forms only a collection of the most popular tales of that epoch, many of the stories selected by the Chinese editor may have had a much more ancient origin. There are forty tales in the _Kin-Kou-Ki-Koan_. "_The Legend of Tchi-Niu._"--My authority for this tale is the following legend from the thirty-fourth chapter of the _Kan-ing-p'ien_, or "Book of Rewards and Punishments,"--a work attributed to Lao-tseu, which contains some four hundred anecdotes and traditions of the most curious kind:-- Tong-yong, who lived under the Han dynasty, was reduced to a state of extreme poverty. Having lost his father, he sold himself in order to obtain ... the wherewithal to bury him and to build him a tomb. The Master of Heaven took pity on him, and sent the Goddess Tchi-Niu to him to become his wife. She wove a piece of silk for him every day until she was able to buy his freedom, after which she gave him a son, and went back to heaven.--_Julien's French Translation_, p. 119. Lest the reader should suppose, however, that I have drawn wholly upon my own imagination for the details of the apparition, the cure, the marriage ceremony, etc., I refer him to No. XCVI. of Giles's "Strange Stories from a Chinese Studio," entitled, "A Supernatural Wife," in which he will find that my narrative is at least conformable to Chinese ideas. (This story first appeared in "Harper's Bazaar," and is republished here by permission.) "_The Return of Yen-Tchin-King._"--There may be an involuntary anachronism in my version of this legend, which is very pithily narrated in the _Kan-ing-p'ien_. No emperor's name is cited by the homilist; and the date of the revolt seems to have been left wholly to conjecture.--Baber, in his "Memoirs," mentions one of his Mongol archers as able to bend a two-hundred-pound bow until the ears met. "_The Tradition of the Tea-Plant._"--My authority for this bit of folklore is the brief statement published by Bretschneider in the "Chinese Recorder" for 1871:-- "A Japanese legend says that about A.D. 519, a Buddhist priest came to China, and, in order to dedicate his soul entirely to God, he made a vow to pass the day and night in an uninterrupted and unbroken meditation. After many years of this continual watching, he was at length so tired that he fell asleep. On awaking the following morning, he was so sorry he had broken his vow that he cut off both his eyelids and threw them upon the ground. Returning to the same place the following day he observed that each eyelid had become a shrub. This was the _tea-shrub_, unknown until that time." Bretschneider adds that the legend in question seems not to be known to the Chinese; yet in view of the fact that Buddhism itself, with all its marvellous legends, was received by the Japanese from China, it is certainly probable this legend had a Chinese origin,--subsequently disguised by Japanese chronology. My Buddhist texts were drawn from Fernand Hû's translation of the Dhammapada, and from Leon Feer's translation from the Thibetan of the "Sutra in Forty-two Articles." An Orientalist who should condescend in a rare leisure-moment to glance at my work might also discover that I had borrowed an idea or two from the Sanscrit poet, Bhâminî-Vilâsa. "_The Tale of the Porcelain-God._"--The good Père D'Entrecolles, who first gave to Europe the secrets of Chinese porcelain-manufacture, wrote one hundred and sixty years ago:-- "The Emperors of China are, during their lifetime, the most redoubted of divinities; and they believe that nothing should ever stand in the way of their desires.... "It is related that once upon a time a certain Emperor insisted that some porcelains should be made for him according to a model which he gave. It was answered that the thing was simply impossible; but all such remonstrances only served to excite his desire more and more.... The officers charged by the demigod to supervise and hasten the work treated the workmen with great harshness. The poor wretches spent all their money, took exceeding pains, and received only blows in return. One of them, in a fit of despair, leaped into the blazing furnace, and was instantly burnt to ashes. But the porcelain that was being baked there at the time came out, they say, perfectly beautiful and to the satisfaction of the Emperor.... From that time, the unfortunate workman was regarded as a hero; and his image was made the idol which presides over the manufacture of porcelain." It appears that D'Entrecolles mistook the statue of Pou't'ai, God of Comfort, for that of the real porcelain-deity, as Jacquemart and others observe. This error does not, however, destroy the beauty of the myth; and there is no good reason to doubt that D'Entrecolles related it as it had been told him by some of his Chinese friends at King-te-chin. The researches of Stanislas Julien and others have only tended to confirm the trustworthiness of the Catholic missionary's statements in other respects; and both Julien and Salvétat, in their admirable French rendering of the _King-te-chin-thao-lou_, "History of the Porcelains of King-te-chin" (a work which has been of the greatest service to me in the preparation of my little story), quote from his letters at considerable length, and award him the highest praise as a conscientious investigator. So far as I have been able to learn, D'Entrecolles remains the sole authority for the myth; but his affirmations in regard to other matters have withstood the severe tests of time astonishingly well; and since the Tai-ping rebellion destroyed King-te-chin and paralyzed its noble industry, the value of the French missionary's documents and testimony has become widely recognized. In lieu of any other name for the hero of the legend, I have been obliged to retain that of Pou, or Pu,--only using it without the affix "t'ai,"--so as to distinguish it from the deity of comfort and repose. [Illustration: Decorative motif] Glossary [Illustration: Chinese calligraphy] GLOSSARY ABHIDHARMA.--The metaphysics of Buddhism. Buddhist literature is classed into three great divisions, or "baskets"; the highest of these is the Abhidharma.... According to a passage in Spence Hardy's "Manual of Buddhism," the full comprehension of the Abhidharma is possible only for a Buddha to acquire. CHIH.--"House"; but especially the house of the dead,--a tomb. CHU-SHA-KIH.--The mandarin-orange. ÇRAMANA.--An ascetic; one who has subdued his senses. For an interesting history of this term, see Burnouf,--"Introduction à l'histoire du Buddhisme Indien." DAMÂRI.--A peculiar chant, of somewhat licentious character, most commonly sung during the period of the Indian carnival. For an account, at once brief and entertaining, of Hindoo popular songs and hymns, see Garcin de Tassy,--"Chants populaires de l'Inde." DOGS OF FO.--The _Dog of Fo_ is one of those fabulous monsters in the sculptural representation of which Chinese art has found its most grotesque expression. It is really an exaggerated lion; and the symbolical relation of the lion to Buddhism is well known. Statues of these mythical animals--sometimes of a grandiose and colossal execution--are placed in pairs before the entrances of temples, palaces, and tombs, as tokens of honor, and as emblems of divine protection. FO.--Buddha is called _Fo_, _Fuh_, _Fuh-tu_, _Hwut_, _Fat_, in various Chinese dialects. The name is thought to be a corruption of the Hindoo _Bodh_, or "Truth," due to the imperfect articulation of the Chinese.... It is a curious fact that the Chinese Buddhist liturgy is Sanscrit transliterated into Chinese characters, and that the priests have lost all recollection of the antique tongue,--repeating the texts without the least comprehension of their meaning. FUH-YIN.--An official holding in Chinese cities a position corresponding to that of mayor in the Occident. FUNG-HOANG.--This allegorical bird, corresponding to the Arabian phoenix in some respects, is described as being five cubits high, having feathers of five different colors, and singing in five modulations.... The female is said to sing in imperfect tones; the male in perfect tones. The _fung-hoang_ figures largely in Chinese musical myths and legends. GOPIA (or GOPIS).--Daughters and wives of the cowherds of Vrindavana, among whom Krishna was brought up after his incarnation as the eighth avatar of Vishnu. Krishna's amours with the shepherdesses, or Gopia, form the subject of various celebrated mystical writings, especially the _Prem-Ságar_, or "Ocean of Love" (translated by Eastwick and by others); and the sensuous _Gita-Govinda_ of the Bengalese lyric poet Jayadeva (translated into French prose by Hippolyte Fauche, and chastely rendered into English verse by Edwin Arnold in the "Indian Song of Songs"). See also Burnouf's partial translation of the _Bhagavata Parana_, and Théodore Pavie's "Krichna et sa doctrine." ... The same theme has inspired some of the strangest productions of Hindoo art: for examples, see plates 65 and 66 of Moor's "Hindoo Pantheon" (edition of 1861). For accounts of the erotic mysticism connected with the worship of Krishna and the Gopia, the reader may also be referred to authorities cited in Barth's "Religions of India"; De Tassy's "Chants populaires de l'Inde"; and Lamairesse's "Poésies populaires du Sud de l'Inde." HAO-KHIEOU-TCHOUAN.--This celebrated Chinese novel was translated into French by M. Guillard d'Arcy in 1842, and appeared under the title, "Hao-Khieou-Tchouan; ou, La Femme Accomplie." The first translation of the romance into any European tongue was a Portuguese rendering; and the English version of Percy is based upon the Portuguese text. The work is rich in poetical quotations. HEÏ-SONG-CHÉ-TCHOO.--"One day when the Emperor Hiuan-tsong of the Thang dynasty," says the _Tao-kia-ping-yu-che_, "was at work in his study, a tiny Taoist priest, no bigger than a fly, rose out of the inkstand lying upon his table, and said to him: 'I am the Genius of ink; my name is Heï-song-ché-tchoo [_Envoy of the Black Fir_]; and I have come to tell you that whenever a true sage shall sit down to write, the Twelve Divinities of Ink [_Long-pinn_] will appear upon the surface of the ink he uses.'" See "L'Encre de Chine," by Maurice Jametel. Paris. 1882. HOA-TCHAO.--The "Birthday of a Hundred Flowers" falls upon the fifteenth of the second spring-moon. JADE.--Jade, or nephrite, a variety of jasper,--called by the Chinese _yuh_,--has always been highly valued by them as artistic material.... In the "Book of Rewards and Punishments," there is a curious legend to the effect that Confucius, after the completion of his _Hiao-King_ ("Book of Filial Piety"), having addressed himself to Heaven, a crimson rainbow fell from the sky, and changed itself at his feet into a piece of yellow jade. See Stanislas Julien's translation, p. 495. KABIT.--A poetical form much in favor with composers of Hindoo religious chants: the _kabit_ always consists of four verses. KAO-LING.--Literally, "the High Ridge," and originally the name of a hilly range which furnished the best quality of clay to the porcelain-makers. Subsequently the term applied by long custom to designate the material itself became corrupted into the word now familiar in all countries,--kaolin. In the language of the Chinese potters, the _kaolin_, or clay, was poetically termed the "bones," and the _tun_, or quartz, the "flesh" of the porcelain; while the prepared bricks of the combined substances were known as _pe-tun-tse_. Both substances, the infusible and the fusible, are productions of the same geological formation,--decomposed feldspathic rock. KASÍ (_or_ VARANASI).--Ancient name of Benares, the "Sacred City," believed to have been founded by the gods. It is also called "The Lotos of the World." Barth terms it "the Jerusalem of all the sects both of ancient and modern India." It still boasts two thousand shrines, and half a million images of divinities. See also Sherring's "Sacred City of the Hindoos." KIANG-KOU-JIN.--Literally, the "tell-old-story-men." For a brief account of Chinese professional story-tellers, the reader may consult Schlegel's entertaining introduction to the _Mai-yu-lang-toú-tchen-hoa-koueï_. KIN.--The most perfect of Chinese musical instruments, also called "the Scholar's Lute." The word _kin_ also means "to prohibit"; and this name is said to have been given to the instrument because music, according to Chinese belief, "_restrains evil passions, and corrects the human heart_." See Williams's "Middle Kingdom." KOUEI.--Kouei, musician to the Emperor Yao, must have held his office between 2357 and 2277 B.C. The extract selected from one of his songs, which I have given at the beginning of the "Story of Ming-Y," is therefore more than four thousand years old. The same chant contains another remarkable fancy, evidencing Chinese faith in musical magic:-- "When I smite my [_musical_] stone,-- Be it gently, be it strongly,-- Then do the fiercest beasts of prey leap high for joy. And the chiefs among the public officials do agree among themselves." KWANG-CHAU-FU.--Literally, "The Broad City,"--the name of Canton. It is also called "The City of Genii." LÍ.--A measure of distance. The length of the _li_ has varied considerably in ancient and in modern times. The present is given by Williams as ten _li_ to a league. LI-SAO.--"The Dissipation of Grief," one of the most celebrated Chinese poems of the classic period. It is said to have been written about 314 B.C., by Kiu-ping-youen, minister to the King of Tsou. Finding himself the victim of a base court-intrigue, Kiu-ping wrote the _Li-Sao_ as a vindication of his character, and as a rebuke to the malice of his enemies, after which he committed suicide by drowning.... A fine French translation of the _Li-Sao_ has been made by the Marquis Hervey de Saint-Denys (Paris, 1870). LI-SHU.--The second of the six styles of Chinese writing, for an account of which see Williams's "Middle Kingdom." ... According to various Taoist legends, the decrees of Heaven are recorded in the "Seal-character," the oldest of all; and marks upon the bodies of persons killed by lightning have been interpreted as judgments written in it. The following extraordinary tale from the _Kan-ing-p'ien_ affords a good example of the superstition in question:-- Tchang-tchun was Minister of State under the reign of Hoeï-tsong, of the Song dynasty. He occupied himself wholly in weaving perfidious plots. He died in exile at Mo-tcheou. Sometime after, while the Emperor was hunting, there fell a heavy rain, which obliged him to seek shelter in a poor man's hut. The thunder rolled with violence; and the lightning killed a man, a woman, and a little boy. On the backs of the man and woman were found red characters, which could not be deciphered; but on the back of the little boy the following six words could be read, written in Tchouen (_antique_) characters: TSÉ-TCH'IN-TCHANG-TCHUN-HEOU-CHIN,--which mean: "Child of the issue of Tchang-tchun, who was a rebellious subject."--_Le Livre des Récompenses et des Peines, traduit par Stanislas Julien_, p. 446. PAGAL.--The ankle-ring commonly worn by Hindoo women; it is also called _nupur_. It is hollow, and contains loose bits of metal, which tinkle when the foot is moved. SAN-HIEN.--A three-stringed Chinese guitar. Its belly is usually covered with snake-skin. SIU-FAN-TI.--Literally, "the Sweeping of the Tombs,"--the day of the general worship of ancestors; the Chinese "All-Souls'." It falls in the early part of April, the period called _tsing-ming_. TA-CHUNG SZ'.--Literally, "Temple of the Bell." The building at Pekin so named covers probably the largest suspended bell in the world, cast in the reign of Yong-lo, about 1406 A.D., and weighing upwards of 120,000 pounds. TAO.--The infinite being, or Universal Life, whence all forms proceed: Literally, "the Way," in the sense of the First Cause. Lao-tseu uses the term in other ways; but that primal and most important philosophical sense which he gave to it is well explained in the celebrated Chapter XXV. of the _Tao-te-king_.... The difference between the great Chinese thinker's conception of the First Cause--the Unknowable,--and the theories of other famous metaphysicians, Oriental and Occidental, is set forth with some definiteness in Stanislas Julien's introduction to the _Tao-te-king_, pp. x-xv. ("Le Livre de la Voie et de la Vertu." Paris, 1842.) THANG.--The Dynasty of Thang, which flourished between 620 and 907 A.D., encouraged literature and art, and gave to China its most brilliant period. The three poets of the Thang dynasty mentioned in the second story flourished between 779 and 852 A.D. "THREE COUNCILLORS."--Six stars of the Great-Bear constellation ([Greek: ik--lm--nx]), as apparently arranged in pairs, are thus called by the Chinese astrologers and mythologists. The three couples are further distinguished as the Superior Councillor, Middle Councillor, and Inferior Councillor; and, together with the Genius of the Northern Heaven, form a celestial tribunal, presiding over the duration of human life, and deciding the course of mortal destiny. (Note by Stanislas Julien in "Le Livre des Récompenses et des Peines.") TIEN-HIA.--Literally, "Under-Heaven," or "Beneath-the-Sky,"--one of the most ancient of those many names given by the Chinese to China. The name "China" itself is never applied by the Black-haired Race to their own country, and is supposed to have had its origin in the fame of the first _Tsin_ dynasty, whose founder, Tsin Chí-Houang-tí, built the Great, or "Myriad-Mile," Wall, twenty-two and a half degrees of latitude in length ... See Williams regarding occurrence of the name "China" in Sanscrit literature. TSIEN.--The well-known Chinese copper coin, with a square hole in the middle for stringing, is thus named. According to quality of metal it takes from 900 to 1,800 _tsien_ to make one silver dollar. TSING-JIN.--"Men of Tsing." From very ancient times the Chinese have been wont to call themselves by the names of their famous dynasties,--_Han-jin_, "the men of Han"; _Thang-jin_, "the men of Thang," etc. _Ta Tsing Kwoh_ ("Great Pure Kingdom") is the name given by the present dynasty to China,--according to which the people might call themselves _Tsing-jin_, or "men of Tsing." Williams, however, remarks that they will not yet accept the appellation. VERSES (CHINESE).--The verses preceding "The Legend of Tchi-Niu" afford some remarkable examples of Chinese onomatopoeia. They occur in the sixth strophe of _Miên-miên_, which is the third chant of the first section of _Ta-ya_, the Third Book of the _Chi-King_.(See G. Pauthier's French version.) Dr. Legge translates the strophe thus:-- ... Crowds brought the earth in baskets; they threw it with shouts into the frames; they beat it with responsive blows; they pared the walls repeatedly till they sounded strong.--_Sacred Books of the East_; Vol. III., _The She-King_, p. 384. Pauthier translates the verses somewhat differently; preserving the onomatopoeia in three of the lines. _Hoûng-hoûng_ are the sounds heard in the timber-yards where the wood is being measured; from the workshops of the builders respond the sounds of _tông-tông_; and the solid walls, when fully finished off, give out the sound of _pîng-pîng_. YAO.--"Porcelain." The reader who desires detailed information respecting the technology, history, or legends of Chinese porcelain-manufacture should consult Stanislas Julien's admirable "Histoire de la Porcelaine Chinoise" (Paris, 1856). With some trifling exceptions, the names of the various porcelains cited in my "Tale of the Porcelain-God" were selected from Julien's work. Though oddly musical and otherwise attractive in Chinese, these names lose interest by translation. The majority of them merely refer to centres of manufacture or famous potteries: _Chou-yao_, "porcelains of Chou"; _Hong-tcheou-yao_, "porcelains of Hong-tcheou"; _Jou-yao_, "porcelains of Jou-tcheou"; _Ting-yao_, "porcelains of Ting-tcheou"; _Ko-yao_," porcelains of the Elder Brother [Thsang]"; _Khang-hi-nien-t'sang-yao_, "porcelains of Thsang made in the reign of Khang-hi." Some porcelains were distinguished by the names of dynasties, or the titles of civic office holders; such as the celebrated _Tch'aï-yao_, "the porcelains of Tch'aï" (which was the name of the family of the Emperor Chi-tsong); and the _Kouan-yao_, or "Porcelains of Magistrates." Much more rarely the names refer directly to the material or artistic peculiarity of porcelains,--as _Ou-ni-yao_, the "black-paste porcelains," or _Pi-se-yao_, the "porcelains of hidden color." The word _khi_, sometimes substituted for _yao_ in these compound names, means "vases"; as _Jou-khi_, "vases of Jou-tcheou"; _Kouan-khi_, "vases for Magistrates." [Illustration: Chinese calligraphy] 12296 ---- Proofreaders [Illustration: OUR CAMP ON THE SNOW MOUNTAIN AT AN ALTITUDE OF 12,000 FEET] CAMPS AND TRAILS IN CHINA A NARRATIVE OF EXPLORATION, ADVENTURE, AND SPORT IN LITTLE-KNOWN CHINA BY ROY CHAPMAN ANDREWS, M.A. ASSOCIATE CURATOR OF MAMMALS IN THE AMERICAN MUSEUM OF NATURAL HISTORY AND LEADER OF THE MUSEUM'S ASIATIC ZOÖLOGICAL EXPEDITION OF 1916-1917; FELLOW NEW YORK ACADEMY OF SCIENCES; CORRESPONDING MEMBER ZOÖLOGICAL SOCIETY OF LONDON, MEMBER OF THE BIOLOGICAL SOCIETY OF WASHINGTON; AUTHOR OF 'WHALE HUNTING WITH GUN AND CAMERA' AND YVETTE BORUP ANDREWS PHOTOGRAPHER OF THE ASIATIC ZOÖLOGICAL EXPEDITION 1918 THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED TO PRESIDENT HENRY FAIRFIELD OSBORN AS AN EXPRESSION OF GRATITUDE AND ADMIRATION "Let us probe the silent places, let us seek what luck betide us; Let us journey to a lonely land I know. There's a whisper on the night-wind, there's a star agleam to guide us, And the Wild is calling, calling ... let us go." --_Service_. PREFACE The object of this book is to present a popular narrative of the Asiatic Zoölogical Expedition of the American Museum of Natural History to China in 1916-17. Details of a purely scientific nature have been condensed, or eliminated, and emphasis has been placed upon our experiences with the strange natives and animals of a remote and little known region in the hope that the book will be interesting to the general reader. The scientific reputation of the Expedition will rest upon the technical reports of its work which will be published in due course by the American Museum of Natural History. To these reports we would refer those readers who desire more complete information concerning the results of our researches. At the time the manuscript of this volume was sent to press the collections were still undergoing preparation and the study of the different groups had just begun. Although the book has been largely written by the senior author, his collaborator has contributed six chapters marked with her initials; all the illustrations are from her photographs and continual use has been made of her daily journals; she has, moreover, materially assisted in reference work and in numerous other ways. The information concerning the relationships and distribution of the native tribes of Yün-nan is largely drawn from the excellent reference work by Major H.R. Davies and we have followed his spelling of Chinese names. Parts of the book have been published as separate articles in the _American Museum Journal, Harper's Magazine_, and _Asia_ and to the editors of the above publications our acknowledgments are due. That the Expedition obtained a very large and representative collection of small mammals is owing in a great measure to the efforts of Mr. Edmund Heller, our companion in the field. He worked tirelessly in the care and preservation of the specimens, and the fact that they reached New York in excellent condition is, in itself, the best testimony to the skill and thoroughness with which they were prepared. Our Chinese interpreter, Wu Hung-tao, contributed largely to the success of the Expedition. His faithful and enthusiastic devotion to our interests and his tact and resourcefulness under trying circumstances won our lasting gratitude and affectionate regard. The nineteen months during which we were in Asia are among the most memorable of our lives and we wish to express our deepest gratitude to the Trustees of the American Museum of Natural History, and especially to President Henry Fairfield Osborn, whose enthusiastic endorsement and loyal support made the Expedition possible. Director F.A. Lucas, Dr. J.A. Allen and Mr. George H. Sherwood were unfailing in furthering our interests, and to them we extend our hearty thanks. To the following patrons, who by their generous contributions materially assisted in the financing of the Expedition, we wish to acknowledge our great personal indebtedness as well as that of the Museum; Mr. and Mrs. Charles L. Bernheimer, Mr. and Mrs. Sidney M. Colgate, Messrs. George Bowdoin, Lincoln Ellsworth, James B. Ford, Henry C. Frick, Childs Frick, and Mrs. Adrian Hoffman Joline. The Expedition received many courtesies while in the field from the following gentlemen, without whose coöperation it would have been impossible to have carried on the work successfully. Their services have been referred to individually in subsequent parts of the book: The Director of the Bureau of Foreign Affairs of the Province of Yün-nan; M. Georges Chemin Dupontès, Director de l'Exploration de la Compagnie Française des Chemins de Fer de l'Indochine et du Yün-nan, Hanoi, Tonking; M. Henry Wilden, Consul de France, Shanghai; M. Kraemer, Consul de France, Hongkong; Mr. Howard Page, Standard Oil Co., Yün-nan Fu; the Hon. Paul Reinsch, Minister Plenipotentiary and Envoy Extraordinary to the Chinese Republic, Mr. J.V.A. McMurray, First Secretary of the American Legation, Peking; Mr. H.G. Evans, British-American Tobacco Co., Hongkong; the Rev. William Hanna, Ta-li Fu; the Rev. A. Kok, Li-chang Fu; Ralph Grierson, Esq., Teng-yueh; Herbert Goffe, Esq., H.B.M. Consul General, Yün-nan Fu; Messrs. C.R. Kellogg, and H.W. Livingstone, Foochow, China; the General Passenger Agent, Canadian Pacific Railroad Company, Hongkong; and the Rev. H.R. Caldwell, Yenping, who has read parts of this book in manuscript and who through his criticisms has afforded us the benefit of his long experience in China. To Miss Agnes F. Molloy and Miss Anna Katherine Berger we wish to express our appreciation of editorial and other assistance during the preparation of the volume. ROY CHAPMAN ANDREWS YVETTE BORUP ANDREWS JUSTAMERE HOME, _Lawrence Park, Bronxville, N.Y._ _May 10, 1917._ CONTENTS CHAPTER I THE OBJECT OF THE EXPEDITION The importance of the scientific exploration of Central Asia--The region which the Asiatic Zoölogical Expedition investigated--Personnel of the Expedition--Equipment--Applicants for positions upon the Expedition CHAPTER II CHINA IN TURMOIL Yuan Shi-kai--Plot to become emperor of China--The Rebellion--Our arrival in Peking--Passports for Fukien Province--Admiral von Hintze, the German Minister--_En route_ to Shanghai--Death of Yuan Shi-kai CHAPTER III UP THE MIN RIVER Y.B.A. Arrival at Foochow--Foochow--We leave for Yen-ping--The Min River--Our first night in a _sampan_--Miss Mabel Hartford--Brigands at Yuchi--Yen-ping--Trapping at Yen-ping CHAPTER IV A BAT CAVE IN THE BIG RAVINE The Temple in the Big Ravine--Hunting serow--A bat apartment house CHAPTER V THE YEN-PING REBELLION A message from Mr. Caldwell--Refugees from Yen-ping--Situation in the city--Fighting on Monday morning--Wounded men at the hospital--We do Red Cross work--More fighting--A Chinese puzzle--The missionaries save the city--The narrow escape of a young Chinese--The mission cook--Return to Foochow CHAPTER VI HUNTING THE GREAT INVISIBLE Tiger lairs--Mr. Caldwell's method of hunting--His first tiger--Habits of tigers--Experiences with the Great Invisible--Killing a man eater--Chinese superstitions--Hunting in the lair CHAPTER VII THE BLUE TIGER Arriving at Lung-tao--The blue tiger--Mr. Caldwell's first view of the beast--The lair in the Long Ravine--Bad luck with the tiger--A meeting in the dark--Ling-suik monastery--Life at the temple--Fukien Province as a collecting ground CHAPTER VIII THE WOMEN OF CHINA Y.B.A. Schools for girls--Position of women--The Confucian rules--Woman's life in the home--Foot binding--Early marriage--A Chinese wedding CHAPTER IX VOYAGING TO YÜN-NAN Outfitting in Hongkong--Food--Guns--Cameras--_En route_ to Tonking--The Island of Hainan--We engage a cook at Paik-hoi--Arrival in Haiphong--Loss of our Ammunition--Hanoi--The railroad to Yün-nan Fu--Yün-nan--The Chinese Foreign Office endorses our plans CHAPTER X ON THE ROAD TO TA-LI FU Our caravan--The Yün-nan pack saddle--Temple camps--Chinese _mafus_--Roads--Country--Ignorance of a Chinese scholar--New mammals--Village life--Opium growing--An opium scandal--Goitre--The Chinese "Mountain schooner"--Horses--Miss Morgan--Brigands--Our guard of soldiers CHAPTER XI TA-LI FU Hsia-kuan--Summer temperature--Lake--Graves--Pagodas--Mr. H.G. Evans--Foreigners of Ta-li Fu--Chinese mandarins--Mammals at Ta-li--Caravan horses and mules--The cook becomes ill CHAPTER XII LI-CHIANG, AND THE "TEMPLE OF THE FLOWERS" Traveling to Li-chiang--Our entrance into the city--The surprise of the foreigners--The temple--Excellent collecting--Small mammals--The Moso natives--Customs--The Snow Mountain--Baron Haendel-Mazzetti CHAPTER XIII CAMPING IN THE CLOUDS Moso hunters--Primitive guns--Cross-bows and poisoned arrows--Dogs--A porcupine--New mammals--We find a new camp on the mountain CHAPTER XIV THE FIRST GORAL Killed near camp--A sacrifice to the God of the Hunt--Small mammals--The second goral CHAPTER XV MORE GORALS Gorals almost invisible--Heller shoots a kid--Collecting material for a Museum group--A splendid hunt--Two gorals--A crested muntjac CHAPTER XVI THE SNOW MOUNTAIN TEMPLE The first illness in camp--Serow--Death of the leading dog--Rain--Two more serows--Lolos--Non-Chinese tribes of Yün-nan CHAPTER XVII GORALS AND SEROWS Relationship--Appearance of the serow--Habits--Gorals CHAPTER XVIII THE "WHITE WATER" Y.B.A. Our new camp--A serow--We go to Li-chiang--A burial ceremony--Ancestor worship CHAPTER XIX ACROSS THE YANGTZE GORGE Traveling to the river--Inaccuracy of the Chinese--First view of the gorge--The Taku ferry--Caves CHAPTER XX THROUGH UNMAPPED COUNTRY Along the rim of the gorge--A beautiful camp at Habala--New mammals--Photographic work--Phete village--Stupid inhabitants--Strange natives--The "Windy Camp"--Hotenfa CHAPTER XXI TRAVELING TOWARD TIBET A hard climb--Our highest camp--A Lolo village--Thanksgiving with the Lolos CHAPTER XXII STALKING TIBETANS WITH A CAMERA Y.B.A. Caravans--Tibetans--Dress--Appearance--Photographing frightened natives--Reason for suspicion CHAPTER XXIII WESTWARD TO THE MEKONG RIVER Snow--Photographing natives--The Snow Mountain again--The Shih-ku ferry--Cranes--"Brahminy ducks"--A well-deserved beating--Chinese soldiers CHAPTER XXIV DOWN THE MEKONG VALLEY Arrival at Wei-hsi--The Mekong River--Lutzu natives--Difficulties in the valley--An unexpected goral--Christmas--The salt wells--A snow covered pass--Duck shooting--Return to Ta-li Fu CHAPTER XXV MISSIONARIES WE HAVE KNOWN Our observations on work of missionaries in Fukien and Yün-nan Provinces--Mode of living--Servants--Voluntary exile--Medical missionaries--A missionary's experience with the brigands at Yuchi CHAPTER XXVI CHINESE NEW YEAR AT YUNG-CHANG Y.B.A. Traveling to Yung-chang--New Year's customs--Inhabitants of the city--Foot-binding--Caves--Water buffaloes--Chinese cow-caravans--Yung-chang mentioned by Marco Polo CHAPTER XXVII TRAVELING TOWARD THE TROPICS Shih-tien plain--Curious inhabitants of the city--A tropical valley at Ma-po-lo--"A little more far"--A splendid camp--Many new mammals--Preparing specimens--Sambur--Trapping CHAPTER XXVIII MENG-TING: A VILLAGE: OF MANY TONGUES The first Shan village--Priscilla and John Alden--Meng-ting--The Shan mandarin--Young priests--The market--Photographing under difficulties--Suppression of opium growing CHAPTER XXIX CAMPING ON THE NAM-TING RIVER A beautiful camp--The "Dying Rabbit"--Sambur hunting--Jungle fowl--Civets--Pole cats and other animals CHAPTER XXX MONKEY HUNTING Strange calls in the jungle--Our first gibbons--Relationship and habits--Langurs and baboons--A night in the jungle CHAPTER XXXI THE SHANS OF THE BURMA BORDER An unfriendly chief--Honest natives--Houses at Nam-ka--Tattooing--Shan tribe--Dress CHAPTER XXXII PRISONERS OF WAR IN BURMA Y.B.A. The mythical Ma-li-ling--Across the frontier into Burma--The _mafus_ rebel--Ma-li-pa--Captain Clive--Guarding the border--Life at Ma-li-pa CHAPTER XXXIII HUNTING PEACOCKS ON THE SALWEEN RIVER The valley at Changlung--The ferry--Peacocks--The stalker stalked--Habits of peafowls CHAPTER XXXIV THE GIBBONS OF HO-MU-SHU Climbing out of the Salween Valley--A Shan village--Ho-mu-shu--Camping on a mountain pass--Gibbons--An exciting hunt and a narrow escape--Habits of the "hoolock" CHAPTER XXXV TENG-YUEH: A LINK WITH CIVILIZATION Tai-ping-pu--Flying squirrels--Lisos--A bat cave--Mail--Teng-yueh--Mr. Ralph Grierson--Tibetan bear cubs CHAPTER XXXVI A BIG GAME PARADISE Gorals at Hui-yao--Deer--Splendid hunts CHAPTER XXXVII SEROW AND SAMBUR Monkeys at Hui-yao--Muntjacs--A new serow--We move camp to Wa-tien--A fine sambur CHAPTER XXXVIII LAST DAYS IN CHINA Return to Teng-yueh--Packing the specimens--Results of the Expedition--On the road to Bhamo--The chair coolies--Burma _vs._ China--In civilization again--Farewell to the Orient LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS Our camp on the Snow Mountain at an altitude of 12,000 feet. Yvette Borup Andrews with a pet Yün-nan squirrel Edmund Heller Roy Chapman Andrews and a goral A Chinese hunter and a muntjac Brigands killed in the Yen-ping Rebellion The Ling-suik monastery A priest of Ling-suik A Chinese mother with her children Chinese women of the coolie class with bound feet Cormorant fishers on the lake at Yün-nan Fu Our camp at Chou Chou on the way to Ta-li Fu The Pagodas at Ta-li Fu The dead of China The residence of Rev. William J. Hanna at Ta-li-Fu The gate and main street of Ta-li Fu One of the pagodas at Ta-li Fu A Moso herder A Moso woman The Snow Mountain A cheek gun used by one of our hunters The first goral killed on the Snow Mountain Hotenfa, one of our Moso hunters, bringing in a goral Another Moso hunter with a porcupine A typical goral cliff on the Snow Mountain A serow killed on the Snow Mountain The head of a serow The "white water" A Liso hunter carrying a flying squirrel The chief of our Lolo hunters A Lolo village Lolos seeing their photographs for the first time Travelers in the Mekong valley Two Tibetans The gorge of the Yangtze River A quiet curve of the Mekong River The temple in which we camped at Ta-li Fu A crested muntjac The south gate at Yung-chang A Chinese bride returning to her mother's home at New Year's A Chinese patriarch Young China A Shan village A Shan woman spinning A Kachin woman in the market at Meng-ting One of our Shan hunters with two yellow gibbons Our camp on the Nam-ting River The Shan village at Nam-ka The head of a gibbon killed on the Nam-ting River A civet A Shan girl A Shan boy A suspension bridge Mrs. Andrews feeding one of our bear cubs A sambur killed at Wa-tien The head of a muntjac A mountain chair The waterfall at Teng-Yueh MAP I. The red line indicates the travels of the Expedition MAP II. Route of the Expedition in Yün-nan CAMPS AND TRAILS IN CHINA CHAPTER I THE OBJECT OF THE EXPEDITION The earliest remains of primitive man probably will be found somewhere in the vast plateau of Central Asia, north of the Himalaya Mountains. From this region came the successive invasions that poured into Europe from the east, to India from the north, and to China from the west; the migration route to North America led over the Bering Strait and spread fanwise south and southeast to the farthest extremity of South America. The Central Asian plateau at the beginning of the Pleistocene was probably less arid than it is today and there is reason to believe that this general region was not only the distributing center of man but also of many of the forms of mammalian life which are now living in other parts of the world. For instance, our American moose, the wapiti or elk, Rocky Mountain sheep, the so-called mountain goat, and other animals are probably of Central Asian origin. Doubtless there were many contributing causes to the extensive wanderings of primitive tribes, but as they were primarily hunters, one of the most important must have been the movements of the game upon which they lived. Therefore the study of the early human races is, necessarily, closely connected with, and dependent upon, a knowledge of the Central Asian mammalian life and its distribution. No systematic palaeontological, archaeological, or zoölogical study of this region on a large scale has ever been attempted, and there is no similar area of the inhabited surface of the earth about which so little is known. The American Museum of Natural History hopes in the near future to conduct extensive explorations in this part of the world along general scientific lines. The country itself and its inhabitants, however, present unusual obstacles to scientific research. Not only is the region one of vast intersecting mountain ranges, the greatest of the earth, but the climate is too cold in winter to permit of continuous work. The people have a natural dislike for foreigners, and the political events of the last half century have not tended to decrease their suspicions. It is possible to overcome such difficulties, but the plans for extensive research must be carefully prepared. One of the most important steps is the sending out of preliminary expeditions to gain a general knowledge of the natives and fauna and of the conditions to be encountered. For the first reconnoissance, which was intended to be largely a mammalian survey, the Asiatic Zoölogical Expedition left New York in March, 1916. Its destination was Yün-nan, a province in southwestern China. This is one of the least known parts of the Chinese Republic and, because of its southern latitude and high mountain systems, the climate and faunal range is very great. It is about equal in size to the state of California and topographically might be likened to the ocean in a furious gale, for the greater part of its surface has been thrown into vast mountain waves which divide and cross one another in hopeless confusion. Yün-nan is bordered on the north by Tibet and S'suchuan, on the west by Burma, on the south by Tonking, and on the east by Kwei-chau Province. Faunistically the entire northwestern part of Yün-nan is essentially Tibetan, and the plateaus and mountain peaks range from altitudes of 8,000 feet to 20,000 feet above sea level. In the south and west along the borders of Burma and Tonking, in the low fever-stricken valleys, the climate is that of the mid-tropics, and the native life, as well as the fauna and flora, is of a totally different type from that found in the north. The natives of Yün-nan are exceptionally interesting. There are about thirty non-Chinese tribes in the province, some of whom, such as the Shans and Lolos, represent the aboriginal inhabitants of China, and it is safe to say that in no similar area of the world is there such a variety of language and dialects as in this region. Although the main work of the Expedition was to be conducted in Yün-nan, we decided to spend a short time in Fukien Province, China, and endeavor to obtain a specimen of the so-called "blue tiger" which has been seen twice by the Reverend Harry R. Caldwell, a missionary and amateur naturalist, who has done much hunting in the vicinity of Foochow. The white members of the first Asiatic Zoölogical Expedition included Mr. Edmund Heller, my wife (Yvette Borup Andrews) and myself. A Chinese interpreter, Wu Hung-tao, with five native assistants and ten muleteers, completed the personnel. Mr. Heller is a collector of wide experience. His early work, which was done in the western United States and the Galápagos Islands, was followed by many years of collecting in Mexico, Alaska, South America, and Africa. He first visited British East Africa with Mr. Carl E. Akeley, next with ex-President Theodore Roosevelt, and again with Mr. Paul J. Rainey. During the Asiatic Zoölogical Expedition Mr. Heller devoted most of his time to the gathering and preparation of small mammals. He joined our party late in July in China. Mrs. Andrews was the photographer of the Expedition. She had studied photography as an amateur in Germany, France, and Italy, as well as in New York, and had devoted especial attention to the taking of photographs in natural colors. Such work requires infinite care and patience, but the results are well worth the efforts expended. Wu Hung-tao is a native of Foochow, China, and studied English at the Anglo-Chinese College in that city. He lived for some time in Teng-yueh, Yün-nan, in the employ of Mr. F.W. Carey, Commissioner of Customs, and not only speaks mandarin Chinese but also several native dialects. He acted as interpreter, head "boy," and general field manager. My own work was devoted mainly to the direction of the Expedition and the hunting of big game. In order to reduce the heavy transportation charges we purchased only such equipment in New York as could not be obtained in Shanghai or Hongkong. Messrs. Shoverling, Daly & Gales furnished our guns, ammunition, tents, and general camp equipment, and gave excellent satisfaction in attention to the minor details which often assume alarming importance when an expedition is in the field and defects cannot be remedied. All food and commissary supplies were purchased in Hongkong (_see_ Chapter IX). * * * * * When the announcement of the Expedition was made by the American Museum of Natural History it received wide publicity in America and other parts of the world. Immediately we began to discover how many strange persons make up the great cities of the United States, and we received letters and telegrams from hundreds of people who wished to take part in the Expedition. Men and boys were the principal applicants, but there was no lack of women, many of whom came to the Museum for personal interviews. Most of the letters were laughable in the extreme. One was from a butcher who thought he might be of great assistance in preparing our specimens, or defending us from savage natives; another young man offered himself to my wife as a personal bodyguard; a third was sure his twenty years' experience as a waiter would fit him for an important position on the Expedition, and numerous women, young and old, wished to become "companions" for my wife in those "drear wastes." Applicants continued to besiege us wherever we stopped on our way across the continent and in San Francisco until we embarked on the afternoon of March 28 on the S.S. _Tenyo Maru_ for Japan. Our way across the Pacific was uneventful and as the great vessel drew in toward the wharf in Yokohama she was boarded by the usual crowd of natives. We were standing at the rail when three Japanese approached and, bowing in unison, said, "We are report for leading Japanese newspaper. We wish to know all thing about Chinese animal." Evidently the speech had been rehearsed, for with it their English ended abruptly, and the interview proceeded rather lamely, on my part, in Japanese. Japan was reveling in the cherry blossom season when we arrived and for a person interested in color photography it was a veritable paradise. We stayed three weeks and regretfully left for Peking by way of Korea. But before we continue with the story of our further travels, we would like briefly to review the political situation in China as a background for our early work in the province of Fukien. CHAPTER II CHINA IN TURMOIL During the time the Expedition was preparing to leave New York, China was in turmoil. Yuan Shi-kai was president of the Republic, but the hope of his heart was to be emperor of China. For twenty years he had plotted for the throne; he had been emperor for one hundred miserable days; and now he was watching, impotently, his dream-castles crumble beneath his feet. Yuan was the strong man of his day, with more power, brains, and personality than any Chinese since Li-Hung Chang. He always had been a factor in his political world. His monarchial dream first took definite form as early as 1901 when he became viceroy of Chi-li, the province in which Peking is situated. It was then that he began to modernize and get control of the army which is the great basis of political power in China. Properly speaking, there was not, and is not now, a Chinese national army. It is rather a collection of armies, each giving loyalty to a certain general, and he who secures the support of the various commanders controls the destiny of China's four hundred millions of people regardless of his official title. Yuan was able to bind to himself the majority of the leading generals, and in 1911, when the Manchu dynasty was overthrown, his plots and intrigues began to bear fruit. By crafty juggling of the rebels and Manchus he managed to get himself elected president of the new republic, although he did not for a moment believe in the republican form of government. He was always a monarchist at heart but was perfectly willing to declare himself an ardent republican so long as such a declaration could be used as a stepping stone to the throne which he kept ever as his ultimate goal. As president he ruled with a high hand. In 1913 there was a rebellion in protest against his official acts but he defeated the rebels, won over more of the older generals, and solidified the army for his own interests, making himself stronger than ever before. At this time he might well have made a _coup d'état_ and proclaimed himself emperor with hardly a shadow of resistance, but with the hereditary caution of the Chinese he preferred to wait and plot and scheme. He wanted his position to be even more secure and to have it appear that he reluctantly accepted the throne as a patriotic duty at the insistent call of the people. Yuan's ways for producing the proper public sentiment were typically Chinese but entirely effective, and he was making splendid progress, when in May, 1915, Japan put a spoke in his wheel of fortune by taking advantage of the European war and presenting the historical twenty-one demands, to most of which China agreed. This delayed his plans only temporarily, and Yuan's agents pushed the work of making him emperor more actively than ever, with the result that the throne was tendered to him by the "unanimous vote of the people." To "save his face" he declined at first but at the second offer he "reluctantly" yielded and on December 12, 1915, became emperor of China. But his triumph was short-lived, for eight days later tidings of unrest in Yün-nan reached Peking. General Tsai-ao, a former military governor of the province, appeared in Yün-nan Fu, the capital, and, on December 23, sent an ultimatum to Yuan stating that he must repudiate the monarchy and execute all those who had assisted him to gain the throne, otherwise Yün-nan would secede; which it forthwith did on December 25. Without doubt this rebellion was financed by the Japanese who had intimated to Yuan that the change from a republican form of government would not meet with their approval. The rebellion spread rapidly. On January 21, Kwei-chau Province, which adjoins Yün-nan, seceded, and, on March 13, Kwang-si also announced its independence. About this time the Museum authorities were becoming somewhat doubtful as to the advisability of proceeding with our Expedition. We had a long talk with Dr. Wellington Koo, the Chinese Minister to the United States, at the Biltmore Hotel in New York. Dr. Koo, while certain that the rebellion would be short-lived, strongly advised us to postpone our expedition until conditions became more settled. He offered to cable Peking for advice, but we, knowing how unwelcome to the government of the harassed Yuan would be a party of foreigners who wished to travel in the disturbed area, gratefully declined and determined to proceed regardless of conditions. We hoped that Yuan would be strong enough to crush this rebellion as he had that of 1913, but day by day, as we anxiously watched the papers, there came reports of other provinces dropping away from his standard. On the _Tenyo Maru_ we met the Honorable Charles Denby, an ex-American Consul-General at Shanghai and former adviser to Yuan Shi-kai when he was viceroy of Chi-li. Mr. Denby was interested in obtaining a road concession near Peking and was then on his way to see Yuan. His anxiety over the political situation was not less than ours and together we often paced the decks discussing what might happen; but every wireless report told of more desertions to the ranks of the rebels. It seemed to be the beginning of the end, for Yuan had lost his nerve. He had decided to quit, and one hundred days after he became emperor elect he issued a mandate canceling the monarchy and restoring the republic. But the rebellious provinces were not satisfied and demanded that he get out altogether. About this time we reached Peking, literally blown in by a tremendous dust storm which seemed an elemental manifestation of the human turmoil within the grim old walls. Our cousin, Commander Thomas Hutchins, Naval Attaché of the American Legation, was awaiting us on the platform, holding his hat with one hand and wiping the dust from his eyes with the other. The news we received from him was by no means comforting for in the Legation pessimism reigned supreme. The American Minister, Dr. Reinsch, was not enthusiastic about our going south regardless of conditions, but nevertheless he set about helping us to obtain the necessary visé for our passports. We wished first to go to Foochow, in Fukien Province, where we were to hunt tiger until Mr. Heller joined us in July for the expedition into Yün-nan. Fukien was still loyal to Yuan, but the strong Japanese influence in this province, which is directly opposite the island of Formosa, was causing considerable uneasiness in Peking. We were armed with telegrams from Mr. C.R. Kellogg, of the Anglo-Chinese College, with whom we were to stay while in Foochow, assuring us that all was quiet in the province, and through the influence of Dr. Reinsch, the Chinese Foreign Office viséd our passports. The huge red stamp which was affixed to them was an amusing example of Chinese "face saving." First came the seal of Yuan's impotent dynasty of Hung Hsien, signifying "Brilliant Prosperity," and directly upon it was placed the stamp of the Chinese Republic. One was almost as legible as the other and thus the Foreign Office saved its face in whichever direction the shifting cards of political destiny should fall. At a luncheon given by Dr. Reinsch at the Embassy in Peking, we met Admiral von Hintze, the German Minister, who had recently completed an adventurous trip from Germany to China. He was Minister to Mexico at the beginning of the war but had returned to Berlin incognito through England to ask the Kaiser for active sea service. The Emperor was greatly elated over von Hintze's performance and offered him the appointment of Minister to China if he could reach Peking in the same way that he had traveled to Berlin. Von Hintze therefore shipped as supercargo on a Scandinavian tramp steamer and arrived safely at Shanghai, where he assumed all the pomp of a foreign diplomat and proceeded to the capital. The Americans were in a rather difficult position at this time because of the international complications, and social intercourse was extremely limited. Dinner guests had to be chosen with the greatest care and one was very likely to meet exactly the same people wherever one went. Peking is a place never to be forgotten by one who has shared its social life. In the midst of one of the most picturesque, most historical, and most romantic cities of the world there is a cosmopolitan community that enjoys itself to the utmost. Its talk is all of horses, polo, racing, shooting, dinners, and dances, with the interesting background of Chinese politics, in which things are never dull. There is always a rebellion of some kind to furnish delightful thrills, and one never can tell when a new political bomb will be projected from the mysterious gates of the Forbidden City. We spent a week in Peking and regretfully left by rail for Shanghai. _En route_ we passed through Tsinan-fu where the previous night serious fighting had occurred in which Japanese soldiers had joined with the rebels against Yuan's troops. On every side there was evidence of Japan's efforts against him. In the foreign quarter of Shanghai just behind the residence of Mr. Sammons, the American Consul-General, one of Yuan's leading officers had been openly murdered, and Japanese were directly concerned in the plot. We were told that it was very difficult at that time to lease houses in the foreign concession because wealthy Chinese who feared the wrath of one party or the other were eager to pay almost any rent to obtain the protection of that quarter of the city. A short time later it became known to a few that Yuan was seriously ill. He was suffering from Bright's disease with its consequent weakness, loss of mental alertness, and lack of concentration. French doctors were called in, but Yuan's wives insisted upon treating him with concoctions of their own, and on June 6, shortly after three o'clock in the morning, he died. Even on his death-bed Yuan endeavored to save his face before the country, and his last words were a reiteration of what he knew no one believed. The story of his death is told in the _China Press_ of June 7, 1916: According to news from the President's palace the condition of Yuan became critical at three o'clock in the morning. Yuan asked for his old confidential friend, Hsu Shih-chang, who came immediately. On the arrival of Hsu, Yuan was extremely weak, but entirely conscious. With tears in his eyes, Yuan assured his old friend that he had never had any personal ambition for an emperor's crown; he had been deceived by his _entourage_ over the true state of public opinion and thus had sincerely believed the people wished for the restoration of the monarchy. The desire of the South for his resignation he had not wished to follow for fear that general anarchy would break out all over China. Now that he felt death approaching he asked Hsu to make his last words known to the public. In the temporary residence of President Li Yuan-hung, situated in the Yung-chan-hu-tung (East City) and formerly owned by Yang Tu, the prominent monarchist, the formal transfer of the power to Li-Yuan-hung took place this morning at ten o'clock. Yuan Chi-jui, Secretary of State and Premier, as well as all the members of the cabinet, Prince Pu Lun as chairman of the State Council, and other high officials were present. The officials, wearing ceremonial dress, were received by Li-Yuan-hung in the main hall and made three bows to the new president, which were returned by the latter. The same ceremony will take place at two o'clock, when all the high military officials will assemble at the President's residence. The Cabinet, in a circular telegram has informed all the provinces that Vice-President Li-Yuan-hung, in accordance with the constitution, has become president of the Chinese Republic (Chung-hua-min-kuo) from the seventh instance. So ended Yuan Shi-kai's great plot to make himself an emperor over four hundred millions of people, a plot which could only have been carried out in China. He failed, and the once valiant warrior died in the humiliation of defeat, leaving thirty-two wives, forty children and his country in political chaos. CHAPTER III UP THE MIN RIVER _Y.B.A._ Three days after leaving Shanghai we arrived at Pagoda Anchorage at the mouth of the Min River, twelve miles from Foochow. We boarded a launch which threaded its way through a fleet of picturesque fishing vessels, each one of which had a round black and white eye painted on its crescent-shaped bow. When asked the reason for this decoration a Chinese on the launch looked at us rather pityingly for a moment and then said: "No have eye. No can see." How simple and how entirely satisfactory! The instant the launch touched the shore dozens of coolies swarmed like flies over it, fighting madly for our luggage. One seized a trunk, the other end of which had been appropriated by another man and, in the argument which ensued, each endeavored to deafen the other by his screams. The habit of yelling to enforce command is inherent with the Chinese and appears to be ineradicable. To expostulate in an ordinary tone of voice, pausing to listen to his opponent's reply, seems a psychological impossibility. There had been a mistake about the date of our arrival at Foochow, and we were two days earlier than we had been expected, so that Mr. C.R. Kellogg, of the Anglo-Chinese College, with whom we were to stay, was not on the jetty to meet us. We were at a loss to know where to turn amidst the chaos and confusion until a customs officer took us in charge and, judiciously selecting a competent looking woman from among the screaming multitude, told her to get two sedan chairs and coolies to carry our luggage. She disappeared and ten minutes later the chairs arrived. Dashing about among the crowd in front of us, she chose the baggage for such men as met with her approval and after the usual amount of argument the loads were taken. We mounted our chairs and started off with apparently all Foochow following us. As far as we could see down the narrow street were the heads and shoulders of our porters. We felt as if we were heading an invading army as, with our thirty-three coolies and sixteen hundred pounds of luggage, we descended upon the homes of people whom we did not know and who were not expecting us. But our sudden arrival did not disturb the Kelloggs and our welcome was typical of the warm hospitality one always finds in the Far East. No matter how long one has lived in China one remains in a condition of mental suspense unable to decide which is the filthiest city of the Republic. The residents of Foochow boast that for offensiveness to the senses no town can compare with theirs, and although Amoy and several other places dispute this questionable title, we were inclined to grant it unreservedly to Foochow. It is like a medieval city with its narrow, ill-paved streets wandering aimlessly in a hopeless maze. They are usually roofed over so that by no accident can a ray of purifying sun penetrate their dark corners. With no ventilation whatsoever the oppressive air reeks with the odors that rise from the streets and the steaming houses. In Foochow, as in other cities of China, the narrow alleys are literally choked with every form of industrial obstruction. Countless workmen plant themselves in the tiny passageways with the pigs, children, and dogs, and women bring their quilts to spread upon the stones. There is a common saying that the Chinese do little which is not at some time done on the street. The foreign residents, including consuls of all nationalities, missionaries, and merchants, live well out of the city on a hilltop. Their houses are built with very high ceilings and bare interiors, and as the occupants seldom go into the city except in a sedan chair and have "punkahs" waving day and night, life is made possible during the intense heat of summer. A telegram was awaiting us from the Reverend Harry Caldwell, with whom we were to hunt, asking us to come to his station two hundred miles up the river, and we passed two sweltering days repacking our outfit while Mr. Kellogg scoured the country for an English-speaking cook. One middle-aged gentleman presented himself, but when he learned that we were going "up country," he shook his head with an assumption of great filial devotion and said that he did not think his mother would let him go. Another was afraid the sun might be too hot. Finally on the eve of our departure we engaged a stuttering Chinese who assured us that he was a remarkable cook and exceptionally honest. If you have never heard a Chinaman stutter you have something to live for, and although we discovered that our cook was a shameless rascal he was worth all he extracted in "squeeze," for whenever he attempted to utter a word we became almost hysterical. He sounded exactly like a worn-out phonograph record buzzing on a single note, and when he finally did manage to articulate, his "pidgin" English in itself was screamingly funny. One day he came to the _sampan_ proudly displaying a piece of beef and, after a series of vocal gymnastics, eventually succeeded in shouting: "Missie, this meat no belong die-cow. Die-cow not so handsome." Which meant that this particular piece of beef was not from an animal which had died from disease. The first stage of our trip began before daylight. We rode in four-man sedan chairs, followed by a long procession of heavily laden coolies with our cameras, duffle-sacks, and pack baskets. The road lay through green rice fields between terraced mountains, and we jogged along first on the crest of a hill, then in the valley, passing dilapidated temples with the paint flaking off and picturesque little huts half hidden in the reeds of the winding river. It was a relief to get into the country again after passing down the narrow village streets and to breathe fresh air perfumed with honeysuckle. A passenger launch makes the trip to Cui-kau at the beginning of the rapids, but it leaves at two o'clock in the morning and is literally crowded to overflowing with evil-smelling Chinese who sprawl over every available inch of deck space, so that even the missionaries strongly advised us against taking it. The passengers not infrequently are pushed off into the water. One of the missionaries witnessed an incident which illustrates in a typical way the total lack of sympathy of the average Chinese. A coolie on the Cui-kau launch accidentally fell overboard, and although a friend was able to grasp his hand and hold him above the surface, no one offered to help him; the launch continued at full speed, and finally weakening, the poor man loosed his hold and sank. This is by no means an isolated case. Some years ago a foreign steamer was burned on the Yangtze River, and the crowds of watching Chinese did little or nothing to rescue the passengers and crew. Indeed, as fast as they made their way to shore many of them were robbed even of their clothing and some were murdered outright. Our first day on the Min River was the most luxurious of the entire Expedition, for we were fortunate in obtaining the Standard Oil Company's launch through the kindness of Mr. Livingston, their agent. It was large and roomy, and the trip, which would have been worse than disagreeable on the public boat, was most delightful. The Min is one of the most beautiful rivers of all China with its velvet green mountains rising a thousand feet or more straight up from the water and often terraced to the summits. Perched on the bow of our boat was a wizened little gentleman with a pigtail wrapped around his head, who said he was a pilot, but as he inquired the channel of everyone who passed and ran us aground a dozen times or more to the tremendous agitation of our captain, we felt that his claim was not entirely justified. The river life was a fascinating, ever-changing picture. One moment we would pass a _sampan_ so loaded with branches that it seemed like a small island floating down the stream. Next a huge junk with bamboo-ribbed sails projecting at impossible angles drifted by, followed by innumerable smaller crafts, the monotonous chant of the boatmen coming faintly over the water to us as they passed. When evening came we had reached Cui-kau. The _sampans_ in which we were to spend eight days were drawn up on the beach with twenty or thirty others. Right above us was the straggling town looking very much like the rear view of tenement houses at home. Darkness blotted out the filth of our surroundings but could do nothing to lessen the odors that poured down from the village, and we ate our dinner with little relish. Our beds were spread in the _sampans_ which we shared in common with the four river men who formed the crew. There was only a mosquito net to screen the end of the boat, but all our surroundings were so strange that this was but a minor detail. As we lay in our cots we could look up at the stars framed in the half oval of the _sampan's_ roof and listen to the sounds of the water life grow fainter and fainter as one by one the river men beached their boats for the night. It seemed only a few minutes later when we were roused by a rush of water, but it was daylight, and the boats had reached the first of the rapids which separated us from Yen-ping, one hundred and twenty miles away. In the late afternoon we arrived at Chang-hu-fan where Mr. Caldwell stood on the shore waving his hat to us amidst scores of dirty little children and the explosion of countless firecrackers. Wherever we went crackers preceded and followed us--for when a Chinese wishes to register extreme emotion, either of joy or sorrow, its expression always takes the form of firecrackers. There had been a good deal of persecution of the native Christians in the district, and only recently a band of soldiers had strung up the native pastor by the thumbs and beaten him senseless. He was our host that night and seemed to be a bright, vivacious, little man but quite deaf as a result of his cruel treatment. He never recovered and died a few weeks later. Mr. Caldwell had come to investigate the affair, for the missionaries are invested by the people themselves with a good deal of authority. We spent that night in the parish house just behind the little church, a bare schoolroom being turned over to us for our use, and it seemed very luxurious after we had set up our cots, tables, chairs, and bath tub; but the house was in the center of the town and the high walls shut out every breath of pure air. The barred windows opened on a street hardly six feet wide, and while we were preparing for bed there was a buzz of subdued whispers outside. We switched on a powerful electric flashlight and there stood at least forty men, women and children gazing at us with rapt attention, but they melted away before the blinding glare like snow in a June sun. That night was not a pleasant one. The heat was intense, the mosquitoes worse, and every dog and cat in the village seemed to choose our court yard as a dueling ground in which to settle old scores. The climax was reached at four o'clock in the morning, when directly under our windows there came a series of ear-splitting squeals followed by a horrible gurgle. The neighbors had chosen that particular spot and hour to kill the family pig, and the entire process which followed of sousing it in hot water and scraping off the hair was accompanied by unceasing chatter. Boiling with rage we dressed and went for a walk, vowing not to spend another night in the place but to sleep in the _sampans_. On the whole our river men were nice fellows but they had the love of companionship characteristic of all Chinese and the inherent desire to huddle together as closely as possible wherever they were. On the way up the river to Yuchi every evening they insisted on stopping at some foul-smelling village, and it was difficult to induce them to spend the night away from a town. Moreover, at our stops for luncheon they would invariably ignore a shady spot and choose a sand bank where the sun beat down like a blast furnace. The Chinese never appear to be affected by the sun and go bareheaded at all seasons of the year, shading their eyes with one hand or a partly opened fan. A fan is the prime requisite, and it is not uncommon to see coolies almost devoid of clothing, dragging a heavy load and with the perspiration streaming from their naked bodies, energetically fanning themselves meanwhile. Mr. Caldwell was _en route_ to Yuchi, one of his mission stations far up a branch of the Min River, and as there was a vague report of tiger in that vicinity we joined him instead of proceeding directly to Yen-ping. The tiger story was found to be merely a myth, but our trip was made interesting by meeting Miss Mabel Hartford, the only foreign resident of the place. She has lived in Yuchi for two years and at one time did not see a white person for eight months with the exception of Mr. Caldwell who was in the vicinity for three days. It requires four weeks to obtain supplies from Foochow, there is no telegraph, and mails are very irregular, but she enjoys the isolation and is passionately fond of her work. She has had an interesting life and one not devoid of danger. In 1895 she was wounded and barely escaped death in the Hwa Shan (Flower Mountain) massacre in which ten women and one man were brutally murdered by a mob of fanatic natives known as "Vegetarians." The Chinese Government was required to pay a considerable indemnity to Miss Hartford, which she accepted only under protest and characteristically devoted to missionary work in Kucheng where the massacre occurred. Conditions at Yuchi when we arrived were most unsettled and for some months there had been a veritable "reign of terror." A large band of brigands was established in the hills not far from the city, and we were warned by the mandarin not to attempt to go farther up the river. A few months earlier several companies of soldiers had been sent from Foochow, and the result of turning loose these ruffians upon the town was to make "the remedy worse than the disease." The soldiers were continually arresting innocent peasants, accusing them of being brigands or aiding the bandits, and shooting them without a hearing. At one time accurate information concerning the camp of the robbers was received and the soldiers set bravely off, but when within a short distance of the brigands the commanders began to quarrel among themselves, guns were fired, and the bandits escaped. A Chinaman must always "save his face," however, and when they returned to Yuchi they arrested dozens of people on mere suspicion and executed them without the vestige of a trial. Finally conditions became so intolerable that no one was safe, and after repeated complaints by the missionaries, a new mandarin of a somewhat better type was sent to Yuchi. As it was impossible to do any collecting farther up the river because of the bandits, we left for Yen-ping two days after arriving at Yuchi. Yen-ping is a wonderfully picturesque old city, situated on a hill at a fork of the river and surrounded by high stone walls pierced and loopholed for rifle fire. Such walls, while of little use against artillery, nevertheless offer a formidable obstacle to anything less than field guns as we ourselves were destined to discover. The Methodist mission compound encloses a considerable area on the very summit of the hill, backed by the city wall, and besides the four dwelling houses, comprises two large schools for boys and girls. Mr. Caldwell's residence commands a wonderful view down the river and in the late afternoon sunlight when the hills are bathed in pink and lavender and purple a more beautiful spot can hardly be imagined. But the delights of Yen-ping are somewhat tempered by the abominable weather. In summer the heat is almost unbearable and the air is so nearly saturated from continual rain that it is impossible to dry anything except over a fire. From all reports winter must be almost as bad in the opposite extreme for the cold is damp and penetrating; but the early fall is said to be delightful. The larger part of Fukien, like many other provinces in China, has been denuded of forests, and the groves of pine which remain have all been planted. This deforestation consequently has driven out the game, and except for tigers, leopards, wolves, wild pigs, serows and gorals, none of the large species is left. However, the dense growth of sword grass and the thorny bushes which clothe the hills and choke the ravines give cover to muntjac, or barking deer, and many species of small cats, civets, and other Viverines. These animals come to the rice paddys, which fill every valley, to hunt for frogs and fish, but it is difficult to catch them because of the Chinese who are continually at work in the fields. We spent a week trapping about Yen-ping and although we caught a good many animals they were almost always stolen together with the traps. We had this same difficulty in Yün-nan as well as in Fukien. None of us had ever seen natives in any part of the world who were such unmitigated thieves as the Chinese of these two provinces. The small mammals are hardly more abundant than the larger ones for the natives wage an unceasing war on those about the rice paddys and have exterminated nearly all but a few widely distributed forms. CHAPTER IV A BAT CAVE IN THE BIG RAVINE A few days after our arrival in Yen-ping we went with Mr. Caldwell and his son Oliver to a Taoist temple seven miles away in a lonely ravine known as Chi-yuen-kang. The walk to the temple in the early morning was delightful. The "bamboo chickens" and francolins were calling all about us and on the way we shot enough for our first day's dinner. Both these birds are abundant in Fukien Province but it is by no means easy to kill them for they live in such thick cover that they can only be flushed with difficulty. Early in the morning we frequently heard the francolins crowing in the trees or on the top of a hill and when a cock had taken possession of such a spot the intrusion of another was almost sure to cause trouble which only ended when one of them had been driven off. For two miles and a half the Big Ravine is a narrow cut between perpendicular rock walls thickly clothed to their very summits with bamboo and a tangle of thorny vines. In the bottom of the gorge a mountain torrent foams among huge bowlders but becomes a gentle, slow moving stream when it leaves the cool darkness of the cañon to spread itself over the terraced rice fields. About a mile from the entrance two old temples nestle into the hillside. One stands just over the water, but the other clings to the rock wall three hundred feet above the river, and it was there that we made our camp. The old priest in charge did not appear especially delighted to see us until I slipped a Mexican dollar into his hand--then it was laughable to see his change of face. The far end of the balcony was given up to us while Mr. Caldwell and Oliver put up their beds at the feet of a grinning idol in the main temple. We had come to Chi-yuen-kang to hunt serow (_see_ Chapter XVII) and had brought with us only a few traps for small mammals. Harry had seen several serow exhibited for sale on market days in towns along the river, and all were reported to have been killed near this ravine. There was a village of considerable size at the upper end and here we collected a motley lot of beaters with half a dozen dogs to drive the top of a mountain which towered about two thousand five hundred feet above the river. Never will we forget that climb! We tried to start at daylight but it was well toward six o'clock before we got our men together. A Chinaman would drive an impatient man to apoplexy and an early grave for it is well-nigh impossible to get him started within an hour of the appointed time, and with a half dozen the difficulty is multiplied as many times. Just when you think all is ready and that there can be no possible reason for delaying longer, the whole crowd will disappear suddenly and you discover that they have gone for "chow." Then you know that the end is really in sight, for chow usually is the last thing. We waited nearly two hours on this particular morning before we started on the long climb to the top of the mountain. The sun was simply blazing, and in fifteen minutes we were soaked with perspiration. When we were half way up the dogs disappeared in a small ravine overgrown with bamboo and sword grass and suddenly broke into a chorus of yelps. They had found a fresh trail and were driving our way. Harry ran to a narrow opening in the jungle, shouting to us to watch another higher up. We were hardly in position when his rifle banged, followed by such a bedlam of yells and barks that we thought he must have killed nothing less than one of the hunters. Before we reached them Harry appeared, smiling all over, and dragging a muntjac (_Muntiacus_) by the fore legs. He had just made a beautiful shot, for the clearing he had been watching was not more than ten feet wide and the muntjac flashed across it at full speed. Caldwell fired while it was in mid-air and his bullet caught the animal at the base of the neck, rolling it over stone dead. This beautiful little deer in Fukien is hardly larger than a fox. Its antlers are only two or three inches in length and rise from an elongated skin-covered pedicel instead of from the base of the skull as in all other members of the deer family. On each side of the upper jaw is a slender tusk, about two inches long, which projects well beyond the lips and makes a rather formidable weapon. We hoped that this muntjac was going to prove a "good joss," but instead a disappointing day was in store for us. When we had worked our way to the very summit of the mountain under a merciless sun and over a trail which led through a smothering bamboo jungle, we saw dozens of fresh serow tracks. The animals were there without a doubt and we were on the _qui vive_ with excitement. We selected positions and the men made a long circuit to drive toward us as Caldwell had directed. After half an hour had passed we heard them yelling as they closed in, but what was our disgust to see them solemnly parading in single file up the bottom of the valley on an open trail and carefully avoiding all thickets where a serow could possibly be. As Harry expressed it, "all the animals had to do was to sit tight and watch the noble procession pass." The beaters very evidently knew nothing whatever about driving nor were we able to teach them, for they seriously objected to leaving the open trails and going into the bush. We worked hard for serow but the men were hopeless and it was impossible to "still hunt" the animals at that time of the year. The natives say that in September when the mushrooms are abundant in the lower forests the serow leave the mountain tops and thick cover to feed upon the fungus, and that they may be killed without the aid of beaters, but at any time the hunt would involve a vast amount of labor with only a moderate chance of success. After we had left Fukien, Mr. Caldwell purchased a fine male and female serow for us which are especially interesting as they represent a different subspecies (_Capricornis sumatrensis argyrochcaetes_) from those we killed in Yün-nan. Chi-yuen-kang did yield us results, however, for we discovered a wonderful bat cave less than a mile from our temple. Its entrance was a low round hole half covered with vegetation, and opening into a high circular gallery; from this three long corridors branched off like fingers from the palm of a giant's hand. The cave was literally alive with bats. There must have been ten thousand and on the first day we killed a hundred, representing seven species and at least four genera. This was especially remarkable as it is unusual to find more than two or three species living together. The cave was a regular bat apartment house for each corridor was divided by rock partitions into several small rooms in every one of which bats of different species were rearing their families. The young in most instances were only a few days old but were thickly clustered on the walls and ceilings, and each and every one was squeaking at the top of its tiny lungs. The place must have been occupied for scores, if not hundreds, of years for the floor was knee-deep with dung. When we returned the day after our first visit we found that many of the young bats had been removed by their parents and in some instances entire rooms had been vacated. After the first day the odor of the cave was so nauseating that to enable us to go inside it was necessary to wear gauze pads of iodoform over our noses. The bats at this place were killed with bamboo switches but later we always used a long gill net which had been especially made in New York. We could hang the net over the entrance to a cave and, when all was ready, send a native into the galleries to stir up the animals. As they flew out they became entangled in the net and could be caught or killed before they were able to get away. It was sometimes possible to catch every specimen in a cavern, and moreover, to secure them in perfect condition without broken skulls or wings. If a bat escaped from the net it would never again strike it, for the animals are wonderfully accurate in flight and most expert dodgers. Even while in a cave, where hundreds of bats were in the air, they seldom flew against us, although we might often be brushed by their wings; and it was a most difficult thing to hit them with a bamboo switch. Their ability in dodging is without doubt a necessary development of their feeding habits for, with the exception of a few species, bats live exclusively upon insects and catch them in the air. It is a rather terrifying experience for a girl to sit in a bat cave especially if the light has gone out and she is in utter darkness. Of course she has a cap tightly pulled over her ears, for what girl, even if she be a naturalist's wife, would venture into a den of evil bats with one wisp of hair exposed! All about is the swish of ghostly wings which brush her face or neck and the air is full of chattering noises like the grinding of hundreds of tiny teeth. Sometimes a soft little body plumps into her lap and if she dares to take her hands from her face long enough to disengage the clinging animal she is liable to receive a vicious bite from teeth as sharp as needles. But, withal, it is good fun, and think how quickly formalin jars or collecting trays can be filled with beautiful specimens! CHAPTER V THE YEN-PING REBELLION On Sunday, June 18, we went to the bat cave to obtain a new supply of specimens. Upon our return, just as we were about to sit down to luncheon, four excited Chinese appeared with the following letter from Mr. Caldwell: DEAR ROY: There was quite a lively time in the city at an early hour this morning. The rebels have taken Yen-ping and it looks as though there was trouble ahead. Northern soldiers have been sent for and the chances are that either tonight or tomorrow morning there will be quite a battle. Bankhardt, Dr. Trimble and myself have just made a round of the city, visiting the telegraph office, post office and other places, and while we do not believe that the foreigners will be molested, nevertheless it is impossible to tell just what to expect. It is certain, however, that the Consul will order all of us to Foochow if news of the situation reaches there. Owing to the uncertainty, I think you had better come in to Yen-ping so as to be ready for any eventuality. After talking the situation over with Dr. Trimble and Mr. Bankhardt, we all agreed that the wisest thing is for you to come in immediately. I am sending four burden-bearers for it will be out of the question to find any tomorrow, if trouble occurs tonight. The city gates are closed so you will have to climb up the ladder over the wall behind our compound. Best wishes. HARRY. P.S.--Later: It is again reported that Northern soldiers are to arrive tonight. If they do and trouble occurs your only chance is to get to Yen-ping today. H.C. The camp immediately was thrown into confusion for Da-Ming, the cook, and the burden-bearers were jabbering excitedly at the top of their voices. The servants began to pack the loads at once and meanwhile we ate a roast chicken faster than good table manners would permit--in fact, we took it in our fingers. We were both delighted at the prospect of some excitement and talked almost as fast as the Chinese. In just one hour from the time Harry's letter had been received, we were on the way to Yen-ping. It was the hottest part of the day, and we were dripping with perspiration when we left the cool darkness of the ravine and struck across the open valley, which lay shimmering in a furnace-like heat. At the first rest house on the top of the long hill we waited nearly an hour for our bearers who were struggling under the heavy loads. Three miles farther on a poor woman tottered past us on her peglike feet leaning on the arm of a man. A short distance more and we came to the second rest house. We had been there but a few moments when three panting women, steadying themselves with long staves and barely able to walk on feet not more than four inches long, came up the hill. With them were several men bearing household goods in large bundles and huge red boxes. The exhausted women sank upon the benches and fanned themselves while the perspiration ran down their flushed faces. They looked so utterly miserable that we told the cook to give them a piece of cake which Mrs. Caldwell had sent us the day before. Their gratitude was pitiful, but, of course, they gave the larger share to the men. It was not long before other women and children appeared on the hill path, all struggling upward under heavy loads, or tottering along on tightly bound feet. Probably these women had not walked so far in their entire lives, but the fear of the Northern soldiers and what would happen in the city if they took possession had driven them from their homes. Farther on we had a clear view across the valley where a long line of people was filing up to a temple which nestled into the hillside. Half a mile beyond were two other temples both crowded with refugees and their goods. Hundreds of families were seeking shelter in every little house beside the road and were overflowing into the cowsheds and pigpens. At six o'clock we stood on the summit of the hill overlooking the city and half an hour later were clambering up the ladder over the high wall of the compound, just behind Dr. Trimble's house. We were wet through and while cooling off heard the story of the morning's fighting. It seemed that a certain element in the city was in coöperation with the representatives of the revolutionary organization. These men wished to obtain possession of Yen-ping and, after the rebellion was well started, to gather forces, march to Foochow, and force the Governor to declare the independence of the province. The plot had been hatching for several days, but the death of Yuan Shi-kai had somewhat delayed its fruition. Saturday, however, it was known throughout the city that trouble would soon begin. Sunday morning at half past three, a band of one hundred men from Yuchi had marched to Yen-ping where they were received by a delegation of rebels dressed in white who opened to them the east gate of the city. Immediately they began to fire up the streets to intimidate the people and in a short time were in a hot engagement with the seventeen Northern soldiers, some of whom threw away their guns and swam across the river. The remaining city troops were from the province of Hunan and their sympathies were really with the South in the great rebellion. These immediately joined the rebels, where they were received with open arms. It was reported that the _tao-tai_ (district mandarin) had asked for troops from Foochow and that these might be expected at any moment; thus when they arrived a real battle could be expected and it was very likely that the city would be partly destroyed. We had a picnic supper on the Caldwell's porch and discussed the situation. It was the opinion of all that the foreigners were in no immediate danger, but nevertheless it was considered wise to be prepared, and we decided upon posts for each man if it should become necessary to protect the compound. Hundreds of people were besieging the missionaries with requests to be allowed to bring their goods and families inside the walls, but these necessarily had to be refused. Had the missionaries allowed the Chinese to bring their valuables inside it would have cost them the right of Consular protection and, moreover, their compound would have been the first to be attacked if looting began. On Monday morning while we were sitting on the porch of Mr. Caldwell's house preparing some bird skins, there came a sharp crackle of rifle fire and then a roar of shots. Bullets began to whistle over us and we could see puffs of smoke as the deep bang of a black powder gun punctuated the vicious snapping of the high-power rifles. The firing gradually ceased after half an hour and we decided to go down to the city to see what had happened, for, as no Northern troops had appeared, the cause of the fighting was a mystery. We went first to the mission hospital which lay across a deep ravine and only a few yards from the quarters of the soldiers. At the door of the hospital compound lay a bloody rag, and we found Dr. Trimble in the operating room examining a wounded man who had just been brought in. The fellow had been shot in the abdomen with a 45-caliber lead ball that had gone entirely through him, emerging about three inches to the right of his spine. From the doctor we got the first real news of the puzzling situation. It appeared that all the men who had arrived Sunday morning from Yuchi to join the Yen-ping rebels were in reality brigands and, to save their own lives, the Hunan soldiers quartered in the city had played a clever trick. They had pretended to join the rebels but at a given signal had turned upon them, killing or capturing almost every one. Although their sympathies were really with the South, the Hunan men knew that the rebels in Yen-ping could not hold the city against the Northern soldiers from Foochow and, by crushing the rebellion themselves, they hoped to avert a bigger fight. As we could not help the doctor he suggested that we might be of some assistance to the wounded in the city, and with rude crosses of red cloth pinned to our white shirt sleeves we left the hospital, accompanied by four Chinese attendants bearing a stretcher. In the compound we met a chair in which was lying an old man groaning loudly and dripping with blood. Beside him were his wife and several boys. The poor woman was crying quietly and, between her sobs, was offering the wounded man mustard pickles from a small dish in her hand! Poor things, they have so little to eat that they believe food will cure all ills! The bearers set the chair down as we appeared and lifted the filthy rag which covered a gaping wound in the man's shoulder, over which had been plastered a great mass of cow dung. Just think of the infection, but it was the only remedy they knew! We took the man upstairs where Dr. Trimble was preparing to operate on the fellow who had been shot in the abdomen. The doctor was working steadily and quietly, making every move count and inspiring his native hospital staff with his own coolness; the way this young missionary handled his cases made us glad that he was an American. On the way down the hill several soldiers passed us, each carrying four or five rifles and slung about with cartridge belts--plunder stripped from the men who had been killed. A few hundred yards farther on we found two brigands lying dead in a narrow street. The nearest one had fallen on his face and, as we turned him over, we saw that half his head had been blown away; the other was staring upward with wide open eyes on which the flies already were settling in swarms. There was little use in wasting time over these men who long ago had passed beyond need of our help, and we went on rapidly down the alley to the main thoroughfare. Guided by a small boy, we hurried over the rough stones for fifteen minutes, and suddenly came to a man lying at the side of the street, his head propped on a wooden block. An umbrella once had partly covered him but had fallen away, leaving him unprotected in the broiling sun. His face and a terrible wound in his head were a solid mass of flies, and thousands of insects were crawling over the blood clots on the stones beside him. At first we thought he was dead but soon saw his abdomen move and realized that he was breathing. It did not seem possible that a human being could live under such conditions; and yet the bystanders told us that he had been lying there for thirty hours--he had been shot early the previous morning and it was now three o'clock of the next afternoon. The man was a poor water-carrier who lived with his wife in the most utter poverty. He had been peering over the city wall when the firing began Sunday morning and was one of the first innocent bystanders to pay the penalty of his curiosity. I asked why he had not been taken to the hospital, and the answer was that his wife was too poor to hire anyone to carry him and he had no friends. So there he lay in the burning sun, gazed at by hundreds of passers-by, without one hand being lifted to help him. Our hospital attendants brushed away the flies, placed him in the stretcher and started up the long hill, followed by the haggard, weeping wife and a curious crowd. On every hand were questions: "Why are these men taking him away?" "What are they going to do with him?" But several educated natives who understood said, "_Ing-ai-gidaiie_" (A work of love). They got right there a lesson in Christianity which they will not soon forget. It is seldom that Chinese try to help an injured man, for ever present in their minds is the possibility that he may die and that they will be responsible for his burial expenses. We left the stretcher bearers at the corner of the main street with orders to return as soon as they had deposited the man in the hospital and, under the guidance of a boy, hurried toward the east gate where it was said seven or eight men had been shot. Our guide took us first to a brigand who had been wounded and left to die beside the gutter. The corpse was a horrible sight and with a feeling of deathly nausea we made a hurried examination and walked to the gate at the end of the street. A dozen soldiers were on guard. We learned from the officer that there were no wounded in the pile of dead just beyond the entrance, so we turned toward the river bank and rapidly patrolled the alleys leading to the _tao-tai's yamen_ (official residence) where the firing had been heaviest. The _yamen_ was crowded with soldiers, and we were informed that the dead had all been removed and that there were no wounded--a grim statement which told its own story. The _yamen_ is but a short distance from the hospital so we climbed the hill to the compound. The sun was simply blazing and I realized then what the wounded men must have suffered lying in the heat without shelter. We returned to the house and were resting on the upper porch when suddenly, far down the river, we saw the glint of rifle barrels in the sunlight, and with field glasses made out a long line of khaki-clad men winding along the shore trail. At the same time two huge boats filled with soldiers came into view heading for the water gate of the city. These were undoubtedly the Northern troops from Foochow who were expected Monday night. Even as we looked there came a sudden roar of musketry and a cloud of smoke drifted up from the barracks right below us--then a rattling fusillade of shots. We could see soldiers running along the walls firing at men below and often in our direction. Bullets hummed in the air like angry bees and we rushed for cover, but in a few moments the firing ceased as suddenly as it began. We were at a loss to know what it all meant and why the troops were firing upon the Northern soldiers whom they wished to placate. It was still a mystery when we sat down to dinner at half past seven, but a few minutes later Mr. Bankhardt rushed in saying that he had just received a note from the _tao-tai_. The mandarin's personal servant had brought word that the Northern soldiers, who had just entered the city, were going to kill him and he begged the missionaries for assistance. Bankhardt also told us of the latest developments in the situation. It seems that the city soldiers supposed the Northern troops to be brigands and had fired upon them and killed several before they discovered their mistake. A very delicate situation had thus been precipitated, for the Northern commander believed that it was treachery and intended to attack the barracks in the morning and kill every man whom he found with a rifle, as well as all the city officials. The story of the way in which the missionaries acted as peacemakers, saved the _tao-tai_, and prevented the slaughter which surely would have taken place in the morning, is too long to be told here, for it was accomplished only after hours of the talk and "face saving" so dear to the heart of the Oriental. Suffice it to say that through the exercise of great tact and a thorough understanding of the Chinese character they were able to settle the matter without bloodshed. The following day twenty brigands were given a so-called trial, marched off to the west gate, beheaded amid great enthusiasm, and the incident was closed. In the afternoon a messenger called and delivered to each of us an official letter from the commander of the Northern troops thanking us for the part we had played in averting trouble and bringing the matter to a peaceful end. An interesting sidelight on the affair was received a few days later. A young man, a Christian, who was born in the same town from which a number of the brigands had come, went to his house on Monday night after the fight and found seven of the robbers concealed in his bedroom. He was terrified because if they were discovered he and all his family would be killed for aiding the bandits. He told them they must leave at once, but they pleaded with him to let them stay for they knew there were soldiers at every corner and that it would be impossible to get away. While he was imploring them to go, a knock sounded at the door. He pushed the brigands into the courtyard, and opened to three soldiers. They said: "We understand you have brigands in your house." He was trembling with fear, but answered, "Come in and see for yourself, if you think so." The soldiers were satisfied by his frank open manner and, as they knew him to be a good man, did not search the house, but went away. The poor fellow was frightened nearly to death, but as his place was being watched it was impossible for the brigands to leave during the day. At night they stripped themselves, shaved their heads, and dressed like coolies, and were able to get to the ladder down the city wall just below the mission compound where they could escape into the hills. The day after this occurrence, about four o'clock in the afternoon, a breathless Chinese appeared at the house with a note to Mr. Bankhardt saying that his Chinese teacher and the mission school cook had been arrested by the Northern soldiers and were to be beheaded in an hour. We hurried to the police office where they were confined and found that not only the two men but three others were in custody. The mission cook owned a small restaurant under the management of one of his relatives and, while Bankhardt's teacher and the other man were sitting at a table, some Northern soldiers appeared, one of whom owed the restaurant keeper a small amount of money. When asked to pay, the soldier turned upon him and shouted: "You have been assisting the brigands. I saw some of them carrying goods into your house." Thereupon the soldiers arrested everyone in the shop. The police officials were quite ready to release the teacher and the other man upon our statements, but they would not allow the cook to go. His hands were kept tightly bound and he was chained to a post by the neck. The soldier who arrested him was his sole accuser, but of course, others would appear to uphold him in his charge if it were necessary. The cook was as innocent as any one of the missionaries, but it required several hours of work and threats of complaint to the government at Foochow to prevent the man from being summarily executed. We were not able to get any mail from Foochow during the rebellion because the constant stream of Northern soldiers on their way up the river had paralyzed the entire country to such an extent that all the river men had fled. The soldiers were firing for target practice upon every boat they saw on the river and dozens of men had been killed and then robbed. The Northern commander told us frankly that this could not be prevented, and when we announced that we were going to start will all the missionaries down the river on the following day, he was very much disturbed. He insisted that we have American flags displayed on our boats to prevent being fired upon by the soldiers. Although it had taken eight days to work our way laboriously through the rapids and up the river from Foochow to Yen-Ping, we covered the same distance down the river in twenty-four hours and had breakfast with Mr. Kellogg at his house the morning after we left Yen-Ping. In two days our equipment was repacked and ready for the trip to Futsing to hunt the blue tiger. CHAPTER VI HUNTING THE "GREAT INVISIBLE" For many years before Mr. Caldwell went to Yen-ping he had been stationed at the city of Futsing, about thirty miles from Foochow. Much of his work consisted of itinerant trips during which he visited the various mission stations under his charge. He almost invariably went on foot from place to place and carried with him a butterfly net and a rifle, so that to so keen a naturalist each day's walk was full of interest. The country was infested with man-eating tigers, and very often the villagers implored him to rid their neighborhood of some one of the yellow raiders which had been killing their children, pigs, or cattle. During ten years he had killed seven tigers in the Futsing region. He often said that his gun had been just as effective in carrying Christianity to the natives as had his evangelistic work. Although Mr. Caldwell has been especially fortunate and has killed his tigers without ever really hunting them, nevertheless it is a most uncertain sport as we were destined to learn. The tiger is the "Great Invisible"--he is everywhere and nowhere, here today and gone tomorrow. A sportsman in China may get his shot the first day out or he may hunt for weeks without ever seeing a tiger even though they are all about him; and it is this very uncertainty that makes the game all the more fascinating. The part of Fukien Province about Futsing includes mountains of considerable height, many of which are planted with rice and support a surprising number of Chinese who are grouped in closely connected villages. While the cultivated valleys afford no cover for tiger and the mountain slopes themselves are usually more or less denuded of forest, yet the deep and narrow ravines, choked with sword grass and thorny bramble, offer an impenetrable retreat in which an animal can sleep during the day without fear of being disturbed. It is possible for a man to make his way through these lairs only by means of the paths and tunnels which have been opened by the tigers themselves. Mr. Caldwell's usual method of hunting was to lead a goat with one or two kids to an open place where they could be fastened just outside the edge of the lair, and then to conceal himself a few feet away. The bleating of the goats would usually bring the tiger into the open where there would be an opportunity for a shot in the late afternoon. Mr. Caldwell's first experience in hunting tigers was with a shotgun at the village of Lung-tao. His burden-bearers had not arrived with the basket containing his rifle, and as it was already late in the afternoon, he suggested to Da-Da, the Chinese boy who was his constant companion, that they make a preliminary inspection of the lair even though they carried only shotguns loaded with lead slugs about the size of buckshot. They tethered a goat just outside the edge of the lair and the tiger responded to its bleating almost immediately. Caldwell did not see the animal until it came into the open about fifty yards away and remained in plain view for almost half an hour. The tiger seemed to suspect danger and crouched on the terrace, now and then putting his right foot forward a short distance and drawing it slowly back again. He had approached along a small trail, but before he could reach the goat it was necessary to cross an open space a few yards in width, and to do this the animal flattened himself like a huge striped serpent. His head was extended so that the throat and chin were touching the ground, and there was absolutely no motion of the body other than the hips and shoulders as the beast slid along at an amazingly rapid rate. But at the instant the cat gained the nearest cover it made three flying leaps and landed at the foot of the terrace upon which the goat was tied. "Just then he saw me," said Mr. Caldwell, "and slowly pushed his great black-barred face over the edge of the grass not fifteen feet away. "I fired point-blank at his head and neck. He leaped into the air with the blood spurting over the grass, and fell into a heap, but gathered himself and slid down over the terraces. As he went I fired a second load of slugs into his hip. He turned about, slowly climbed the hill parallel with us, and stood looking back at me, his face streaming with blood. "I was fumbling in my coat trying to find other shells, but before I could reload the gun he walked unsteadily into the lair and lay down. It was already too dark to follow and the next morning a bloody trail showed where he had gone upward into the grass. Later, in the same afternoon, he was found dead by some Chinese more than three miles away." During his many experiences with the Futsing tigers Mr. Caldwell has learned much about their habits and peculiarities, and some of his observations are given in the following pages. "The tiger is by instinct a coward when confronted by his greatest enemy--man. Bold and daring as he may be when circumstances are in his favor, he will hurriedly abandon a fresh kill at the first cry of a shepherd boy attending a flock on the mountain-side and will always weigh conditions before making an attack. If things do not exactly suit him nothing will tempt him to charge into the open upon what may appear to be an isolated and defenseless goat. "An experience I had in April, 1910, will illustrate this point. I led a goat into a ravine where a tiger which had been working havoc among the herds of the farmers was said to live. This animal only a few days previous to my hunt had attacked a herd of cows and killed three of them, but on this occasion the beast must have suspected danger and was exceedingly cautious. He advanced under cover along a trail until within one hundred feet of the goat and there stopped to make a survey of the surroundings. Peering into the valley, he saw two men at a distance of five hundred yards or more cutting grass and, after watching intently for a time, the great cat turned and bounded away into the bushes. "On another occasion this tiger awaited an opportunity to attack a cow which a farmer was using in plowing his field. The man had unhitched his cow and squatted down in the rice paddy to eat his mid-day meal, when the tiger suddenly rushed from cover and killed the animal only a few yards behind the peasant. This shows how daring a tiger may be when he is able to strike from the rear, and when circumstances seem to favor an attack. I have known tigers to rush at a dog or hog standing inside a Chinese house where there was the usual confusion of such a dwelling, and in almost every instance the victim was killed, although it was not always carried away. "There is probably no creature in the wilds which shows such a combination of daring strategy and slinking cowardice as the tiger. Often courage fails him after he has secured his victim, and he releases it to dash off into the nearest wood. "I knew of two Chinese who were deer hunting on a mountain-side when a large tiger was routed from his bed. The beast made a rushing attack on the man standing nearest to the path of his retreat, and seizing him by the leg dragged him into the ravine below. Luckily the man succeeded in grasping a small tree whereupon the tiger released his hold, leaving his victim lying upon the ground almost paralyzed with pain and fear. "A group of men were gathering fuel on the hills near Futsing when a tiger which had been sleeping in the high grass was disturbed. The enraged beast turned upon the peasants, killing two of them instantly and striking another a ripping blow with his paw which sent him lifeless to the terrace below. The beast did not attempt to drag either of its victims into the bush or to attack the other persons near by. "The strength and vitality of a full grown tiger are amazing. I had occasion to spend the night a short time ago in a place where a tiger had performed some remarkable feats. Just at dusk one of these marauders visited the village and discovered a cow and her six-months-old calf in a pen which had been excavated in the side of a hill and adjoined a house. There was no possible way to enter the enclosure except by a door opening from the main part of the dwelling or to descend from above. The tiger jumped from the roof upon the neck of the heifer, killing it instantly, and the inmates of the house opened the door just in time to see the animal throw the calf out bodily and leap after it himself. I measured the embankment and found that the exact height was twelve and a half feet. "The same tiger one noon on a foggy day attacked a hog, just back of the village and carried it into the hills. The villagers pursued the beast and overtook it within half a mile. When the hog, which dressed weighed more than two hundred pounds, was found, it had no marks or bruises upon it other than the deep fang wounds in the neck. This is another instance where courage failed a tiger after he had made off with his kill to a safe distance. The Chinese declare that when carrying such a load a tiger never attempts to drag its prey, but throws it across its back and races off at top speed. "The finest trophy taken from Fukien Province in years I shot in May, 1910. Two days previous to my hunt this tiger had killed and eaten a sixteen-year-old boy. I happened to be in the locality and decided to make an attempt to dispose of the troublesome beast. Obtaining a mother goat with two small kids, I led them into a ravine near where the boy had been killed. The goat was tied to a tree a short distance from the lair, and the kids were concealed in the tall grass well in toward the place where the tiger would probably be. I selected a suitable spot and kneeled down behind a bank of ferns and grass. The fact that one may be stalked by the very beast which one is hunting adds to the excitement and keeps one's nerves on edge. I expected that the tiger would approach stealthily as long as he could not see the goat, as the usual plan of attack, so far as my observation goes, is to creep up under cover as far as possible before rushing into the open. In any case the tiger would be within twenty yards of me before it could be seen. "For more than two hours I sat perfectly still, alert and waiting, behind the little blind of ferns and grass. There was nothing to break the silence other than the incessant bleating of the goats and the unpleasant rasping call of the mountain jay. I had about given up hope of a shot when suddenly the huge head of the man-eater emerged from the bush, exactly where I had expected he would appear and within fifteen feet of the kids. The back, neck, and head of the beast were in almost the same plane as he moved noiselessly forward. "I had implicit confidence in the killing power of the gun in my hand, and at the crack of the rifle the huge brute settled forward with hardly a quiver not ten feet from the kids upon which he was about to spring. A second shot was not necessary but was fired as a matter of precaution as the tiger had fallen behind rank grass, and the bullet passed through the shoulder blade lodging in the spine. The beast measured more than nine feet and weighed almost four hundred pounds. "Upon hearing the shots the villagers swarmed into the ravine, each eager not so much to see their slain tormentor as to gather up the blood. But little attention was paid to the tiger until every available drop was sopped up with rags torn from their clothing, whilst men and children even pulled up the blood-soaked grass. I learned that the blood of a tiger is used for two purposes. A bit of blood-stained cloth is tied about the neck of a child as a preventive against either measles or smallpox, and tiger flesh is eaten for the same purpose. It is also said that if a handkerchief stained with tiger blood is waved in front of an attacking dog the animal will slink away cowed and terrified. "From the Chinese point of view the skin is not the most valuable part of a tiger. Almost always before a hunt is made, or a trap is built, the villagers burn incense before the temple god, and an agreement is made to the effect that if the enterprise be successful the skin of the beast taken becomes the property of the gods. Thus it happens that in many of the temples handsome tiger-skin robes may be found spread in the chair occupied by the noted 'Duai Uong,' or the god of the land. When a hunt is successful, the flesh and bones are considered of greatest value, and it often happens that a number of cows are killed and their flesh mixed with that of the tiger to be sold at the exorbitant price cheerfully paid for tiger meat. The bones are boiled for a number of days until a gelatine-like product results, and this is believed to be exceptionally efficacious medicine. "Notwithstanding the danger of still-hunting a tiger in the tangle of its lair, one cannot but feel richly rewarded for the risk when one begins to sum up one's observations. The most interesting result of investigating an oft-frequented lair is concerning the animal's food. That a tiger always devours its prey upon the spot where it is taken or in the adjacent bush is an erroneous idea. This is often true when the kill is too heavy to be carried for a long distance, but it is by no means universally so. Not long ago the remains of a young boy were found in a grave adjacent to a tiger's lair a few miles from Futsing city. No child had been reported missing in the immediate neighborhood and everything indicated that the boy had been brought alive to this spot from a considerable distance. The sides of the grave were besmeared with the blood of the unfortunate victim, indicating that the tiger had tortured it just as a cat plays with a mouse as long as it remains alive. "In the lair of a tiger there are certain terraces, or places under overhanging trees, which are covered with bones, and are evidently spots to which the animal brings its prey to be devoured. On such a terrace one will find the remains of deer, wild hog, dog, pig, porcupine, pangolin, and other animals both domestic and wild. A fresh kill shows that with its rasp-like tongue the tiger licks off all the hair of its prey before devouring it and the hair will be found in a circle around what remains of the kill. The Chinese often raid a lair in order to gather up the quills of the porcupine and the bony scales of the pangolin which are esteemed for medicinal purposes. "In addition to the larger animals, tigers feed upon reptiles and frogs which they find among the rice fields. On the night of April 22, 1914, a party of frog catchers were returning from a hunt when the man carrying the load of frogs was attacked by a tiger and killed. The animal made no attempt to drag the man away and it would appear that it was attracted by the croaking of the frogs." "One often finds trees 'marked' by tigers beside some trail or path in, or adjacent to, a lair. Catlike, the tiger measures its full length upon a tree, standing in a convenient place, and with its powerful claws rips deeply through the bark. This sign is doubly interesting to the sportsman as it not only indicates the presence of a tiger in the immediate vicinity but serves to give an accurate idea as to the size of the beast. The trails leading into a lair often are marked in a different way. In doing this the animal rakes away the grass with a forepaw and gathers it into a pile, but claw prints never appear." CHAPTER VII THE BLUE TIGER After one has traveled in a Chinese _sampan_ for several days the prospect of a river journey is not very alluring but we had a most agreeable surprise when we sailed out of Foochow in a chartered house boat to hunt the "blue tiger" at Futsing. In fact, we had all the luxury of a private yacht, for our boat contained a large central cabin with a table and chairs and two staterooms and was manned by a captain and crew of six men--all for $1.50 per day! In the evening we talked of the blue tiger for a long time before we spread our beds on the roof of the boat and went to sleep under the stars. We left the boat shortly after daylight at Daing-nei for the six-mile walk to Lung-tao. To my great surprise the coolies were considerably distressed at the lightness of our loads. In this region they are paid by weight and some of the bearers carry almost incredible burdens. As an example, one of our men came into camp swinging a 125-pound trunk on each end of his pole, laughing and chatting as gayly as though he had not been carrying 250 pounds for six miles under a broiling sun. Mr. Caldwell's Chinese hunter, Da-Da, lived at Lung-tao and we found his house to be one of several built on the outskirts of a beautiful grove of gum and banyan trees. Although it was exceptionally clean for a Chinese dwelling, we pitched our tents a short distance away. At first we were somewhat doubtful about sleeping outside, but after one night indoors we decided that any risk was preferable to spending another hour in the stifling heat of the house. It was probable that a tiger would be so suspicious of the white tents that it would not attack us, but nevertheless during the first nights we were rather wakeful and more than once at some strange night sound seized our rifles and flashed the electric lamp into the darkness. Tigers often come into this village. Only a few hundred yards from our camp site, in 1911, a tiger had rushed into the house of one of the peasants and attempted to steal a child that had fallen asleep at its play under the family table. All was quiet in the house when suddenly the animal dashed through the open door. The Chinese declare that the gods protected the infant, for the beast missed his prey and seizing the leg of the table against which the baby's head was resting, bolted through the door dragging the table into the courtyard. This was the work of the famous "blue tiger" which we had come to hunt and which had on two occasions been seen by Mr. Caldwell. The first time he heard of this strange beast was in the spring of 1910. The animal was reported as having been seen at various places within an area of a few miles almost simultaneously and so mysterious were its movements that the Chinese declared it was a spirit of the devil. After several unsuccessful hunts Mr. Caldwell finally saw the tiger at close range but as he was armed with only a shotgun it would have been useless to shoot. His second view of the beast was a few weeks later and in the same place. I will give the story in his own words: "I selected a spot upon a hill-top and cleared away the grass and ferns with a jack-knife for a place to tie the goat. I concealed myself in the bushes ten feet away to await the attack, but the unexpected happened and the tiger approached from the rear. "When I first saw the beast he was moving stealthily along a little trail just across a shallow ravine. I supposed, of course, that he was trying to locate the goat which was bleating loudly, but to my horror I saw that he was creeping upon two boys who had entered the ravine to cut grass. The huge brute moved along lizard-fashion for a few yards and then cautiously lifted his head above the grass. He was within easy springing distance when I raised my rifle, but instantly I realized that if I wounded the animal the boys would certainly meet a horrible death. "Tigers are usually afraid of the human voice so instead of firing I stepped from the bushes, yelling and waving my arms. The huge cat, crouched for a spring, drew back, wavered uncertainly for a moment, and then slowly slipped away into the grass. The boys were saved but I had lost the opportunity I had sought for over a year. "However, I had again seen the animal about which so many strange tales had been told. The markings of the beast are strikingly beautiful. The ground color is of a delicate shade of maltese, changing into light gray-blue on the underparts. The stripes are well defined and like those of the ordinary yellow tiger." Before I left New York Mr. Caldwell had written me repeatedly urging me to stop at Futsing on the way to Yün-nan to try with him for the blue tiger which was still in the neighborhood. I was decidedly skeptical as to its being a distinct species, but nevertheless it was a most interesting animal and would certainly be well worth getting. I believed then, and my opinion has since been strengthened, that it is a partially melanistic phase of the ordinary yellow tiger. Black leopards are common in India and the Malay Peninsula and as only a single individual of the blue tiger has been reported the evidence hardly warrants the assumption that it represents a distinct species. We hunted the animal for five weeks. The brute ranged in the vicinity of two or three villages about seven miles apart, but was seen most frequently near Lung-tao. He was as elusive as a will o' the wisp, killing a dog or goat in one village and by the time we had hurried across the mountains appearing in another spot a few miles away, leaving a trail of terrified natives who flocked to our camp to recount his depredations. He was in truth the "Great Invisible" and it seemed impossible that we should not get him sooner or later, but we never did. Once we missed him by a hair's breadth through sheer bad luck, and it was only by exercising almost superhuman restraint that we prevented ourselves from doing bodily harm to the three Chinese who ruined our hunt. Every evening for a week we had faithfully taken a goat into the "Long Ravine," for the blue tiger had been seen several times near this lair. On the eighth afternoon we were in the "blind" at three o'clock as usual. We had tied a goat to a tree nearby and her two kids were but a few feet away. The grass-filled lair lay shimmering in the breathless heat, silent save for the echoes of the bleating goats. Crouched behind the screen of branches, for three long hours we sat in the patchwork shade,--motionless, dripping with perspiration, hardly breathing,--and watched the shadows steal slowly down the narrow ravine. It was a wild place which seemed to have been cut out of the mountain side with two strokes of a mighty ax and was choked with a tangle of thorny vines and sword grass. Impenetrable as a wall of steel, the only entrance was by the tiger tunnels which drove their twisting way through the murderous growth far in toward its gloomy heart. The shadows had passed over us and just reached a lone palm tree on the opposite hillside. By that I knew it was six o'clock and in half an hour another day of disappointment would be ended. Suddenly at the left and just below us there came the faintest crunching sound as a loose stone shifted under a heavy weight; then a rustling in the grass. Instantly the captive goat gave a shrill bleat of terror and tugged frantically at the rope which held it to the tree. At the first sound Harry had breathed in my ear "Get ready, he's coming." I was half kneeling with my heavy .405 Winchester pushed forward and the hammer up. The blood drummed in my ears and my neck muscles ached with the strain but I thanked Heaven that my hands were steady. Caldwell sat like a graven image, the stock of his little 22 caliber high power Savage nestling against his cheek. Our eyes met for an instant and I knew in that glance that the blue tiger would never make another charge, for if I missed him, Harry wouldn't. For ten minutes we waited and my heart lost a beat when twenty feet away the grass began to move again--but rapidly and _up the ravine_. I saw Harry watching the lair with a puzzled look which changed to one of disgust as a chorus of yells sounded across the ravine and three Chinese wood cutters appeared on the opposite slope. They were taking a short cut home, shouting to drive away the tigers--and they had succeeded only too well, for the blue tiger had slipped back to the heart of the lair from whence he had come. He had been nearly ours and again we had lost him! I felt so badly that I could not even swear and it wasn't the fact that Harry was a missionary which kept me from it, either. Caldwell exclaimed just once, for his disappointment was even more bitter than mine; he had been hunting this same tiger off and on for six years. It was useless for us to wait longer that evening and we pushed our way through the sword grass to the entrance of the tunnel down which the tiger had come. There in the soft earth were the great footprints where he had crouched at the entrance to take a cautious survey before charging into the open. As we looked, Harry suddenly turned to me and said: "Roy, let's go into the lair. There is just one chance in a thousand that we may get a shot." Now I must admit that I was not very enthusiastic about that little excursion, but in we went, crawling on our hands and knees up the narrow passage. Every few feet we passed side branches from the main tunnel in any one of which the tiger might easily have been lying in wait and could have killed us as we passed. It was a foolhardy thing to do and I am free to admit that I was scared. It was not long before Harry twisted about and said: "Roy, I haven't lost any tigers in here; let's get out." And out we came faster than we went in. This was only one of the times when the "Great Invisible" was almost in our hands. A few days later a Chinese found the blue tiger asleep under a rice bank early in the afternoon. Frightened almost to death he ran a mile and a half to our camp only to find that we had left half an hour before for another village where the brute had killed two wild cats early in the morning. Again, the tiger pushed open the door of a house at daybreak just as the members of the family were getting up, stole a dog from the "heaven's well," dragged it to a hillside and partly devoured it. We were in camp only a mile away and our Chinese hunters found the carcass on a narrow ledge in the sword grass high up on the mountain side. The spot was an impossible one to watch and we set a huge grizzly bear trap which had been carried with us from New York. It seemed out of the question for any animal to return to the carcass of the dog without getting caught and yet the tiger did it. With his hind quarters on the upper terrace he dropped down, stretched his long neck across the trap, seized the dog which had been wired to a tree and pulled it away. It was evident that he was quite unconscious of the trap for his fore feet had actually been placed upon one of the jaws only two inches from the pan which would have sprung it. One afternoon we responded to a call from Bui-tao, a village seven miles beyond Lung-tao, where the blue tiger had been seen that day. The natives assured us that the animal continually crossed a hill, thickly clothed with pines and sword grass just above the village and even though it was late when we arrived Harry thought it wise to set the trap that night. It was pitch dark before we reached the ridge carrying the trap, two lanterns, an electric flash-lamp and a wretched little dog for bait. We had been engaged for about fifteen minutes making a pen for the dog, and Caldwell and I were on our knees over the trap when suddenly a low rumbling growl came from the grass not twenty feet away. We jumped to our feet just as it sounded again, this time ending in a snarl. The tiger had arrived a few moments too early and we were in the rather uncomfortable position of having to return to the village by way of a narrow trail through the jungle. With our rifles ready and the electric lamp cutting a brilliant path in the darkness we walked slowly toward the edge of the sword grass hoping to see the flash of the tiger's eyes, but the beast backed off beyond the range of the light into an impenetrable tangle where we could not follow. Apparently he was frightened by the lantern, for we did not hear him again. After nearly a month of disappointments such as these Mr. Heller joined us at Bui-tao with Mr. Kellogg. Caldwell thought it advisable to shift camp to the Ling-suik monastery, about twelve miles away, where he had once spent a summer with his family and had killed several tigers. This was within the blue tiger's range and, moreover, had the advantage of offering a better general collecting ground than Bui-tao; thus with Heller to look after the small mammals we could begin to make our time count for something if we did not get the tiger. Ling-suik is a beautiful temple, or rather series of temples, built into a hillside at the end of a long narrow valley which swells out like a great bowl between bamboo clothed mountains, two thousand feet in height. On his former visit Mr. Caldwell had made friends with the head priest and we were allowed to establish ourselves upon the broad porch of the third and highest building. It was an ideal place for a collecting camp and would have been delightful except for the terrible heat which was rendered doubly disagreeable by the almost continual rain. The priests who shuffled about the temples were a hard lot. Most of them were fugitives from justice and certainly looked the part, for a more disreputable, diseased and generally undesirable body of men I have never seen. Our stay at Ling-suik was productive and the temple life interesting. We slept on the porch and each morning, about half an hour before daylight, the measured strokes of a great gong sounded from the temple just below us. _Boom--boom--boom--boom_ it went, then rapidly _bang, bang, bang_. It was a religious alarm clock to rouse the world. A little later when the upturned gables and twisted dolphins on the roof had begun to take definite shape in the gray light of the new day, the gong boomed out again, doors creaked, and from their cell-like rooms shuffled the priests to yawn and stretch themselves before the early service. The droning chorus of hoarse voices, swelling in a meaningless half-wild chant, harmonized strangely with the romantic surroundings of the temple and become our daily _matin_ and evensong. At the first gong we slipped from beneath our mosquito nets and dressed to be ready for the bats which fluttered into the building to hide themselves beneath the tiles and rafters. When daylight had fully come we scattered to the four winds of heaven to inspect traps, hunt barking deer, or collect birds, but gathered again at nine o'clock for breakfast and to deposit our spoil. Caldwell and I always spent the afternoon at the blue tiger's lair but the animal had suddenly shifted his operations back to Lung-tao and did not appear at Ling-suik while we were there. Our work in Fukien taught us much that may be of help to other naturalists who contemplate a visit to this province. We satisfied ourselves that summer collecting is impracticable, for the heat is so intense and the vegetation so heavy that only meager results can be obtained for the efforts expended. Continual tramping over the mountains in the blazing sun necessarily must have its effect upon the strongest constitution, and even a man like Mr. Caldwell, who has become thoroughly acclimated, is not immune. Both Caldwell and I lost from fifteen to twenty pounds in weight during the time we hunted the blue tiger and each of us had serious trouble from abscesses. I have never worked in a more trying climate--even that of Borneo and the Dutch East Indies where I collected in 1909-10, was much less debilitating than Fukien in the summer. The average temperature was about 95 degrees in the shade, but the humidity was so high that one felt as though one were wrapped in a wet blanket and even during a six weeks' rainless period the air was saturated with moisture from the sea-winds. In winter the weather is raw and damp, but collecting then would be vastly easier than in summer, not only on account of climatic conditions, but because much of the vegetation disappears and there is an opportunity for "still hunting." Trapping for small mammal is especially difficult because of the dense population. The mud dykes and the rice fields usually are covered with tracks of civets, mongooses, and cats which come to hunt frogs or fish, but if a trap is set it either catches a Chinaman or promptly is stolen. Moreover, the small mammals are neither abundant nor varied in number of species, and the larger forms, such as tiger, leopard, wild pig and serow are exceedingly difficult to kill. While our work in the province was done during an unfavorable season and in only two localities, yet enough was seen of the general conditions to make it certain that a thorough zoölogical study of the region would require considerable time and hard work and that the results, so far as a large collection of mammals is concerned, would not be highly satisfactory. Work in the western part of the province among the Bohea Hills undoubtedly would be more profitable, but even there it would be hardly worth while for an expedition with limited time and money. Bird life is on a much better footing, but the ornithology of Fukien already has received considerable attention through the collections of Swinhoe, La Touche, Styan, Ricketts, Caldwell and others, and probably not a great number of species remain to be described. Much work could still be done upon the herpetology of the region, however, and I believe that this branch of zoölogy would be well worth investigation for reptiles and batrachians are fairly abundant and the natives would rather assist than retard one's efforts. The language of Fukien is a greater annoyance than in any other of the Chinese coast provinces. The Foochow dialect (which is one of the most difficult to learn) is spoken only within fifty or one hundred miles of the city. At Yen-ping Mr. Caldwell, who speaks "Foochow" perfectly, could not understand a word of the "southern mandarin" which is the language of that region, and near Futsing, where a colony of natives from Amoy have settled, the dialect is unintelligible to one who knows only "Foochow." Travel in Fukien is an unceasing trial, for transport is entirely by coolies who carry from eighty to one hundred pounds. The men are paid by distance or weight; therefore, when coolies finally have been obtained there is the inevitable wrangling over loads so that from one to two hours are consumed before the party can start. But the worst of it is that one can never be certain when one's entire outfit will arrive at its new destination. Some men walk much faster than others, some will delay a long time for tea, or may give out altogether if the day be hot, with the result that the last load will arrive perhaps five or six hours after the first one. As horses are not to be had, if one does not walk the only alternative is to be carried in a mountain chair, which is an uncomfortable, trapeze-like affair and only to be found along the main highways. On the whole, transport by man-power in China is so uncertain and expensive that for a large expedition it forms a grave obstacle to successful work, if time and funds be limited. On the other hand, servants are cheap and usually good. We employed a very fair cook who received monthly seven dollars Mexican (then about three and one-half dollars gold), and "boys" were hired at from five to seven dollars (Mexican). As none of the servants knew English they could be obtained at much lower wages, but English-speaking cooks usually receive from fifteen to twenty dollars (Mexican) a month. It was hard to leave Fukien without the blue tiger but we had hunted him unsuccessfully for five weeks and there was other and more important work awaiting us in Yün-nan. It required thirty porters to transport our baggage from the Ling-suik monastery to Daing-nei, twenty-one miles away, where two houseboats were to meet us, and by ten o'clock in the evening we were lying off Pagoda Anchorage awaiting the flood tide to take us to Foochow. We made our beds on the deck house and in the morning opened our eyes to find the boat tied to the wharf at the Custom House on the Bund, and ourselves in full view of all Foochow had it been awake at that hour. The week of packing and repacking that followed was made easy for us by Claude Kellogg, who acted as our ministering angel. I think there must be a special Providence that watches over wandering naturalists and directs them to such men as Kellogg, for without divine aid they could never be found. When we last saw him, he stood on the stone steps of the water front waving his hat as we slipped away on the tide, to board the S.S. _Haitan_ for Hongkong. CHAPTER VIII THE WOMEN OF CHINA _Y.B.A._ The schools for native girls at Foochow and Yen-ping interested us greatly, even when we first came to China, but we could not appreciate then as we did later the epoch-making step toward civilization of these institutions. How much the missionaries are able to accomplish from a religious standpoint is a question which we do not wish to discuss, but no one who has ever lived among them can deny that the opening of schools and the diffusing of western knowledge are potent factors in the development of the people. The Chinese were not slow even in the beginning to see the advantages of a foreign education for their boys and now, along the coast at least, some are beginning to make sacrifices for their daughters as well. The Woman's College, which was opened recently in Foochow, is one of the finest buildings of the Republic, and when one sees its bright-faced girls dressed in their quaint little pajama-like garments, it is difficult to realize that outside such schools they are still slaves in mind and body to those iron rules of Confucius which have molded the entire structure of Chinese society for over 2400 years. The position of women in China today, and the rules which govern the household of every orthodox Chinese, are the direct heritage of Confucianism. The following translation by Professor J. Legge from the _Narratives of the Confucian School_, chapter 26, is illuminating: Confucius said: "Man is the representative of heaven and is supreme over all things. Woman yields obedience to the instructions of man and helps to carry out his principles. On this account she can determine nothing of herself and is subject to the rule of the three obediences. "(1) When young she must obey her father and her elder brother; "(2) When married, she must obey her husband; "(3) When her husband is dead she must obey her son. "She may not think of marrying a second time. No instructions or orders must issue from the harem. Women's business is simply the preparation and supplying of drink and food. Beyond the threshold of her apartments she shall not be known for evil or for good. She may not cross the boundaries of a state to attend a funeral. She may take no steps on her own motive and may come to no conclusion on her own deliberation." The grounds for divorce as stated by Confucius are: "(1) Disobedience to her husband's parents; "(2) Not giving birth to a son; "(3) Dissolute conduct; "(4) Jealousy of her husband's attentions (to the other inmates at his harem); "(5) Talkativeness, and "(6) Thieving." A Chinese bride owes implicit obedience to her mother-in-law, and as she is often reared by her husband's family, or else married to him as a mere child, and is under the complete control of his mother for a considerable period of her existence, her life in many instances is one of intolerable misery. There is generally little or no consideration for a girl under the best of circumstances until she becomes the mother of a male child; her condition then improves but she approaches happiness only when she in turn occupies the enviable position of mother-in-law. It is difficult to imagine a life of greater dreariness and vacuity than that of the average Chinese woman. Owing to her bound feet and resultant helplessness, if she is not obliged to work she rarely stirs from the narrow confinement of her courtyard, and perhaps in her entire life she may not go a mile from the house to which she was brought a bride, except for the periodical visits to her father's home. It has been aptly said that there are no real homes in China and it is not surprising that, ignored and despised for centuries, the Chinese woman shows no ability to improve the squalor of her surroundings. She passes her life in a dark, smoke-filled dwelling with broken furniture and a mud floor, together with pigs, chickens and babies enjoying a limited sphere of action under the tables and chairs, or in the tumble-down courtyard without. Her work is actually never done and a Chinese bride, bright and attractive at twenty, will be old and faded at thirty. But without doubt the crowning evil which attends woman's condition in China is foot binding, and nothing can be offered in extenuation of this abominable custom. It is said to have originated one thousand years before the Christian era and has persisted until the present day in spite of the efforts directed against it. The Empress Dowager issued edicts strongly advising its discontinuation, the "Natural Foot Society," which was formed about fifteen years ago, has endeavored to educate public opinion, and the missionaries refuse to admit girls so mutilated to their schools; but nevertheless the reform has made little progress beyond the coast cities. "Precedent" and the fear of not obtaining suitable husbands for their daughters are responsible for the continuation of the evil, and it is estimated that there are still about seventy-four millions of girls and women who are crippled in this way. The feet are bandaged between the ages of five and seven. The toes are bent under the sole of the foot and after two or three years the heel and instep are so forced together that a dollar can be placed in the cleft; gradually also the lower limbs shrink away until only the bones remain. The suffering of the children is intense. We often passed through streets full of laughing boys and tiny girls where others, a few years older, were sitting on the doorsteps or curbstones holding their tortured feet and crying bitterly. In some instances out-houses are constructed a considerable distance from the family dwelling where the girls must sleep during their first crippled years in order that their moans may not disturb the other members of the family. The child's only relief is to hang her feet over the edge of the bed in order to stop the circulation and induce numbness, or to seek oblivion from opium. If the custom were a fad which affected only the wealthy classes it would be reprehensible enough, but it curses rich and poor alike, and almost every day we saw heavily laden coolie women steadying themselves by means of a staff, hobbling stiff-kneed along the roads or laboring in the fields. Although the agitation against foot binding is undoubtedly making itself felt to a certain extent in the coast provinces, in Yün-nan the horrible practice continues unabated. During the year in which we traveled through a large part of the province, wherever there were Chinese we saw bound feet. And the fact that virtually _every_ girl over eight years old was mutilated in this way is satisfactory evidence that reform ideas have not penetrated to this remote part of the Republic. I know of nothing which so rouses one's indignation because of its senselessness and brutality, and China can never hope to take her place among civilized nations until she has abandoned this barbarous custom and liberated her women from their infamous subjection. There has been much criticism of foreign education because the girls who have had its advantages absorb western ideas so completely that they dislike to return to their homes where the ordinary conditions of a Chinese household exist. Nevertheless, if the women of China are ever to be emancipated it must come through their own education as well as that of the men. One of the first results of foreign influence is to delay marriage, and in some instances the early betrothal with its attendant miseries. The evil which results from this custom can hardly be overestimated. It happens not infrequently that two children are betrothed in infancy, the respective families being in like circumstances at the time. The opportunity perhaps is offered to the girl to attend school and she may even go through college, but an inexorable custom brings her back to her parents' home, forces her to submit to the engagement made in babyhood and perhaps ruins her life through marriage with a man of no higher social status or intelligence than a coolie. Among the few girls imbued with western civilization a spirit of revolt is slowly growing, and while it is impossible for them to break down the barriers of ages, yet in many instances they waive aside what would seem an unsurmountable precedent and insist upon having some voice in the choosing of their husbands. While in Yen-ping we were invited to attend the semi-foreign wedding of a girl who had been brought up in the Woman's School and who was qualified to be a "Bible Woman" or native Christian teacher. It was whispered that she had actually met her betrothed on several occasions, but on their wedding day no trace of recognition was visible, and the marriage was performed with all the punctilious Chinese observances compatible with a Christian ceremony. Precedent required of this little bride, although she might have been radiantly happy at heart, and undoubtedly was, to appear tearful and shrinking and as she was escorted up the aisle by her bridesmaid one might have thought she was being led to slaughter. White is not becoming to the Chinese and besides it is a sign of mourning, so she had chosen pink for her wedding gown and had a brilliant pink veil over her carefully oiled hair. After the ceremony the bride and bridegroom proceeded downstairs to the joyous strain of the wedding march, but with nothing joyous in their demeanor--in fact they appeared like two wooden images at the reception and endured for over an hour the stares and loud criticism of the guests. He assumed during the ordeal a look of bored indifference while the little bride sat with her head bowed on her breast, apparently terror stricken. But once she raised her face and I saw a merry twinkle in her shining black eyes that made me realize that perhaps it wasn't all quite so frightful as she would have us believe. I often wonder what sort of a life she is leading in her far away Chinese courtyard. CHAPTER IX VOYAGING TO YÜN-NAN We had a busy week in Hongkong outfitting for our trip to Yün-nan. Hongkong is one of the best cities in the Orient in which to purchase supplies of almost any kind, for not only is the selection excellent, but the best English goods can be had for prices very little in excess of those in London itself. The system which we used in our commissary was that of the unit food box which has been adopted by most large expeditions. The boxes were packed to weigh seventy pounds each and contained all the necessary staple supplies for three persons for one week; thus only one box needed to be opened at a time, and, moreover, if the party separated for a few days a single box could be taken without the necessity of repacking and with the assurance that sufficient food would be available. Our supplies consisted largely of flour, butter, sugar, coffee, milk, bacon, and marmalade, and but little tinned meat, vegetables, or fruit because we were certain to be able to obtain a plentiful supply of such food in the country through which we were expecting to travel. Our tents were brought from New York and were made of light Egyptian cotton thoroughly waterproof, but we also purchased in Hongkong a large army tent for the servants and two canvas flies to protect loads and specimens. We used sleeping bags and folding cots, tables and chairs, for when an expedition expects to remain in the field for a long time it is absolutely necessary to be as comfortable as possible and to live well; otherwise one cannot work at one's highest efficiency. For clothing we all wore khaki or "Dux-back" suits with flannel shirts and high leather shoes for mountain climbing, and we had light rubber automobile shirts and rubber caps for use in rainy weather. The auto shirt is a long, loose robe which slips over the head and fastens about the neck and, when one is sitting upon a horse, can be so spread about as to cover all exposed parts of the body; it is especially useful and necessary, and hip rubber boots are also very comfortable during the rainy season. Our traps for catching small mammals were brought from New York. We had two sizes of wooden "Out of Sight" for mice and rats, and four or five sizes of Oneida steel traps for catching medium sized animals such as civets and polecats. We also carried a half dozen No. 5 wolf traps. Mr. Heller had used this size in Africa and found that they were large enough even to hold lions. Mr. Heller carried a 250-300 Savage rifle, while I used a 6-1/2 mm. Mannlicher and a .405 Winchester. All of these guns were eminently satisfactory, but the choice of a rifle is a very personal matter and every sportsman has his favorite weapon. We found, however, that a flat trajectory high-power rifle such as those with which we were armed was absolutely essential for many of our shots were at long range and we frequently killed gorals at three hundred yards or over. The camera equipment consisted of two 3A Kodaks, a Graphic 4 × 5 tripod camera, and Graflex 4 × 5 for rapid work. We have found after considerable field experience that the 4 × 5 is the most convenient size to handle, for the plate is large enough and can be obtained more readily than any other in different parts of the world. The same applies to the 3A Kodak "post-card" size film, for there are few places where foreign goods are carried that 3A films cannot be purchased. All of our plates and films were sealed in air-tight tin boxes before we left America, and thus the material was in perfect condition when the cans were opened. We used plates almost altogether in the finer photographic work, for although they are heavier and more difficult to handle than films, nevertheless the results obtained are very superior. A collapsible rubber dark room about seven feet high and four feet in diameter was an indispensable part of the camera equipment. This tent was made for us by the Abercrombie & Fitch Company, of New York, and could be hung from the limb of a tree or the rafters of a building and be ready for use in five minutes. The motion pictures were taken with a Universal camera, and like all other negatives were developed in the field by means of a special apparatus which had been designed by Mr. Carl Akeley of the American Museum of Natural History. This work required a much larger space than that of the portable dark room and we consequently had a tent made of red cloth which could be tied inside of our ordinary sleeping tent. Our equipment was packed in fiber army trunks and in wooden boxes with sliding tops. The latter arrangement is especially desirable in Yün-nan, for the loads can be opened without being untied from the saddle, thus saving a considerable amount of time and trouble. It was by no means an easy matter to get our supplies together, but the Lane & Crawford Company of Hongkong pushed the making and packing of our boxes in a remarkably efficient manner; as the manager of one of their departments expressed it, "the one way to hurry a Chinaman is to get more Chinamen," and they put a small army at work upon our material, which was ready for shipment in just a week. While in Hongkong we were joined by Wu Hung-tao, of Shanghai, who acted as interpreter and "head boy" as well as a general field manager of the expedition. He formerly had been in the employ of Mr. F. W. Gary, when the latter was Commissioner of Customs in Teng-yueh, Yün-nan, and he was educated at the Anglo-Chinese College of Foochow. Wu proved to be the most efficient and trustworthy servant whom we have ever employed, and the success of our work was due in no small degree to his efforts. We left for Tonking on the S.S. _Sung-kiang_, commanded by Harry Trowbridge, a congenial and well-read gentleman whose delightful personality contributed much toward making our week's stay on his ship most pleasant. On our way to Haiphong the vessel stopped at the island of Hainan and anchored about three miles off the town of Hoi-hau. This island is 90 by 150 miles long, is mountainous in its center, but flat and uninteresting at the northwest. A large part of the island is unexplored and in the interior there is a mountain called "the Five Fingers" which has never been ascended, for it is reported that the hill tribes are unfriendly and that the tropical valleys are reeking with deadly malaria. The island undoubtedly would prove to be a rich field for zoölogical work as is shown by the collections which the American Museum of Natural History has already received from a native dealer; these include monkeys, squirrels, and other small mammals, and bears, leopards, and deer are said to be among its fauna. The next night's steaming brought us to the city of Paik-hoi on the mainland. In the afternoon we went ashore with Captain Trowbridge to visit Dr. Bradley of the China Inland Mission who is in charge of a leper hospital, which is a model of its kind. The doctor was away but we made ourselves at home and when he returned he found us in his drawing room comfortably enjoying afternoon tea. He remarked that he knew of a Chinese cook who was looking for a position, and half an hour later, while we were watching some remarkably fine tennis, the cook arrived. He was about six feet two inches high, and so thin that he was immediately christened the "Woolworth Building" and, although not a very prepossessing looking individual he was forthwith engaged, principally because of his ability to speak English. This was at six o'clock in the afternoon and we had to be aboard the ship at eight. The doctor sent a note to the French Consul and the cook returned anon with his baggage and passport. Obtaining this cook was the only really rapid thing which I have ever seen done in China! When the _Sung-kiang_ arrived in Haiphong the next afternoon we were besieged by a screaming, fighting mob of Annamits who seized upon our baggage like so many vultures, and it was only by means of a few well-directed kicks that we could prevent it from being scattered to the four winds of Heaven. After we had designated a _sampan_ to receive our equipment the unloading began and several trunks had gone over the side, when Mr. Heller happened to glance down just in time to see one of the ammunition boxes drop into the water and sink like lead. The Annamits, believing that it had not been noticed, went on as blithely as before and volubly denied that anything had been lost. We stopped the unloading instantly and sent for divers. The box had sunk in thirty feet of muddy water and it seemed useless to hope that it could ever be recovered, but the divers went to work by dropping a heavy stone on the end of a rope and going down it hand over hand. After two hours the box was located and brought dripping to the surface. Fortunately but little of the ammunition was ruined, and most of it was dried during the night in the engine room. Because of this delay we had to leave Haiphong on the following day, and with Captain Trowbridge, we went by train to Hanoi, the capital of the colony. Hanoi is a city of delightful surprises. It has broad, clean streets, overhung with trees which often form a cool green canopy overhead, beautiful lawns and well-kept houses, and in the center of the town is a lovely lake surrounded by a wide border of palms. At the far end, like a jewel in a crystal setting, seems to float a white pagoda, an outpost of the temple which stands in the midst of a watery meadow of lotos plants. The city shops are excellent, but in most instances the prices are exceedingly high. Like all the French towns in the Orient the hours for work are rather confusing to the foreigner. The shops open at 6:30 in the morning and close at 11 o'clock to reopen again at 3 in the afternoon and continue business until 7:30 or 8 o'clock in the evening. During the middle of the day all houses have the shutters closely drawn, and because of the intense heat and glare of the sun the streets are absolutely deserted, not even a native being visible. In the morning a _petit déjeuner_, remarkable especially for its "petitness," is served, and a real _déjeuner_ comes later anywhere from 10 to 12:30. About 6 o'clock in the evening the open _cafés_ and restaurants along the sidewalk are lined with groups of men and women playing cards and dice and drinking gin and bitters, vermouth or absinthe. There is an air of happiness and life about Hanoi which is typically Parisian and even during war time it is a city of gayety. An immense theater stands in the center of the town, but has not been opened since the beginning of the war. We had letters to M. Chemein Dupontés, the director of the railroads, as well as to the Lieutenant-Governor and other officials. Without exception we were received in the most cordial manner and every facility and convenience put at our disposal. M. Dupontés was especially helpful. Some time before our arrival a tunnel on the railroad from Hanoi to Yün-nan Fu had caved in and for almost a month trains had not been running. It was now in operation, however, but all luggage had to be transferred by hand at the broken tunnel and consequently must not exceed eighty-five pounds in weight. This meant repacking our entire equipment and three days of hard work. M. Dupontés arranged to have our 4000 pounds of baggage put in a special third class carriage with our "boys" in attendance and in this way saved the expedition a considerable amount of money. He personally went with us to the station to arrange for our comfort with the _chef de gare_, telegraphed ahead at every station upon the railroad, and gave us an open letter to all officials; in fact there was nothing which he left undone. The railroad is a remarkable engineering achievement for it was constructed in great haste through a difficult mountainous range. Yün-nan is an exceedingly rich province and the French were quick to see the advantages of drawing its vast trade to their own seaports. The British were already making surveys to construct a railroad from Bhamo on the headwaters of the Irawadi River across Yün-nan to connect with the Yangtze, and the French were anxious to have their road in operation some time before the rival line could be completed. Owing to its hasty construction and the heavy rainfall, or perhaps to both, the tunnels and bridges frequently cave in or are washed away and the railroad is chiefly remarkable for the number of days in the year in which it does not operate; nevertheless the French deserve great credit for their enterprise in extending their line to Yün-nan Fu over the mountains where there is a tunnel or bridge almost every mile of the way. While it was being built through the fever-stricken jungles of Tonking the coolies died like flies, and it was necessary to suspend all work during the summer months. The scenery along the railroad is marvelous and the traveling is by no means uncomfortable, but the hotels in which one stops at night are wretched. One of our friends in Hongkong related an amusing experience which he had at Lao-kay, the first hotel on the railroad. He asked for a bath and discovered that a tub of hot water had been prepared. He wished a cold bath, and seeing a large tank filled with cold water in the corner of the room he climbed in and was enjoying himself when the hotel proprietor suddenly rushed upstairs exclaiming, "Mon Dieu, Mon Dieu, you are in the tank of drinking water." When we arrived at Yün-nan Fu we found a surprisingly cosmopolitan community housed within its grim old walls; some were consuls, some missionaries, some salt, telegraph, or customs officials in the Chinese employ, and others represented business firms in Hongkong, but all received us with open handed hospitality characteristic of the East. We thought that after leaving Hongkong our evening clothes would not again be used, but they were requisitioned every night for we were guests at dinners given by almost everyone of the foreign community. Mr. Howard Page, a representative of the Standard Oil Company, proved a most valuable friend, and through him we were able to obtain a caravan and make other arrangements for the transportation of our baggage. M. Henry Wilden, the French Consul, an ardent sportsman and a charming gentleman, took an active interest in our affairs and arranged a meeting for us with the Chinese Commissioner of Foreign Affairs. Moreover, he later transported our trunks to Hongkong with his personal baggage and assisted us in every possible way. We went to the Foreign Office at half past ten and were ushered into a large room where a rather imposing lunch had already been spread. The Commissioner, a fat, jolly little man, who knew a few words of French but none of English, received us in the most cordial way and immediately opened several bottles of champagne in our honor. He asked why our passports had not been viséd in Peking, and we pleased him greatly by replying that at the time we were in the capital Yün-nan was an independent province and consequently the Peking Government had not the temerity to put their stamp upon our passports. Inasmuch as Yün-nan was infested with brigands we had expected some opposition to our plans for traveling in the interior, but none was forthcoming, and with the exception of an offer of a guard of soldiers for our trip to Ta-li Fu which we knew it would be impolitic to refuse, we left the Foreign Office with all the desired permits. The Chinese Government appeared to be greatly interested in our zoölogical study of Yün-nan, offered to assist us in every way we could suggest, and telegraphed to every mandarin in the north and west of the province, instructing them to receive us with all honor and to facilitate our work in every way. None of the opposition which we had been led to expect developed, and it is difficult to see how we could have been more cordially received. CHAPTER X ON THE ROAD TO TA-LI FU On August 6, we dispatched half our equipment to Ta-li Fu, and three days later we ourselves left Yün-nan Fu at eleven o'clock in the morning after an interminable wait for our caravan. Through the kindness of Mr. Page, a house boat was put at our disposal and we sailed across the upper end of the beautiful lake which lies just outside the city, and intercepted the caravan twenty-five _li_ [Footnote: A _li_ in this province equals one-third of an English mile.] from Yün-nan Fu. On the way we passed a number of cormorant fishers, each with ten or a dozen birds sitting quietly upon the boat with outspread wings drying their feathers. Every bird has a ring about its neck, and is thus prevented from swallowing the fish which it catches by diving into the water. After waiting an hour for our caravan we saw the long train of mules and horses winding up the hill toward us. There were seventeen altogether, and in the midst of them rode the cook clinging desperately with both hands to a diminutive mule, his long legs dangling and a look of utter wretchedness upon his face. Just before the caravan reached us it began to rain, and the cook laboriously pulled on a suit of yellow oilskins which we had purchased for him in Yün-nan Fu. These, together with a huge yellow hat, completed a picture which made us roar with laughter; Heller gave the caption for it when he shouted, "Here comes the 'Yellow Peril.'" We surveyed the tiny horses with dismay. As Heller vainly tried to get his girth tight enough to keep the saddle from sliding over the animal's tail he exclaimed, "Is this a horse or a squirrel I'm trying to ride?" But it was not so bad when we finally climbed aboard and found that we did not crush the little brutes. A seventy-pound box on each side of the saddle with a few odds and ends on top made a pack of at least one hundred and sixty pounds. This is heavy even for a large animal and for these tiny mules seemed an impossibility, but it is the usual weight, and the businesslike way in which they moved off showed that they were not overloaded. The Yün-nan pack saddle is a remarkably ingenious arrangement. The load is strapped with a rawhide to a double A-shaped frame which fits loosely over a second saddle on the animal's back and is held in place by its own weight. If a mule falls the pack comes off and, moreover, it can be easily removed if the road is bad or whenever a stop is made. It has the great disadvantage, however, of giving the horses serious back sores which receive but scanty attention from the _mafus_ (muleteers). When we were fairly started upon our long ride to Ta-li Fu the time slipped by in a succession of delightful days. Since this was the main caravan route the _mafus_ had regular stages beyond which they would not go. If we did not stop for luncheon the march could be ended early in the afternoon and we could settle ourselves for the night in a temple which always proved a veritable "haven of rest" after a long day in the saddle. A few pages from my wife's "Journal" of September fifteenth describes our camp at Lu-ho-we and our life on the road to Ta-li Fu. We are sitting on the porch of an old, old temple. It is on a hilltop in a forest grove with the gray-walled town lying at our feet. The sun is flooding the flower-filled courtyard and throwing bars of golden light through the twisted branches of a bent old pine, over the stone well, and into the dim recesses behind the altar where a benevolent idol grins down upon us. We have been in the saddle for eight hours and it is enchanting to rest in this peaceful, aged temple. Outside children are shouting and laughing but all is quiet here save for the drip of water in the well, and the chatter of a magpie on the pine tree. Today we made the stage in one long march and now we can rest and browse among our books or wander with a gun along the cool, tree-shaded paths. The sun is hot at midday, although the mornings and evenings are cold, and tonight we shall build a fragrant fire of yellow pine, and talk for an hour before we go to sleep upon the porch where we can see the moon come up and the stars shining so low that they seem like tiny lanterns in the sky. It is seven days since we left Yün-nan Fu and each night we have come to temples such as this. There is an inexpressible charm about them, lying asleep, as it were, among the trees of their courtyards, with stately, pillared porches, and picturesque gables upturned to the sky. They seem so very, very old and filled with such great calm and peace. Sometimes they stand in the midst of a populous town and we ride through long streets between dirty houses, swarming with ragged women, filthy men, and screaming children; suddenly we come to the dilapidated entrance of our temple, pass through a courtyard, close the huge gates and are in another world. We leave early every morning and the boys are up long before dawn. As we sleepily open our eyes we see their dark figures silhouetted against the brilliant camp fire, hear the yawns of the _mafus_ and the contented crunching of the mules as they chew their beans. Wu appears with a lantern and calls out the hour and before we have fully dressed the odor of coffee has found its way to the remotest corner of the temple, and a breakfast of pancakes, eggs, and oatmeal is awaiting on the folding table spread with a clean white cloth. While we are eating, the beds are packed, and the loads retied, accompanied by a running fire of exhortations to the _mafus_ who cause us endless trouble. They are a hard lot, these _mafus_. Force seems to be the only thing they understand and kindness produces no results. If the march is long and we stop for tiffin it is well-nigh impossible to get them started within three hours without the aid of threats. Once after a long halt when all seemed ready, we rode ahead only to wait by the roadside for hours before the caravan arrived. As soon as we were out of sight they had begun to shoe their mules and that night we did not make our stage until long after dark. In the morning when we see the first loads actually on the horses we ride off at the head of the caravan followed by a straggling line of mules and horses picking their way over the jagged stones of the road. It is delightful in the early morning for the air is fresh and brisk like that of October at home, but later in the day when the sun is higher it is uncomfortably hot, and we are glad to find a bit of shade where we can rest until the caravan arrives. The roads are execrable. The Chinese have a proverb which says: "A road is good for ten years and bad for ten thousand," and this applies most excellently to those of Yün-nan. The main caravan highways are paved with huge stones to make them passable during the rainy season, but after a few years' wear the blocks become broken and irregular, the earth is washed from between them and they are upturned at impossible angles. The result is a chaotic mass which by no stretch of imagination can be called a road. Where the stones are still in place they have been worn to such glasslike smoothness by the thousands of passing mules that it is well-nigh impossible to walk upon them. As a result a caravan avoids the paving whenever it can find a path and sometimes dozens of deeply-cut trails wind over the hills beside the road. We are seldom on level ground, for ten per cent of the entire province is mountainous and we soon lost count of the ranges which we crossed. It is slow, hard work, toiling up the steep mountain-sides, but once on the ridges where the country is spread out below us like a great, green relief map, there is a wonderful exhilaration, and we climb higher with a joyous sense of freedom. Yün-nan means "south of the cloud" and every morning the peaks about us are shrouded in fog. Sometimes the veil-like mists still float about the mountain tops when we climb into them, and we are suddenly enveloped in a wet gray blanket which sends us shivering into the coats tied to our saddles. For centuries this road has been one of the main trade arteries through the province, and with the total lack of conservation ideas so characteristic of the Chinese, every available bit of natural forest has been cut away. As a result the mountains are desert wastes of sandstone alternating with grass-covered hills sometimes clothed with groves of pines or spruces. These trees have all been planted, and ere they have reached a height of fifteen or twenty feet will yield to the insistent demand for wood which is ever present with the Chinese. The ignorance of the need of forest conservation is an illuminating commentary on Chinese education. Mr. William Hanna, a missionary of Ta-li Fu, told us that one day he was riding over this same road with a Chinese gentleman, a deep scholar, who was considered one of the best educated men of the province. Pointing to the barren hills washed clean of soil and deeply worn by countless floods, Mr. Hanna remarked that all this could have been prevented, and that instead of a rocky waste there might have been a fertile hillside, had the trees been left to grow. The Chinese scholar listened in amazement to facts which every western schoolboy has learned ere he is twelve years old, but of which he was ignorant because they are not a part of Confucius' teachings. To study modern science is considered a waste of time by the orthodox Chinese for "everything good must be old," and all his life he delves into the past utterly neglectful of the present. Every valley along the road was green with rice fields and this, together with the deforestation of the mountains, is responsible for the almost total lack of animal life. Night after night we set traps about our temple camps only to find them untouched in the morning. There were no mammals with the exception of a few red-bellied squirrels (_Callosciurus erythraeus_ sub sp.) and now and then a tree shrew (_Tupaia belangeri chinensis_). The latter is an interesting species. Although it is an Insectivore, and a relative of the tiny shrews which live in holes and under logs, it has squirrel-like habits and in appearance is like a squirrel to which it is totally unrelated. Instead of the thinly haired mouselike tails of the ordinary shrews the tupaias have developed long bushy tails and in fact look and act so much like squirrels that it is difficult to convince the white residents of Yün-nan, who are accustomed to see them run about the hedges and walls of their courtyards that the two are quite unrelated. The tree shrews are found only in Asia and are one of the most remarkable instances of a superficial resemblance between unrelated animals with similar habits. A study of their anatomy has revealed the fact that they represent a distinct group which is connected with the monkeys (lemurs). Although birds were fairly abundant the species were not varied. We were about a month too early for the ducks and geese, which during the winter swarm into Yün-nan from the north, and without a dog, pheasants are difficult to get. In fact we were greatly disappointed in the game birds, for we had expected good pheasant shooting even along the road and virtually none were to be found. The main caravan roads of Yün-nan held little of interest for us as naturalists, but as students of native customs they were fascinating, for the life of the province passed before us in panoramic completeness. Chinese villages wherever we have seen them are marvels of utter and abandoned filth and although those of Yün-nan are no exception to the rule, they are considerably better than the coast cities. Pigs, chickens, horses and cows live in happy communion with the human inmates of the houses, the pigs especially being treated as we favor dogs at home. On the door steps children play with the swine, patting and pounding them, and one of my friends said that he had actually seen a mother bring her baby to be nursed by a sow with her family of piglets. The natives were pleasant and friendly and seemed to be industrious. Wherever the deforestation had left sufficient soil on the lower hillsides patches of corn took the place of the former poppy fields for opium. In 1906, the Empress Dowager issued an edict prohibiting the growing of opium, and gave guarantees to the British that it would be entirely stamped out during the next ten years. Strangely enough these promises have been faithfully kept, and in Yün-nan the hillsides, which were once white with poppy blossoms, are now yellow with corn. In all our 2000 miles of riding over unfrequented trails and in the most out-of-the-way spots we found only one instance where opium was being cultivated. The mandarin of each district accompanied by a guard of soldiers makes periodical excursions during the seasons when the poppy is in blossom, cuts down the plants if any are found, and punishes the owners. China deserves the greatest credit for so successfully dealing with a question which affects such a large part of her four hundred millions of people and which presents such unusual difficulties because of its economic importance. Just across the frontier in Burma, opium is grown freely and much is smuggled into Yün-nan. Therefore its use has by no means been abandoned, especially in the south of the province, and in some towns it is smoked openly in the tea houses. In August, 1916, just before we reached Yün-nan Fu there was an _exposé_ of opium smuggling which throws an illuminating side light on the corruption of some Chinese officials. Opium can be purchased in Yün-nan Fu for two dollars (Mexican) an ounce, while in Shanghai it is worth ten dollars (Mexican). Tang (the Military Governor), the Minister of Justice, the Governor's brother and three members of Parliament had collected six hundred pounds of opium which they undertook to transfer to Shanghai. Their request that no examination of their baggage be made by the French during their passage through Tonking was granted, and a similar favor was procured for them at Shanghai. Thus the sixty cases were safely landed, but a few hours later, through the opium combine, foreign detectives learned of the smuggling and the boxes were seized. The Minister of Justice denied all knowledge of the opium, as did the three Parliament members, and Governor Tang was not interrogated as that would be quite contrary to the laws of Chinese etiquette; however, he will not receive reappointment when his official term expires. As we neared Ta-li Fu, and indeed along the entire road, we were amazed at the prevalence of goitre. At a conservative estimate two out of every five persons were suffering from the disease, some having two, or even three, globules of uneven size hanging from their throats. In one village six out of seven adults were affected, but apparently children under twelve or fourteen years are free from it as we saw no evidences in either sex. Probably the disease is in a large measure due to the drinking water, for it is most prevalent in the limestone regions and seems to be somewhat localized. Every day we passed "chairs," or as we named them, "mountain schooners," in each of which a fat Chinaman sprawled while two or four sweating coolies bore him up hill. The chair is rigged between a pair of long bamboo poles and consists of two sticks swung by ropes on which is piled a heap of bedding. Overhead a light bamboo frame supports a piece of yellow oilcloth, which completely shuts in the occupant, except from the front and rear. The Chinese consider it undignified to walk, or even to ride, and if one is about to make an official visit nothing less than a four-man chair is required. Haste is just as much tabooed in the "front families" as physical exertion, and is utterly incomprehensible to the Chinese. Major Davies says that while he was in Tonking before the railroad to Yün-nan Fu had been constructed, M. Doumer, the Governor-General of French Indo-China, who was a very energetic man, rode to Yün-nan Fu in an extraordinarily short time. While the Europeans greatly admired his feat, the Chinese believed he must be in some difficulty from which only the immediate assistance of the Viceroy of Yün-nan could extricate him. In Yün-nan it is necessary to carry one's own bedding for the inns supply nothing but food, and consequently when a Chinaman rides from one city to another he piles a great heap of blankets on his horse's back and climbs on top with his legs astride the animal's neck in front. The horses are trained to a rapid trot instead of a gallop, and I know of no more ridiculous sight than a Chinaman bouncing along a road on the summit of a veritable mountain of bedding with his arms waving and streamers flying in every direction. He is assisted in keeping his balance by broad brass stirrups in which he usually hooks his heels and guides his horse by means of a rawhide bridle decorated with dozens of bangles which make a comforting jingle whenever he moves. On the sixth day out when approaching the city of Chu-hsuing Fu we took a short cut through the fields leaving the caravan to follow the main road. The trail brought us to a river about forty feet wide spanned by a bridge made from two narrow planks, with a wide median fissure. We led our horses across without trouble and Heller started to follow. He had reached the center of the bridge when his horse shied at the hole, jumped to one side, hung suspended on his belly for a moment, and toppled off into the water. The performance had all happened behind Heller's back and when he turned about in time to see his horse diving into the river, he stood looking down at him with a most ludicrous expression of surprise and disgust, while the animal climbed out and began to graze as quietly as though nothing had happened. Chu-hsuing was interesting as being the home of Miss Cordelia Morgan, a niece of Senator Morgan of Virginia. We found her to be a most charming and determined young woman who had established a mission station in the city under considerable difficulties. The mandarin and other officials by no means wished to have a foreign lady, alone and unattended, settle down among them and become a responsibility which might cause them endless trouble, and although she had rented a house before she arrived, the owner refused to allow her to move in. She could get no assistance from the mandarin and was forced to live for two months in a dirty Chinese inn, swarming with vermin, until they realized that she was determined not to be driven away. She eventually obtained a house and while she considers herself comfortable, I doubt if others would care to share her life unless they had an equal amount of determination and enthusiasm. At that time she had not placed her work under the charge of a mission board and was carrying it on independently. Until our arrival she had seen but one white person in a year and a half, was living entirely upon Chinese food, and had tasted no butter or milk in months. We had a delightful dinner with Miss Morgan and the next morning as our caravan wound down the long hill past her house she stood at the window to wave good-by. She kept her head behind the curtains, and doubtless if we could have seen her face we would have found tears upon it, for the evening with another woman of her kind had brought to her a breath of the old life which she had resolutely forsaken and which so seldom penetrated to her self-appointed exile. On our ninth day from Yün-nan Fu we had a welcome bit of excitement. We were climbing a long mountain trail to a pass over eight thousand feet high and were near the summit when a boy dashed breathlessly up to the caravan, jabbering wildly in Chinese. It required fifteen minutes of questioning before we finally learned that bandits had attacked a big caravan less than a mile ahead of us and were even then ransacking the loads. He said that there were two hundred and fifty of them and that they had killed two _mafus_; almost immediately a second gesticulating Chinaman appeared and gave the number as three hundred and fifty and the dead as five. Allowing for the universal habit of exaggeration we felt quite sure that there were not more than fifty, and subsequently learned that forty was the correct number and that no one had been killed. Our caravan was in a bad place to resist an attack but we got out our rifles and made for a village at the top of the pass. There were not more than a half dozen mud houses and in the narrow street between them perfect bedlam reigned. Several small caravans had halted to wait for us, and men, horses, loads, and chairs were packed and jammed together so tightly that it seemed impossible ever to extricate them. Our arrival added to the confusion, but leaving the _mafus_ to scream and chatter among themselves, we scouted ahead to learn the true condition of affairs. Almost within sight we found the caravan which had been robbed. Paper and cloth were strewn about, loads overturned, and loose mules wandered over the hillside. The frightened _mafus_ were straggling back and told us that about forty bandits had suddenly surrounded the caravan, shooting and brandishing long knives. Instantly the _mafus_ had run for their lives leaving the brigands to rifle the packs unmolested. The goods chiefly belonged to the retiring mandarin of Li-chiang, and included some five thousand dollars worth of jade and gold dust, all of which was taken. Yün-nan, like most of the outlying provinces of China, is infested with brigands who make traveling very unsafe. There are, of course, organized bands of robbers at all times, but these have been greatly augmented since the rebellion by dismissed soldiers or deserters who have taken to brigandage as the easiest means to avoid starvation. The Chinese Government is totally unable to cope with the situation and makes only half-hearted attempts to punish even the most flagrant robberies, so that unguarded caravans carrying valuable material which arrive at their destination unmolested consider themselves very lucky. So far as our expedition was concerned we did not feel great apprehension for it was generally known that we carried but little money and our equipment, except for guns, could not readily be disposed of. Throughout the entire expedition we paid our _mafus_ and servants a part of their wages in advance when they were engaged, and arranged to have money sent by the mandarins or the British American Tobacco Co., to some large town which would be reached after several months. There the balance on salaries was paid and we carried with us only enough money for our daily needs. Before we left Yün-nan Fu we were assured by the Foreign Office that we would be furnished with a guard of soldiers--an honor few foreigners escape! The first day out we had four, all armed with umbrellas! These accompanied us to the first camp where they delivered their official message to the _yamen_ and intrusted us to the care of others for our next day's journey. Sometimes they were equipped with guns of the vintage of 1872, but their cartridges were seldom of the same caliber as the rifles and in most cases the ubiquitous umbrella was their only weapon. Just what good they would be in a real attack it is difficult to imagine, except to divert attention by breaking the speed limits in running away. Several times in the morning we believed we had escaped them but they always turned up in an hour or two. They were not so much a nuisance as an expense, for custom requires that each be paid twenty cents (Mexican) a day both going and returning. They are of some use in lending an official aspect to an expedition and in requisitioning anything which may be needed; also they act as an insurance policy, for if a caravan is robbed a claim can be entered against the government, whereas if the escort is refused the traveler has no redress. It is amusing and often irritating to see the cavalier way in which these men treat other caravans or the peasants along the road. Waving their arms and shouting oaths they shoo horses, mules or chairs out of the way regardless of the confusion into which the approaching caravan may be thrown. They must also be closely watched for they are none too honest and are prone to rely upon the moral support of foreigners to take whatever they wish without the formality of payment. We were especially careful to respect the property on which we camped and to be just in all our dealings with the natives, but it was sometimes difficult to prevent the _mafus_ or soldiers from tearing down fences for firewood or committing similar depredations. Wherever such acts were discovered we made suitable payment and punished the offenders by deducting a part of their wages. Foreigners cannot respect too carefully the rights of the peasants, for upon their conduct rests the reception which will be accorded to all others who follow in their footsteps. CHAPTER XI TA-LI FU On Friday, September 23, we were at Chou Chou and camped in a picturesque little temple on the outskirts of the town. As the last stage was only six hours we spent half the morning in taking moving pictures of the caravan and left for Ta-li at eleven-thirty after an early _tiffin_. About two o'clock in the afternoon we reached Hsia-kuan, a large commercial town at the lower end of the lake. Its population largely consists of merchants and it is by all means the most important business place of interior Yün-nan; Ta-li, eight miles away, is the residence and official city. At Hsia-kuan we called upon the salt commissioner, Mr. Lui, to whom Mr. Bode, the salt inspector at Yün-nan Fu, had very kindly telegraphed money for my account, and after the usual tea and cigarettes we went on to Ta-li Fu over a perfectly level paved road, which was so slippery that it was well-nigh impossible for either horse or man to move over it faster than a walk. This was the hottest day of our experience in Northern Yün-nan, the thermometer registering 85°+ in the shade, which is the usual mid-summer temperature, but the moment the sun dropped behind the mountains it was cool enough for one to enjoy a fire. Even in the winter it is never very cold and its delightful summer should make Northern Yün-nan a wonderful health resort for the residents of fever-stricken Burma and Tonking. We rode toward Ta-li with the beautiful lake on our right hand and on the other the Ts'ang Shan mountains which rise to a height of fourteen thousand feet. As we approached the city we could see dimly outlined against the foothills the slender shafts of three ancient pagodas. They were erected to the _feng-shui_, the spirits of the "earth, wind, and water," and for fifteen hundred years have stood guard over the stone graves which, in countless thousands, are spread along the foot of the mountains like a vast gray blanket. In the late afternoon sunlight the walls of the city seemed to recede before us and the picturesque gate loomed shadowy and unreal even when we passed through its gloomy arch and clattered up the stone-paved street. We soon discovered the residence of Mr. H.G. Evans, agent of the British American Tobacco Company, to whose care our first caravan had been consigned, and he very hospitably invited us to remain with him while we were in Ta-li Fu. This was only the beginning of Mr. Evans' assistance to the Expedition, for he acted as its banker throughout our stay in Yün-nan, cashing checks and transferring money for us whenever we needed funds. The British American Tobacco Company and the Standard Oil Company of New York are veritable "oases in the desert" for travelers because their agencies are found in the most out-of-the-way spots in Asia and their employees are always ready to extend the cordial hospitality of the East to wandering foreigners. Besides Mr. Evans the white residents of Ta-li Fu include the Reverend William J. Hanna, his wife and two other ladies, all of the China Inland Mission. Mr. Hanna is doing a really splendid work, especially along educational and medical lines. He has built a beautiful little chapel, a large school, and a dispensary in connection with his house, where he and his wife are occupied every morning treating the minor ills of the natives, Christian and heathen alike. Ta-li Fu was the scene of tremendous slaughter at the time of the Mohammedan war, when the Chinese captured the city through the treachery of its commander and turned the streets to rivers of blood. The Mohammedans were almost exterminated, and the ruined stone walls testify to the completeness of the Chinese devastation. The mandarin at Ta-li Fu was good-natured but dissipated and corrupt. He called upon us the evening of our arrival and almost immediately asked if we had any shotgun cartridges. He remarked that he had a gun but no shells, and as we did not offer to give him any he continued to hint broadly at every opportunity. The mandarins of lower rank often buy their posts and depend upon what they can make in "squeeze" from the natives of their district for reimbursement and a profit on their investment. In almost every case which is brought to them for adjustment the decision is withheld until the magistrate has learned which of the parties is prepared to offer the highest price for a settlement in his favor. The Chinese peasant, accepting this as the established custom, pays the bribe without a murmur if it is not too exorbitant and, in fact, would be exceedingly surprised if "justice" were dispensed in any other way. My personal relations with the various mandarins whom I was constantly required to visit officially were always of the pleasantest and I was treated with great courtesy. It was apparent wherever we were in China that there was a total lack of antiforeign feeling in both the peasant and official classes and except for the brigands, who are beyond the law, undoubtedly white men can travel in perfect safety anywhere in the republic. Before my first official visit Wu gave me a lesson in etiquette. The Chinese are exceedingly punctilious and it is necessary to conform to their standards of politeness for they do not realize, or accept in excuse, the fact that Western customs differ from their own. At the end of the reception room in every _yamen_ is a raised platform on which the visitor sits at the _left hand_ of the mandarin; it would be exceedingly rude for a magistrate to seat the caller on his right hand. Tea is always served immediately but is not supposed to be tasted until the official does so himself; the cup must then be lifted to the lips with both hands. Usually when the magistrate sips his tea it is a sign that the interview is ended. When leaving, the mandarin follows his visitor to the doorway of the outer court, while the latter continually bows and protests asking him not to come so far. Ta-li Fu and Hsia-kuan are important fur markets and we spent some time investigating the shops. One important find was the panda (_Aelurus fulgens_). The panda is an aberrant member of the raccoon family but looks rather like a fox; in fact the Chinese call it the "fire fox" because of its beautiful, red fur. Pandas were supposed to be exceedingly rare and we could hardly believe it possible when we saw dozens of coats made from their skins hanging in the fur shops. Skins of the huge red-brown flying squirrel, _Petaruista yunnanensis_, were also used for clothing and the abundance of this animal was almost as great a surprise as the finding of the pandas. This is often true in the case of supposedly rare species. A few specimens may be obtained from the extreme limits of its range, or from a locality where it really is rare, and for years it may be almost unique in museum collections but eventually the proper locality may be visited and the animals found to be abundant. We saw several skins of the beautiful cat (_Felis temmicki_) which, with the snow leopard (_Felis uncia_), it was said came from Tibet. Civets, bears, foxes, and small cats were being used extensively for furs and pangolins could be purchased in the medicine shops. The scales of the pangolin are considered to be of great value in the treatment of certain diseases and the skins are usually sold by the pound as are the horns of deer, wapiti, gorals, and serows. Almost all of the fossil animals which have been obtained in China by foreigners have been purchased in apothecary shops. If a Chinaman discovers a fossil bed he guards it zealously for it represents an actual gold mine to him. The bones are ground into a fine powder, mixed with an acid, and a phosphate obtained which in reality has a certain value as a tonic. When a considerable amount of faith and Chinese superstition is added its efficacy assumes double proportions. Every year a few tiger skins find their way to Hsia-kuan from the southern part of the province along the Tonking border, but the good ones are quickly sold at prices varying from twenty-five to fifty dollars (Mexican). Ten dollars is the usual price for leopard skins. Marco Polo visited Ta-li Fu in the thirteenth century and, among other things, he speaks of the fine horses from this part of the province. We were surprised to find that the animals are considerably larger and more heavily built than those of Yün-nan Fu and appear to be better in every way. A good riding horse can be purchased for seventy-five dollars (Mexican) but mules are worth about one hundred and fifty dollars because they are considered better pack animals. On the advice of men who had traveled much in the interior of Yün-nan we hired our caravan and riding animals instead of buying them outright, and subsequent experience showed the wisdom of this course. Saddle ponies, which are used only for short trips about the city, cannot endure continual traveling over the execrable roads of the interior where often it is impossible to feed them properly. If an entire caravan were purchased the leader of the expedition would have unceasing trouble with the _mafus_ to insure even ordinary care of the animals, an opportunity would be given for endless "squeeze" in the purchase of food, and there are other reasons too numerous to mention why in this province the plan is impracticable. However, the caravan ponies do try one's patience to the limit. They are trained only to follow a leader, and if one happens to be behind another horse it is well-nigh impossible to persuade it to pass. Beat or kick the beast as one will, it only backs up or crowds closely to the horse in front. On the first day out Heller, who was on a particularly bad animal, when trying to pass one of us began to cavort about like a circus rider, prancing from side to side and backward but never going forward. We shouted that we would wait for him to go on but he replied helplessly, "I can't, this horse isn't under my management," and we found very soon that our animals were not under our management either! In a town near Ta-li Fu we were in front of the caravan with Wu and Heller: Wu stopped to buy a basket of mushrooms but his horse refused to move ahead. Beat as he would, the animal only backed in a circle, ours followed, and in a few moments we were packed together so tightly that it was impossible even to dismount. There we sat, helpless, to the huge delight of the villagers until rescued by a _mafu_. As soon as he led Wu's horse forward the others proceeded as quietly as lambs. We paid forty cents (Mexican) a day for each animal while traveling, and fifteen or twenty cents when in camp, but the rate varies somewhat in different parts of the province, and in the west and south, along the Burma border fifty cents is the usual price. When a caravan is engaged the necessary _mafus_ are included and they buy food for themselves and beans and hay for the animals. Ever since leaving Yün-nan Fu the cook we engaged at Paik-hoi had been a source of combined irritation and amusement. He was a lanky, effeminate gentleman who never before had ridden a horse, and who was physically and mentally unable to adapt himself to camp life. After five months in the field he appeared to be as helpless when the caravan camped for the night as when we first started, and he would stand vacantly staring until someone directed him what to do. But he was a good cook, when he wished to exert himself, and had the great asset of knowing a considerable amount of English. While we were in Ta-li Fu Mr. Evans overheard him relating his experiences on the road to several of the other servants. "Of course," said the cook, "it is a fine way to see the country, but the riding! My goodness, that's awful! After the third day I didn't know whether to go on or turn back--I was so sore I couldn't sit down even on a chair to say nothing of a horse!" He had evidently fully made up his mind not to "see the country" that way for the day after we left Ta-li Fu _en route_ to the Tibetan frontier he became violently ill. Although we could find nothing the matter with him he made such a good case for himself that we believed he really was quite sick and treated him accordingly. The following morning, however, he sullenly refused to proceed, and we realized that his illness was of the mind rather than the body. As he had accepted two months' salary in advance and had already sent it to his wife in Paik-hoi, we were in a position to use a certain amount of forceful persuasion which entirely accomplished its object and illness did not trouble him thereafter. The loss of a cook is a serious matter to a large expedition. Good meals and varied food must be provided if the personnel is to work at its highest efficiency and cooking requires a vast amount of thought and time. In Yün-nan natives who can cook foreign food are by no means easy to find and when our Paik-hoi gentleman finally left us upon our return to Ta-li Fu we were fortunate in obtaining an exceedingly competent man to take his place through the good offices of Mr. Hanna. CHAPTER XII LI-CHIANG AND "THE TEMPLE OF THE FLOWERS" We left a part of our outfit with Mr. Evans at Ta-li Fu and with a new caravan of twenty-five animals traveled northward for six days to Li-chiang Fu. By taking a small road we hoped to find good collecting in the pine forests three days from Ta-li, but instead there was a total absence of animal life. The woods were beautiful, parklike stretches which in a country like California would be full of game, but here were silent and deserted. During the fourth and fifth days we were still in the forests, but on the sixth we crossed a pass 10,000 feet high and descended abruptly into a long marshy plain where at the far end were the gray outlines of Li-chiang dimly visible against the mountains. Wu and I galloped ahead to find a temple for our camp, leaving Heller and my wife to follow. A few pages from her journal tell of their entry into the city. We rode along a winding stone causeway and halted on the outskirts of the town to wait until the caravan arrived. Neither Roy nor Wu was in sight but we expected that the _mafus_ would ask where they had gone and follow, for of course we could not speak a word of the language. Already there was quite a sensation as we came down the street, for our sudden appearance seemed to have stupefied the people with amazement. One old lady looked at me with an indescribable expression and uttered what sounded exactly like a long-drawn "Mon Dieu" of disagreeable surprise. I tried smiling at them but they appeared too astonished to appreciate our friendliness and in return merely stared with open mouths and eyes. We halted and immediately the street was blocked by crowds of men, women, and children who poured out of the houses, shops, and cross-streets to gaze in rapt attention. When the caravan arrived we moved on again expecting that the _mafus_ had learned where Roy had gone, but they seemed to be wandering aimlessly through the narrow winding streets. Even though we did not find a camping place we afforded the natives intense delight. I felt as though I were the chief actor in a circus parade at home, but the most remarkable attraction there could not have equaled our unparalleled success in Li-chiang. On the second excursion through the town we passed down a cross-street, and suddenly from a courtyard at the right we heard feminine voices speaking English. "It's a girl. No, it's a boy. No, no, can't you see her hair, it's a girl!" Just then we caught sight of three ladies, unmistakably foreigners although dressed in Chinese costume. They were Mrs. A. Kok, wife of the resident Pentecostal Missionary, and two assistants, who rushed into the street as soon as they had determined my sex and literally "fell upon my neck." They had not seen a white woman since their arrival there four years ago and it seemed to them that I had suddenly dropped from the sky. While we were talking Wu appeared to guide us to the camp. They had chosen a beautiful temple with a flower-filled courtyard on the summit of a hill overlooking the city. It was wonderfully clean and when our beds, tables, and chairs were spread on the broad stone porch it seemed like a real home. The next days were busy ones for us all, Roy and Heller setting traps, and I working at my photography. We let it be known that we would pay well for specimens, and there was an almost uninterrupted procession of men and boys carrying long sticks, on which were strung frogs, rats, toads, and snakes. They would simply beam with triumph and enthusiasm. Our fame spread and more came, bringing the most ridiculous tame things--pigeons, maltese cats, dogs, white rabbits, caged birds, and I even believe we might have purchased a girl baby or two, for mothers stood about with little brown kiddies on their backs as though they really would like to offer them to us but hardly dared. The temple priest was a good looking, smooth-faced chap, and hidden under his coat he brought dozens of skins. I believe that his religious vows did not allow him to handle animals--openly--and so he would beckon Roy into the darkness of the temple with a most mysterious air, and would extract all sorts of things from his sleeves just like a sleight-of-hand performer. He was a rich man when we left! The people are mostly tribesmen--Mosos, Lolos, Tibetans, and many others. The girls wear their hair "bobbed off" in front and with a long plait in back. They wash their hair once--on their wedding day--and then it is wrapped up in turbans for the rest of their lives. The Tibetan women dress their hair in dozens of tiny braids, but I don't believe there is any authority that they ever wash it, or themselves either. Li-chiang was our first collecting camp and we never had a better one. On the morning after our arrival Heller found mammals in half his traps, and in the afternoon we each put out a line of forty traps which brought us fifty mammals of eleven species. This was a wonderful relief after the many days of travel through country devoid of animal life. Our traps contained shrews of two species, meadow voles, Asiatic white-footed mice, spiny mice, rats, squirrels, and tree shrews. The small mammals were exceedingly abundant and easy to catch, but after the first day we began to have difficulty with the natives who stole our traps. We usually marked them with a bit of cotton, and the boys would follow an entire line down a hedge, taking every one. Sometimes they even brought specimens to us for sale which we knew had been caught in our stolen traps! The traps were set under logs and stumps and in the grass where we found the "runways" or paths which mice, rats and voles often make. These animals begin to move about just after dark, and we usually would inspect our traps with a lantern about nine o'clock in the evening. This not only gave the trap a double chance to be filled but we also secured perfect specimens, for such species as mice and shrews are cannibalistic, and almost every night, if the specimens were not taken out early in the evening, several would be partly eaten. Small mammals are often of much greater interest and importance scientifically than large ones, for, especially among the Insectivores, there are many primitive forms which are apparently of ancestral stock and throw light on the evolutionary history of other living groups. Li-chiang is a fur market of considerable importance for the Tibetans bring down vast quantities of skins for sale and trade. Lambs, goats, foxes, cats, civets, pandas, and flying squirrels hang in the shops and there are dozens of fur dressers who do really excellent tanning. This city is a most interesting place especially on market day, for its inhabitants represent many different tribes with but comparatively few Chinese. By far the greatest percentage of natives are the Mosos who are semi-Tibetan in their life and customs. They were originally an independent race who ruled a considerable part of northern Yün-nan, and Li-chiang was their ancient capital. To the effeminate and "highly civilized" Chinese they are "barbarians," but we found them to be simple, honest and wholly delightful people. Many of those whom we met later had never seen a white woman, and yet their inherent decency was in the greatest contrast to that of the Chinese who consider themselves so immeasurably their superior. The Mosos have large herds of sheep and cattle, and this is the one place in the Orient except in large cities along the coast, where we could obtain fresh milk and butter. As with the Tibetans, buttered tea and _tsamba_ (parched oatmeal) are the great essentials, but they also grow quantities of delicious vegetables and fruit. Buttered tea is prepared by churning fresh butter into hot tea until the two have become well mixed. It is then thickened with finely ground _tsamba_ until a ball is formed which is eaten with the fingers. The combination is distinctly good when the ingredients are fresh, but if the butter happens to be rancid the less said of it the better. The natives of this region are largely agriculturists and raise great quantities of squash, turnips, carrots, cabbage, potatoes, onions, corn, peas, beans, oranges, pears, persimmons and nuts. While traveling we filled our saddle pockets with pears and English walnuts or chestnuts and could replenish our stock at almost any village along the road. Everything was absurdly cheap. Eggs were usually about eight cents (Mexican) a dozen, and we could always purchase a chicken for an empty tin can, or two for a bottle. In fact, the latter was the greatest desideratum and when offers of money failed to induce a native to pose for the camera a bottle nearly always would decide matters in our favor. In Li-chiang we learned that there was good shooting only twelve miles north of the city on the Snow Mountain range, the highest peak of which rises 18,000 feet above the sea. We left a part of our outfit at Mr. Kok's house and engaged a caravan of seventeen mules to take us to the hunting grounds. Mr. Kok assisted us in numberless ways while we were in the vicinity of Li-chiang and in other parts of the country. He took charge of all our mail, sending it to us by runners, loaned us money when it was difficult to get cash from Ta-li Fu and helped us to engage servants and caravans. It had rained almost continually for five days and a dense gray curtain of fog hung far down in the valley, but on the morning of October 11 we awoke to find ourselves in another world. We were in a vast amphitheater of encircling mountains, white almost to their bases, rising ridge on ridge, like the foamy billows of a mighty ocean. At the north, silhouetted against the vivid blue of a cloudless sky, towered the great Snow Mountain, its jagged peaks crowned with gold where the morning sun had kissed their summits. We rode toward it across a level rock-strewn plain and watched the fleecy clouds form, and float upward to weave in and out or lose themselves in the vast snow craters beside the glacier. It was an inspiration, that beautiful mountain, lying so white and still in its cradle of dark green trees. Each hour it seemed more wonderful, more dominating in its grandeur, and we were glad to be of the chosen few to look upon its sacred beauty. In the early afternoon we camped in a tiny temple which nestled into a grove of spruce trees on the outskirts of a straggling village. To the north the Snow Mountain rose almost above us, and on the east and south a grassy rock-strewn plain rolled away in gentle undulations to a range of hills which jutted into the valley like a great recumbent dragon. A short time after our camp was established we had a visit from an Austrian botanist, Baron Haendel-Mazzetti, who had been in the village for two weeks. He had come to Yün-nan for the Vienna Museum before the war, expecting to remain a year, but already had been there three. Surrounded as he was by Tibet, Burma, and Tonking, his only possible exit was by way of the four-month overland journey to Shanghai. He had little money and for two years had been living on Chinese food. He dined with us in the evening, and his enjoyment of our coffee, bread, kippered herring, and other canned goods was almost pathetic. A week after our arrival Baron Haendel-Mazzetti left for Yün-nan Fu and eventually reached Shanghai which, however, became a closed port to him upon China's entry into the European war. It is to be hoped that his collections, which must be of great scientific value and importance, have arrived at a place of safety long ere this book issues from the press. CHAPTER XIII CAMPING IN THE CLOUDS We hired four Moso hunters in the Snow Mountain village. They were picturesque fellows, supposedly dressed in skins, but their garments were so ragged and patched that it was difficult to determine the original material of which they were made. One of them was armed with a most extraordinary gun which, it was said, came from Tibet. Its barrel was more than six feet long, and the stock was curved like a golf stick. A powder fuse projected from a hole in the side of the barrel, and just behind it on the butt was fastened a forked spring. At his waist the man carried a long coil of rope, the slowly burning end of which was placed in the crotched spring. When about to shoot the native placed the butt of the weapon against his cheek, pressed the spring so that the burning rope's end touched the powder fuse, and off went the gun. The three other hunters carried crossbows and poisoned arrows. They were remarkably good shots and at a distance of one hundred feet could place an arrow in a six-inch circle four times out of five. We found later that crossbows are in common use throughout the more remote parts of Yün-nan and were only another evidence that we had suddenly dropped back into the Middle Ages and, with our high-power rifles and twentieth century equipment, were anachronisms. The natives are able to obtain a good deal of game even with such primitive weapons for they depend largely upon dogs which bring gorals and serows to bay against a cliff and hold them until the men arrive. The dogs are a mongrel breed which appears to be largely hound, and some are really excellent hunters. White is the usual color but a few are mixed black and brown, or fox red. Hotenfa, one of our Mosos, owned a good pack and we all came to love its big red leader. This fine dog could be depended upon to dig out game if there was any in the mountains, but his life with us was short for he was killed by our first serow. Hotenfa was inconsolable and the tears he shed were in sincere sorrow for the loss of a faithful friend. Almost every family owns a dog. Some of those we saw while passing through Chinese villages were nauseating in their unsightliness, for at least thirty per cent of them were more or less diseased. Barely able to walk, they would stagger across the street or lie in the gutter in indescribable filth. One longed to put them out of their misery with a bullet but, although they seemed to belong to nobody, if one was killed an owner appeared like magic to quarrel over the damages. The dogs of the non-Chinese tribes were in fairly good condition and there seemed to be comparatively little disease among them. Our hunters treated their hounds kindly and fed them well, but the animals themselves, although loyal to their masters, manifested but little affection. In Korea dogs are eaten by the natives, but none of the tribes with which we came in contact in Yün-nan used them for food. On our first day in the temple Heller went up the Snow Mountain for a reconnoissance and the party secured a fine porcupine. It is quite a different animal from the American tree porcupines and represents a genus (_Hystrix_) which is found in Asia, Africa, and southern Europe. This species lives in burrows and, when hunting big game, we were often greatly annoyed to find that our dogs had followed the trail of one of these animals. We would arrive to see the hounds dancing about the burrow yelping excitedly instead of having a goral at bay as we had expected. Some of the beautiful black and ivory white quills are more than twelve inches long and very sharp. A porcupine will keep an entire pack of dogs at bay and is almost sure to drive its murderous weapons into the bodies of some of them unless the hunters arrive in a short time. The Mosos eat the flesh which is white and fine. Although we were only twelve miles from Li-chiang the traps yielded four shrews and one mouse which were new to our collection. The natives brought in three bats which we had not previously seen and began a thriving business in toads and frogs with now and then a snake. The temple was an excellent place for small mammals but it was evident that we would have to move high up on the slopes of the mountain if gorals and other big game were to be obtained. Accordingly, while Heller prepared a number of bat skins we started out on horseback to hunt a camp site. It was a glorious day with the sun shining brilliantly from a cloudless sky and just a touch of autumn snap in the air. We crossed the sloping rock-strewn plain to the base of the mountain, and discovered a trail which led up a forested shoulder to the right of the main peaks. An hour of steady climbing brought us to the summit of the ridge where we struck into the woods toward a snow-field on the opposite slope. The trail led us along the brink of a steep escarpment from which we could look over the valley and away into the blue distance toward Li-chiang. Three thousand feet below us the roof of our temple gleamed from among the sheltering pine trees, and the herds of sheep and cattle massed themselves into moving patches on the smooth brown plain. We pushed our way through the spruce forest with the glistening snow bed as a beacon and suddenly emerged into a flat open meadow overshadowed by the ragged peaks. "What a perfectly wonderful place to camp," we both exclaimed. "If we can only find water, let's come tomorrow." The hunters had assured us that there were no streams on this end of the mountain but we hoped to find a snow bank which would supply our camp for a few days at least. We rode slowly up the meadow reveling in the grandeur of the snow-crowned pinnacles and feeling very small and helpless amid surroundings where nature had so magnificently expressed herself. At the far end of the meadow we discovered a dry creek bed which led upward through the dense spruce forest. "Where water has been, water may be again," we argued and, leading the horses, picked our way among the trees and over fallen logs to a fairly open hill slope where we attempted to ride, but our animals were nearly done. After climbing a few feet they stood with heaving sides and trembling legs, the breath rasping through distended nostrils. We felt the altitude almost as badly as the horses for the meadow itself was twelve thousand feet above the level of the sea and the air was very thin. There seemed to be no hope of finding even a suitable snow bank when it was slowly borne in upon us that the subdued roaring in our ears was the sound of water and not the effect of altitude as we both imagined. Above and to the left was a sheer cliff, hundreds of feet in height, and as we toiled upward and emerged beyond timber line we caught a glimpse of a silver ribbon streaming down its face. It came from a melting snow crater and we could follow its course with our eyes to where it swung downward along a rock wall not far from the upper end of the meadow. It was so hidden by the trees that had we not climbed above timber line, it never would have been discovered. This solved the question of our camp and we looked about us happily. On the way through the forest we had noticed small mammal runways under almost every log and, when we stood above the tree limit, the grassy slope was cut by an intricate network of tiny tunnels. These were plainly the work of a meadow vole (_Microtus_) and at this altitude it certainly would prove to be a species new to our collection. The sun had already dropped behind the mountain and the meadow was in shadow when we reached it again on our homeward way. By five o'clock we were in the temple eating a belated tiffin and making preparations for an early start. But our hopes were idle, for in the morning three of the mules had strayed, and we did not arrive at the meadow until two o'clock in the afternoon. Our camp was made just at the edge of the spruce forest a few hundred yards from the snow stream. As soon as the tents were up we climbed to the grassy slope above timber line, with Heller, to set a string of traps in the vole runways and under logs and stumps in the forest. The hunters made their camp beside a huge rock a short distance away and slept in their ragged clothes without a blanket or shelter of any kind. It was delightfully warm, even at this altitude, when the sun was out, but as soon as it disappeared we needed a fire and the nights were freezing cold; yet the natives did not seem to mind it in the slightest and refused our offer of a canvas tent fly. We never will forget that first night on the Snow Mountain. As we sat at dinner about the campfire we could see the somber mass of the forest losing itself in the darkness, and felt the unseen presence of the mighty peaks standing guard about our mountain home. We slept, breathing the strong, sweet perfume of the spruce trees and dreamed that we two were wandering alone through the forest opening the treasure boxes of the Wild. CHAPTER XIV THE FIRST GORAL We were awakened before daylight by Wu's long drawn call to the hunters, "_L-a-o-u H-o, L-a-o-u H-o, L-a-o-u H-o_." The steady drum of rain on our tent shot a thrill of disappointment through me as I opened my eyes, but before we had crawled out of our sleeping-bags and dressed it lessened to a gentle patter and soon ceased altogether. It left a cold, gray morning with dense clouds weaving in and out among the peaks but, nevertheless, I decided to go out with the hunters to try for goral. Two of the men took the dogs around the base of a high rock shoulder sparsely covered with scrub spruce while I went up the opposite slope accompanied by the other two. We had not been away from camp half an hour when the dogs began to yelp and almost immediately we heard them coming around the summit of the ridge in our direction. The hunters made frantic signs for me to hurry up the steep slope but in the thin air with my heart pounding like a trip hammer I could not go faster than a walk. We climbed about three hundred yards when suddenly the dogs appeared on the side of the cliff near the summit. Just in front of them was a bounding gray form. The mist closed in and we lost both dogs and animals but ten minutes later a blessed gust of wind drifted the fog away and the goral was indistinctly visible with its back to a rock ledge facing the dogs. The big red leader of the pack now and then dashed in for a nip at the animal's throat but was kept at bay by its vicious lunges and sharp horns. It was nearly three hundred yards away but the cloud was drifting in again and I dropped down for a shot. The hunters were running up the slope, frantically waving for me to come on, thinking it madness to shoot at that distance. I could just see the gray form through the sights and the first two shots spattered the loose rock about a foot low. For the third I got a dead rest over a stone and as the crash of the little Mannlicher echoed up the gorge, the goral threw itself into the air whirling over and over onto the rocks below. The hunters, mad with excitement, dashed up the hill and down into the stream bed, and when I arrived the goral lay on a grassy ledge beside the water. The animal was stone dead, for my bullet had passed through its lungs, and, although the front teeth had been smashed on the rocks, its horns were uninjured and the beautiful gray coat was in perfect condition. It so happened that this ram was the largest which we killed on the entire trip. When the hunters were carrying the goral to camp we met Yvette and Heller on their way to visit the traps just below snow line, and she returned with me to photograph the animal and to watch the ceremonies which I knew would be performed. One of the natives cut a leafy branch, placed the goral upon it and at the first cut chanted a prayer. Then laying several leaves one upon the other he sliced off the tip of the heart, wrapped it carefully in the leaves and placed it in a nearby tree as an offering to the God of the Hunt. I have often seen the Chinese and Korean hunters perform similar ceremonies at the death of an animal, and the idea that it is necessary to propitiate the God of the Hunt is universal. When I was shooting in Korea in 1912, and also in other parts of China, if luck had been against us for a few days the hunters would invariably ask me to buy a chicken, or some animal to sacrifice for "good joss." After each dog had had a taste of the goral's blood we again climbed the cliff at the end of the meadow. When we were nearly 2,000 feet above camp the clouds shut in and, as the impenetrable gray curtain wrapped itself about us, we could only sit quietly and wait for it to drift away. After an hour the fog began to thin and the men sent the hounds toward a talus slope at the base of the highest peak. Almost immediately the big red dog picked up a trail and started across the loose rock with the pack yelping at his heels. We followed as rapidly as possible over such hard going but before we reached the other side the dogs had rounded a sharp pinnacle and disappeared far below us. Expecting that the goral would swing about the base of the peak the hunters sent me back across the talus to watch for a shot, but the animal ran down the valley and into a heavily wooded ravine where the dogs lost his trail only a short distance above camp. I returned to find that Heller had secured a rich haul from the traps. As we supposed, the runways which Yvette and I had discovered above timber line were made by a meadow vole (_Microtus_) and in the forest almost every trap had caught a white-footed mouse (_Apodemus_). He also had several new shrews and we caught eight different species of these important little animals at this one camp. Wu, the interpreter, hearing us speak of shrews, came to me one day in great perplexity with his Anglo-Chinese dictionary. He had looked up the word "shrew" and found that it meant "a cantankerous woman!" The following day Heller went out with the hunters and saw two gorals but did not get a shot. In the meantime Yvette and I ran the traps and prepared the small mammals. While we were far up on the mountain-side, Baron Haendel-Mazzetti appeared armed with ropes and an alpine snow ax. He was about to attempt to climb the highest peak which had never been ascended but the drifts turned him back several hundred feet from the summit. He dined at our camp and as all of us carefully refrained from "war talk" we spent a very pleasant evening. During his three years in Yün-nan he had explored and mapped many sections of the province which had not been visited previously by foreigners and from him we obtained much valuable information. On the third morning we were up before daylight and I left with the hunters in the gray dawn. We climbed steadily for an hour after leaving camp and, when well up on the mountain-side, skirted the base of a huge peak through a dense forest of spruce and low bamboo thickets, emerging upon a steep grassy meadow; this abutted on a sheer rock wall at the upper end, and below ran into a thick evergreen forest. As we entered the meadow the big red leading dog, trotted off by himself toward the rock wall above us, and in a few moments we heard his sharp yelps near the summit. Instantly the pack was off stringing out in a long line up the hillside. We had nearly crossed the open slope and were standing on the edge of a deep gully when the dogs gave tongue and as soon as the hunters were sure they were coming in our direction we hurried to the bottom of the gorge and began the sharp ascent on the other side. It was almost straight up and before we had gone a hundred feet we were all gasping for breath and my legs seemed like bars of lead, but the staccato yelps of the dogs sounding closer and closer kept us going. When we finally dropped on the summit of the hill I was absolutely done. I lay flat on my back for a few minutes and got to my knees just as the goral appeared on the opposite cliff. The sight of the magnificent animal bounding like rubber from ledges which his feet seemed hardly to touch down the face of a sheer wall, will remain in my memory as long as I live. He seemed the very spirit of the mountains, a thing born of peaks and crags, vibrant with the breath of the clouds. Selecting a spot which he must touch in the next flying leap, I waited until his body darkened the sights and then pulled the trigger. The game little brute collapsed, then struggled to his feet, and with a tremendous leap landed on a projecting shelf of rock four yards below. Instantly I fired again and he sank down in a crumpled gray mass not two feet from the edge of the precipice which fell away in a dizzy drop of six hundred feet. The dogs were on him long before we had worked our way down the cañon and up to the shelf where he lay. He was a fine ram nearly as large as the first one I had killed. I wanted to rest the dogs for they were very tired from their two days of hunting, so I decided to return to camp with the men. On the way a second goral was started but it swung about the summit of the wooded ridge instead of coming in my direction, giving one of the hunters a shot with his crossbow, which he missed. It was a beautiful day. Above us the sky was clear and blue but the clouds still lay thickly over the meadow and the camp was invisible. The billowy masses clung to the forest line, but from the slopes above them we could look far across the valley into the blue distance where the snow-covered summits of range after range of magnificent mountains lay shining in the sun like beaten silver. There was a strange fascination about those mountains, and I thrilled with the thought that for twelve long months I was free to roam where I willed and explore their hidden mysteries. CHAPTER XV MORE GORALS Both gorals were fine old rams with perfect horns. Their hair was thick and soft, pale olive-buff tipped with brownish, and the legs on the "cannon bones" were buff-yellow like the margins of the throat patches. Their color made them practically invisible against the rocks and when I killed the second goral my only distinct impression as he dashed down the face of the precipice, was of four yellowish legs entirely separated from a body which I could hardly see. This invisibility, combined with the fact that the Snow Mountain gorals lived on almost inaccessible cliffs thickly covered with scrub spruce forest, made "still hunting" impossible. In fact, Baron Haendel-Mazzetti, who had explored this part of the Snow Mountains fairly thoroughly in his search for plants, had never seen a goral, and did not know that such an animal existed there. Heller hunted for two days in succession and, although he saw several gorals, he was not successful in getting one until we had been in camp almost a week. His was a young male not more than a year old with horns about an inch long. It was a valuable addition to our collection for I was anxious to obtain specimens of various ages to be mounted as a "habitat group" in the Museum and we lacked only a female. The preparation of the group required the greatest care and study. First, we selected a proper spot to reproduce in the Museum, and Yvette took a series of natural color photographs to guide the artist in painting the background. Next she made detail photographs of the surroundings. Then we collected portions of the rocks and typical bits of vegetation such as moss and leaves, to be either dried or preserved in formalin. In a large group, perhaps several thousand leaves will be required, but the field naturalist need select typical specimens of only five or six different sizes from each of which a plaster mold can be made at the Museum and the leaves reproduced in wax. After two days of rain during which I had a hard and unsuccessful hunt for serows we decided to return to the temple at the foot of the mountain which was nearer to the forests inhabited by these animals. We had already been in our camp on the meadow for nine days and, besides the gorals, had gathered a large and valuable collection of small mammals. The shrews were especially varied in species and, besides a splendid series of meadow voles, Asiatic mice and rats, we obtained a new weasel and a single specimen of a tiny rock-cony or little chief hare, an Asiatic genus (_Ochotona_) which is also found in the western part of North America on the high slopes of the Rocky Mountains. Although we set dozens of traps among the rocks we did not get another on the entire expedition nor did we see indications of their presence in other localities. The almost complete absence of carnivores at this camp was a great surprise. Except for weasels we saw no others and the hunters said that foxes or civets did not occur on this side of the mountain even though food was abundant. On the day before we went to the temple I had a magnificent hunt. We left camp at daylight in a heavy fog and almost at once the dogs took up a serow trail. We heard them coming toward us as we stood at the upper edge of a little meadow and expected the animal to break cover any moment, but it turned down the mountain and the hounds lost the trail in the thick spruce woods. We climbed slowly toward the cliffs until we were well above the clouds, which lay in a thick white blanket over the camp, and headed for the cañon where I had shot my second goral. Hotenfa wished to go lower down into the forests but I prevailed upon him to stay along the open slopes and, while we were resting, the big red dog suddenly gave tongue on a ridge above and to the right of us. It was in the exact spot where my second goral had been started and we were on the _qui vive_ when the rest of the pack dashed up the mountain-side to join their leader. In a few moments they all gave tongue and we heard them swinging about in our direction. Just then the clouds, which had been lying in a solid bank below us, began to drift upward in a long, thin finger toward the cañon. On and on it came, and closer sounded the yelps of the dogs. I was trembling with impatience and swearing softly as the gray vapor streamed into the gorge. The cloud thickened, sweeping rapidly up the ravine, until we were enveloped so completely that I could hardly see the length of my gun barrel. A moment later we heard the goral leaping down the cliff not a hundred yards away. With the rifle useless in my hands I listened to each hoof beat and the stones which his flying feet sent rattling into the gorge. Then the dogs came past, and we heard them follow down the rocks, their yelps growing fainter and fainter in the valley far below. The goral was lost, and as though the Fates were laughing at us, ten minutes later a puff of wind sucked the cloud out of the cañon as swiftly as it had come, and above us shone a sky as clear and blue as a tropic sea. Hotenfa's disgust more than equaled my own for I had loaned him my three-barrel gun (12 gauge and .303 Savage) and he was as excited as a child with a new toy. He was a remarkably intelligent man and mastered the safety catches in a short time even though he had never before seen a breach-loading gun. There was nothing to do but hurry down the mountain for the dogs might bring the goral to bay on one of the cliffs below us, and in twenty minutes we stood on a ridge which jutted out from the thick spruce forest. One of the hunters picked his way down the rock wall while Hotenfa and I circled the top of the spur. We had not gone a hundred yards when the hunter shouted that a goral was running in our direction. Hotenfa reached the edge of the ridge before me, and I saw him fire with the three-barrel gun at a goral which disappeared into the brush. His bullet struck the dirt only a few feet behind the animal although it must have been well beyond a hundred yards and almost straight below us. Hardly had we drawn back when a yell from the other hunter brought us again to the edge of the cliff just in time to see a second goral dash into the forest a good three hundred yards away in the very bottom of the gorge. Rather disappointed we continued along the ridge and Hotenfa made signs which said as plainly as words, "I told you so. The gorals are not on the peaks but down in the forest. We ought to have come here first." There were not many moments for regret, however, for this was "our busy day." Suddenly a burst of frantic yelps from the red dog turned us off to the left and we heard him nearing the summit of the spur which we had just left. One of the other hunters was standing there and his crossbow twanged as the goral passed only a few yards from him, but the wicked little poisoned dart stuck quivering into a tree a few inches above the animal's back. The goral dashed over the ridge almost on top of the second hunter who was too surprised to shoot and only yelled that it was coming toward us on the cliff below. Hotenfa leaped from rock to rock, almost like a goat himself, and dashed through the bushes toward a jutting shelf which overhung the gorge. We reached the rim at the same moment and saw a huge ram standing on a narrow ledge a hundred yards below. I fired instantly and the noble animal, with feet wide spread, and head thrown back, launched himself into space falling six hundred feet to the rocks beneath us. As the goral leaped Hotenfa seemed suddenly to go insane. Yelling with joy, he threw his arms about my neck, rubbing my face with his and pounding me on the back until I thought he would throw us both off the cliff. I was utterly dumfounded but seized his three-barrel gun to unload it for in his excitement there was imminent danger that he would shoot either himself or me. Then I realized what it was all about. We had both fired simultaneously and neither had heard the other's shot. By mistake Hotenfa had discharged a load of buckshot and it was my bullet which had killed the goral but his joy was so great that I would not for anything have disillusioned him. It was a half hour's hard work to get to the place where the goral had fallen. The dogs were already there lying quietly beside the animal when we arrived. My bullet had entered the back just in front of the hind leg and ranged forward through the lungs flattening itself against the breast bone; the jacket had split, one piece tearing into the heart, so that the ram was probably dead before it struck the rocks. I photographed the goral where it lay and after it had been eviscerated, and the hunters had performed their ceremonies to the God of the Hunt, I sent one of them back with it while Hotenfa and I worked toward the bottom of the cañon in the hope of finding the other animals. It was a delightfully warm day and Hotenfa told me in his vivid sign language that the gorals were likely to be asleep on the sunny side of the ravine; therefore we worked up the opposite slope. It was the hardest kind of climbing and for two hours we plodded steadily upward, clinging by feet and hands to bushes and rocks, and were almost exhausted when we reached a small open patch of grass about two thirds of the way to the summit. We rested for half an hour and, after a light tiffin, toiled on again. I had not gone thirty feet, and Hotenfa was still sitting down, when I saw him wave his arm excitedly and throw up his gun to shoot. I leaped down to his side just as he fired at a big female goral which was sound asleep in an open patch of grass on the mountain-side. Hotenfa's bullet broke the animal's foreleg at the knee but without the slightest sign of injury she dashed down the cliff. I fired as she ran, striking her squarely in the heart, and she pitched headlong into the bushes a hundred feet below. How Hotenfa managed to pack that animal to the summit of the ridge I never can understand, for with a light sack upon my back and a rifle it was all I could do to pull myself up the rocks. He was completely done when we finally threw ourselves on the grass at the edge of the meadow which we had left in the morning. Hotenfa chanted his prayer when we opened the goral, but the God of the Hunt missed his offering for my bullet had smashed the heart to a pulp. On our way back to camp the red dog, although dead tired, disappeared alone into the heavy forest below us. Suddenly we heard his deep bay coming up the hill in our direction. Hotenfa and I dropped our burdens and ran to an opening in the forest where we thought the animal must pass. Instead of coming out where we expected, the dog appeared higher up at the heels of a crested muntjac (_Elaphodus_), which was bounding along at full speed, its white flag standing straight up over its dark bluish back. I had one chance for a shot at about one hundred and fifty yards as the pair crossed a little opening in the trees, but it was too dangerous to shoot for, had I missed the deer, the dog certainly would have been killed. I was heart-broken over losing this animal, for it is an exceedingly rare species, but a few days later a shepherd brought in another which had been wounded by one of our Lolo hunters and had run down into the plains to die. When we reached the hill above camp Yvette ran out to meet us, falling over logs and bushes in her eagerness to see what we were carrying. No dinner which I have ever eaten tasted like the one we had of goral steak that night and after a smoke I crawled into my sleeping bag, dead tired in body but with a happy heart. CHAPTER XVI THE SNOW MOUNTAIN TEMPLE On October 22, we moved to the foot of the mountain and camped in the temple which we had formerly occupied. This was directly below the forests inhabited by serow, and we expected to devote our efforts exclusively toward obtaining a representative series of these animals. Unfortunately I developed a severe infection in the palm of my right hand almost immediately, and had it not been for the devoted care of my wife I should not have left China alive. Through terrible nights of delirium when the poison was threatening to spread over my entire body, she nursed me with an utter disregard of her own health and slept only during a few restless hours of complete exhaustion. For three weeks I could do no work but at last was able to bend my "trigger finger" and resume hunting although I did not entirely recover the use of my hand for several months. However, the work of the expedition by no means ceased because of my illness. Mr. Heller continued to collect small mammals with great energy and the day after we arrived at the temple we engaged eight new native hunters. These were Lolos, a wandering unit from the independent tribe of S'suchuan and they proved to be excellent men. The first serow was killed by Hotenfa's party on our third day in the temple. Heller went out with the hunters but in a few hours returned alone. A short time after he had left the natives the dogs took up the trail of a huge serow and followed it for three miles through the spruce forest. They finally brought the animal to bay against a cliff and a furious fight ensued. One dog was ripped wide open, another received a horn-thrust in the side, and the big red leader was thrown over a cliff to the rocks below. More of the hounds undoubtedly would have been killed had not the hunters arrived and shot the animal. The men brought the serow in late at night but our joy was considerably dampened by the loss of the red dog. Hotenfa carried him in his arms and laid him gently on a blanket in the temple but the splendid animal died during the night. His master cried like a child and I am sure that he felt more real sorrow than he would have shown at the loss of his wife; for wives are much easier to get in China than good hunting dogs. The serow was an adult male, badly scarred from fighting, and had lost one horn by falling over a cliff when he was killed. He was brownish black, with rusty red lower legs and a whitish mane. His right horn was nine and three-quarters inches in length and five and three-quarters inches in circumference at the base and the effectiveness with which he had used his horns against the dogs demonstrated that they were by no means only for ornaments. In the next chapter the habits and relationships of the gorals and serows will be considered more fully. On the morning following the capture of the first serow the last rain of the season began and continued for nine days almost without ceasing. The weather made hunting practically impossible for the fog hung so thickly over the woods that one could not see a hundred feet and Heller found that many of his small traps were sprung by the raindrops. The Lolos had disappeared, and we believed that they had returned to their village, but they had been hunting in spite of the weather and on the fifth day arrived with a fine male serow in perfect condition. It showed a most interesting color variation for, instead of red, the lower legs were buff with hardly a tinge of reddish. November 2, the sun rose in an absolutely cloudless sky and during the remainder of the winter we had as perfect weather as one could wish. Yvette's constant nursing and efficient surgery combined with the devotion of our interpreter, Wu, had checked the spread of the poison in my hand and my nights were no longer haunted with the strange fancies of delirium, but I was as helpless as a babe. I could do nothing but sit with steaming cloths wrapped about my arm and rail at the fate which kept me useless in the temple. The Lolos killed a third serow on the mountain just above our camp but the animal fell into a rock fissure more than a hundred feet deep and was recovered only after a day's hard work. The men wove a swinging ladder from tough vines, climbed down it, and drew the serow bodily up the cliff; as it weighed nearly three hundred pounds this was by no means an easy undertaking. Our Lolo hunters were tall, handsome fellows led by a slender young chief with patrician features who ruled his village like an autocrat with absolute power of life and death. The Lolos are a strange people who at one time probably occupied much of the region south of the Yangtze River but were pushed south and west by the Chinese and, except in one instance, now exist only in scattered units in the provinces of Kwei-chau and Yün-nan. In S'suchuan the Lolos hold a vast territory which is absolutely closed to the Chinese on pain of death and over which they exercise no control. Several expeditions have been launched against the Lolos but all have ended in disaster. Only a few weeks before we arrived in Yün-nan a number of Chinese soldiers butchered nearly a hundred Lolos whom they had encountered outside the independent territory, and in reprisal the Lolos burned several villages almost under the walls of a fortified city in which were five hundred soldiers, massacred all the men and boys, and carried off the women as slaves. The pure blood Lolos "are a very fine tall race, with comparatively fair complexions, and often with straight features, suggesting a mixture of Mongolian with some more straight-featured race. Their appearance marks them as closely connected by race with the eastern Tibetans, the latter being, if anything, rather the bigger men of the two." [Footnote: "Yün-nan, the Link between India and the Yangtze," by Major H.R. Davies, 1909, p. 389.] They are great wanderers and over a very large part of Yün-nan form the bulk of the hill population, being the most numerous of all the non-Chinese tribes in the province. Like almost every race which has been conquered by the Chinese or has come into continual contact with them for a few generations, the Lolos of Yün-nan, where they are in isolated villages, are being absorbed by the Chinese. We found, as did Major Davies, that in some instances they were giving up their language and beginning to talk Chinese even among themselves. The women already had begun to tie up their feet in the Chinese fashion and even disliked to be called Lolos. Those whom we employed were living entirely by hunting and, although we found them amiable enough, they were exceedingly independent. They preferred to hunt alone, although they recognized what an increased chance for game our high-power rifles gave them, and eventually left us while I was away on a short trip, even though we still owed them considerable money. The Lolos are only one of the non-Chinese tribes of Yün-nan. Major Davies has considered this question in his valuable book to which I have already referred, and I cannot do better than quote his remarks here. The numerous non-Chinese tribes that the traveler encounters in western China, form perhaps one of the most interesting features of travel in that country. It is safe to assert that in hardly any other part of the world is there such a large variety of languages and dialects, as are to be heard in the country which lies between Assam and the eastern border of Yün-nan and in the Indo-Chinese countries to the south of this region. The reason of this is not hard to find. It lies in the physical characteristics of the country. It is the high mountain ranges and the deep swift-flowing rivers that have brought about the differences in customs and language, and the innumerable tribal distinctions, which are so perplexing to the enquirer into Indo-Chinese ethnology. A tribe has entered Yün-nan from their original Himalayan or Tibetan home, and after increasing in numbers have found the land they have settled on not equal to their wants. The natural result has been the emigration of part of the colony. The emigrants, having surmounted pathless mountains and crossed unbridged rivers on extemporized rafts, have found a new place to settle in, and have felt no inclination to undertake such a journey again to revisit their old home. Being without a written character in which to preserve their traditions, cut off from all civilizing influence of the outside world, and occupied merely in growing crops enough to support themselves, the recollection of their connection with their original ancestors has died out. It is not then surprising that they should now consider themselves a totally distinct race from the parent stock. Inter-tribal wars, and the practice of slave raiding so common among the wilder members of the Indo-Chinese family, have helped to still further widen the breach. In fact it may be considered remarkable that after being separated for hundreds, and perhaps in some case for thousands, of years, the languages of two distant tribes of the same family should bear to each other the marked general resemblance which is still to be found. The hilly nature of the country and the consequent lack of good means of communication have also naturally militated against the formation of any large kingdoms with effective control over the mountainous districts. Directly we get to a flat country with good roads and navigable rivers, we find the tribal distinctions disappear, and the whole of the inhabitants are welded into a homogeneous people under a settled government, speaking one language. Burmese as heard throughout the Irrawaddy valley is the same everywhere. A traveler from Rangoon to Bhamo will find one language spoken throughout his journey, but an expedition of the same length in the hilly country to the east or to the west of the Irrawaddy valley would bring him into contact with twenty mutually unintelligible tongues. The same state of things applies to Siam and Tong-king--one nation speaking one language in the flat country and a Tower of Babel in the hills (_loc. cit._, pp. 332-333). CHAPTER XVII GORALS AND SEROWS Gorals and serows belong to the subfamily _Rupicaprinae_ which is an early mountain-living offshoot of the _Bovidae_; it also includes the chamois, takin, and the so-called Rocky Mountain goat of America. The animals are commonly referred to as "goat-antelopes" in order to express the intermediate position which they apparently hold between the goats and antelopes. They are also sometimes called the Rupicaprine antelopes from the scientific name of the chamois (_Rupicapra_). The horns of all members of the group are finely ridged, subcylindrical and are present in both sexes, being almost as long in the female as in the male. Although no one would suspect that the gorals are more closely related to the takins than to the serows, which they resemble superficially, such seems to be the case, but the cranial differences between the two genera are to a certain extent bridged over by the skull of the small Japanese serow (_Capricornulus crispus_). This species is most interesting because of its intermediate position. In size it is larger than a goral but smaller than a serow; its long coat and its horns resemble those of a goral but it has the face gland and short tail of a serow. It is found in Japan, Manchuria and southern Siberia. The principal external difference between the gorals and serows, besides that of size, is in the fact that the serows have a short tail and a well developed face gland, which opens in front of the eyes by a small orifice, while the gorals have a long tail and no such gland. In the cylindrical form of their horns the serows are similar to some of the antelopes but in their clumsy build, heavy limbs and stout hoofs as well as in habits they resemble goats. The serow has a long, melancholy-looking face and because of its enormous ears the Chinese in Fukien Province refer to it as the "wild donkey" but in Yün-nan it is called "wild cow." The specific relationships of the serows are by no means satisfactorily determined. Mr. Pocock, Superintendent of the London Zoölogical Society's Gardens, has recently devoted considerable study to the serows of British India and considers them all to be races of the single species _Capricornis sumatrensis_. With this opinion I am inclined to agree, although I have not yet had sufficient time in which to thoroughly study the subject in the light of our new material. These animals differ most strikingly in external coloration, and fall into three groups all of which partake more or less of the characters of each other. Chinese serows usually have the lower legs rusty red, while in Indian races they are whitish, and black in the southern Burma and Malayan forms. The serows which we killed upon the Snow Mountain can probably be referred to _Capricornis sumatrensis milne-edwardsi_, those of Fukien obtained by Mr. Caldwell represent the white-maned serow _Capricornis sumatrensis argyrochaetes_ and one which I shot in May, 1917, near Teng-yueh, not far from the Burma frontier, is apparently an undescribed form. Our specimens have brought out the fact that a remarkable individual variation exists in the color of the legs of these animals; this character was considered to be of diagnostic value, and probably is in some degree, but it is by no means as reliable as it was formerly supposed to be. Two of the serows killed on the Snow Mountain have the lower legs rusty red, while in two others these parts are buff colored. The animals, all males of nearly the same age, were taken on the same mountain, and virtually at the same time. Their skulls exhibit no important differences and there is no reason to believe that they represent anything but an extreme individual variation. The two specimens obtained by Mr. Caldwell at Yen-ping are even more surprising. The old female is coal black, but the young male is distinctly brownish-black with a chestnut stripe from the mane to the tail along the mid-dorsal line where the hairs of the back form a ridge. The horns of the female are nearly parallel for half their extent and approach each other at the tips; their surfaces are remarkably smooth. The horns of the young male diverge like a V from the skull and are very heavily ridged. The latter character is undoubtedly due to youth. These serows are an excellent example of the necessity for collecting a large number of specimens from the same locality. Only by this means is it possible to learn how the species is affected by age, sex and individual variation and what are its really important characters. In the case of the gorals, our Expedition obtained at Hui-yao such a splendid series of all ages that we have an unequaled opportunity for intelligent study. Serows are entirely Asian and found in China, Japan, India, Sumatra and the Malay Peninsula. On the Snow Mountain we found them living singly at altitudes of from 9,000 to 13,000 feet in dense spruce forests, among the cliffs. The animals seemed to be fond of sleeping under overhanging rocks, and we were constantly finding beds which gave evidence of very extensive use. Apparently serows seldom come out into the open, but feed on leaves and grass while in the thickest cover, so that it is almost impossible to kill them without the aid of dogs or beaters. Sometimes a serow will lead the dogs for three or four miles, and eventually lose them or it may turn at bay and fight the pack after only a short chase; a large serow is almost certain to kill several of the hounds if in a favorable position with a rock wall at its back. The animal can use its strong curved horns with deadly effect for it is remarkably agile for a beast of its size. In Fukien we hunted serows on the summit of a high mountain clothed with a dense jungle of dwarf bamboo. It was in quite different country from that which the animals inhabit in Yün-nan for although the cover was exceedingly thick it was without such high cliffs and there were extensive grassy meadows. We did not see any serows in Fukien because of the ignorance of our beaters, although the trails were cut by fresh tracks. The natives said that in late September the animals could often be found in the forests of the lower mountain slopes when they came to browse upon the new grown mushrooms. Mr. Caldwell purchased for us in the market the skin of a splendid female serow and a short time later obtained a young male. The latter was seen swimming across the river just below the city wall and was caught alive by the natives. The female weighed three hundred and ten pounds and the male two hundred and ninety pounds. Serows are rare in captivity and are said to be rather dangerous pets unless tamed when very young. We are reproducing a photograph taken and kindly loaned by Mr. Herbert Lang, of one formerly living in the Berlin Zoölogical Garden; we saw a serow in the Zoölogical Park at Calcutta and one from Darjeeling is owned by the London Zoölogical Society. Gorals are pretty little animals of the size of the chamois. The species which we killed on the Snow Mountain can probably be referred to _Naemorhedus griseus_, but I have not yet had an opportunity to study our specimens carefully. Unlike the serows these gorals have blackish brown tails which from the roots to the end of the hairs measure about 10 inches in length. The horns of both sexes are prominently ridged for the basal half of their length and perfectly smooth distally. The male horns are strongly recurved and are thick and round at the base but narrow rapidly to the tips; the female horns are straighter and more slender. The longest horns in the series which we received measured six inches in length and three and three-quarters inches in circumference at the base. Like the serows, gorals are confined to Asia and are found in northern India, Burma, and China, and northwards through Korea and southern Manchuria. We hunted gorals with dogs on the Snow Mountain for in this particular region they could be killed in no other way. There was so much cover, even at altitudes of from 12,000 to 15,000 feet and the rocks were so precipitous, that a man might spend a month "still hunting" and never see a goral. They are vicious fighters, and often back up to a cliff where they can keep the dogs at a distance. One of our best hounds while hunting alone, brought a goral to bay and was found dead next day by the hunters with its side ripped open. On the Snow Mountain we found the animals singly but at Hui-yao, not far from the Burma frontier, where we hunted another species in the spring, they were almost universally in herds of from six to seven or eight. It was at the latter place that we had our best opportunity to observe gorals and learn something of their habits. We were camping on the banks of a branch of the Shwelie River, which had cut a narrow gorge for itself; on one side this was seven or eight hundred feet deep. A herd of about fifty gorals had been living for many years on one of the mountain sides not far from the village, and although they were seen constantly the natives had no weapons with which to kill them; but with our high-power rifles it was possible to shoot across the river at distances of from two hundred to four hundred yards. We could scan every inch of the hillside through our field glasses and watch the gorals as they moved about quite unconscious of our presence. At this place they were feeding almost exclusively upon the leaves of low bushes and the new grass which had sprung up where the slopes had been partly burned over. We found them browsing from daylight until about nine o'clock, and from four in the afternoon until dark. They would move slowly among the bushes, picking off the new leaves, and usually about the middle of the morning would choose a place where the sun beat in warmly upon the rocks, and go to sleep. Strangely enough they did not lie down on their sides, as do many hoofed animals, but doubled their forelegs under them, stretched their necks and hind legs straight out, and rested on their bellies. It was a most uncomfortable looking attitude, and the first time I saw an animal resting thus I thought it had been wounded, but both Mr. Heller and myself saw them repeatedly at other times, and realized that this was their natural position when asleep. When frightened, like our own mountain sheep or goats, they would run a short distance and stop to look back. This was usually their undoing, for they offered excellent targets as they stood silhouetted against the sky. They were very difficult to see when lying down among the rocks, but our native hunters, who had most extraordinary eyesight, often would discover them when it was almost impossible for me to find them even with the field glasses. We never could be sure that there were no gorals on a mountainside, for they were adepts at hiding, and made use of a bunch of grass or the smallest crevice in a rock to conceal themselves, and did it so completely that they seemed to have vanished from the earth. Like all sheep and goats, they could climb about where it seemed impossible for any animal to move. I have seen a goral run down the face of a cliff which appeared to be almost perpendicular, and where the dogs dared not venture. As the animal landed on a projecting rock it would bounce off as though made of rubber, and leap eight or ten feet to a narrow ledge which did not seem large enough to support a rabbit. The ability to travel down such precipitous cliffs is largely due to the animal's foot structure. Professor Henry Fairfield Osborn has investigated this matter in the mountain goat and as his remarks apply almost equally well to the goral, I cannot do better than quote them here: The horny part of the foot surrounds only the extreme front. Behind this crescentic horn is a shallow concavity which gives the horny hoof a chance to get its hold. Both the main digits and the dewclaws terminate in black, rubber-like, rounded and expanded soles, which are of great service in securing a firm footing on the shelving rocks and narrow ledges on which the animal travels with such ease. This sole, Smith states, softens in the spring of the year, when the snow is leaving the ground, a fresh layer of the integument taking its place. The rubber-like balls with which the dewclaws are provided are by no means useless; they project back below the horny part of the hoof, and Mr. Smith has actually observed the young captive goats supporting themselves solely on their dewclaws on the edge of a roof. It is probable that they are similarly used on the rocks and precipices, since on a very narrow ledge they would serve favorably to alter the center of gravity by enabling the limb to be extended somewhat farther forward. [Footnote: "Mountain Goat Hunting with the Camera," by Henry Fairfield Osborn. Reprinted from the tenth _Annual Report of the New York Zoölogical Society_, 1906, pp. 13-14.] There were certain trails leading over the hill slopes at Hui-yao which the gorals must have used continually, judging by the way in which these were worn. We also found much sign beneath overhanging rocks and on projecting ledges to indicate that these were definite resorts for numbers of the animals. Many which we saw were young or of varying ages running with the herds, and it was interesting to see how perfectly they had mastered the art of self-concealment even when hardly a year old. Although at Hui-yao almost all were on the east side of the river, they did not seem to be especially averse to water, and several times I watched wounded animals swim across the stream. Gorals are splendid game animals, for the plucky little brutes inspire the sportsman with admiration, besides leading him over peaks which try his nerve to the utmost, and I number among the happiest hours of my life the wonderful hunts in Yün-nan, far above the clouds, at the edge of the snow. CHAPTER XVIII THE "WHITE WATER" _Y.B.A._ October had slipped into November when we left the temple and shifted camp to the other side of the Snow Mountain at the "White Water." It was a brilliant day and the ride up the valley could not have been more beautiful. Crossing the _gangheisa_ or "dry sea," a great grassy plain which was evidently a dry lake basin, we followed the trail into the forest and down the side of a deep cañon to a mountain stream where the waters spread themselves in a thin, green veil over a bed of white stones. We pitched our tents on a broad terrace beside the stream at the edge of the spruce forest. Above us towered the highest peak of the mountain, with a glacier nestling in a basin near its summit, and the snow-covered slopes extending in a glorious shining crescent about our camp. The moon was full, and each night as we sat at dinner before the fire, the ragged peaks turned crimson in the afterglow of the sun, and changed to purest silver at the touch of the white moonlight. We have had many camps in many lands but none more beautiful than the one at the "White Water." The weather was perfect. Every day the sun shone in a cloudless blue sky and in the morning the ground was frozen hard and covered with snowlike frost, but the air was marvelously stimulating. We felt that we could be happy at the "White Water" forever, but it did not prove to be as good a hunting ground as that on the other side of the mountain. The Lolos killed a fine serow on the first day and Hotenfa brought in a young goral a short time later, but big game was by no means abundant. At the "White Water" we obtained our first Lady Amherst's pheasant (_Thaumalea amherstiae_) one of the most remarkable species of a family containing the most beautiful birds of the world. The rainbow colored body and long tail of the male are made more conspicuous by a broad white and green ruff about the neck. The first birds brought alive to England were two males which had been presented to the Countess Amherst after whom the species was named. We found this pheasant inhabiting thick forests where it is by no means easy to discover or shoot. It is fairly abundant in Yün-nan, Eastern Tibet and S'suchuan but its habits are not well known. Although the camp yielded several small mammals new to our collection, we decided to go into Li-chiang to engage a new caravan for our trip across the Yangtze River while Heller remained in camp. The direct road to Li-chiang was considerably shorter than by way of the Snow Mountain village and at three o'clock in the afternoon our beloved "Temple of the Flowers" was visible on the hilltop overlooking the city. As we rode up the steep ascent we saw a picturesque gathering on the porch and heard the sound of many voices laughing and talking. The beautiful garden-like courtyard was filled with women and children of every age and description, and all the doors from one side of the temple had been removed, leaving a large open space where huge caldrons were boiling and steaming. We sat down irresolutely on the inner porch but the young priest was delighted to see us and insisted that we wait until Wu arrived. We were glad that we did not seek other quarters for we were to witness an interesting ceremony, which is most characteristic of Chinese life. It seemed that about five years before a gentleman of Li-chiang had "shuffled off this mortal coil." His soul may have found rest, but "his mortal coil" certainly did not. Unfortunately his family inherited a few hundred dollars several years later and the village "astrologer" informed them that according to the _feng-shui_, or omnipotent spirits of the earth, wind, and water, the situation of the deceased gentleman's grave was ill-chosen and that if they ever hoped to enjoy good fortune again they must dig him up, give the customary feast in his honor and have another burial site chosen. Every village has a "wise man" who is always called upon to select the resting place of the dead, his remuneration varying from two dollars to two thousand dollars according to the circumstances of the deceased's relatives. The astrologer never will say definitely whether or not the spot will prove a propitious one and if the family later sell any property, receive a legacy, or are known to have obtained money in other ways, the astrologer usually finds that the _feng-shui_ do not favor the original place and he will exact another fee for choosing a second grave. The dead are never buried until the astrologer has named an auspicious day as well as an appropriate site, with the result that unburied coffins are to be seen in temples, under roadside shelters, in the fields and in the back yards of many houses. Any interference by foreigners with this custom is liable to bring about dire results as in the case of the rioting in Shanghai in 1898. A number of French residents objected to a temple near by being used to store a score or more of bodies until a convenient time for burial and the result was the death of many people in the fighting which ensued. Mr. Tyler Dennet cites an amusing anecdote regarding the successful handling of the problem by a native mandarin in Yen-ping where we visited Mr. Caldwell: The doctor pointed out how dangerous to public health was the presence of these coffins in Yen-ping. The magistrate had a census taken of the coffins above ground in the city and found that they actually numbered sixteen thousand. The city itself is estimated to have only about twenty thousand inhabitants. It was a difficult problem for the magistrate. He might easily move in such a way as to bring the whole city down about his head. But the Chinese are clever in such situations, perhaps the cleverest people on earth. He finally devised a way out. A proclamation was issued levying a tax of fifty cents on every unburied coffin. The Chinese may be superstitious, but they are even more thrifty. For a few weeks Yen-ping devoted itself to funerals, a thousand a week, and now this little city, one of the most isolated in China, can truly be said to be on the road to health. [Footnote: "Doctoring China," by Tyler Dennet, _Asia_, February, 1918, p. 114.] There are very few such progressive cities in China, however, and a missionary told us that recently a young child and his grandfather were buried on the same day although their deaths had been nearly fifty years apart. The funeral rites are in themselves fairly simple, but it is the great ambition of every Chinese to have his resting place as near as possible to those of his ancestors. That is one of the reasons why they are so loath to emigrate. We often passed eight or ten coolies staggering under the load of a heavy coffin, transporting a body sometimes a month's journey or more to bury it at the dead man's birthplace. A rooster usually would be fastened to the coffin for, according to the Yün-nan superstition, the spirit of the man enters the bird and is conveyed by it to his home. There is a strange absence of the fear of death among the Chinese. One often sees large planks of wood stored in a corner of a house and one is told that these are destined to become the coffins of the man's father or mother, even though his parents may at the time be enjoying the most robust health. Indeed, among the poorer classes, a coffin is considered a most fitting gift for a son to present to his father. We established our camp on the porch of the temple at Li-chiang and from its vantage point could watch the festivities going on about us. The feasting continued until after dark and at daylight the kettles were again steaming to prepare for the second day's celebration. By ten o'clock the court was crowded and a hour later there came a partial stillness which was broken by a sudden burst of music (?) from Chinese violins and pipes. Going outside we found most of the guests standing about an improvised altar. The foot of the coffin was just visible in the midst of the paper decorations and in front of it were set half a dozen dishes of tempting food. These were meant as an offering to the spirit of the departed one, but we knew this would not prevent the sorrowing relatives from eating the food with much relish later on. In a few moments a group of women approached, supporting a figure clothed in white with a hood drawn over her face. She was bent nearly to the ground and muffled shrieks and wails came from the depths of her veil as she prostrated herself in front of the altar. For more than an hour this chief mourner, the wife of the deceased, lay on her face, her whole figure shaking with what seemed the most uncontrollable anguish. This same lady, however, moved about later among her guests an amiable hostess, with beaming countenance, the gayest of the gay. But every morning while the festivities lasted, promptly at eleven o'clock she would prostrate herself before the coffin and display heartrending grief in the presence of the unmoved spectators in order to satisfy the demands of "custom." Custom and precedent have grown to be divinities with the Chinese, and such a display of feigned emotion is required on certain prescribed occasions. As one missionary aptly described it "the Chinese are all face and no heart." Mr. Caldwell told us that one night while passing down a deserted street in a Chinese village he was startled to hear the most piercing shrieks issuing from a house nearby. Thinking someone was being murdered, he rushed through the courtyard only to find that a girl who was to be married the following day, according to Chinese custom, was displaying the most desperate anguish at the prospect of leaving her family, even though she probably was enchanted with the idea. On the third day of the celebration in the temple at Li-chiang the feasting ended in a burst of splendor. From one o'clock until far past sundown the friends and relatives of the departed one were fed. Any person could receive an invitation by bringing a small present, even if it were only a bowl of rice or a few hundred cash (ten or fifteen cents). All during the morning girls and women flocked up the hill with trays of gifts. There were many Mosos and other tribesmen among them as well as Chinese. The Moso girls wore their black hair cut short on the sides and hanging in long narrow plaits down their backs. They wore white leather capes (at least that was the original shade) and pretty ornaments of silver and coral at their throats, and as they were young and gay with glowing red cheeks and laughing eyes they were decidedly attractive. The guests were seated in groups of six on the stones of the temple courtyard. Small boys acted as waiters, passing about steaming bowls of vegetables and huge straw platters heaped high with rice. As soon as each guest had stuffed himself to satisfaction he relinquished his place to someone else and the food was passed again. We were frequently pressed to eat with them and in the evening when the last guest had departed the "chief mourner" brought us some delicious fruit candied in black sugar. She told Wu that they had fed three hundred people during the day and we could well believe it. The next morning the coffin was carried down the hill to the accompaniment of anguished wails and we were left once more to the peace and quiet of our beautiful temple courtyard. Sometimes a family will plunge itself into debt for generations to come to provide a suitable funeral for one of its members, because to bury the dead without the proper display would not only be to "lose face" but subject them to the possible persecution of the angered spirits. This is only one of the pernicious results of ancestor worship and it is safe to say that most of the evils in China's social order today can be traced, directly or indirectly, to this unfortunate practice. A man's chief concern is to leave male descendants to worship at his grave and appease his spirit. The more sons, grandsons, and great-grandsons who walk in his funeral procession, the more he is to be envied. As a missionary humorously says "the only law of God that ever has been obeyed in China is to be fruitful and multiply." Craving for progeny has brought into existence thousands upon thousands of human beings who exist on the very brink of starvation. Nowhere in the civilized world is there a more sordid and desperate struggle to maintain life or a more hopeless poverty. But fear and self-love oblige them to continue their blind breeding. The apparent atrophy of the entire race is due to ancestor worship which binds it with chains of iron to its dead and to its past, and not until these bonds are severed can China expect to take her place among the progressive nations of the earth. CHAPTER XIX ACROSS THE YANGTZE GORGE In mid-November we left the White Water with a caravan of twenty-six mules and horses. Following the road from Li-chiang to the Yangtze, we crossed the "Black Water" and climbed steadily upward over several tremendous wooded ridges, each higher than the last, to the summit of the divide. The descent was gradual through a magnificent pine and spruce forest. Some of the trees were at least one hundred and fifty feet high, and were draped with beautiful gray moss which had looped itself from branch to branch and hung suspended in delicate streamers yards in length. The forest was choked with underbrush and a dense growth of dwarf bamboo, and the hundreds of fallen logs, carpeted with bronze moss, made ideal conditions for small mammal collecting. However, as all the species would probably be similar to those we had obtained on the Snow Mountain, we did not feel that it was worth while stopping to trap. At four-thirty in the afternoon we camped upon a beautiful hill in a pine forest which was absolutely devoid of underbrush, and where the floor was thinly overlaid with brown pine needles. Although the Moso hunter, who acted as our guide, assured us that the river was only three miles away, it proved to be more than fifteen, and we did not reach the ferry until half past one the next afternoon. We were continually annoyed, as every traveler in China is, by the inaccuracy of the natives, and especially of the Chinese. Their ideas of distance are most extraordinary. One may ask a Chinaman how far it is to a certain village and he will blandly reply, "Fifteen _li_ to go, but thirty _li_ when you come back." After a short experience one learns how to interpret such an answer, for it means that when going the road is down hill and that the return uphill will require double the time. Caravans are supposed to travel ten _li_ an hour, although they seldom do more than eight, and all calculations of distance are based upon time so far as the _mafus_ are concerned. If the day's march is eight hours you invariably will be informed that the distance is eighty _li_, although in reality it may not be half as great. In "Chinese Characteristics," Dr. Arthur H. Smith gives many illuminating observations on the inaccuracy of the Chinese. In regard to distance he says: It is always necessary in land travel to ascertain, when the distance is given in "miles" (_li_), whether the "miles" are "large" or not! That there is _some_ basis for estimates of distances we do not deny, but what we do deny is that these estimates or measurements are either accurate or uniform. It is, so far as we know, a universal experience that the moment one leaves a great imperial highway the "miles" become "long." If 120 _li_ constitute a fair day's journey on the main road, then on country roads it will take fully as long to go 100 _li_, and in the mountains the whole day will be spent in getting over 80 _li_ (p. 51). In like manner, a farmer who is asked the weight of one of his oxen gives a figure which seems much too low, until he explains that he has omitted to estimate the bones! A servant who was asked his height mentioned a measure which was ridiculously inadequate to cover his length, and upon being questioned admitted that he had left out of account all above his shoulders! He had once been a soldier, where the height of the men's clavicle is important in assigning the carrying of burdens. And since a Chinese soldier is to all practical purposes complete without his head, this was omitted. Of a different sort was the measurement of a rustic who affirmed that he lived "ninety _li_ from the city," but upon cross-examination he consented to an abatement, as this was reckoning both to the city and back, the real distance being as he admitted, only "forty-five _li_ one way!" (p. 49) ... The habit of reckoning by "tens" is deep-seated, and leads to much vagueness. A few people are "ten or twenty," a "few tens," or perhaps "ever so many tens," and a strictly accurate enumeration is one of the rarest of experiences in China.... An acquaintance told the writer that two men had spent "200 strings of cash" on a theatrical exhibition, adding a moment later, "It was 173 strings, but that is the same as 200--is it not?" (p. 54). A man who wished advice in a lawsuit told the writer that he himself "lived" in a particular village, though it was obvious from his narrative that his abode was in the suburbs of a city. Upon inquiry, he admitted that he did not _now_ live in the village, and further investigation revealed the fact that the removal took place nineteen generations ago! "But do you not almost consider yourself a resident of the city now?" he was asked. "Yes," he replied simply, "we do live there now, but the old root is in that village." ...The whole Chinese system of thinking is based on a line of assumptions different from those to which we are accustomed, and they can ill comprehend the mania which seems to possess the Occidental to ascertain everything with unerring exactness. The Chinese does not know how many families there are in his native village, and he does not wish to know. What any human being can want to know this number for is to him an insoluble riddle. It is "a few hundred," "several hundreds," or "not a few," but a fixed and definite number it never was and never will be. (p. 55.) After breaking camp on the day following our departure from the "White Water" we rode along a broad trail through a beautiful pine forest and in the late morning stood on an open summit gazing on one of the most impressive sights which China has to offer. At the left, and a thousand feet below, the mighty Yangtze has broken through the mountains in a gorge almost a mile deep; a gorge which seems to have been carved out of the solid rock, sharp and clean, with a giant's knife. A few miles to the right the mountains widen, leaving a flat plain two hundred feet above the river. Every inch of it, as well as the finger-like valleys which stretch upward between the hills, is under cultivation, giving support for three villages, the largest of which is Taku. The ferry is in a bad place but it is the only spot for miles where the river can be crossed. The south bank is so precipitous that the trail from the plain twists and turns like a snake before it emerges upon a narrow sand and gravel beach. The opposite side of the river is a vertical wall of rock which slopes back a little at the lower end to form a steep hillside covered with short grass. The landing place is a mass of jagged rocks fronting a small patch of still water and the trail up the face of the cliff is so steep that it cannot be climbed by any loaded animal; therefore all the packs must be unstrapped and laboriously carted up the slope on the backs of the _mafus_. At two-thirty in the afternoon we were loading the boat, which carried only two animals and their packs, for the first trip across the river. It was difficult to get the mules aboard for they had to be whipped, shoved and actually lifted bodily into the dory. One of the ferrymen first drew the craft along the rocks by a long rope, then climbed up the face of what appeared to be an absolutely flat wall, and after pulling the boat close beneath him, slid down into it. In this way the dory was worked well up stream and when pushed into the swift current was rowed diagonally to the other side. After four loads had been taken over, the boatmen decided to stop work although there was yet more than an hour of daylight and they could not be persuaded to cross again by either threats or coaxing. It was an uncomfortable situation but there was nothing to do but camp where we were even though the greater part of our baggage was on the other side, with only the _mafus_ to guard it, and therefore open to robbery. About a third of a mile from the ferry we found a sandy cornfield on a level shelf just above the water, and pitched our tents. A slight wind was blowing and before long we had sand in our shoes, sand in our beds, sand in our clothes, and we were eating sand. Heller went down the river with a bag of traps while we set forty on the hills above camp, and after a supper of goral steak, which did much to allay the irritation of the day, we crawled into our sandy beds. At daylight Hotenfa visited the ferry and reported that the loads were safe but that one of the boatmen had gone to the village and no one knew when he would return. We went to the river with Wu as soon as breakfast was over and spent an aggravating hour trying by alternate threats and cajoling to persuade the remaining ferryman to cross the river to us. But it was useless, for the louder I swore the more frightened he became and he finally retired into a rock cave from which the _mafus_ had to drag him out bodily and drive him into the boat. The second boatman ambled slowly in about ten o'clock and we felt like beating them both, but Wu impressed upon us the necessity for patience if we ever expected to get our caravan across and we swallowed our wrath; nevertheless, we decided not to leave until the loads and mules were on the other side, and we ate a cold tiffin while sitting on the sand. Heller employed his time by skinning the twenty small mammals (one of which was a new rat) that our traps had yielded. We took a good many photographs and several rolls of "movie" film showing the efforts of the _mafus_ to get the mules aboard. Some of them went in quietly enough but others absolutely refused to step into the boat. One of the _mafus_ would pull, another push, a third twist the animal's tail and a fourth lift its feet singly over the side. With the accompaniment of yells, kicks, and Chinese oaths the performance was picturesque to say the least. By five o'clock the entire caravan had been taken across the racing green water and we had some time before dark in which to investigate the caverns with which the cliffs above the river are honeycombed. They were of two kinds, gold quarries and dwelling caves. The latter consist of a long central shaft, just high enough to allow a man to stand erect; this widens into a circular room. Along the sides of the corridor shallow nests have been scooped out to serve as beds and all the cooking is done not far from the door. The caves, although almost dark, make fairly comfortable living quarters and are by no means as dirty or as evil smelling as the ordinary native house. The mines are straight shafts dug into the cliffs where the rock is quarried and crushed by hand. CHAPTER XX THROUGH UNMAPPED COUNTRY We left the Taku ferry by way of a steep trail through an open pine and spruce forest along the rim of the Yangtze gorge where the view was magnificent. Someone has said that when a tourist sees the Grand Cañon for the first time he gasps "Indescribable" and then immediately begins to describe it. Thus it was with us, but no words can picture the grandeur of this titanic chasm. In places the rocks were painted in delicate tints of blue and purple; in others, the sides fell away in sheer drops of hundreds of feet to the green torrent below rushing on to the sea two thousand five hundred miles away. The caravan wound along the edge of the gorge all day and we were left far behind, for at each turn a view more beautiful than the last opened out before us, and until every color plate and negative in the holders had been exposed we worked steadily with the camera. We were traveling northwestward through an unmapped region which Baron Haendel-Mazzetti had skirted and reported to be one of vast forests and probably rich in game. After six hours of riding over almost bare mountain-sides we passed through a parklike spruce forest and reached Habala, a long thin village of mud and stone houses scattered up the sides of a narrow valley. Above and to the left of the village rose ridge after ridge of dense spruce forest overshadowed by a snow-crowned peak and cut by deep ravines, the gloomy depths of which yielded fascinating glimpses of rocky cliffs--a veritable paradise for serow and goral. Our camping place was a grassy lawn as flat and smooth as the putting green of a golf course. Just below the tents a streamlet of ice-cold water murmured comfortably to itself and a huge dead tree was lying crushed and broken for the camp fire. The boys turned the beautiful spot into "home" in half an hour and, after setting a line of traps, we wandered slowly back through the darkness guided by the brilliant flames of the fires which threw a warm yellow glow over our little table spread for dinner. We sent men to the village to bring in hunters and after dinner four or five picturesque Mosos appeared. They said that there were many serow, goral, muntjac and some wapiti in the forests above the village, and we could well believe it, for there was never a more "likely looking" spot. Although the men did not claim to be professional hunters, nevertheless they said that they had good dogs and had killed many muntjac and other animals. They agreed to come at daylight and arrived about two hours late, which was doing fairly well for natives. It was a brilliant day just warm enough for comfort in the sun and we left camp with high hopes. However it did not take many hours to demonstrate that the men knew almost nothing about hunting and that their dogs were useless. Because of the dense cover "still hunting" was out of the question and, after a hard climb, we returned to camp to spend the remainder of the afternoon developing photographs and preparing small mammals. Our traps had yielded three new shrews and a silver mole as well as a number of mice, rats, and meadow voles of species identical with those taken on the Snow Mountain. It was evident, therefore, that the Yangtze River does not act as an effective barrier to the distribution of even the smallest forms and that the region in which we were now working would not produce a different fauna. This was an important discovery from the standpoint of our distribution records but was also somewhat disappointing. The photographic work already had yielded excellent results. The Paget color plates were especially beautiful and the fact that everything was developed in the field gave us an opportunity to check the quality of each negative. For this work the portable dark room was invaluable. It could be quickly erected and suspended from a tree branch or the rafters of a temple and offered an absolutely safe place in which to develop or load plates. The moving-picture film required special treatment because of its size and we usually fastened in the servants' tent the red lining which had been made for this purpose in New York. Even then the space was so cramped that we were dead tired at the end of a few hours' work. One who sits comfortably in a theater or hall and sees moving-picture film which has been obtained in such remote parts of the world does not realize the difficulties in its preparation. The water for developing almost invariably was dirty and in order to insure even a moderately clear film it always had to be strained. For washing the negative pailful after pailful had to be carried sometimes from a very long distance, and the film exposed for hours to the carelessness or curiosity of the natives. In our cramped quarters perhaps a corner of the tent would be pushed open admitting a stream of light; the electric flash lamp might refuse to work, leaving us in complete darkness to finish the developing "by guess and by gosh," or any number of other accidents occur to ruin the film. At most we could not develop more than three hundred feet in an afternoon and we never breathed freely until it finally was dried and safely stored away in the tin cans. We left Habala, on November 23, for a village called Phete where the natives had assured us we would find good hunters with dogs. For almost the entire distance the road skirted the rim of the Yangtze gorge and there the view of the great chasm was even more magnificent than that we had left. While its sides are not fantastically sculptured and the colors are softer than those of the Grand Cañon of the Colorado, nevertheless its grandeur is hardly less imposing and awe-inspiring. If Yün-nan is ever made accessible by railroads this gorge should become a Mecca for tourists, for it is without doubt one of the most remarkable natural sights in the world. About two o'clock in the afternoon we saw three clusters of houses on a tableland which juts into a chasm cut by a tributary of the great river. One of them was Phete and it seemed that we would reach the village in half an hour at least, but the road wound so tortuously around the hillside, down to the stream and up again that it was an hour and a half before we found a camping place on a narrow terrace a short distance from the nearest houses. Next day we could not go to the village to find hunters until mid-forenoon because the natives of this region are very late risers and often have not yet opened their doors at ten o'clock. This is quite contrary to the custom in many other parts of China where the inhabitants are about their work in the first light of dawn. The hills above Phete are bare or thinly forested and every available inch of level ground is under cultivation with corn and a few rice paddys near the creek; the latter were a great surprise, for we had not expected to find rice so far north. The village itself was exceedingly picturesque but never have we met people of such utter and hopeless stupidity as its inhabitants. They were pleasant enough and always greeted us with a smile and salutation, but their brains seemed not to have kept pace with their bodies and when asked the simplest question they would only stare stupidly without the slightest glimmering of intelligence. It required an hour's questioning of a dozen or more people to glean that there were no hunters in the village where they had lived all their lives, but Wu, our interpreter, finally discovered a Chinese who told us of a hunter in the mountains. He asked how far and the answer was "Not very far." "Well, is it ten _li_?" "I don't know how many _li_." "Have you ever been there?" "Yes; it is only a few steps." "How long will it take to get there?" "About the time of one meal." We were not to be deceived, for we had had experience with native ideas of distance, and we ate our tiffin before starting out on the "few steps." A steep trail led up the valley and after three hours of steady riding we reached the hunter's village of three large houses on a flat strip of cleared ground in the midst of a dense forest. The people looked much like those of Phete but were rather anemic specimens, and five out of eight had enormous goiters. They were exceedingly shy at first, watching us with side glances and through cracks in the wall. Wu learned that we were the first white persons they had ever seen. I imagine that much of their unhealthiness was due to too close intermarriage, for these families had little intercourse with the people in Phete who were only "a few steps" away. As we were leaving they began to eat their supper in the courtyard. The principal dish consisted of mixed cornmeal and rice, boiled squash and green vegetables. All the women were busy husking corn which was hung to dry on great racks about the house. These racks we had noticed in every village since leaving Li-chiang and they seemed to be in universal use in the north. The hunter had a flock of sheep and we purchased one for $4.40 (Mexican) but there was considerable difficulty in paying for it since these people had never seen Chinese money even though living in China itself. For currency they used chunks of silver the size of a walnut and worth about one dollar (Mexican). The Chinese guide finally persuaded the people of the genuineness of our money and we purchased a few eggs and a little very delicious wild honey besides the sheep. These people as well as those of Phete spoke the Li-chiang dialect but with such variation that even our _mafus_ could understand them only with the greatest difficulty. When we returned to camp we found that the coolie who had been engaged to carry the motion-picture camera and tripod had left without the formality of saying "good-by" or asking for the money which was due him. We had had considerable trouble with the camera coolies since leaving Li-chiang. The first one carried the camera to the Taku ferry with many groans, and there engaged a huge Chinaman to take his place, for he thought the load too heavy. It only weighed fifty pounds, and in the Fukien Province where men seldom carry less than eighty pounds and sometimes as much as one hundred and fifty, it would have been considered as only half a burden. In Yün-nan, however, animals do most of the pack carrying, and coolies protest at even an ordinary load. We left Phete in the early morning and camped about five hundred feet above the hunter's cabin in a beautiful little meadow. It was surrounded with splendid pine trees, and a clear spring bubbled up from a knoll in the center and spread fan-shaped in a dozen little streams over the edge of a deep ravine where a mountain torrent rushed through a tangled bamboo jungle. The gigantic fallen trees were covered inches deep with green moss, and altogether it was an ideal spot for small mammals. Our traps, however, yielded no new species, although we secured dozens of specimens every night. There were a few families of Lolos about two miles away and these were engaged as hunters. They told us that serow and muntjac were abundant and that wapiti were sometimes found on the mountains several miles to the northward. Although the men had a large pack of good dogs they were such unsatisfactory hunters that we gave up in disgust after three days. They never would appear until ten or eleven o'clock in the morning when the sun had so dried the leaves that the scent was lost and the dogs could not follow a trail even if one were found. Moreover, the camp was a very uncomfortable one, due to the wind which roared through the trees night and day. We were rejoined here by Hotenfa, who had left us at the Taku ferry to see if he could get together a pack of dogs. He brought three hounds with him which he praised exuberantly, but we subsequently found that they did not justify our hopes. Nevertheless, we were glad to have Hotenfa back, for he was one of the most intelligent, faithful, and altogether charming natives whom we met in all Yün-nan. He was an uncouth savage when he first came to us, but in a very short time he had learned our camp ways and was as good a servant as any we had. CHAPTER XXI TRAVELING TOWARD TIBET Since the hunters at the "Windy Camp" had proved so worthless and the traps had yielded no small mammals new to our collection, we decided to cross the mountains toward the Chung-tien road which leads into Tibet. The head _mafu_ explored the trail and reported that it was impassable but, after an examination of some of the worst barriers, we decided that they could be cleared away and ordered the caravan to start at half past seven in the morning. Before long we found that the _mafus_ were right. The trail was a mass of tangled underbrush and fallen logs and led straight up a precipitous mountain through a veritable jungle of dwarf bamboo. It was necessary to stop every few yards to lift the loads over a barrier or cut a passage through the bamboo thickets, and had it not been for the adjustable pack saddles we never could have taken the caravan over the trail. Late in the afternoon the exhausted men and animals dragged themselves to the summit of the mountain, for it was not a pass. In a few hours we had come from autumn to mid-winter where the ground was frozen and covered with snow. We were at an altitude of more than 15,000 feet and far above all timber except the rhododendron forest which spread itself out in a low gray mass along the ridges. It was difficult to make the slightest exertion in the thin air and a bitterly cold wind swept across the peaks so that it was impossible to keep warm even when wrapped in our heaviest coats. The servants and _mafus_ suffered considerably but it was too late to go on and there was no alternative but to spend the night on the mountain. As soon as the tents were up the men huddled disconsolately about the fire, but we started out with a bag of traps while Heller went in the opposite direction. We expected to catch some new mammals during the night, for there were great numbers of runways on the bare hillsides. The ground was frozen so solidly that it was necessary to cut into the little _Microtus_ tunnels with a hatchet in order to set the traps and we were almost frozen before the work was completed. The next morning we had caught twenty specimens of a new white-bellied meadow vole and a remarkable shrew with a long curved proboscis. Everyone had spent an uncomfortable night, for it was bitterly cold even in our sleeping bags and the men had sat up about the fire in order to keep from freezing. There was little difficulty in getting the caravan started in the gray light of early dawn and after descending abruptly four thousand feet on a precipitous trail to a Lolo village strung out along a beautiful little valley we were again in the pleasant warmth of late autumn. The natives here had never before seen a white person and in a few moments our tents were surrounded by a crowd of strange-looking men and boys. The chief of the village presented us with an enormous rooster and we made him happy by returning two tins of cigarettes. The Lolo women, the first we had seen, were especially surprising because of their graceful figures and handsome faces. Their flat turbans, short jackets, and long skirts with huge flounces gave them a rather old-fashioned aspect, quite out of harmony with the metal neck-bands, earrings, and bracelets which they all wore. The men were exceedingly pleasant and made a picturesque group in their gray and brown felt capes which they gather about the neck by a draw string and, to the Lolos and Mosos alike, are both bed and clothing. We collected all the men for their photographs, and although they had not the slightest idea what we were about they stood quietly after Hotenfa had assured them that the strange-looking instrument would not go off. But most interesting of all was their astonishment when half an hour later they saw the negative and were able to identify themselves upon it. The Lolos are apparently a much maligned race. They are exceedingly independent, and although along the frontier of their own territory in S'suchuan they wage a war of robbery and destruction it is not wholly unprovoked. No one can enter their country safely unless he is under the protection of a chief who acts as a sponsor and passes him along to others. Mr. Brooke, an Englishman, was killed by the Lolos, but he was not properly "chaperoned," and Major D'Ollone of the French expedition lived among them safely for some time and gives them unstinted praise. Whenever we met tribesmen in Yün-nan who had not seen white persons they behaved much like all other natives. They were, of course, always greatly astonished to see our caravan descend upon them and were invariably fascinated by our guns, tents, and in fact everything about us, but were generally shy and decidedly less offensive in their curiosity than the Chinese of the larger inland towns to whom foreigners are by no means unknown. As a matter of fact we have found that our white skins, light eyes, and hair are a never failing source of interest and envy to almost all Orientals. Yvette usually excited the most curiosity, especially among the women, and as she wore knickerbockers and a flannel shirt there were times when the determination of her sex seemed to call forth the liveliest discussion. Her long hair, however, usually settled the matter, and when the women had decided the question of gender satisfactorily they often made timid, and most amusing, advances. One woman said she greatly admired her fair complexion and asked how many baths she took to keep her skin so white. Another wondered whether it was necessary to ever comb her hair and almost everyone wished to feel her clothes and shoes. She always could command more attention than anyone else by her camera operations, and a group would stand in speechless amazement to see her dodge in and out of the portable dark room when she was developing photographs or loading plates. We made arrangements to go with a number of the Lolos to a spot fifteen miles away on the Chung-tien road to hunt wapiti (probably _Cervus macneilli_) which the natives call _maloo_. Our American wapiti, or elk, is a migrant from Asia by way of the Bering Strait and is probably a relative of the wapiti which is found in Central Asia, China, Manchuria and Korea. At present these deer are abundant in but few places. Throughout the Orient, and especially in China, the growing horns when they are soft, or in the "velvet," are considered of great medicinal value and, during the summer, the animals are trapped and hunted relentlessly by the natives. In Yün-nan, when we were there, a pair of horns were worth $100 (Mexican). Thanksgiving morning dawned gray and raw with occasional flurries of haillike snow, but we did not heed the cold, for the trail led over two high ridges and along the rim of a tremendous gorge. To the south the white summits of the Snow Mountain range towered majestically above the surrounding peaks and, in the gray light, the colors were beautiful beyond description. To the north we could see heavily wooded mountain slopes interspersed with open parklike meadows--splendid wapiti country. Our tents were pitched two hundred yards from the Chung-tien road just within the edge of a stately, moss-draped forest. That night we celebrated with harmless bombs from the huge fires of bamboo stalks which exploded as they filled with steam and echoed among the trees like pistol shots. Marco Polo speaks of the same phenomenon which he first witnessed in this region over six hundred and thirty years ago. About nine o'clock in the evening we ran our traps with a lantern and besides several mice (_Apodemus_) found two rare shrews and a new mole (_Blarina_). I went out with the hunters at dawn but saw nothing except an old wapiti track and a little sign. All during the following day a dense fog hung close to the ground so that it was impossible to hunt, and, on the night of December 2, it snowed heavily. The morning began bright and clear but clouded about ten o'clock and became so bitterly cold that the Lolos would not hunt. They really suffered considerably and that night they all left us to return to their homes. We were greatly disappointed, for we had brilliant prospects of good wapiti shooting but without either men or dogs and in an unknown country there was little possibility of successful still hunting. The _mafus_ were very much worried and refused to go further north. They were certain that we would not be able to cross the high passes which lay between us and the Mekong valley far to the westward and complained unceasingly about the freezing cold and the lack of food for their animals. It was necessary to visit the Mekong River, for even though it might not be a good big game region it would give us a cross-section, as it were, of the fauna and important data on the distribution of small mammals. Therefore we decided to leave for the long ride as soon as the weather permitted. CHAPTER XXII STALKING TIBETANS WITH A CAMERA _Y.B.A._ The road near which we were camped was one of the great trade routes into Tibet and over it caravans were continually passing laden with tea or pork. Many of them had traveled the entire length of Yün-nan to S'su-mao on the Tonking frontier where a special kind of tea is grown, and were hurrying northward to cross the snow-covered passes which form the gateways to the "Forbidden Land." The caravans sometimes stopped for luncheon or to spend the night near our camp. As the horses came up, one by one the loads were lifted off, the animals turned loose, and after their dinner of buttered tea and _tsamba_ [Footnote: _Tsamba_ is parched oats or barley, ground finely.] each man stretched out upon the ground without shelter of any kind and heedless of the freezing cold. It is truly the life of primitive man and has bred a hardy, restless, independent race, content to wander over the boundless steppes and demanding from the outside world only to be let alone. They are picturesque, wild-looking fellows, and in their swinging walk there is a care-free independence and an atmosphere of the bleak Tibetan steppes which are strangely fascinating. Every Tibetan is a study for an artist. He wears a fur cap and a long loose coat like a Russian blouse thrown carelessly off one shoulder and tied about the waist, blue or red trousers, and high boots of felt or skin reaching almost to the knees. A long sword, its hilt inlaid with bright-colored bits of glass or stones, is half concealed beneath his coat, and he is seldom without a gun or a murderous looking spear. In the breast of his loose coat, which acts as a pocket, he carries a remarkable assortment of things; a pipe, tobacco, tea, _tsamba_, cooking pots, a snuff box and, hanging down in front, a metal charm to protect him from bullets or sickness. The eastern Tibetans are men of splendid physique and great strength, and are frequently more than six feet in height. They have brick-red complexions and some are really handsome in a full-blooded masculine way. Their straight features suggest a strong mixture of other than Mongolian stock and they are the direct antithesis of the Chinese in every particular. Their strength and virility and the dashing swing of their walk are very refreshing after contact with the ease-loving, effeminate Chinaman whom one sees being carried along the road sprawled in a mountain chair. Of all natives whom we tried to photograph the Tibetans were the most difficult. It was almost impossible to bribe them with money or tin cans to stand for a moment and when they saw the motion picture camera set up beside the trail they would make long detours to avoid passing in front of it. What we could not get by bribery we tried to do by stealth and concealed ourselves behind bushes with the camera focused on a certain spot upon the road. The instant a Tibetan discovered it he would run like a frightened deer and in some mysterious way they seemed to have passed the word along that our camp was a spot to be avoided. Sometimes a bottle was too great a temptation to be resisted, and one would stand timidly like a bird with wings half spread, only to dash away as though the devil were after him, when he saw my head disappear beneath the focusing hood. Wu and a _mafu_ who could speak a little Tibetan finally captured one picturesque looking fellow. He carefully tucked the tin cans, given for advance payment, inside his coat, and with a great show of bravery allowed me to place him where I wished. But the instant the motion picture camera swung in his direction he dodged aside, and jumped behind it. Wu tried to hold him but the Tibetan drew his sword, waved it wildly about his head and took to his heels, yelling at the top of his lungs. He was well-nigh frightened to death and when he disappeared from sight at a curve in the road he was still "going strong" with his coat tails flapping like a sail in the wind. One caravan came suddenly upon the motion picture camera unawares. There were several women in the party and, as soon as the men realized that there was no escape, each one dodged behind a woman, keeping her between him and the camera. They were taking no chances with their precious selves, for the women could be replaced easily enough if necessary. The trouble is that the Tibetan not unnaturally has the greatest possible suspicion and dislike for strangers. The Chinese he loathes and despises, and foreigners he knows only too well are symptoms of missionaries and punitive expeditions or other disturbances of his immemorial peace. He is confirmed in his attitude by the Church which throughout Tibet has the monopoly of all the gold in the country. And the Church utterly declines to believe that any foreigner can come so far for any end less foolish than the discovery of gold and the infringing of the ecclesiastical monopoly. Major Davies, who saw much of the Yün-nan Tibetans, has remarked that it is curious how little impression the civilization and customs of the Chinese have produced on the Tibetans. Elsewhere, one of the principal characteristics of Chinese expansion is its power of absorbing other races, but with the Tibetans exactly the reverse takes place. The Chinese become Tibetanized and the children of a Chinaman married to a Tibetan woman are usually brought up in the Tibetan customs. Probably the great cause which keeps the Tibetan from being absorbed is the cold, inhospitable nature of his country. There is little to tempt the Chinese to emigrate into Tibet and consequently they never are there in sufficient numbers to influence the Tibetans around them. A similar cause has preserved some of the low-lying Shan states from absorption, the heat in this case being the reason that the Chinese do not settle there. CHAPTER XXIII WESTWARD TO THE MEKONG RIVER During the night of December 4, there was a heavy fall of snow and in the morning we awoke to find ourselves in fairyland. We were living in a great white palace, with ceiling and walls of filmy glittering webs. The long, delicate strands of gray moss which draped themselves from tree to tree and branch to branch were each one converted into threads of crystal, forming a filigree lacework, infinitely beautiful. It was hard to break camp and leave that silver palace, for every vista through the forest seemed more lovely than the one before, but we knew that another fall of snow would block the passes and shut us out from the Mekong valley. The _mafus_ even refused to try the direct route across the mountains to Wei-hsi and insisted on going southward to the Shih-ku ferry and up the Yangtze River on the main caravan route. It was a long trip and we looked forward with no pleasure to eight days of hard riding. The difficulty in obtaining hunters since leaving the Snow Mountain had made our big game collecting negligible although we had traveled through some excellent country. The Mekong valley might not be better but it was an unknown quantity and, whether or not it yielded specimens, the results from a survey of the mammal distribution would be none the less important, and we felt that it must be done; otherwise we should have turned our backs on the north and returned to Ta-li Fu. As we rode down the mountain trail we passed caravan after caravan of Tibetans with heavily loaded horses, all bound for that land of mystery beyond the snow-capped barriers. Often we tried to stop some of the red-skinned natives and persuade them to pose for a color photograph, but usually they only shook their heads stubbornly and hurried past with averted faces. We finally waylaid a Chinese and a Tibetan who were walking together. The Chinaman was an amiable fellow and by giving each of them a glass jam tumbler they halted a moment. As soon as the photograph had been taken the Chinese indicated that he expected us to produce one and was thoroughly disgusted when we showed him that it was impossible. Repassing the Lolo village, we followed the river gorge at the upper end of which Chung-tien is located and left the forests when we emerged on the main road. From the top of a ten thousand foot pass there was a magnificent view down the cañon to the snow-capped mountains, which were beautiful beyond description in their changing colors of purple and gold. Just after leaving the pass we met a caravan of several hundred horses each bearing two whole pigs bent double and tied to the saddles. The animals had been denuded of hair, salted, and sewn up, and soon would be distributed among the villages somewhere in the interior of Tibet. On the second day we saw before us seven snow-crowned peaks as sharp and regular as the teeth of a saw rising above the mouth of the stream where it spreads like a fan over a sandy delta and empties into the Yangtze. Here the mighty river, flowing proudly southward from its home in the wind-blown steppes of the "Forbidden Land," countless ages ago found the great Snow Mountain range barring its path. Thrust aside, it doubled back upon itself along the barrier's base, still restlessly seeking a passage through the wall of rock. Far to the north it bit hungrily into the mountain's side again, broke through, and swung south gathering strength and volume from hundreds of tributaries as it rushed onward to the sea. For two days we rode along the river bank and crossed at the Shih-ku ferry. There was none of the difficulty here which we had experienced at Taku, for the river is wide and the current slow. It required only two hours to transport our entire caravan while at the other ferry we had waited a day and a half. Strangely enough, although there are dozens of villages along the Yangtze and the valley is highly cultivated, we saw no sign of fishing. Moreover, we passed but three boats and five or six rafts and it was evident that this great waterway, which for fifteen hundred miles from its mouth influences the trade of China so profoundly, is here used but little by the natives. On the ride down the river we had good sport with the huge cranes (probably _Grus nigricollis_) which, in small flocks, were feeding along the river fields. The birds stood about five feet high and we could see their great black and white bodies and black necks farther than a man was visible. It was fairly easy to stalk them to within a hundred yards, but even at that distance they offered a rather small target, for they were so largely wings, neck, legs, and tail. We were never within shotgun range and indeed it would be difficult to kill the birds with anything smaller than BB or buckshot unless they were very near. Heller shot our first cranes with his .250-.300 Savage rifle. He stole upon five which were feeding in a meadow and fired while two were "lined up." One of the huge birds flapped about on the ground for a few moments and lay still, but the larger was only wing-tipped and started off at full speed across the fields. Two _mafus_ left the caravan, yelling with excitement, and ran for nearly half a mile before they overtook the bird. Then they were kept at bay for fifteen minutes by its long beak which is a really formidable weapon. As food the cranes were perfectly delicious when stuffed with chestnut dressing and roasted. Each one provided two meals for three of us with enough left over for hash and our appetites were by no means birdlike. Although the natives attempt to kill cranes they are not often successful, for the birds are very watchful and will not allow a man within a hundred yards. Such a distance for primitive guns or crossbows might as well be a hundred miles, but with our high-power rifles we were able to shoot as many as were needed for food. The birds almost invariably followed the river when flying and fed in the rice, barley, and corn fields not far from the water. It was an inspiring sight to see a flock of the huge birds run for a few steps along the ground and then launch themselves into the air, their black and white wings flashing in the sunlight. They formed into orderly ranks like a company of soldiers or strung out in a long thin line across the sky. When we disturbed a flock from especially desirable feeding grounds they would sometimes whirl and circle above the fields, ascending higher and higher in great spirals until they were lost to sight, their musical voices coming faintly down to us like the distant shouts of happy children. When we returned to Ta-li Fu in early January, cranes were very abundant in the fields about the lake. They had arrived in late October and would depart in early spring, according to Mr. Evans. We often saw the birds on sand banks along the Yangtze, but they were usually resting or quietly walking about and were not feeding; apparently they eat only rice, barley, corn, or other grain. This species was discovered by the great traveler and naturalist, Lieutenant Colonel Prjevalsky, who found it in the Koko-nor region of Tibet, and it was later recorded by Prince Henri d'Orleans from Tsang in the Tibetan highlands. Apparently specimens from Yün-nan have not been preserved in museums and the bird was not known to occur in this portion of China. Along the Yangtze on our way westward we shot a good many mallard ducks (_Anas boscas_) and ruddy sheldrakes (_Casarca casarca_); the latter are universally known as "brahminy ducks" by the foreigners in Burma and Yün-nan, but they are not true ducks. The name is derived from the bird's beautiful buff and rufous color which is somewhat like that of the robes worn by the Brahmin priests. In America the name "sheldrake" is applied erroneously to the fish-eating mergansers, and much confusion has thus arisen, for the two are quite unrelated and belong to perfectly distinct groups. The mergansers have narrow, hooked, saw-toothed beaks quite unlike those of the sheldrakes, and their habits are entirely dissimilar. The brahminy ducks, although rather tough, are not bad eating. We usually found them feeding in fields not far from the river or in flooded rice dykes, and very often sitting in pairs on the sand banks near the water. They have a bisyllabic rather plaintive note which is peculiarly fascinating to me and, like the honk of the Canada goose, awakens memories of sodden, wind-blown marshes, bobbing decoys, and a leaden sky shot through with V-shaped lines of flying birds. Mallards were frequently to be found with the sheldrakes, and we had good shooting along the river and in ponds and rice fields. We also saw a few teal but they were by no means abundant. Pheasants were scarce. We shot a few along the road and near some of our camps, but we found no place in Yün-nan where one could have even a fair day's shooting without the aid of a good dog. This is strikingly different from Korea where in a walk over the hillsides a dozen or more pheasants can be flushed within an hour. After two and one-half days' travel up the Yangtze we turned westward toward Wei-hsi and camped on a beautiful flat plain beside a tree-bordered stream. It was a cold clear night and after dinner and a smoke about the fire we all turned in. Both of us were asleep when suddenly a perfect bedlam of angry exclamations and Chinese curses roused the whole camp. In a few moments Wu came to our tent, almost speechless with rage and stammered, "Damn fool soldiers come try to take our horses; say if _mafu_ no give them horses they untie loads. Shall I tell _mafu_ break their heads?" We did not entirely understand the situation but it seemed quite proper to give the _mafus_ permission to do the head-breaking, and they went at it with a will. After a volley of blows, there was a scamper of feet on the frozen ground and the soldiers retired considerably the worse for wear. When the battle was over, Wu explained matters more fully. It appeared that a large detachment of soldiers had recently passed up this road to A-tun-tzu and four or five had remained behind to attend to the transport of certain supplies. Seeing an opportunity for "graft" the soldiers were stopping every caravan which passed and threatening to commandeer it unless the _mafus_ gave a sufficient bribe to buy their immunity. Our _mafus_, with the protection which foreigners gave them, had paid off a few old scores with interest. That they had neglected no part of the reckoning was quite evident when next morning two of the soldiers came to apologize for their "mistake." One of them had a black and swollen eye and the other was nursing a deep cut on his forehead; they were exceedingly humble and did not venture into camp until they had been assured that we would not again loose our terrible _mafus_ upon them. Such extortions are every day occurrences in many parts of China and it is little wonder that the military is cordially hated and feared by the peasants. The soldiers, taking advantage of their uniform, oppress the villagers in numberless ways from which there is no redress. If a complaint is made a dozen soldiers stand ready to swear that the offense was justified or was never committed, and the poor farmer is lucky if he escapes without a beating or some more severe punishment. It is a disgrace to China that such conditions are allowed to exist, and it is to be hoped that ere many years have passed the country will awake to a proper recognition of the rights of the individual. Until she does there never can be a national spirit of patriotism in China and without patriotism the Republic can be one in name only. CHAPTER XXIV DOWN THE MEKONG VALLEY On December 11, we had tiffin on the summit of a twelve thousand foot pass in a beautiful snow-covered meadow, from which we could see the glistening peaks of the vast mountain range which forms the Mekong-Salween divide. In the afternoon we reached Wei-hsi and camped in a grove of splendid pine trees on a hill overlooking the city. The place was rather disappointing after Li-chiang. The shops were poor and it was difficult to buy rice even though the entire valley was devoted to paddy fields, but we did get quantities of delicious persimmons. Wu told us that seven different languages were spoken in the city, and we could well believe it, for we recognized Mosos, Lolos, Chinese, and Tibetans. This region is nearly the extreme western limit of the Moso tribe which appears not to extend across the Mekong River. The mandarin at Wei-hsi received us hospitably and proved to be one of the most courteous officials whom we met in Yün-nan. We were sorry to learn that he was killed in a horrible way only a few weeks after our visit. Trouble arose with the peasants over the tax on salt and fifteen hundred rebelled, attacked the city, and captured it after a sharp fight. It was reported that they immediately beheaded the mandarin's wives and children, and boiled him alive in oil. Although the magistrate offered to assist us in every way we could obtain no information concerning either hunting grounds or routes of travel. The flying squirrels which we had hoped to find near the city were reported to come from a mountain range beyond the Mekong in Burma, and Wei-hsi was merely a center of distribution for the skins. Moreover, the natives said it would be impossible to obtain squirrels at that time of the year, for the mountain passes were so heavily covered with snow that neither men nor caravans could cross them. It was desirable, however, to descend to the Mekong River in order to determine whether there would be a change in fauna, and on Major Davies' map a small road was marked down the valley. A stiff climb of a day and a half over a thickly forested mountain ridge, frozen and snow-covered, brought us in sight of the green waters of the Mekong which has carved a gorge for itself in an almost straight line from the bleak Tibetan plateaus through Yün-nan and Indo-China to the sea. Our second camp was on the river at the mouth of a deep valley, near a small village. Wu said that the natives were Lutzus and I was inclined to believe he was right, although Major Davies indicates this region to be inhabited by Lisos. At any rate these people both in physical appearance and dress were quite distinct from the Lisos whom we met later. They were exceedingly pleasant and friendly and the chief, accompanied by four venerable men, brought a present of rice. I gave him two tins of cigarettes and the natives returned to the village wreathed in smiles. The garments of the Lutzus were characteristic and quite unlike those of the Mosos, Lisos or Tibetans. The women wore a long coat or jacket of blue cloth, trousers, and a very full pleated skirt. The men were dressed in plum colored coats and trousers. The natives said that monkeys (probably _Pygathrix_) were often seen when the corn was ripe and that even yet they might be found in the forest across the river. Heller spent a day hunting them, but found none and we obtained only one new mammal in our traps. It was a tiny mouse (_Micromys_) but the remainder of the fauna was essentially the same as that of the Yangtze valley and the intervening country. For three days we traveled down the Mekong River. Although the natives said that the trail was good, we discovered when it was too late that it was too narrow and difficult to make it practicable for a caravan such as ours. It was necessary to continually remove the loads in order to lift them around sharp corners or over rocks, and the _mafus_ sometimes had to cut away great sections of the bank. Usually only six or seven miles could be traversed after eight or nine hours of exhausting work, and we were glad when we could leave the river. The Mekong, on an average, is not more than a hundred yards wide in this region and, like the Yangtze, the water is very green from the Tibetan snows. The prevailing rock is red slate or sandstone instead of limestone, as in the country to the eastward, and the sides of the valley are so precipitous that it seems impossible for a human being to walk over them, and yet they are patched with brown corn fields from the summit to the water. Considering the small area available for cultivation there are a considerable number of inhabitants, who have gathered into villages and seldom live in isolated houses as in the Yangtze valley. Wherever a stream comes down from the mountain-side or can be diverted by irrigating ditches, the ground is beautifully terraced for rice paddys, but in other places, corn and peas appear to be the principal crops. Very few vegetables, such as turnips, squash, carrots or potatoes are raised, which is rather remarkable, as they are so abundant in all the country between the Mekong and the Yangtze rivers. In several places the water was spanned by rope bridges. The cables are made of twisted bamboo, and as one end must necessarily be higher than the other, there are always two ropes, one to cross each way. The traveler is tied by leather thongs in a sitting position to a wooden "runner" which slides along the bamboo cable and shoots across the river at tremendous speed. The valley is hopeless from a zoölogical standpoint. It is too dry for small mammals and the mountain slopes are so precipitous, thinly forested, and generally undesirable, that, except for gorals, no other large game would live there. The bird life is decidedly uninteresting. There are no cranes or sheldrakes and, except for a few flocks of mallards which feed in the rice fields, we saw no other ducks or geese. On December 20, we turned away from the Mekong valley and began to march southeast by east across an unmapped region toward Ta-li Fu. We camped at night on a pretty ridge thickly covered with spruce trees just above a deep moist ravine. In the morning our traps contained several rare shrews, five silver moles, a number of interesting mice, and a beautiful rufous spiny rat. It was too good a place to leave and I sent Hotenfa to inquire from a family of natives if there was big game of any sort in the vicinity. He reported that there were goral not far away, and at half past eight we rode down the trail for three miles when I left my horse at a peasant's house. They told us that the goral were on a rocky, thinly forested mountain which rose two thousand feet above the valley, and for an hour and a half we climbed steadily upward. We were resting near the summit on the rim of a deep cañon when Hotenfa excitedly whispered, "_gnai-yang_" and held up three fingers. He tried to show the animals to me and at last I caught sight of what I thought was a goral standing on a narrow ledge. I fired and a bit of rock flew into the air while the three gorals disappeared among the trees two hundred feet above the spot where I had supposed them to be. I was utterly disgusted at my mistake but we started on a run for the other side of the gorge. When we arrived, Hotenfa motioned me to swing about to the right while he climbed along the face of the rock wall. No sooner had he reached the edge of the precipice than I saw him lean far out, fire with my three-barrel gun, and frantically wave for me to come. I ran to him and, throwing my arms about a projecting shrub, looked down. There directly under us stood a huge goral, but just as I was about to shoot, the earth gave way beneath my feet and I would have fallen squarely on the animal had Hotenfa not seized me by the collar and drawn me back to safety. The goral had not discovered where the shower of dirt and stones came from before I fired hurriedly, breaking his fore leg at the knee. Without the slightest sign of injury the ram disappeared behind a corner of the rock. I dashed to the top of the ridge in time to see him running at full speed across a narrow open ledge toward a thick mass of cover on the opposite side of the cañon. I fired just as the animal gained the trees and, at the crash of my rifle, the goral plunged headlong down the mountain, stone dead. It fell on a narrow slide of loose rock which led nearly to the bottom of the valley and, slipping and rolling in a cloud of red dust, dropped over a precipice. The ram brought up against an unstable boulder five hundred feet below us, and it required half an hour's hard work to reach the spot. When I finally lifted its head one of the horns which had been broken in the fall slipped through my fingers, and away went the goral on another rough and tumble descent, finally stopping on a rock ledge nearly eleven hundred feet from the place where it had been shot. We returned to camp at noon bringing joy with us, for, as my wife had remarked the day before, "We will soon have to eat chickens or cans." Heller hunted the gorals unsuccessfully the following day and we left on December 23, camping at night on a flat terrace beside a stream at the end of a moist ravine. We intended to spend Christmas here for it was a beautiful spot, surrounded by virgin forest, but our celebration was to be on Christmas Eve. The following day dawned bright and clear. There had not been a drop of rain for nearly a month and the weather was just warm enough for comfort in the sun with one's coat off, but at night the temperature dropped to about 15°+ or 20°+ Fahr. The camp proved to be a good one, giving us two new mammals and, just after tiffin, Hotenfa came running in to report that he had discovered seven gray monkeys (probably _Pygathrix_) in a cornfield a mile away. The monkeys had disappeared ere we arrived, but while we were gone Yvette had been busy and, just before dinner, she ushered us into our tent with great ceremony. It had been most wonderfully transformed. At the far end stood a Christmas tree, blazing with tiny candles and surrounded by masses of white cotton, through which shone red holly berries. Holly branches from the forest and spruce boughs lined the tent and hung in green waves from the ridge pole. At the base of the tree gifts which she had purchased in Hongkong in the preceding August were laid out. Heller mixed a fearful and wonderful cocktail from the Chinese wine and orange juice, and we drank to each other and to those at home while sitting on the ground and opening our packages. We had purchased two Tibetan rugs in Li-chiang and Wei-hsi, as Christmas presents for Yvette. These rugs usually are blue or red, with intricate designs in the center, and are well woven and attractive. To the servants and _mafus_ we gave money and cigarettes. When the muleteers were brought to the tent to receive their gifts they evidently thought our blazing tree represented an altar, for they kneeled down and began to make the "chin, chin joss" which is always done before their heathen gods. Our Christmas dinner was a masterpiece. Four days previously I had shot a pair of mallard ducks and they formed the _pièce de résistance_. The dinner consisted of soup, ducks stuffed with chestnuts, currant jelly, baked squash, creamed carrots, chocolate cake, cheese and crackers, coffee and cigarettes. Christmas day we traveled, and in the late afternoon passed through a very dirty Chinese town in a deep valley near some extensive salt wells. Red clay dust lay thick over everything and the filth of the streets and houses was indescribable. We camped in a cornfield a mile beyond the village, but were greatly annoyed by the Chinese who insisted on swarming into camp. Finally, unable longer to endure their insolent stares, I drove them with stones to the top of the hill, where they sat in row upon row exactly as in the "bleachers" at an American baseball game. When we left the following day we passed dozens of caravans and groups of men and women carrying great disks of salt. Each piece was stamped in red with the official mark for salt is a government monopoly and only licensed merchants are allowed to deal in it; moreover, the importation of salt from foreign countries is forbidden. For the purposes of administration, China is divided into seven or eight main circuits, each of which has its own sources of production and the salt obtained in one district may not be sold in another. In Yün-nan the salt of the province is supplied from three regions. The water from the wells is boiled in great caldrons for several days, and the resulting deposit is earth impregnated with salt. This is crushed, mixed with water, and boiled again until only pure salt remains. After passing a village of considerable size called Pei-ping, we began the ascent of an exceedingly steep mountain range twelve thousand feet high. All the afternoon we toiled upward in the rain and camped late in the evening at a pine grove on a little plateau two-thirds of the way to the summit. During the night it snowed heavily and we awoke to find ourselves in a transformed world. Every tree and bush was dressed in garments of purest white and between the branches we could look westward across the valley toward the Mekong and the purple mountain wall of the Burma border. There were still one thousand feet of climbing between us and the summit of the pass. The trail was almost blocked, but by slow work we forced our way through the drifts. Some of the mules were already weak from exposure and underfeeding, and two of them had to be relieved of their loads; they died the next day. Our _mafus_ did not appear to suffer greatly although their legs were bare from the knees down and their feet had no covering except straw sandals. Indeed when we discovered, on the summit of the pass, a tiny hut in which a fire was burning, they waited only a few moments to warm themselves. We met two other caravans fighting their way up the mountain from the other side, and by following the trail which they had broken through the drifts we made fairly good time on the descent. There had been no snow on the broad, flat plain which we reached in the late afternoon and we found that its ponds and fields were alive with ducks, geese, and cranes. The birds were wild but we had good shooting when we broke camp in the morning and killed enough to last us several days. On December 31, our weary days of crossing range after range of tremendous mountains were ended, and we stood on the last pass looking down upon the great Chien-chuan plain. Outside the grim walls of the old city, which lies on the main A-tun-tzu--Ta-li Fu road, are two large marshy ponds and, away to the south, is an extensive lake. We camped just without the courtyard of a fine temple, and at four o'clock Yvette and I went over to the water which was swarming with ducks and geese. Neither of us will ever forget that shoot in the glorious afternoon sunlight. Cloud after cloud of ducks rose as we neared the pond and circled high above our heads, but now and then a straggling mallard or "pin tail" would swing across the sky within range; as my gun roared out the birds would whirl to the ground like feathered bombs or climb higher with frightened quacks if the shot went wild. An hour before dark the brahminy ducks began to come in. We could hear their melodious plaintive calls long before we could see the birds, and we flattened ourselves out in the grass and mud. Soon a thin, black line would streak the sky, and as they drew nearer, Yvette would draw such seductive notes from a tiny horn of wood and bone that the flock would swing and dive toward us in a rush of flashing wings. When we could see the brown bodies right above our heads I would sit up and bang away. Now and then a big white goose would drop into the pond or an ibis flap lazily overhead, seeming to realize that it had nothing to fear from the prostrate bodies which spat fire at other birds. The stillness of the marsh was absolute save for the voices of the water fowl mingled in the wild, sweet clamor so dear to the heart of every sportsman. As the day began to die, hung about with ducks and geese, we walked slowly back across the rice fields, to the yellow fires before our tents. It was our last camp for the year and, as if to bid us farewell as we journeyed toward the tropics, the peaks of the great Snow Mountain far to the north, had draped themselves in a gorgeous silver mantle and glistened against a sky of lavender and gold like white cathedral spires. On January 3, we camped early in the afternoon on a beautiful little plain beside a spring overhung with giant trees at the head of Erh Hai, or Ta-li Fu Lake, which is thirty miles long. The fields and marshes were alive with ducks, geese, cranes, and lapwings, and we had a glorious day of sport over decoys and on the water before we went on to Ta-li Fu. Mr. Evans was about to leave for a long business trip to the south of the province and we took possession of a pretty temple just within the north gate of the city. Here we read a great accumulation of mail and learned that a thousand pounds of supplies which we had ordered from Hongkong had just arrived. Through the good offices of Mr. Howard Page, manager of the Standard Oil Company of Yün-nan Fu, their passage through Tonking had been facilitated, and he had dispatched the boxes by caravan to Ta-li Fu. Mr. Page rendered great assistance to the Expedition in numberless ways, and to him we owe our personal thanks as well as those of the American Museum of Natural History. All the servants except our faithful Wu left at Ta-li Fu but, with the aid of Mr. Hanna, we obtained a much better personnel for the trip to the Burma frontier. The cook, who was one of Mr. Hanna's converts, was an especially fine fellow and proved to be as energetic and competent as the other had been lazy and helpless. Our work in the north had brought us a collection of thirteen hundred mammals, as well as several hundred birds, much material for habitat groups, and a splendid series of photographic records in Paget color plates, black and white negatives, and motion picture film. But what was of first importance, we had covered an enormous extent of diverse country and learned much about the distribution of the fauna of northern Yün-nan. The thirteen hundred mammals of our collection were taken in a more or less continuous line across six tremendous mountain ranges, and furnish an illuminating cross section of the entire region from Ta-li-Fu, north to Chung-tien, and west to the Mekong River. It is apparent that in this part of the province, which is all within one "life zone," even the smallest mammals are widely spread and that the principal factor in determining distribution is the flora. Neither the highest mountain ridges nor such deep swift rivers as the Yangtze and the Mekong appear to act as effective barriers to migration, and as long as the vegetation remains constant, the fauna changes but little. CHAPTER XXV MISSIONARIES WE HAVE KNOWN During our work in Fukien Province and in various parts of Yün-nan we came into intimate personal contact with a great many missionaries; indeed every traveler in the interior of China will meet them unless he purposely avoids doing so. But the average tourist seldom sees the missionary in his native habitat because, for the most part, he lives and works where the tourist does not go. Nevertheless, that does not prevent the coastwise traveler from carrying back with him from the East a very definite impression of the missionary, which he has gained on board ships or in Oriental clubs where he hears him "damned with faint praise." Almost unconsciously he adopts the popular attitude just as he enlarges his vocabulary to include "pidgin English" and such unfamiliar phrases as "tiffin," "bund" and "cumshaw." This chapter is not a brief for the missionary, but simply a matter of fair play. We feel that in justice we ought to present our observations upon this subject, which is one of very general interest, as impartially as upon any phase of our scientific work. But it should be distinctly understood that we are writing _only_ of those persons whom we met and lived with, and whose work we had an opportunity to know and to see; _we are not attempting generalizations on the accomplishments of missionaries in any other part of China_. There are three charges which we have heard most frequently brought against the missionary: that he comes to the East because he can live better and more luxuriously than he can at home; that he often engages in lucrative trade with the natives; and that he accomplishes little good, either religious or otherwise. It is said that his converts are only "rice Christians," and treaty-port foreigners have often warned us in this manner, "Don't take Christian servants; they are more dishonest and unreliable than any others." It is often true that the finest house in a Chinese town will be that of the resident missionary. In Yen-ping the mission buildings are imposing structures, and are placed upon a hill above and away from the rest of the city. Any white person who has traveled in the interior of China will remember the airless, lightless, native houses, opening, as they all do, on filthy streets and reeking sewers and he will understand that in order to exist at all a foreigner must be somewhat isolated and live in a clean, well-ventilated house. Every missionary in China employs servants--many more servants than he could afford at home. So does every other foreigner, whatever his vocation. There is no such thing in China as the democracy of the West, and the missionary's status in the community demands that certain work in his house be done by servants; otherwise he and his family would be placed on a level with the coolie class and the value of his words and deeds be discounted. But the chief reason is that the missionary's wife almost always has definite duties to which she could not attend if she were not relieved from some of the household cares. She leads in work among the women of the community by organizing clubs and "Mutual Improvement Societies" and in teaching in the schools or hospitals where young men and women are learning English as an asset to medical work among their own people. Servants are unbelievably cheap. While we were in Foochow a cook received $3.50 (gold) per month, a laundryman $1.75 (gold) per month, and other wages were in proportion. In Fukien Province the missionaries receive two months' vacation. Anyone who has lived through a Fukien summer in the interior of the province will know why the missionaries are given this vacation. If they were not able to leave the deadly heat and filth and disease of the native cities for a few weeks every year, there would be no missionaries to carry on the work. The business man can surround himself with innumerable comforts both in his home and in his office which the missionary cannot afford and, during the summer, life is not only made possible thereby but even pleasant. Yen-ping is eight days' travel from Foochow up the Min River and it is by no means the most remote station in the province. Very few travelers reach these places during the year and the white inhabitants are almost isolated. Miss Mabel Hartford lives alone at Yuchi and at one time she saw only one foreigner in eight months. Miss Cordelia Morgan is the sole foreign resident of Chu-hsuing Fu, a large Chinese city six days from Yün-nan Fu. In Ta-li Fu, Reverend William J. Hanna, his wife and two other women, are fourteen days' ride from the nearest foreign settlement. In Li-chiang, Reverend and Mrs. A. Kok and their three small children live with two women missionaries. They are twenty-one days' travel from a doctor, and for four years previous to our visit they had not seen a white woman. These are some instances of missionaries whom we met in China who have voluntarily exiled themselves to remote places where they expect to spend their entire lives surrounded by an indifferent if not hostile population. Can anyone possibly believe that they have chosen this life because it is easier or more luxurious than that at home? Some of the men whom we met had left lucrative business positions to take up medical or evangelistic work in China where their compensation is pitifully small--not one-third of the salary they were commanding at home. We did not meet any missionaries who were engaging in trade with the natives even though in some places there were excellent business opportunities. Consider the doctors as examples of the civilizing influences which missionaries bring with them. We saw them in various parts of China doing a magnificent work. Dr. Bradley has established a great leper hospital at Paik-hoi where these human outcasts are receiving the latest and most scientific treatment and beginning to look at life with a new hope. In Yen-ping, at the time of the rebellion, we saw Dr. Trimble working hour after hour over wounded and broken men without a thought of rest. In Yün-nan Fu, Dr. Thompson's hospital was filled with patients suffering from almost every known disease. In Ta-li Fu we saw Mr. Hanna and his wife dispensing medicines and treating the minor ills of patients waiting by the dozen, the fees received being not enough to pay for the cost of the medicines. Why is it that every traveling foreigner in the interior of China is supposed to be able to cure diseases? Certainly an important reason is because of the work done by the medical missionaries who have penetrated to the farthest corners of the most remote provinces. Aside from their medical work, missionaries are in many instances the real pioneers of western civilization. They bring to the people new standards of living, both morally and physically. They open schools and emancipate the Chinese children in mind and body. They fight the barbarous customs of foot binding and the killing and selling of girl babies. Until recent years it was not unusual to meet the village "baby peddler" with from two to six tiny infants peddling his "goods" from village to village. Not many years ago such a man appeared before the mission compound at Ngu-cheng (Fukien) with four babies in his basket. Three of these had expired from exposure and the kerosene oil which had been poured down their throats to stupefy them and drown their cries. The fourth was purchased by the wife of the native preacher for ten cents in order to save its life. This child was reared and has since graduated from the mission schools with credit. In Foochow a stone tablet bearing the following inscription stands beside a stagnant pool: "Hereafter the throwing of babies into this pool will be punished by law." This was a result of the work of the missionaries. Their task is by no means easy and, as Mr. Hanna once remarked, "Yün-nan Province has broken the heart of more than one missionary." The Chinese do not understand their point of view, and it is difficult to make them see it. A Chinaman is a rank materialist and pure altruism does not enter into his scheme of life. As a rule he has but two thoughts, his stomach and his cash bag. It is well-nigh impossible to make him realize that the missionary has not come with an ulterior motive--if not to engage in trade, perhaps as a spy for his government. Others believe that it is because China is so vastly superior to the rest of the world that the missionaries wish to live there. Eventually the suspicions of the natives become quieted and they accept the missionary at some part of his true worth. At the time of the rebellion in Yen-ping we saw Harry Caldwell, Mr. Bankhardt and Dr. Trimble save the lives of hundreds of people and the city from partial destruction because the Chinese officers of the opposing forces would trust the missionaries when they would not trust each other. An excellent piece of practical missionary work was done in Fukien Province, not long after our visit there. As we have related in Chapter III, several large bands of brigands were established in the hills about Yuchi. Brigandage began there in the following way. During a famine when the people were on the verge of starvation, a wealthy farmer, Su Ek by name, decided to do his share in relieving conditions by offering for sale a quantity of rice which he had accumulated. He approached another man of similar wealth who agreed with him to sell his grain at a reasonable price. Su Ek accordingly disposed of his rice to the suffering people and, when he had remaining only enough to sustain his own family until the following harvest, he sent the peasants to the second man who had also agreed to dispose of his grain. This farmer refused to sell at the stipulated price, and the people, angered at his treachery, looted his sheds. He immediately went to Foochow and reported to the governor that there was a band of brigands abroad in Yuchi County under the leadership of Su Ek, and that they had robbed and plundered his property. Without warning a company of soldiers swooped down upon the community and arrested a number of men whose names the informer had given. Su Ek made his escape to the hills but he was pursued as a brigand chief, and was later joined by other farmers who had been similarly persecuted. Unable to return to their homes on pain of death they were forced to rob in order to live. Su Ek and others were finally decoyed to Foochow upon the promise that their lives would be spared if they would induce their band to surrender. They met the conditions but the government officials broke faith and the men were executed. Similar attempts were made to enter into negotiations with the brigands and in 1915 two hundred were trapped and beheaded after pardons had been promised them. Naturally the robbers refused to trust the government officials again. The months which elapsed between this act of treachery and the spring of 1916, were filled with innumerable outrages. Many townships were completely devastated, either by the bandits or the Chinese soldiers. Little will ever be known of what actually took place under the guise of settling brigandage, behind the mountains which separate Yuchi from the outer world. It is well that it should not be known. During the spring of 1916 a missionary visited Yuchi. Business called him outside the city wall and just beyond the west gate he saw the bodies of ten persons who had that day been executed. Among these were two children, brothers, the sons of a man who was reported to have "sold rice to the brigands." The smaller child had wept and pleaded to be permitted to kneel beside his older brother further up in the row. He was too small to realize what it all meant but he wanted to die beside his brother. In the middle of the field lay a man whose head was partly severed from his body and who had been shot through and through by the soldiers. He was lying upon his back in the broiling sun pleading for a cup of tea or for someone to put him out of his misery. The missionary learned the man's story. It appeared that years ago a law suit in which his father had been concerned had been decided in his favor. In order to square the score between the clans, the son of the man who had lost the suit had reported that he had seen this man carrying rice to the brigands. He had been arrested by the soldiers, partially killed, and left to lie in the glaring sun from nine o'clock in the morning until dark suffering the agonies of crucifixion. Not one of those who heard his moans dared to moisten the parched lips with tea lest he too be executed for having administered to a brigand. The missionary returned to the city that night vowing that he would make a recurrence of such a thing impossible or he would leave China. He took up the matter with the authorities in Peking in a quiet way and later with the military governor in Foochow. He was well known to the brigands by reputation and visited several of the chiefs in their strongholds. They declared that they had confidence in him but none in the government--or its representatives. It was only after assuming full responsibility for any treachery that the brigands agreed to discuss terms. Upon invitation to accompany him to the 24th Township, the missionary was escorted out to civilization by twenty-five picked men to whom the chief had entrusted an important charge. As the group neared the township the missionary sent word ahead to the commander of the northern soldiers to prepare to receive the brigands. [Illustration: SEAL OF A PARDONED BRIGAND.] As the twenty-five bandits appeared upon the summit of a hill overlooking the city, soldiers could be seen forming into squads outside the barracks. Instantly the brigands halted, snapped back the bolts of their rifles, and threw in shells. The missionary realized that they suspected treachery and turning about he said, "I am the guarantee for your lives. If a shot is fired kill me first." With two loaded guns at his back and accompanied by the brigands he marched into the city, where they were received by the officials with all the punctilious ceremony so dear to the heart of the Chinese. It had been a dangerous half hour for the missionary. If a rifle had been fired by mistake, and Chinese are always shooting when they themselves least expect to, he would have been instantly killed. This conference, and others which followed, resulted in several hundred pardons being distributed to the brigands by the missionary himself. The men then returned to their abandoned homes and again took up their lives as respectable farmers. Thus the reign of terror in this portion of the province was ended through the efforts of one courageous man. It is such applied Christianity that has made us respect the missionary and admire his work. CHAPTER XXVI CHINESE NEW YEAR AT YUNG-CHANG _Y.B.A._ The last half of the expedition began January 13 when we left Ta-li Fu with a caravan of thirty miles for Yung-chang, eight days' travel to the south. The _mafus_ although they had promised faithfully to come "at daylight" did not arrive until nearly noon and in consequence it was necessary to camp at Hsia-kuan at the foot of the lake. We improved our time there in hunting about for skins and finally purchased two fine leopards and a tiger. The latter had been brought from the Tonking frontier. There were a number of Tibetans wandering about the market place and in the morning a caravan of at least two hundred horses followed by twenty or thirty Tibetans, passed into the city while it was yet gray dawn. They were bringing tea from P'u-erh and S'su-mao in the south of the province and although they had already been nearly a month upon their journey there was still many long weeks of travel before them ere they reached the wind-blown steppes of their native land. The trip to Yung-chang proved uninteresting and uneventful. We crossed a succession of dry, thinly forested mountains from 7,000 to 8,000 feet high which near their summits were often clothed with a thick growth of rhododendron trees. The beautiful red flowers flashed like fire balls among the green leaves, peach trees were in full blossom and in some spots the dry hills seemed about to break forth in the full glory of their spring verdure. We crossed the Mekong near a village called Shia-chai on a picturesque chain suspension bridge of a type which is not unusual in the southern and western part of the province. Several heavy iron chains are firmly fastened to huge rock piers on opposite sides of the river and the roadway formed by planks laid upon them. Although the bridge shakes and swings in a rather alarming manner when a caravan is crossing, it is perfectly safe if not too heavily loaded. In the afternoon of January 21, we rode down the mountain to the great Yung-chang plain, and for two hours trotted over a hard dirt road. The plain is eighteen miles long by six miles wide and except for its scattered villages, is almost entirely devoted to paddy fields. The city itself includes about five thousand houses. It is exceedingly picturesque and is remarkable for its long, straight, and fairly clean streets which contrast strongly with those of the usual Chinese town. At the west, but still within the city walls, is a picturesque wooded hill occupied almost exclusively by temples. We ourselves camped between two ponds in the courtyard of a large and exceptionally clean temple just outside the south gate of the city. It was the Chinese New Year and Wu told us that for several days at least it would be impossible to obtain another caravan or expect the natives to do any work whatever. It was a very pleasant place in which to stay although we chafed at the enforced delay, but we made good use of our time in photographing and developing motion picture film, collecting birds and making various excursions. Chinese New Year is always interesting to a foreigner and at Yung-chang we saw many of the customs attending its celebration. It is a time of feasting and merry making and no native, if he can possibly avoid it, will work on that day. Chinese families almost always live under one roof but should any male member be absent at this season the circumstances must be exceptional to prevent him from returning to his home. It is customary, too, for brides to revisit their mother's house at New Year's. On our way to Yung-chang and for several days after leaving the city, we were continually passing young women mounted on mules or horses and accompanied by servants returning to their homes. New clothes are a leading feature of this season and the dresses of the brides and young matrons were usually of the most unexpected hues for, according to our conception of color, the Chinese can scarcely be counted conspicuous for their good taste. Purple and blue, orange and red, pink and lavender clash distressingly, but are worn with inordinate pride. These visits are not an unalloyed pleasure to the bride's family. Dr. Smith says in "Chinese Characteristics": When she goes to her mother's home, she goes on a strictly business basis. She takes with her it may be a quantity of sewing for her husband's family, which the wife's family must help her get through with. She is accompanied on each of these visits by as many of her children as possible, both to have her take care of them and to have them out of the way when she is not at hand to look after them, and most especially to have them fed at the expense of the family of the maternal grandmother for as long a time as possible. In regions where visits of this sort are frequent, and where there are many daughters in a family, their constant raids on the old home are a source of perpetual terror to the whole family, and a serious tax on the common resources. [Footnote: "Chinese Characteristics," by Arthur H. Smith, p. 200.] Religious rites and ceremonies form a conspicuous part in the New Year's celebration. At this time the "Kitchen God," according to current superstition, returns to heaven to render an account of the household's behavior. The wily Chinese, however, first rubs the lips of the departing deity with candy in order to "sweeten" his report of any evil which he may have witnessed during the year. Usually all the members of the family gather before the ancestral tablets, or should these be lacking as among many of the laboring classes, a scroll with a part of the genealogy is displayed and the spirits of the departed are appeased and honored by the burning of incense and the mumbling of incantations. While strict attention is paid to the religious observance to the dead, at New Year's the most punctilious ceremony is rendered to the living. After the family have paid their respects to one another the younger male members go from house to house "kowtowing" to the elders who are there to receive them. The following days are devoted to visits to relatives living in the neighboring towns and villages, and this continues, an endless routine, until fourteen days later the Feast of the Lanterns puts an end to the "epoch of national leisure." The Chinese are inveterate gamblers and at New Year's they turn feverishly to this form of amusement which is almost their only one. But they also have to think seriously about paying their debts for it is absolutely necessary for all classes and conditions of men to meet their obligations at the end of the year. Almost everyone owes money in China. According to the clan system an individual having surplus cash is obliged to lend it (though at a high rate of interest) to any members of his family in need of help. However, a Chinaman never pays cash unless absolutely obliged to and almost never settles a debt until he has been dunned repeatedly. The activity displayed at New Year's is ludicrous. Each separate individual [says Dr. Smith] is engaged in the task of trying to chase down the men who owe money to him, and compel them to pay up, and at the same time in trying to avoid the persons who are struggling to track _him_ down and corkscrew from him the amount of his indebtedness to them! The dodges and subterfuges to which each is obliged to resort, increase in complexity and number with the advance of the season, until at the close of the month, the national activity is at fever heat. For if a debt is not secured then, it will go over till a new year, and no one knows what will be the status of a claim which has actually contrived to cheat the annual Day of Judgment. In spite of the excellent Chinese habit of making the close of a year a grand clearing-house for all debts, Chinese human nature is too much for Chinese custom, and there are many of these postponed debts which are a grief of mind to many a Chinese creditor. The Chinese are at once the most practical and the most sentimental of the human race. New Year _must not_ be violated by duns for debts, and the debts _must_ be collected New Year though it be. For this reason one sometimes sees an urgent creditor going about early on the first day of the year carrying a lantern looking for his creditor [=debtor]. His artificial light shows that by a social fiction the sun has not yet risen, it is still yesterday and the debt can still be claimed.... We have but to imagine the application of the principles which we have named, to the whole Chinese Empire, and we get new light upon the nature of the Chinese New Year festivities. They are a time of rejoicing, but there is no rejoicing so keen as that of a ruined debtor, who has succeeded by shrewd devices in avoiding the most relentless of his creditors and has thus postponed his ruin for at least another twelve months. For, once past the narrow strait at the end of the year, the debtor finds himself again in the broad and peaceful waters, where he cannot be molested. Even should his creditors meet him on New Year's day, there could be no possibility of mentioning the fact of the previous day's disgraceful flight and concealment, or indeed of alluding to business at all, for this would not be "good form" and to the Chinese "Good Form" (otherwise known as custom), is the chief national divinity. [Footnote: "Village Life in China," by Arthur H. Smith, 1907, pp. 208-209.] Yung-chang appears to be almost entirely inhabited by Chinese and in no part of the province did we see foot-binding more in evidence. Practically every woman and girl, young or old, regardless of her station in life was crippled in this brutal way. The women wear long full coats with flaring skirts which hang straight from their shoulders to their knees. When the trousers are tightly wrapped about their shrunken ankles, they look in a side view exactly like huge umbrellas. One day we visited a cave thirty _li_ north of the city where we hoped to find new bats. A beautiful little temple has been built over the entrance to the cavern which does not extend more than forty or fifty feet into the rock. But twenty _li_ south of Yung-chang, just beyond the village of A-shih-wo, there is an enormous cave which is reported to extend entirely through the hill. Whether or not this is true we can not say for although we explored it in part we did not reach the end. The central corridor is about thirty feet wide and at least sixty or seventy high. We followed the main gallery for a long distance, and turned back at a branch which led off at a sharp angle. We were not equipped with sufficient candles to pursue the exploration more extensively and did not have time to visit it again. The cave contained some beautiful stalactites of considerable size, but the limestone was a dull lead color. We found only one bat and these animals appear not to have used it extensively since there was little sign upon the floor. At Yuang-chang we saw water buffaloes for the first time in Yün-nan but found them to be in universal use farther to the south and west. The huge brutes are as docile as a kitten in the hands of the smallest native child but they do not like foreigners and discretion is the better part of valor where they are concerned. Water buffaloes are only employed for work in the rice fields but Chinese cows are used as burden bearers in this part of the province. Such caravans travel much more slowly than do mule trains although the animals are not loaded as heavily. Two or three of the leading cows usually carry upon their backs large bells hung in wooden frameworks and the music is by no means unmelodious when heard at a distance. Marco Polo, the great Venetian traveler, refers to Yung-chang as "Vochang." His account of a battle which was fought in its vicinity in the year 1272 between the King of Burma and Bengal and one of Kublai Khan's generals is so interesting that I am quoting it below: When the king of Mien [Burma] and Bangala [Bengal], in India, who was powerful in the number of his subjects, in extent of territory, and in wealth, heard that an army of Tartars had arrived at Vochang [Yung-chang] he took the resolution of advancing immediately to attack it, in order that by its destruction the grand khan should be deterred from again attempting to station a force upon the borders of his dominions. For this purpose he assembled a very large army, including a multitude of elephants (an animal with which his country abounds), upon whose backs were placed battlements or castles, of wood, capable of containing to the number of twelve or sixteen in each. With these, and a numerous army of horse and foot, he took the road to Vochang, where the grand khan's army lay, and encamping at no great distance from it, intended to give his troops a few days of rest. As soon as the approach of the king of Mien, with so great a force, was known to Nestardín, who commanded the troops of the grand khan, although a brave and able officer, he felt much alarmed, not having under his orders more than twelve thousand men (veterans, indeed, and valiant soldiers); whereas the enemy had sixty thousand, besides the elephants armed as has been described. He did not, however, betray any sign of apprehension, but descending into the plain of Vochang, took a position in which his flank was covered by a thick wood of large trees, whither, in case of a furious charge by the elephants, which his troops might not be able to sustain, they could retire, and from thence, in security, annoy them with their arrows.... Upon the king of Mien's learning that the Tartars had descended into the plain, he immediately put his army in motion, took up his ground at the distance of about a mile from the enemy, and made a disposition of his force, placing the elephants in the front, and the cavalry and infantry, in two extended wings, in their rear, but leaving between them a considerable interval. Here he took his own station, and proceeded to animate his men and encourage them to fight valiantly, assuring them of victory, as well from the superiority of their numbers, being four to one, as from their formidable body of armed elephants, whose shock the enemy, who had never before been engaged with such combatants, could by no means resist. Then giving orders for sounding a prodigious number of warlike instruments, he advanced boldly with his whole army towards that of the Tartars, which remained firm, making no movement, but suffering them to approach their entrenchments. They then rushed out with great spirit and the utmost eagerness to engage; but it was soon found that the Tartar horses, unused to the sight of such huge animals, with their castles, were terrified, and by wheeling about endeavored to fly; nor could their riders by any exertions restrain them, whilst the king, with the whole of his forces, was every moment gaining ground. As soon as the prudent commander perceived this unexpected disorder, without losing his presence of mind, he instantly adopted the measure of ordering his men to dismount and their horses to be taken into the wood, where they were fastened to the trees. When dismounted, the men without loss of time, advanced on foot towards the line of elephants, and commenced a brisk discharge of arrows; whilst, on the other side, those who were stationed in the castles, and the rest of the king's army, shot volleys in return with great activity; but their arrows did not make the same impression as those of the Tartars, whose bows were drawn with a stronger arm. So incessant were the discharges of the latter, and all their weapons (according to the instructions of their commander) being directed against the elephants, these were soon covered with arrows, and, suddenly giving way, fell back upon their own people in the rear, who were thereby thrown into confusion. It soon became impossible for their drivers to manage them, either by force or address. Smarting under the pain of their wounds, and terrified by the shouting of the assailants, they were no longer governable, but without guidance or control ran about in all directions, until at length, impelled by rage and fear, they rushed into a part of the wood not occupied by the Tartars. The consequence of this was, that from the closeness of the branches of large trees, they broke, with loud crashes, the battlements or castles that were upon their backs, and involved in the destruction those who sat upon them. Upon seeing the rout of the elephants the Tartars acquired fresh courage, and filing off by detachments, with perfect order and regularity, they remounted their horses, and joined their several divisions, when a sanguinary and dreadful combat was renewed. On the part of the king's troops there was no want of valor, and he himself went amongst the ranks entreating them to stand firm, and not to be alarmed by the accident that had befallen the elephants. But the Tartars by their consummate skill in archery, were too powerful for them, and galled them the more exceedingly, from their not being provided with such armor as was worn by the former. The arrows having been expended on both sides, the men grasped their swords and iron maces, and violently encountered each other. Then in an instant were to be seen many horrible wounds, limbs dismembered, and multitudes falling to the ground, maimed and dying; with such effusion of blood as was dreadful to behold. So great also was the clangor of arms, and such the shoutings and the shrieks, that the noise seemed to ascend to the skies. The king of Mien, acting as became a valiant chief, was present wherever the greatest danger appeared, animating his soldiers, and beseeching them to maintain their ground with resolution. He ordered fresh squadrons from the reserve to advance to the support of those that were exhausted; but perceiving at length that it was impossible any longer to sustain the conflict or to withstand the impetuosity of the Tartars, the greater part of his troops being either killed or wounded, and all the field covered with the carcasses of men and horses, whilst those who survived were beginning to give way, he also found himself compelled to take to flight with the wreck of his army, numbers of whom were afterwards slain in the pursuit.... The Tartars having collected their force after the slaughter of the enemy, returned towards the wood into which the elephants had fled for shelter, in order to take possession of them, where they found that the men who had escaped from the overthrow were employed in cutting down trees and barricading the passages, with the intent of defending themselves. But their ramparts were soon demolished by the Tartars, who slew many of them, and with the assistance of the persons accustomed to the management of the elephants, they possessed themselves of these to the number of two hundred or more. From the period of this battle the grand khan has always chosen to employ elephants in his armies, which before that time he had not done. The consequences of the victory were, that he acquired possession of the whole of the territories of the king of Bangala and Mien, and annexed them to his dominions. [Footnote: "The Travels of Marco Polo the Venetian." Everyman's Library. J.M. Dent & Sons, Ltd., London; pp. 253-256.] CHAPTER XXVII TRAVELING TOWARD THE TROPICS We left Yung-chang with no regret on Monday, January 28. Our stay there would have been exceedingly pleasant under ordinary conditions but it was impossible not to chafe at the delay occasioned by the caravan. Traveling southward for two days over bare brown mountain-sides, their monotony unrelieved except by groves of planted pine and fir trees, we descended abruptly into the great subtropical valley at Shih-tien. Mile after mile this fertile plain stretches away in a succession of rice paddys and fields of sugar cane interspersed with patches of graceful bamboo, their summits drooping like enormous clusters of ostrich plumes; the air is warm and fragrant and the change from the surrounding hills is delightful. However, we were disappointed in the shooting for, although it appeared to be an ideal place for ducks and other water birds, we killed only five teal, and the great ponds were almost devoid of bird life. Even herons, so abundant in the north, were conspicuous by their absence and we saw no sheldrakes, geese, or mallards. At Shih-tien we camped in a beautiful temple yard on the outskirts of the town, and with Wu I returned to the village to inquire about shooting places. We seated ourselves in the first open tea house and within ten minutes more than a hundred natives had filled the room, overflowed through the door and windows, and formed a mass of pushing, crowding bodies which completely blocked the street outside. It was a simple way of getting all the village together and Wu questioned everyone who looked intelligent. We learned that shooting was to be found near Gen-kang, five days' travel south, and we returned to the temple just in time to receive a visit from the resident mandarin. He was a good-looking, intellectual man, with charming manners and one of the most delightful gentlemen whom we met in China. During his visit, and until dinner was over and we had retired to our tents, hundreds of men, women and children crowded into the temple yard to gaze curiously at us. After the gates had been closed they climbed the walls and sat upon the tiles like a flock of crows. Their curiosity was insatiable but not unfriendly and nowhere throughout our expedition did we find such extraordinary interest in our affairs as was manifested by the people in this immediate region. They were largely Chinese and most of them must have met foreigners before, yet their curiosity was much greater than that of any natives whom we knew were seeing white persons for the first time. Just before camping the next day we passed through a large village where we were given a most flattering reception. We had stopped to do some shooting and were a considerable distance behind the caravan. The _mafus_ must have announced our coming, for the populace was out _en masse_ to greet us and lined the streets three deep. It was a veritable triumphal entry and crowds of men and children followed us for half a mile outside the town, running beside our horses and staring with saucer-like eyes. On the second day from Shih-tien we climbed a high mountain and wound down a sharp descent for about 4,000 feet into a valley only 2,300 feet above sea level. We had been cold all day on the ridges exposed to a biting wind and had bundled ourselves into sweaters and coats over flannel shirts. After going down about 1,000 feet we tied our coats to the saddle pockets, on the second thousand stripped off the sweaters, and for the remainder of the descent rode with sleeves rolled up and shirts open at the throat. We had come from mid-winter into summer in two hours and the change was most startling. It was as though we had suddenly ridden into an artificially heated building like the rooms for tropical plants at botanical gardens. Our camp was on a flat plain just above the river where we had a splendid view of the wide valley which was like the bottom of a well with high mountains rising abruptly on all sides. It was a place of strange contrasts. The bushes and trees were in full green foliage but the grass and paddy fields were dry and brown as in mid-winter. The thick trees at the base of the hills were literally alive with doves but there were few mammal runways and our traps yielded no results. That night a muntjac, the first we had heard, barked hoarsely behind the tents. The _yamen_ "soldier" who accompanied us from Shih-tien delivered his official dispatch at the village (Ma-po-lo) which lies farther down the valley. The magistrate, who proved to be a Shan native, arrived soon after with ten or twelve men and we discovered that there was but one man in the village who spoke Chinese. The magistrate at Ma-po-lo by no means wished to have the responsibility of our safety thrust upon him and consequently assured us that there were neither game nor hunters in this village. Although his anxiety to be rid of us was apparent, he was probably telling the truth, for the valley is so highly cultivated (rice), and the cover on the mountain-sides so limited, that it is doubtful if much game remains. In the morning the entire valley was filled with a dense white fog but we climbed out of it almost immediately, and by noon were back again in winter on the summits of the ridges. The country through which we passed _en route_ to Gen-kang was similar to that which had oppressed us during the preceding week--cultivated valleys between high barren mountains relieved here and there by scattered groves of planted fir trees. It was a region utterly hopeless from a naturalist's standpoint and when we arrived at a large town near Gen-kang we were well-nigh discouraged. During almost a month of travel we had been guided by native information which without exception had proved worthless. It seemed useless to rely upon it further, and yet there was no other alternative, for none of the foreigners whom we had met in Yün-nan knew anything about this part of the province. We were certain to reach a tropical region farther south and the fact that there were a few sambur skins for sale in the market offered slight encouragement. These were said to come from a village called Meng-ting, "a little more far," to the tune of four or five days' travel, over on the Burma frontier. With gloom in our hearts, which matched that of the weather, we left in a pouring rain on February 5, to slip and splash southward through veritable rivers of mud for two long marches. In the afternoon of the second day the country suddenly changed. The trail led through a wide grassy valley, bordered by heavily forested hills, into a deep ravine. Along the banks of a clear stream the earth was soft and damp and the moss-covered logs and dense vegetation made ideal conditions for small mammalian life. We rode happily up the ravine and stood in a rocky gateway. At the right a green-clothed mountain rose out of a tangle of luxuriant vegetation; to the left wave after wave of magnificent forested ridges lost themselves in the low hung clouds; at our feet lay a beautiful valley filled with stately trees which spread into a thick green canopy overhead. We camped in a clearing just at the edge of the forest. While the tents were being pitched, I set a line of traps along the base of the opposite mountain and found a "runway" under almost every log. About eight o'clock I ran my traps and, with the aid of a lantern, stumbled about in the bushes and high grass, over logs and into holes. When I emptied my pockets there were fifteen mice, rats, shrews, and voles, representing seven species _and all new to our collection_. Heller brought in eight specimens and added two new species. We forthwith decided to stay right where we were until this "gold mine" had been exhausted. In the morning our traps were full of mammals and sixty-two were laid out on the table ready for skinning. The length, tail, hind foot, and ear of each specimen was first carefully measured in millimeters and recorded in the field catalogue and upon a printed label bearing our serial number; then an incision was made in the belly, the skin stripped off, poisoned with arsenic, stuffed with cotton, and sewed up. The animal was then pinned in position by the feet, nose, and tail in a shallow wooden tray which fitted in the collecting trunk. The specimens were put in the sun on every bright day until they were thoroughly dry and could be wrapped in cotton and packed in water-tight trunks or boxes. We have found that the regulation U.S. Army officer's fiber trunk makes an ideal collecting case. It measures thirty inches long by thirteen deep and sixteen inches wide and will remain quite dry in an ordinary rain but, of course, must not be allowed to stand in water. The skulls of all specimens, and the skeletons of some, are numbered like the skin, strung upon a wire, and dried in the sun. Also individuals of every species are injected and preserved in formalin for future anatomical study. Larger specimens are always salted and dried. As soon as the skin has been removed and cleaned of flesh and fat, salt is rubbed into every part of it and the hide rolled up. In the morning it is unwrapped, the water which has been extracted by the salt poured off, and the skin hung over a rope or a tree branch to dry. If it is not too hot and the air is dry, the skin may be kept in the shade to good advantage, but under ordinary field conditions it should be placed in the sun. Before it becomes too hard, the hide is rolled or folded into a convenient package hair side in, tied into shape and allowed to become "bone dry." In this condition it will keep indefinitely but requires constant watching, for the salt absorbs moisture from the air and alternate wetting and drying is fatal. We soon trained two of our Chinese boys to skin both large and small animals and they became quite expert. They required constant watching, however, and after each hide had been salted either Mr. Heller or I examined it to make sure that it was properly treated. On our first day in camp we sent for natives to the village of Mu-cheng ten _li_ distant. The men assured us that there were sambur, serow, and muntjac in the neighborhood, and they agreed to hunt. They had no dogs and were armed with crossbows, antiquated guns, and bows and arrows, but they showed us the skins of two sambur in proof of their ability to secure game. Like most of the other natives, with the exception of the Mosos on the Snow Mountain, these men had no definite plan in hunting. The first day I went out with them they indicated that we were to drive a hill not far from camp. Without giving me an opportunity to reach a position in front of them, they began to work up the hill, and I had a fleeting glimpse of a sambur silhouetted against the sky as it dashed over the summit. Two days later while I was out with ten other men who had a fairly good pack of dogs, the first party succeeded in killing a female sambur. The animal weighed at least five hundred pounds but they brought it to our camp and we purchased the skin for ten _rupees_. South of Gen-kang the money of the region, like all of Yün-nan for some distance from the Burma frontier, is the Indian _rupee_ which equals thirty-three cents American gold; in that part of the province adjoining Tonking, French Indo-China money is current. My Journal of February 8 tells of our life at this camp, which we called "Good Hope." The weather is delightful for the sun is just warm enough for comfort and the nights are clear and cold. How we do sleep! It seems hardly an hour from the time we go to bed until we hear Wu rousing the servants, and the crackle of the camp-fire outside the tent. We half dress in our sleeping bags and with chattering teeth dash for the fire to lace our high boots in its comfortable warmth. After breakfast when it is full daylight, my wife and I inspect the traps. The ground is white with frost and the trees and bushes are dressed in silver. Every trap holds an individual interest and we follow the line through the forest, resetting some, and finding new mammals in others. Yvette has conquered her feminine repugnance far enough to remove shrews or mice from the traps by releasing the spring and dropping them on to a broad green leaf, but she never touches them. We go back to meet the hunters and while I am away with the men, the lady of the camp works at her photography. I return in the late afternoon and after tea we wander through the woods together. It is the most delightful part of the day when the sun goes down and the shadows lengthen. We sit on a log in a small clearing where we can watch the upper branches of a splendid tree. It is the home of a great colony of red-bellied squirrels (_Callosciurus erythraeus_ subsp.) and after a few moments of silence we see a flash of brown along a branch, my gun roars out, and there is a thud upon the ground. Yvette runs to find the animal and ere the echoes have died away in the forest the gun bangs again. We have already shot a dozen squirrels from this tree and yet more are there. Sometimes a tiny, striped chipmunk (_Tamiops macclellandi_ subsp.) will appear on the lower branches, searching the bark for grubs, and after he falls we have a long hunt to find him in the brown leaves. When it is too dark to see the squirrels, we wander slowly back to camp and eat a dinner of delicious broiled deer steak in front of the fire; over the coffee we smoke and talk of the day's hunting until it is time to "run the traps." Of all the work we enjoy this most. With lanterns and a gun we pick our way among the trees until we strike the trail along which the traps are set. On the soft ground our feet are noiseless and, extinguishing the lanterns, we sit on a log to listen to the night sounds. The woods are full of life. Almost beside us there is a patter of tiny feet and a scurry among the dry leaves; a muntjac barks hoarsely on the opposite hillside, and a fox yelps behind us in the forest. Suddenly there is a sharp snap, a muffled squeal, and a trap a few yards away has done its work. Even in the tree tops the night life is active. Dead twigs drop to the ground with an unnatural noise, and soft-winged owls show black against the sky as they flit across an opening in the branches. We light the lanterns again and pass down the trail into a cuplike hollow. Here there are a dozen traps and already half of them are full. In one is a tiny brown shrew caught by the tail as he ran across the trap; another holds a veritable treasure, and at my exclamation of delight Yvette runs up excitedly. It is a rare Insectivore of the genus _Hylomys_ and possibly a species new to science. We examine it beside the lantern, wrap it carefully in paper, and drop it into a pocket by itself. The next bit of cotton clings to a bush above a mossy log. The trap is gone and for ten minutes we hunt carefully over every inch of ground. Finally my wife discovers it fifteen feet away and stifles a scream for in it, caught by the neck and still alive, is a huge rat nearly two feet long; it too is a species which may prove new. When the last trap has been examined, we follow the trail to the edge of the forest and into the clearing where the tents glow in the darkness like great yellow pumpkins. Ours is delightfully warmed by the charcoal brazier and, stretched comfortably on the beds, we write our daily records or read Dickens for half an hour. It is with a feeling of great contentment that we slip down into the sleeping bags and blow out the candles leaving the tent filled with the soft glow of the moonlight. CHAPTER XXVIII MENG-TING: A VILLAGE OF MANY TONGUES During the eight days in which we remained at the "Good Hope" camp, two hundred specimens comprising twenty-one species were added to our collection. Although the altitude was still 5,000 feet, the flora was quite unlike that of any region in which we had previously collected, and that undoubtedly was responsible for the complete change of fauna. We were on the very edge of the tropical belt which stretches along the Tonking and Burma frontiers in the extreme south and west of the province. It was already mid-February and if we were to work in the fever-stricken valleys below 2,000 feet, it was high time we were on the way southward. The information which we had obtained near Gen-kang had been supplemented by the natives of Mu-cheng, and we decided to go to Meng-ting as soon as possible. The first march was long and uneventful but at its end, from the summit of a high ridge, we could see a wide valley which we reached in the early morning of the second day. The narrow mountain trail abruptly left us on a jutting promontory and wandered uncertainly down a steep ravine to lose itself in a veritable forest of tree ferns and sword grass. The slanting rays of the sun drew long golden paths into the mysterious depths of the mist-filled valley. To the right a giant sentinel peak of granite rose gaunt and naked from out the enveloping sea of green which swelled away to the left in huge ascending billows. We rested in our saddles until the faint tinkle of the bell on the leading mule announced the approach of the caravan and then we picked our way slowly down the steep trail between walls of tangled vegetation. In an hour we were breathing the moist warm air of the tropics and riding across a wide valley as level as a floor. The long stretches of rank grass, far higher than our heads, were broken by groves of feathery bamboos, banana palms, and splendid trees interlaced with tangled vines. Near the base of the mountains a Shan village nestled into the grass. The bamboo houses, sheltered by trees and bushes, were roofed in the shape of an overturned boat with thatch and the single street was wide and clean. Could this really be China? Verily, it was a different China from that we had seen before! It might be Burma, India, Java, but never China! Before the door of a tiny house sat a woman spinning. A real Priscilla, somewhat strange in dress to be sure and with a mouth streaked with betel nut, but Priscilla just the same. And in his proper place beside her stood John Alden. A pair of loose, baggy trousers, hitched far up over one leg to show the intricate tattoo designs beneath, a short coat, and a white turban completed John's attire, but he grasped a gun almost as ancient in design as that of his Pilgrim fathers. Priscilla kept her eyes upon the spinning wheel, but John's gaze could by no stretch of imagination be called ardent even before we appeared around a corner of the house and the pretty picture resolved into its rightful components--a surprised, but not unlovely Shan girl and a well-built, yellow-skinned native who stared with wide brown eyes and open mouth at what must have seemed to him the fancy of a disordered brain. For into his village, filled with immemorial peace and quiet, where every day was exactly like the day before, had suddenly ridden two big men with white skins and blue eyes, and a little one with lots of hair beneath a broad sun helmet. And almost immediately the little one had jumped from the horse and pointed a black box with a shiny front at him and his Priscilla. At once, but without loss of dignity, Priscilla vanished into the house, but John Alden stood his ground, for a beautiful new tin can had been thrust into his hand and before he had really discovered what it was the little person had smiled at him and turned her attention to the charming street of his village. There the great water buffalos lazily chewed their cuds standing guard over the tiny brown-skinned natives who played trustingly with the calves almost beneath their feet. Such was our invasion of the first Shan village we had ever seen, and regretfully we rode away across the plain between the walls of waving grass toward the Nam-ting River. Two canoes, each dug out of a single log, and tightly bound together, formed the ferry, but the packs were soon across the muddy stream and the mules were made to swim to the other bank. Shortly after leaving the ferry we emerged from the vast stretches of rank grass on to the open rice paddys which stretched away in a gently undulating plain from the river to the mountains. Strangely enough we saw no ducks or geese, but three great flocks of cranes (probably _Grus communis_) rose from the fields and wheeled in ever-widening spirals above our heads until they were lost in the blue depths of the sky. Away in the distance we saw a wooded knoll with a few wisps of smoke curling above its summit, but not until we were well-nigh there did we realize that its beautiful trees sheltered the thatched roofs of Meng-ting. But this was only the "residential section" of the village and below the knoll on the opposite side of a shallow stream lay the shops and markets. We camped on a dry rice dyke where a fringe of jungle separated us from the nearest house. As soon as the tents were up I announced our coming to the mandarin and requested an interview at five o'clock. Wu and I found the _yamen_ to be a large well-built house, delightfully cool and exhibiting several foreign articles which evinced its proximity to Burma. We were received by a suave Chinese "secretary" who shortly introduced the mandarin--a young Shan not more than twenty years old who only recently had succeeded his late father as chief of the village. The boy was dressed in an exceedingly long frock coat, rather green and frayed about the elbows, which in combination with his otherwise typical native dress gave him a most extraordinary appearance. We soon discovered that the Chinese secretary who did all the talking was the "power behind the throne." He accepted my gift of a package of tea with great pleasure, but the information about hunting localities for which we asked was not forthcoming. He first said that he knew of a place where there were tiger and leopard, but that he did not dare to reveal it to us for we might be killed by the wild animals and he would be responsible for our deaths; bringing to his attention the fact that tigers had never been recorded from the Meng-ting region did not impress him in the slightest. It did tend to send him off on another track, however, and he next remarked that if he sent us to a place where the hunting was disappointing we probably would report him to the district mandarin. Assurances to the contrary had no effect. It was perfectly evident that he wished only to get us out of his district and thus relieve himself of the responsibility of our safety. During the conversation, which lasted more than an hour, the young Shan was not consulted and did not speak a word; he sat stolidly in his chair, hardly winking, and except for the constant supply of cigarettes which passed between his fingers there was no evidence that he even breathed. The interview closed with assurances from the Chinaman that he would make inquiries concerning hunting grounds and communicate with us in the morning. We returned to camp and half an hour later a party of natives arrived from the _yamen_ bearing about one hundred pounds of rice, a sack of potatoes, two dozen eggs, three chickens, and a great bundle of fire wood. These were deposited in front of our tent as gifts from the mandarin. We were at a loss to account for such generosity until Wu explained that whenever a high official visited a village it was customary for the mandarin to supply his entire party with food during their stay. It would be quite polite to send back all except a few articles, however, for the supplies were levied from the inhabitants of the town. We kept the eggs and chickens, giving the _yamen_ "runners" considerably more than their value in money, and they gratefully returned with the rice and potatoes. On the hill high above our camp was a large Shan Buddhist monastery, bamboo walled and thatched with straw, and at sunset and daybreak a musical chant of childish voices floated down to us in the mist-filled valley. All day long tiny yellow-robed figures squatted on the mud walls about the temple like a flock of birds peering at us with bright round eyes. They were wild as hawks, these little priests and, although they sometimes left the shelter of their temple walls, they never ventured below the bushy hedge about our rice field. In the village we saw them often, wandering about the streets or sitting in yellow groups beneath the giant trees which threw a welcome shade over almost every house. They were not all children, and finely built youths or men so old that they seemed like wrinkled bits of lemon peel, passed to and fro to the temple on the hill. There is no dearth of priests, for every family in the village with male children is required to send at least one boy to live a part of his life under the tutelage of the Church. He must remain three years, and longer, if he wishes. The priests are fed by the monastery, and their clothing is not an important item of expenditure as it consists merely of a straw hat and a yellow robe. They lead a lazy, worthless life, and from their sojourn in religious circles they learn only indolence and idleness. The day following our arrival in Meng-ting the weekly market was held, and when Wu and I crossed the little stream to the business part of the village, we found ourselves in the midst of the most picturesque crowd of natives it has ever been my fortune to see. It was a group flashing with color, and every individual a study for an artist. There were blue-clad Chinese, Shans with tattooed legs, turbans of pink or white, and Burmans dressed in brilliant purple or green, Las, yellow-skinned Lisos, flat-faced Palaungs, Was, and Kachins in black and red strung about with beads or shells. Long swords hung from the shoulders of those who did not carry a spear or gun, and the hilts of wicked looking daggers peeped from beneath their sashes. Every man carried a weapon ready for instant use. Nine tribes were present in the market that day and almost as many languages were being spoken. It was a veritable Babel and half the trading was done by signs. The narrow street was choked with goods of every kind spread out upon the ground: fruit, rice, cloth, nails, knives, swords, hats, sandals, skins, horns, baskets, mats, crossbows, arrows, pottery, tea, opium, and scores of other articles for food or household use. Dozens of natives were arriving and departing, bringing new goods or packing up their purchases; under open, thatched pavilions were silent groups of men gambling with cash or silver, and in the "tea houses" white-faced natives lay stretched upon the couches rolling "pills" of opium and oblivious to the constant stream of passers-by. It was a picturesque, ever changing group, a kaleidoscopic mass of life and color, where Chinese from civilized Canton drank, and gambled, and smoked with wild natives from the hills or from the depths of fever-stricken jungles. After one glimpse of the picture in the market I dashed back to camp to bring the "Lady of the Camera." On the way I met her, hot and breathless, half coaxing, half driving three bewildered young priests resplendent in yellow robes. All the morning she had been trying vainly to photograph a priest and had discovered these splendid fellows when all her color plates had been exposed. She might have succeeded in bringing them to camp had I not arrived, but they suddenly lost courage and rushed away with averted faces. When the plate holders were all reloaded we hurried back to the market followed by two coolies with the cameras. Leaving Yvette to do her work alone I set up the cinematograph. Wu was with me and in less than a minute the narrow space in front of us was packed with a seething mass of natives. It was impossible to take a "street scene" for the "street" had suddenly disappeared. Making a virtue of necessity I focused the camera on the irregular line of heads and swung it back and forth registering a variety of facial expressions which it would be hard to duplicate. For some time it was impossible to bribe the natives to stand even for a moment, but after one or two had conquered their fear and been liberally rewarded, there was a rush for places. Wu asked several of the natives who could speak Chinese if they knew what we were doing but they all shook their heads. None of them had ever seen a camera or a photograph. The Kachin women were the most picturesque of all the tribes as well as the most difficult to photograph. Yvette was not able to get them at all, and I could do so only by strategy. When Wu discovered two or three squatting near their baskets on the ground I moved slowly up behind them keeping in the center of the crowd. After the "movie camera" was in position Wu suddenly "shooed" back the spectators and before the women realized what was happening they were registered on twenty-five or thirty feet of film. One of the Kachin men, who had drunk too much, suddenly became belligerent when I pointed the camera in his direction, and rushed at me with a drawn knife. I swung for his jaw with my right fist and he went down in a heap. He was more surprised than hurt, I imagine, but it took all of the fight out of him for he received no sympathy from the spectators. Poor Yvette had a difficult time with her camera operations and a less determined person would have given up in despair. The natives were so shy and suspicious that it was well-nigh impossible to bribe them to stand for a second and it was only after three hours of aggravating work in the stifling heat and dust that she at last succeeded in exposing all her plates. Her patience and determination were really wonderful and I am quite sure that I should not have obtained half her results. The Kachin women were extraordinary looking individuals. They were short, and strongly built, with a mop of coarse hair cut straight all around, and thick lips stained with betel nut. Their dress consisted of a short black jacket and skirt reaching to the knees, and ornamented with strings of beads and pieces of brass or silver. This tribe forms the largest part of the population in northern Burma and also extends into Assam. Yün-nan is fortunate in having comparatively few of them along its western frontier for they are an uncivilized and quarrelsome race and frequently give the British government considerable trouble. There were only a few Burmans in the market although the border is hardly a dozen miles to the west, but the girls were especially attractive. Their bright pretty faces seemed always ready to break into a smile and their graceful figures draped in brilliant _sarongs_ were in delightful contrast to the other, not over-clean, natives. The Burma girls were not chewing betel nut, which added to their distinction. The lips of virtually every other woman and man were stained from the red juice, which is in universal use throughout India, the Malay Peninsula, and the Netherlands Indies. In Yün-nan we first noted it at the "Good Hope" camp, and the Shans are generally addicted to the practice. The permanent population of Meng-ting is entirely Shan, but during the winter a good many Cantonese Chinamen come to gamble and buy opium. The drug is smuggled across the border very easily and a lucrative trade is carried on. It can be purchased for seventy-five cents (Mexican) an ounce in Burma and sold for two dollars (Mexican) an ounce in Yün-nan Fu and for ten dollars in Shanghai. Opium is smoked publicly in all the tea houses. The drug is cooked over an alcohol lamp and when the "pill" is properly prepared it is placed in the tiny bowl of the pipe, held against the flame and the smoke inhaled. The process is a rather complicated one and during it the natives always recline. No visible effect is produced even after smoking several pipefuls, but the deathly paleness and expressionless eye marks the inveterate opium user. There can be no doubt that the Chinese government has been, and is, genuinely anxious to suppress the use of opium and it has succeeded to a remarkable degree. We heard of only one instance of poppy growing in Yün-nan and often met officials, accompanied by a guard of soldiers, on inspection trips. Indeed, while we were in Meng-ting the district mandarin arrived. We were sitting in our tents when the melodious notes of deep-toned gongs floated in through the mist. They were like the chimes of far away cathedral bells sounding nearer and louder, but losing none of the sweetness. Soon a long line of soldiers appeared and passed the camp bearing in their midst a covered chair. The mandarin established himself in a spacious temple on the opposite side of the village, where I visited him the following day and explained the difficulty we had had at the Meng-ting _yamen_. He aided us so effectually that all opposition to our plans ended and we obtained a guide to take us to a hunting place on the Nam-ting River, three miles from the Burma border. CHAPTER XXIX CAMPING ON THE NAM-TING RIVER Every morning the valley at Meng-ting was filled with a thick white mist and when we broke camp at daylight each mule was swallowed up in the fog as soon as it left the rice field. We followed the sound of the leader's bell, but not until ten o'clock was the entire caravan visible. For thirty _li_ the valley is broad and flat as at Meng-ting and filled with a luxuriant growth of rank grass, but it narrows suddenly where the river has carved its way through a range of hills. The trail led uncertainly along a steep bank through a dense, tropical jungle. Palms and huge ferns, broad-leaved bananas, and giant trees laced and interlaced with thorny vines and hanging creepers formed a living wall of green as impenetrable as though it were a net of steel. We followed the trail all day, sometimes picking our way among the rocks high above the river or padding along in the soft earth almost at the water's edge. At night we camped in a little clearing where some adventurous native had fought the jungle and been defeated; his bamboo hut was in ruins and the fields were overgrown with a tangle of throttling vegetation. We had seen no mammals, but the birds along the road were fascinating. Brilliant green parrots screamed in the tree tops and tiny sun-birds dressed in garments of red and gold and purple, flashed across the trail like living jewels. Once we heard a strange whirr and saw a huge hornbill flapping heavily over the river, every beat of his stiff wing feathers sounding like the motor of an aëroplane. Bamboo partridges called from the bushes and dozens of unfamiliar bird notes filled the air. At eleven o'clock on the following morning we passed two thatched huts in a little clearing beside the trail and the guide remarked that our camping place was not far away. We reached it shortly and were delighted. Two enormous trees, like great umbrellas, spread a cool, dark shade above a sparkling stream on the edge of an abandoned rice field. From a patch of ground as level as a floor, where our tents were pitched, we could look across the brown rice dykes to the enclosing walls of jungle and up to the green mountain beyond. A half mile farther down the trail, but hidden away in the jungle, lay a picturesque Shan village of a dozen huts, where the guide said we should be able to find hunters. As soon as tiffin was over we went up the creek with a bag of steel traps to set them on the tiny trails which wound through the jungle in every direction. Selecting a well-beaten patch we buried the trap in the center, covered it carefully with leaves, and suspended the body of a bird or a chunk of meat by a wire over the pan about three feet from the ground. A light branch was fastened to the chain as a "drag." When the trap is pulled this invariably catches in the grass or vines and, while holding the animal firmly, still gives enough "spring" to prevent its freeing itself. Trapping is exceedingly interesting for it is a contest of wits between the trapper and the animal with the odds by no means in favor of the former. The trap may not be covered in a natural way; the surroundings may be unduly disturbed; a scent of human hands may linger about the bait, or there may be numberless other possibilities to frighten the suspicious animal. In the evening our guide brought a strange individual whom he introduced as the best hunter in the village. He was a tall Mohammedan Chinese who dressed like a Shan and was married to a Shan woman. He seemed to be afflicted with mental and physical inertia, for when he spoke it was in slow drawl hardly louder than a whisper, and every movement of his body was correspondingly deliberate. We immediately named him the "Dying Rabbit" but discovered very shortly that he really had boundless energy and was an excellent hunter. The next morning he collected a dozen Shans for beaters and we drove a patch of jungle above camp but without success. There were many sambur tracks in the clearings, but we realized at once that it was going to be difficult to get deer because of the dense cover; the open places were so few and small that a sambur had every chance to break through without giving a shot. Nearly all the beaters carried guns. The "Dying Rabbit" was armed with a .45-caliber bolt action rifle into which he had managed to fit a .303 shell and several of the men had Winchester carbines, model 1875. The guns had all been brought from Burma and most were without ammunition, but each man had an assortment of different cartridges and used whichever he could force into his rifle. The men worked splendidly under the direction of the "Dying Rabbit." On the second day they put up a sambur which ran within a hundred feet of us but was absolutely invisible in the high grass. When we returned to camp we found that a civet (_Viverra_) had walked past our tent and begun to eat the scraps about the cook box, regardless of the shouts of the _mafus_ and servants who were imploring Heller to bring his gun. After considerable difficulty they persuaded him that there really was some cause for their excitement and he shot the animal. It was probably ill, for its flesh was dry and yellow, but the skin was in excellent condition. Civets belong to the family _Viverridae_ and are found only in Asia and Africa. Although they resemble cats superficially they are not directly related to them and their claws are only partly retractile. They are very beautiful animals with a grayish body spotted with black, a ringed tail, and a black and white striped pointed head. A scent gland near the base of the tail secretes a strong musk-like odor which, although penetrating, is not particularly disagreeable. The animals move about chiefly in the early morning and evening and at night and prey upon birds, eggs, small mammals, fish, and frogs. One which we caught and photographed had a curious habit of raising the hair on the middle of its back from the neck to the tail whenever it was angry or frightened. Although there were no houses within half a mile of camp we were surprised on our first night to hear cocks crowing in the jungle. The note was like that of the ordinary barnyard bird, except that it ended somewhat more abruptly. The next morning we discovered Chanticleer and all his harem in a deserted rice field, and he flew toward the jungle in a flash of red and gold. I dropped him and one of his hens with a right and left of "sixes" and found that they were jungle fowl (_Gallus gallus_) in full plumage. The cock was a splendid bird. The long neck feathers (hackles) spread over his back and wings like a shimmering golden mantle, but it was hardly more beautiful than the black of his underparts and green-glossed tail. Picture to yourself a "black-breasted red" gamecock and you have him in all his glory except that his tail is drooping and he is more pheasant-like in his general bearing. The female was a trim little bird with a lilac sheen to her brown feathers and looked much like a well-kept game bantam hen. The jungle fowl is the direct ancestor of our barnyard hens and roosters which were probably first domesticated in Burma and adjacent countries long before the dawn of authentic history. According to tradition the Chinese received their poultry from the West about 1400 B.C. and they are figured in Babylonian cylinders between the sixth and seventh centuries B.C.; although they were probably introduced in Greece through Persia there is no direct evidence as to when and how they reached Europe. The black-breasted jungle fowl (_Gallus gallus_) inhabit northern India, Burma, Indo-Chinese countries, the Malay Peninsula, and the Philippine Islands; a related species, _G. lafayetti_, is found in Ceylon; another, _G. sonnerati_, in southern India, and a fourth, _G. varius_, in Java. We found the jungle fowl wild and hard to kill even where they were seldom hunted. During the heat of the day they remain in thick cover, but in cloudy weather and in the early morning and evening they come out into clearings to feed. At our camp on the Nam-ting River we could usually put up a few birds on the edge of the deserted rice fields which stretched up into the jungle, but they were never far away from the edge of the forest. We sometimes saw single birds of either sex, but usually a cock had with him six or eight hens. It was interesting to watch such a flock feeding in the open. The male, resplendent in his vivid dress, shone like a piece of gold against the dull brown of the dry grass and industriously ran about among his trim little hens, rounding up the stragglers and directing his harem with a few low-toned "clucks" whenever he found some unusually tempting food. It was his duty, too, to watch for danger and he usually would send the flock whirring into the jungle while they were well beyond shotgun range. When flushed from the open the birds nearly always would alight in the first large tree and sit for a few moments before flying deeper into the jungle. We caught several hens in our steel traps, and one morning at the edge of a swamp I shot a jungle fowl and a woodcock with a "right and left" as they flushed together. We were at the Nam-ting camp at the beginning of the mating season for the jungle fowl. It is said that they brood from January to April according to locality, laying from eight to twelve creamy white eggs under a bamboo clump or some dense thicket where a few leaves have been scratched together for a nest. The hen announces the laying of an egg by means of a proud cackle, and the chicks themselves have the characteristic "peep, peep, peep" of the domestic birds. After the breeding season the beautiful red and gold neck hackles of the male sometimes are molted and replaced by short blackish feathers. There seems to be some uncertainty as to whether the cocks are polygamous, but our observations tend to show that they are. We never saw more than one male in a flock and in only one or two instances were the birds in pairs. The cocks are inveterate fighters like the domestic birds and their long curved spurs are exceedingly effective weapons. We set a trap for a leopard on a hill behind the Nam-ting River camp and on the second afternoon it contained a splendid polecat. This animal is a member of the family Mustelidae which includes mink, otter, weasels, skunks, and ferrets, and with its brown body, deep yellow throat, and long tail is really very handsome. Polecats inhabit the Northern Hemisphere and are closely allied to the ferret which so often is domesticated and used in hunting rats and rabbits. We found them to be abundant in the low valleys along the Burma border and often saw them during the day running across a jungle path or on the lower branches of a tree. The polecat is a blood-thirsty little beast and kills everything that comes in its way for the pure love of killing, even when its appetite has been satisfied. On the third morning we found two civets in the traps. The cook told me that some animal had stolen a chicken from one of his boxes during the night and we set a trap only a few yards from our tent on a trail leading into the grass. The civet was evidently the thief for the cook boxes were not bothered again. Inspecting the traps every morning and evening was a delightful part of our camp life. It was like opening a Christmas package as we walked up the trails, for each one held interesting possibilities and the mammals of the region were so varied that surprises were always in store for us. Besides civets and polecats, we caught mongooses, palm civets, and other carnivores. The small traps yielded a new _Hylomys_, several new rats, and an interesting shrew. We saw a few huge squirrels (_Ratufa gigantea_) and shot one. It was thirty-six inches long, coal black above and yellow below. The animals were very shy and as they climbed about in the highest trees they were by no means easy to see or shoot. They represent an interesting group confined to India, Siam, the Malay Peninsula, the islands of the Dutch East Indies, and Borneo. CHAPTER XXX MONKEY HUNTING Our most exciting sport at the Nam-ting camp was hunting monkeys. Every morning we heard querulous notes which sounded much like the squealing of very young puppies and which were followed by long, siren wails; when the shrill notes had reached their highest pitch they would sink into low mellow tones exceedingly musical. The calls usually started shortly after daylight and continued until about nine o'clock, or later if the day was dark or rainy. They would be answered from different parts of the jungle and often sounded from half a dozen places simultaneously. The natives assured us that the cries were made by _hod-zu_ (monkeys) and several times we started in pursuit, but they always ceased long before we had found a way through the jungle to the spot from which they came. At last we succeeded in locating the animals. We were inspecting a line of traps placed along a trail which led up a valley to a wide plateau. Suddenly the puppy-like squealing began, followed by a low tremulous wail. It seemed almost over our heads but the trees were empty. We stole silently along the trail for a hundred yards and turned into a dry creek bed which led up the bottom of the forested ravine. With infinite caution, breathing hard from excitement, we slipped along, scanning the top of every tree. A hornbill sitting on a dead branch caught sight of us and flapped heavily away emitting horrid squawks. A flock of parrots screamed overhead and a red-bellied squirrel followed persistently scolding at the top of its voice, but the monkeys continued to call. The querulous squealing abruptly ceased and we stood motionless beside a tree. For an instant the countless jungle sounds were hushed in a breathless stillness; then, low and sweet, sounded a moaning wail which swelled into deep full tones. It vibrated an instant, filling all the forest with its richness, and slowly died away. Again and again it floated over the tree tops and we listened strangely moved, for it was like the music of an exquisite contralto voice. At last it ceased but, ere the echoes had reached the valley, the jungle was ringing with an unlovely siren screech. The spell was broken and we moved on, alert and tense. The trees stretched upward full one hundred and fifty feet, their tops spread out in a leafy roof. Long ropelike vines festooned the upper branches and a luxuriant growth of parasitic vegetation clothed the giant trunks in a swaying mass of living green. Far above the taller trees a gaunt gray monarch of the forest towered in splendid isolation. In its topmost branches we could just discern a dozen balls of yellow fur from which proceeded discordant squeals. It was long range for a shotgun but the rifles were all in camp. I fired a charge of B.B.'s at the lowest monkey and as the gun roared out the tree tops suddenly sprang into life. They were filled with running, leaping, hairy forms swinging at incredible speed from branch to branch; not a dozen, but a score of monkeys, yellow, brown, and gray. The one at which I had shot seemed unaffected and threw itself full twenty feet to a horizontal limb, below and to the right. I fired again and he stopped, ran a few steps forward and swung to the underside of the branch. At the third charge he hung suspended by one arm and dropped heavily to the ground stone dead. We tossed him into the dry creek bed and dashed up the hill where the branches were still swaying as the monkeys traveled through the tree tops. They had a long start and it was a hopeless chase. At every step our clothes were caught by the clinging thorns, our hands were torn, and our faces scratched and bleeding. In ten minutes they had disappeared and we turned about to find the dead animal. Suddenly Yvette saw a splash of leaves in the top of a tree below us and a big brown monkey swung out on a pendent vine. I fired instantly and the animal hung suspended, whirled slowly around and dropped to the ground. Before I had reloaded my gun it gathered itself together and dashed off through the woods on three legs faster than a man could run. The animal had been hiding on a branch and when we passed had tried to steal away undiscovered. We found the dead monkey, a young male, in the creek bed and sat down to examine it. It was evidently a gibbon (_Hylobates_), for its long arms, round head, and tailless body were unmistakable, but in every species with which I was familiar the male was black. This one was yellow and we knew it to be a prize. That there were two other species in the herd was certain for we had seen both brown and gray monkeys as they dashed away among the trees, but the gibbons were far more interesting than the others. Gibbons are probably the most primitive in skull and teeth of all the anthropoid, or manlike, apes,--the group which also includes the gorilla, chimpanzee, and orangutan. They are apparently an earlier offshoot of the anthropoid stem, as held by most authorities, and the giant apes and man are probably a later branch. Gibbons are essentially Oriental being found in India, Burma, Siam, Tonking, Borneo, and the Islands of Hainan, Sulu, Sumatra, and Java. For the remainder of our stay at the Nam-ting River camp we devoted ourselves to hunting monkeys and soon discovered that the three species we had first seen were totally different. One was the yellow gibbon, another a brown baboon (_Macacus_), and the third a huge gray ape with a long tail (_Pygathrix_) known as the "langur." On the first day all three species were together feeding upon some large green beans and this happened once again, but usually they were in separate herds. The gibbons soon became extremely wild. Although the same troop could usually be found in the valley where we had first discovered them, they chose hillsides where it was almost impossible to stalk them because of the thorny jungle. Usually when they called, it was from the upper branches of a dead tree where they could not only scan every inch of the ground below, but were almost beyond the range of a shotgun. Sometimes we climbed upward almost on our hands and knees, grasping vines and creepers, drawing ourselves up by tree trunks, crawling under thorny shrubs and bushes, slipping, falling, scrambling through the indescribable tangle. We went forward only when the calls were echoing through the jungle, and stood motionless as the wailing ceased. But in spite of all our care they would see or hear us. Then in sudden silence there would be a tremor of the branches, splash after splash of leaves, and the herd would swing away through the trackless tree tops. The gibbons are well named _Hylobates_ or "tree-walkers" for they are entirely arboreal and, although awkward and almost helpless on the ground, once their long thin hands touch a branch they become transformed as by a miracle. They launch themselves into space, catch a limb twenty feet away, swing for an instant, and hurl themselves to another. It is possible for them to travel through the trees faster than a man can run even on open ground, and when one examines their limbs the reason is apparent. The fore arms are so exceedingly long that the tips of the fingers can touch the ground when the animal stands erect, and the slender hands are longer than the feet. The gibbons were exceedingly difficult to kill and would never drop until stone dead. Once I shot an old male with my 6-1/2 mm. Mannlicher rifle at about one hundred yards and, even though the ball had gone clear through his body, he hung for several minutes before he dropped into a tangle of vines. It was fifteen minutes before we were able to work our way through the jungle to the spot where the animal had fallen, and we had been searching for nearly half an hour when suddenly my wife shouted that a monkey was running along a branch above our heads. I fired with the shotgun at a mass of moving leaves and killed a second gibbon which had been hiding in the thick foliage. Instead of running the animals would sometimes disappear as completely as though they had vanished in the air. After being fooled several times we learned to conceal ourselves in the bushes where we could watch the trees, and sooner or later the monkeys would try to steal away. The langurs and baboons were by no means as wild as the gibbons and were found in larger herds. Some of the langurs were carrying babies which clung to their mothers between the fore legs and did not seem to impede them in the slightest on their leaps through the tree tops. The young of this species are bright orange-red and strangely unlike the gray adults. As they grow older the red hair is gradually replaced by gray, but the tail is the last part of the body to change. Heller captured one of the tiny red monkeys and brought it back to camp in his coat pocket. The little fellow was only a few days old, and of course, absolutely helpless. When it was wrapped in cotton with only its queer little wizened face and blue eyes visible it had a startling resemblance to a human baby until its long tail would suddenly flop into sight and dispel the illusion. It lived only four days in spite of constant care. There are fifty-five species of langurs (_Pygathrix_) all of which are confined to the Orient. In some parts of India the animals are sacred and climb about the houses or wander in the streets of villages quite without fear. At times they do so much damage to crops that the natives who do not dare to kill the animals themselves implore foreigners to do so. The langurs are not confined to the tropics, but in the Tibetan mountains range far up into the snow and enjoy the cold weather. In the market at Li-chiang we saw several skins of these animals which had been brought down by the Tibetans; the hair was long and silky and was used by the Chinese for rugs and coats. The species which we killed at the Nam-ting River camp, like all others of the genus _Pygathrix_, was interesting because of the long hairs of the head which form a distinct ridge on the occiput. We never heard the animals utter sounds, but it is said that the common Indian langur, _Pygathrix entellus_, gives a loud whoop as it runs through the tree tops. Often when a tiger is prowling about the jungle the Indian langurs will follow the beast, keeping in the branches just above its head and scolding loudly. The baboon, or macaque, which we killed on the Nam-ting was a close relative of the species (_Macacus rhesus_) which one sees parading solemnly about the streets of Calcutta, Bombay, and other Indian cities. In Agra, the home of the beautiful Taj Mahal, the Monkey Temple is visited by every tourist. A large herd of macaques lives in the grounds and at a few chuckling calls from the native attendants will come trooping over the walls for the food which is kept on sale at the gate. These animals are surprisingly tame and make most amusing pets. On one of our hunts my wife and I discovered a water hole in the midst of a dense jungle where the mud was trodden hard by sambur, muntjac, wild boar, and other animals. We decided to spend a night watching beside it, but the "Dying Rabbit" who was enthusiastic in the day time lost his courage as the sunlight waned. Very doubtfully he consented to go. Although the trip netted us no tangible results it was an experience of which we often think. We started just at dusk and installed ourselves in the bushes a few yards from the water hole. In half an hour the forest was enveloped in the velvety blackness of the tropic night. Not a star nor a gleam of light was visible and I could not see my hand before my face. We sat absolutely motionless and listened to the breath of the jungle, which although without definite sound, was vibrant with life. Now and then a muntjac barked hoarsely and the roar of a sambur stag thrilled us like an electric shock. Once a wild boar grunted on the opposite bank of the river, the sound coming to us clear and sharp through the stillness although the animal was far away. Tiny forest creatures rustled all about us in the leaves and a small animal ran across my wife's lap, leaping frantically down the hill as it felt her move. For five hours we sat there absolutely motionless. Although no animals came to the water hole we were silent with a great happiness as we groped our way back to camp, for we had been close to the heart of the jungle and were thrilled with the mystery of the night. CHAPTER XXXI THE SHANS OF THE BURMA BORDER We saw many Shans at the Nam-ting River, for not only was there a village half a mile beyond our camp, but natives were passing continually along the trail on their way to and from the Burma frontier. The village was named Nam-ka. Its chief was absent when we arrived, but the natives were cordial and agreed to hunt with us; when the head man returned, however, he was most unfriendly. He forbade the villagers from coming to our camp and arguments were of no avail. It soon became evident that only force could change his attitude, and one morning, with all our servants and _mafus_, we visited his house. He was informed that unless he ceased his opposition and ordered his men to assist us in hunting we would take him to Meng-ting for trial before the mandarin. He grudgingly complied and we had no further trouble. We found the Shans at Nam-ka to be simple and honest people but abnormally lazy. During our three weeks' stay not a single trap was stolen, although the natives prized them highly, and often brought to us those in which animals had been caught. Shans were continually about our camp where boxes were left unlocked, but not an article of our equipment was missed. The Nam-ka Shans elevated their houses on six-foot poles and built an open porch in front of the door, while the dwellings at Meng-ting and farther up the valley were all placed upon the ground. The thatched roofs overhung several feet and the sides of the houses were open so that the free passage of air kept them delightfully cool. Moreover, they were surprisingly clean, for the floors were of split bamboo, and the inmates, if they wore sandals, left them at the door. In the center of the single room, on a large flat stone, a small fire always burned, but much of the cooking was done on the porch where a tiny pavilion had been erected over the hearth. The Shans at Nam-ka had "no visible means of support." The extensive rice paddys indicated that in the past there had been considerable cultivation but the fields were weed-grown and abandoned. The villagers purchased all their vegetables from the Mohammedan hunter and two other Chinese who lived a mile up the trail, or from passing caravans whom they sometimes entertained. In all probability they lived upon the sale of smuggled opium for they were only a few miles from the Burma border. Virtually every Shan we saw in the south was heavily tattooed. Usually the right leg alone, but sometimes both, were completely covered from the hip to the knee with intricate designs in black or red. The ornamentations often extended entirely around the body over the abdomen and waist, but less frequently on the breast and arms. All the natives were inordinately proud of these decorations and usually fastened their wide trousers in such a way as to display them to the best advantage. We often could persuade a man to pose before the camera by admiring his tattoo marks and it was most amusing to watch his childlike pleasure. The Shan tribe is a large one with many subdivisions, and it is probable that at one time it inhabited a large part of China south of the Yangtze River; indeed, there is reason to believe that the Cantonese Chinamen are chiefly of Shan stock, and the facial resemblance between the two races certainly is remarkable. Although the Shans formerly ruled a vast territory in Yün-nan before its conquest by the Mongol emperors of China in the thirteenth century A.D., and at one time actually subdued Burma and established a dynasty of their own, at present the only independent kingdom of the race is that of Siam. By far the greatest number of Shans live in semi-independent states tributary to Burma, China, and Siam, and in Yün-nan inhabit almost all of the southern valleys below an altitude of 4,000 feet. The reason that the Chinese allow them to hold such an extent of fertile land is because the low plains are considered unhealthy and the Chinese cannot, or will not, live there. Whether or not the malarial fever of the valleys is so exceedingly deadly remains to be proved, but the Chinese believe it to be so and the result is the same. Where the Shans are numerous enough to have a chief of their own they live in a semi-independent state, for although their head man is subordinate to the district Chinese official, the latter seldom interferes with the internal affairs of the tribe. The Shans are a short, strongly-built race with a distinct Mongolian type of features and rather fair complexions. Their dress varies decidedly with the region, but the men of the southern part of the province on the Nam-ting River wear a pair of enormous trousers, so baggy that they are almost skirtlike, a white jacket, and a large white or pink turban surmounted by a huge straw hat. The women dress in a white jacket and skirt of either striped or dark blue cloth; their turbans are of similar material and may be worn in a high cylinder, a low oval, or many other shapes according to the particular part of the province in which they live. CHAPTER XXXII PRISONERS OF WAR IN BURMA _Y.B.A._ The camp at Nam-ka was a supremely happy one and we left it on March 7, with much regret. Its resources seemed to be almost exhausted and the Mohammedan hunter assured us that at a village called Ma-li-ling we would find excellent shooting. We asked him the distance and he replied, "About a long bamboo joint away." It required three days to get there! Whether the man had ever been to Ma-li-ling we do not know but we eventually found it to be a tiny village built into the side of a hill in an absolutely barren country where there was not a vestige of cover. Our journey there was not uneventful. We left Nam-ka with high hopes which were somewhat dampened after a day's unsuccessful hunting at the spot where our caravan crossed the Nam-ting River. With a Shan guide we traveled due north along a good trail which led through dense jungle where there was not a clearing or a sign of life. In the afternoon we noted that the trail bore strongly to the west and ascended rapidly. Soon we had left the jungle and emerged into an absolutely treeless valley between high barren hills. We knew that the Burma frontier could not be far away, and in a few moments we passed a large square "boundary stone"; a hundred yards on the other side the hills were covered with bright green stalks and here and there a field glistened with white poppy blossoms. The guide insisted that we were on the direct road to Ma-li-ling which for the first time he said was in Burma. On our map it was marked well over the border in Chinese territory and we were greatly puzzled. About six o'clock the brown huts of a village were silhouetted against the sky on a tiny knoll in the midst of a grove of beautiful trees, and we camped at the edge of a water hole. The pool was almost liquid mud, but we were told that it was the only water supply of the village and its cattle. As though to prove the statement a dozen buffalos ambled slowly down the hill, and stood half submerged in the brown liquid, placidly chewing their cuds; meanwhile blue-clad Shan women with buckets in their hands were constantly arriving at the pond for their evening supply of water. We had no filter and it was nauseating to think of drinking the filthy liquid but there was no alternative and after repeated boiling and several strainings we settled it with alum and disguised its taste in tea and soup. After dinner we questioned the few natives who spoke Chinese, but we became only more and more confused. They knew of no such place as Ma-li-ling and our Shan guide had discreetly disappeared. But they were familiar with the trail to Ma-li-pa, a village farther west in Burma and, moreover, they said that two hundred foreign soldiers were stationed there. We were quite certain that they must be native Indian troops but thought that a white officer might perhaps be in command. We did not wish to cross the frontier because of possible political difficulties since we had no permits to shoot in Burma, but there seemed to be no alternative, for we were hopelessly bewildered by the mythical Ma-li-ling. We eventually discovered that there were two villages by that name--one in Burma, and the other in China, where it was correctly placed on the map which we were using. While we were discussing the matter a tremendous altercation arose between the Chinese _mafus_ and the servants. For some time Roy did not interfere, supposing it to be a personal quarrel, but the disturbance at last became unbearable. Calling Wu we learned that because we had been so careful to avoid English territory the _mafus_ had conceived the idea that for some reason we were afraid to meet other foreigners. Since we had inadvertently crossed into Burma it appeared to them that it would be an opportune time to extort an increase of wages. They announced, therefore, that unless extra money was given them at once they would untie the loads and leave us. They were hardly prepared for what followed, however. Taking his Mannlicher rifle, Roy called the _mafus_ together and told them that if any man touched a load he would begin to shoot the mules and that if they made the slightest resistance the gun would be turned on them. A _mafus_' mules represent all his property and they did not relish the turn affairs had taken. They subsided at once, but we had the loads guarded during the night. In the morning the _mafus_ were exceedingly surprised when they learned that we were going to Ma-li-pa and their change of front was laughable; they were as humble and anxious to please as they had been belligerent the night before. The trail led over the same treeless rolling hills through which we had passed on the previous afternoon. There was only one village, but it was surrounded by poppy fields in full blossom. It must be a rather difficult matter for a native living in China near the border to understand why he should not be allowed to produce the lucrative opium while only a few yards away, over an imaginary line, it can be planted without restriction. Poppies seem to grow on hillsides better than on level ground. The plants begin to blossom in late February and the petals, when about to fall, are collected for the purpose of making "leaves" with which to cover the balls of opium. The seed pods which are left after the petals drop off are scarified vertically, at intervals of two or three days, by means of a sharp cutting instrument. The operation is usually performed about four o'clock in the afternoon, and the opium, in the form of dried juice, is collected the next morning. When China, in 1906, forbade the consumption of opium and the growing of poppies, it was estimated that there were from twenty-five to thirty millions of smokers in the Empire. We reached Ma-li-pa about one o'clock in the afternoon and found it to be a straggling village built on two sides of a deep ravine, with a mixed population of Shans and Chinese. It happened to be the weekly market day and the "bazaar" was crowded. A number of Indian soldiers in khaki were standing about, and I called out to Roy, "I wonder if any of them speak English." Instantly a little fellow approached, with cap in hand, and said, "Yes, Madame, I speak English." One cannot realize how strange it seemed to hear our own language from a native in this out-of-the-way spot! He was the "compounder," or medical assistant, and told us that the hundred native troops were in charge of a white officer whose house was on the opposite side of the river gorge. He guided us to a temple and, while the mules were being unloaded, in walked a tall, handsome young British officer who introduced himself as Captain Clive. He was almost speechless with surprise at seeing me, for he had not spoken a sentence in English or seen a white person since his arrival at this lonely post five months before. He asked us at once to come to his quarters for tiffin and we accepted gladly. On the way he gave us our first news of the outside world, for we had been beyond communication of any sort for months, and we learned that the United States had severed diplomatic relations with Germany. Captain Clive's bungalow was a two-room bamboo house with a broad veranda and thatched with straw. It was delightfully cool and dark after the glare of the yellow sun-baked plains about us, and in perfect order. The care which Britishers take to keep from "letting down" while guarding the frontiers of their vast empire is proverbial, and Captain Clive was a splendid example of the Indian officer. He was as clean-shaved and well-groomed as though he had been expecting us for days and the tiffin to which we sat down was as dainty and well served as it could have been in the midst of civilization. The great Lord Clive of India was an ancestor of our young officer who had been temporarily detached from his regiment, the 129th Baluchis, and sent on border duty. He was very unhappy, for his brother officers were in active service in East Africa, and he had cried to resign several times, but the Indian government would not release him. When we reached Rangoon some months later we were glad to learn that he had rejoined his regiment and was at the front. Ma-li-pa was a recently established "winter station" and in May would be abandoned when the troop returned to Lashio, ten days' journey away. Comfortable barracks, cook houses, and a hospital had been erected beside a large space which had been cleaned of turf for a parade ground. Captain Clive was in communication by heliograph with Lashio, at the end of the railroad, and received a _résumé_ of world news two or three times a week. With mirrors during the day and lanterns at night messages were flashed from one mountain top to another and, under favorable conditions, reached Lashio in seven or eight hours. We pitched our tents a short distance from the barracks in an open field, for there was no available shade. Although Captain Clive was perfectly satisfied with our passports and credentials he could not let us proceed until he had communicated with the Indian government by heliograph. The border was being guarded very closely to prevent German sympathizers from crossing into Burma from China and inciting the native tribes to rebellion. In December, 1915, a rather serious uprising among the Kachins in the Myitkyina district on the upper waters of the Irawadi River had been incited by a foreigner, I believe, and Clive had assisted in suppressing it. The Indian government was taking no further chances and had given strict orders to arrest and hold anyone, other than a native, who crossed the border from China. Very fortunately H.B.M. Consul-General Goffe at Yün-nan Fu had communicated with the Lieutenant-Governor of Burma concerning our Expedition and we consequently expected no trouble, but Captain Clive could not let us proceed until he had orders to do so from the Superintendent of the Northern Shan States. Through a delayed message this permission did not reach him for five days and in the meantime we made the most of the limited collecting resources which Ma-li-pa afforded. Clive ordered his day like all the residents of Burma. He rose at six o'clock and after coffee and rolls had drill for two hours. At half past ten a heavy meal took the place of breakfast and tiffin; tea, with sandwiches and toast, was served at three o'clock, and dinner at eight. His company was composed of several different native tribes, and each religious caste had its own cook and water carrier, for a man of one caste could not prepare meals for men of another. It is an extraordinary system but one which appears to operate perfectly well under the adaptable English government. Certainly one of the great elements in the success of the British as colonizers is their respect for native customs and superstitions! The company drilled splendidly and we were surprised to hear all commands given in English although none of the men could understand that language. This is done to enable British and Indian troops to maneuver together. Captain Clive, himself, spoke Hindustani to his officers. In the evening the men played football on the parade ground and it seemed as though we had suddenly been transported into civilization on the magic carpet of the Arabian Nights. Every morning we went shooting at daylight and returned about nine o'clock. Conditions were not favorable for small mammals and although we could undoubtedly have caught a few civets, mongooses, and cats we did not set a line of steel traps for we expected to leave at any time. Our attention was mostly devoted to bird collecting and we obtained about two hundred interesting specimens. We had our mid-morning meal each day with Captain Clive and he dined with us in the evening. He had brought with him from Lashio a large quantity of supplies and lived almost as well as he could have done at home. Although the days were very warm, the nights were cold and a camp fire was most acceptable. Captain Clive was on excellent terms with the Chinese authorities and, while we were there, a very old mandarin, blind and infirm, called to present his compliments. He had been an ardent sportsman and was especially interested in our guns; had we been willing to accept the commission he would have paid us the money then and there to purchase for him a Savage .250-.300 rifle like the one we were carrying. The old gentleman always had been very loyal to the British and had received several decorations for his services. A few days after our arrival a half dead Chinaman crawled into camp with his throat terribly cut. He had been attacked by brigands only a few miles over the border and had just been able to reach Ma-li-pa. The company "compounder" took him in charge and, when Clive asked him about the patient, his evasive answers were most amusing; like all Orientals he would not commit himself to any definite statement because he might "lose face" if his opinion proved to be wrong. Captain Clive said to him, "Do you think the Chinaman will die?" Looking very judicial the native replied, "Sir, he _may_ die, and yet, he may live." "But," said Clive, "he will probably die, won't he?" "Yes," was the answer, "and yet perhaps he will live." That was all the satisfaction he was able to get. Clive told us of another native who formerly had been in his company. He had been transferred and one day the Captain met him in Rangoon. When asked if his pay was satisfactory the answer was typical, "Sir, it is good, but not _s-o-o_ good!" On the afternoon of our fourth day in Ma-li-pa a heliograph from Rangoon announced that "The Asiatic Zoölogical Expedition of the American Museum of Natural History is especially commended to His Majesty's Indian Government and permission is hereby granted to carry on its work in Burma wherever it may desire." This was only one of the many courtesies which we received from the British. The morning following the receipt of the heliogram we broke camp at daylight. When the last mule of the caravan had disappeared over the brown hills toward China we regretfully said farewell and rode away. If we are ever again made "prisoners of war" we hope our captor will be as delightful a gentleman as Captain Clive. CHAPTER XXXIII HUNTING PEACOCKS ON THE SALWEEN RIVER From Ma-li-pa we traveled almost due north to the Salween River. The country through which we passed was a succession of dry treeless hills, brown and barren and devoid of animal life. On the evening of the third day we reached the Salween at a ferry a few miles from the village of Changlung where the river begins its great bend to the eastward and sweeps across the border from China into Burma. The stream has cut a tremendous gorge for itself through the mountains and the sides are so precipitous that the trail doubles back upon itself a dozen times before it reaches the river 3,500 feet below. The upper half of the gorge is bare or thinly patched with trees, but in the lower part the grass is long and rank and a thin dry jungle straggles along the water's edge. The Salween at this point is about two hundred yards wide, but narrows to half that distance below the ferry and flows in a series of rapids between rocky shores. The valley is devoid of human life except for three boatmen who tend the ferry, but the deserted rice fields along a narrow shelf showed evidence of former cultivation. On the slopes far up the side of the cañon is a Miao village, a tribe which we had not seen before. Probably the valley is too unhealthy for any natives to live close to the water's edge and, even at the time of our visit in early March, the heated air was laden with malaria. The ferrymen were stupid fellows, half drugged with opium, and assured us that there were no mammals near the river. They admitted that they sometimes heard peacocks and, while our tents were being pitched on a steep sand bank beneath a giant tree, the weird catlike call of a peacock echoed up the valley. It was answered by another farther down the river, and the report of my gun when I fired at a bat brought forth a wild "pe-haun," "pe-haun," "pe-haun" from half a dozen places. The ferry was a raft built of long bamboo poles lashed together with vines and creepers. It floated just above the surface and was half submerged when loaded. The natives used a most extraordinary contrivance in place of oars. It consisted of a piece of tightly woven bamboo matting three feet long and two feet wide at right angles to which was fastened a six-foot handle. With these the men nonchalantly raked the water toward them from the bow and stern when they had poled the raft well into the current. The invested capital was not extensive, for when the ferry or "propellers" needed repairs a few hours' work in the jungle sufficed to build an entirely new outfit. All of the peacocks were on the opposite side of the river from our camp where the jungle was thickest. On the first morning my wife and I floated down the river on the raft for half a mile and landed to stalk a peacock which had called frequently from a rocky point near the water's edge. We picked our way through the jungle with the utmost caution but the wary old cock either saw or heard us before we were within range, and I caught just a glimpse of a brilliant green neck as he disappeared into the bushes. A second bird called on a point a half mile farther on, but it refused to come into the open and as we started to stalk it in the jungle we heard a patter of feet among the dry leaves followed by a roar of wings, and saw the bird sail over the tree tops and alight on the summit of a bush-clad hill. This was the only peacock which we were ever able to flush when it had already gained cover. Usually the birds depend entirely upon their ability to hide or run through the bushes. After several attempts we learned that it was impossible to stalk the peacocks successfully. The jungle was so crisp and parched that the dry leaves crackled at every step and even small birds made a loud noise while scratching on the ground. The only way to get the peacocks was to watch for them at the river when they came to drink in the early morning and evening. Between two rocky points where we had first seen the birds there was a long curved beach of fine white sand. One morning Heller waited on the point nearest camp while my wife and I posted ourselves under a bush farther down the river. We had been sitting quietly for half an hour when we heard a scratching in the jungle. Thinking it was a peacock feeding we turned our backs to the water and sat motionless peering beneath the bushes. Meanwhile, Heller witnessed an interesting little drama enacted behind us. An old male peacock with a splendid train stole around the point close to the water, jumped to a high stone within thirty yards of us and stood for a full minute craning its beautiful green neck to get a better view as we kneeled in front of him totally unconscious of his presence. After he had satisfied his curiosity he hopped off the observation pinnacle and, with his body flattened close to the ground, slipped quietly away. It was an excellent example of the stalker being stalked and had Heller not witnessed the scene we should never have known how the clever old bird had fooled us. The following morning we got a peahen at the same place. Heller had concealed himself in the bushes on one side of the point while I watched the other. Shortly after daylight an old female sailed out of the jungle on set wings and alighted at the water's edge. She saw Heller almost instantly, although he was completely covered by the vines, and started to fly, but he dropped her with a broken wing. Recovering herself, she darted around the rocky point only to meet a charge of B.B.'s from my gun. She was a beautiful bird with a delicate crown of slender feathers, a yellow and blue face patch and a green neck and back, but her plumes were short and inconspicuous when compared with those of the male. Probably these birds had never before been hunted but they were exceedingly shy and difficult to kill. Although they called more or less during the entire day and we could locate them exactly, they were so far back in the jungle that the crackling of the dry leaves made a stalk impossible. We tried to drive them but were unsuccessful, for the birds would never flush unless they happened to be in the open and cut off from cover. Apparently realizing that their brilliant plumage made them conspicuous objects, the birds relied entirely upon an actual screen of bushes and their wonderful sight and hearing to protect themselves from enemies. They usually came to the river to drink very early in the morning and just before dusk in the afternoon, but on cloudy days they might appear at almost any hour. If undisturbed they would remain near the water's edge for a considerable time or strut about the sand beach just at the edge of the jungle. At the sound of a gun or any other loud sharp noise the peacocks would answer with their mournful catlike wail, exactly as the domesticated birds will do. The Chinese believe that the flesh of the peafowl is poison and our servants were horrified when they learned that we intended to eat it. They fully expected that we would not survive the night and, even when they saw we had experienced no ill effects, they could not be persuaded to touch any of it themselves. An old peacock is too tough to eat, but the younger birds are excellent and when stuffed with chestnuts and roasted they are almost the equal of turkey. The species which we killed on the Salween River is the green peafowl (_Pavo munticus_) which inhabits Burma, Sumatra, Java, and the Malay Peninsula. Its neck is green, instead of purple, as is that of the common Indian peacock (_Pavo cristatus_), and it is said that it is the most beautiful bird of the world. The long ocellated tail coverts called the "train" are dropped about August and the birds assume more simple barred plumes, but the molt is very irregular; usually the full plumage is resumed in March or even earlier. The train is, of course, an ornament to attract the female and, when a cock is strutting about with spread plumes, he sometimes makes a most peculiar rustling sound by vibrating the long feathers. The eight or ten eggs are laid on the bare ground under a bush in the dense jungle, are dull brownish white and nearly three inches long. The chicks are sometimes domesticated, but even when born in captivity, it is said they are difficult to tame and soon wander away. The birds are omnivorous, feeding on insects, grubs, reptiles, flower buds, young shoots, and grain. The common peafowl (_Pavo cristatus_) is a native of India, Ceylon, and Assam. It is held sacred by some religious castes and we saw dozens of the birds wandering about the grounds of the temples in Benares, Agra, and Delhi. Peafowl are said to be rather disagreeable pets because they often attack infirm persons and children and kill young poultry. In some parts of Ceylon and India the birds are so abundant and easily killed that they do not furnish even passable sport, but in other places they are as wild and difficult to shoot as we found them to be on the Salween River. In India it is a universal belief among sportsmen that wherever peafowls are common, there tiger will be found. A very beautiful variety which seems to have arisen abruptly in domestication is the so-called "japanned" or black-shouldered peacock named _Pavo nigripennis_ by Mr. Sclater. In some respects it is intermediate between _P. munticus_ and _P. cristatus_ and apparently "breeds true" but never has been found in a wild state. Albino specimens are by no means unusual and are a feature of many zoölogical gardens. Peacocks have been under domestication for many centuries and are mentioned in the Bible as having been imported into Palestine by Solomon; although the bird is referred to in mythology, the Greeks probably had but little knowledge of it until after the conquests of Alexander. In the thick jungle only a few hundred yards from our camp on the Salween River I put up a silver pheasant (_Euplocamus nycthemerus_), one of the earliest known and most beautiful species of the family Phasianidae. Its white mantle, delicately vermiculated with black, extends like a wedding veil over the head, back and tail, in striking contrast to the blue-black underparts, red cheek patches, and red legs. This bird was formerly pictured in embroidery upon the heart and back badges of the official dresses of civil mandarins to denote the rank of the wearer, and is found only in southern and western China. It is by no means abundant in the parts of Yün-nan which we visited and, moreover, lives in such dense jungle that it is difficult to find. The natives sometimes snare the birds and offer them for sale alive. We also saw monkeys at our camp on the Salween River, but were not successful in killing any. They were probably the Indian baboon (_Macacus rhesus_) and, for animals which had not been hunted, were most extraordinarily wild. They were in large herds and sometimes came down to the water to skip and dance along the sand and play among the rocks. The monkeys invariably appeared on the opposite side of the river from us and by the time we hunted up the boatmen and got the clumsy raft to the other shore the baboons had disappeared in the tall grass or were merrily running through the trees up the mountain-side. The valley was too dry to be a very productive trapping ground for either small or large mammals, but the birds were interesting and we secured a good many species new to our collection. Jungle fowl were abundant and pigeons exceedingly so, but we saw no ducks along the river and only two cormorants. Very few natives crossed at the ferry during our stay, for it is a long way from the main road and the climb out of the gorge is too formidable to be undertaken if the Salween can possibly be crossed higher up where the valley is wide and shallow. While we were camped at the river the heat was most uncomfortable during the middle of the day and was but little mitigated by the wind which blew continually. During mid-summer the valley at this point must be a veritable furnace and doubtless reeks with fever. We slept under nets at night and in the early evening, while we were watching for peacocks, the mosquitoes were very troublesome. CHAPTER XXXIV THE GIBBONS OF HO-MU-SHU It is a long hard climb out of the Salween valley. We left on March 24 and all day crawled up the steep sides on a trail which doubled back and forth upon itself like an endless letter S. From our camp at night the river was just visible as a thin green line several thousand feet below, and for the first time in days, we needed a charcoal fire in our tents. We were _en route_ to Lung-ling, a town of considerable size, where there was a possibility that mail might be awaiting us in care of the mandarin. Although ordinarily a three days' journey, it was more than four days before we arrived, because I had a sharp attack of malaria shortly after leaving the Salween River and we had to travel half stages. When we were well out of the valley and at an altitude of 5,000 feet, we arrived at a Chinese town. Its dark evil-smelling houses, jammed together in a crowded mass, and the filthy streets swarming with ragged children and foot-bound women, were in unpleasant contrast to the charming little Shan villages which we had seen in the low country. The inhabitants themselves appeared to no better advantage when compared with their Shan neighbors, for their stares and insolent curiosity were almost unbearable. The region between the Salween River at Changlung and Lung-ling is as uninteresting to the zoölogist as it could possibly be, for the hills are dry and bare and devoid of animal life. Lung-ling is a typical Chinese town except that the streets are wide and it is not as dirty as usual. The mandarin was a jolly rotund little fellow who simulated great sympathy when he informed me that he had received no mail for us. We had left directions to have a runner follow us from Yung-chang and in the event that he did not find our camp to proceed to Lung-ling with the mail. We learned some weeks later that the runner had been frightened by brigands and had turned back long before he reached Meng-ting. We had heard from our _mafus_ and other natives that black monkeys were to be found on a mountain pass not far from the village of Ho-mu-shu, on the main Yung-chang-Teng-yueh road and, as we were certain that they would prove to be gibbons, we decided to make that our next hunting camp. It was three stages from Lung-ling and, toward evening of the second day, we again descended to the Salween River. The valley at this point is several miles wide and is so dry that the few shrubs and bushes seem to be parched and barely able to live. At the upper end a picturesque village is set among extensive rice fields. Although a few Chinese live there, its inhabitants are chiefly Shans who are in a transitory state and are gradually adopting Chinese customs. The houses are joined to each other in the Chinese way and are built of mud, thatched with straw. In shape as well as in composition they are quite unlike the dwellings of the southern Shans. The women wore cylindrical turbans, about eighteen inches high, which at a distance looked like silk hats, and the men were dressed in narrow trousers and jackets of Chinese blue. I believe that some of the Shan women also had bound feet but of this I cannot be certain. We camped on a little knoll under an enormous tree at the far end of the village street, and a short time after the tents were up we had a visit from the Shan magistrate. He was a dapper energetic little fellow wearing foreign dress and quite _au courant_ with foreign ways. He even owned a breech-loading shotgun, and, before we left, sent to ask for shells. He presented us with the usual chickens and I returned several tins of cigarettes. He appeared to be quite a sportsman and directed us to a place on the mountain above the village where he said monkeys were abundant. We left early in the morning with a guide and, after a hard climb, arrived at a little village near the forest to which the magistrate had directed us. Not only did the natives assure us that they had never seen monkeys but we discovered for ourselves that the only water was more than a mile away, and that camping there was out of the question. The next day, April 1, we went on to Ho-mu-shu. It is a tiny village built into the mountain-side with hardly fifty yards of level ground about it, but commanding a magnificent view over the Salween valley. Although we reached there at half past two in the afternoon the _mafus_ insisted on camping because they swore that there was no water within fifty _li_ up the mountain. Very unwillingly I consented to camp and the next morning found, as usual, that the _mafus_ had lied for there was a splendid camping place with good water not two hours from Ho-mu-shu. It was useless to rage for the Chinese have no scruples about honesty in such small matters, and the head _mafu_ blandly admitted that he knew there was a camping place farther on but that he was tired and wanted to stop early. As we gained the summit of the ridge we were greeted with a ringing "hu-wa," "hu-wa," "hu-wa," from the forest five hundred feet below us; they were the calls of gibbons, without a doubt, but strikingly unlike those of the Nam-ting River. We decided to camp at once and, after considerable prospecting, chose a flat place beside the road. It was by no means ideal but had the advantage of giving us an opportunity to hunt from either side of the ridge which for its entire length was scarcely two hundred feet in width. The sides fell away for thousands of feet in steep forest-clad slopes and, as far as our eyes could reach, wave after wave of mountains rolled outward in a great sea of green. Our camp would have been delightful except for the wind which swept across the pass night and day in an unceasing gale. My wife and I set a line of traps along a trail which led down the north side of the ridge, while Heller chose the opposite slope. We were entranced with the forest. The trees were immense spreading giants with interlaced branches that formed a solid roof of green 150 feet above the soft moss carpet underneath. Every trunk was clothed in a smothering mass of vines and ferns and parasitic plants and, from the lower branches, thousands of ropelike creepers swayed back and forth with every breath of wind. Below, the forest was fairly open save for occasional patches of dwarf bamboo, but the upper canopy was so close and dense that even at noon there was hardly more than a somber twilight beneath the trees. Our first night on the pass was spent in a terrific gale which howled up the valley from the south and swept across the ridge in a torrent of wind. The huge trees around us bent and tossed, and our tents seemed about to be torn to shreds. Amid the crashing of branches and the roar of the wind it was impossible to hear each other speak and sleep was out of the question. We lay in our bags expecting every second to have the covering torn from above our heads, but the tough cloth held, and at midnight the gale began to lull. In the morning the sun was out in a cloudless sky but the wind never ceased entirely on the pass even though there was a breathless calm among the trees a few hundred feet below. My wife and I had just returned from inspecting our line of traps about nine o'clock in the morning when the forest suddenly resounded with the "hu-wa," "hu-wa," "hu-wa" of the gibbons. It seemed a long way off at first, but sounded louder and clearer every minute. At the first note we seized our guns and dashed down the mountain-side, slipping, stumbling, and falling. The animals were in the giant forest about five hundred feet below the summit of the ridge and as we neared them we moved cautiously from tree to tree, going forward only when they called. It was one of the most exciting stalks I have ever made, for the wild, ringing howls seemed always close above our heads. We were still a hundred yards away when a huge black monkey leaped out of a tree top just as I stepped from behind a bush, and he saw me instantly. For a full half minute he hung suspended by one arm, his round head thrust forward staring intently; then launching himself into the air as though shot from a catapult he caught a branch twenty feet away, swung to another, and literally flew through the tree tops. Without a sound save the swish of the branches and splash after splash in the leaves, the entire herd followed him down the hill. It was out of range for the shotgun and my wife was ten feet behind me with the rifle, but had I had it in my hand I doubt if I could have hit one of those flying balls of fur. We returned to camp with sorrow in our hearts, but two days later we redeemed ourselves and brought in the first new gibbons. We were sitting on a bed of fragrant pine needles watching for a squirrel which had been chattering in the upper branches of a giant tree, when suddenly the wild call of the monkeys echoed up the mountain-side. They were far away to the left, and we ran toward them, stumbling and slipping on the moss-covered rocks and logs, the "hu-wa," "hu-wa," "hu-wa" sounding louder every moment. They seemed almost under us at times and we would stand motionless and silent only to hear the howls die away in the distance. At last we located them on the precipitous side of a deep gorge filled with an impenetrable jungle of palms and thorny plants. It was an impossible place to cross, and we sat down, irresolute and discouraged. In a few moments a chorus of howls broke out and we saw the big black apes swinging along through the trees, two hundred yards away. Finally they stopped and began to feed. They were small marks at that distance but I rested my little Mannlicher on a stump and began to shoot while Yvette watched them with the glasses. One big fellow swung out on a branch and hung with one arm while he picked a cluster of leaves with the other. Yvette saw my first shot cut a twig above his head but he did not move, and at the roar of the second he dropped heavily into the vines below. A brown female ran along the branch a few seconds later and peered down into the jungle where the first monkey had fallen. I covered her carefully with the ivory head of the front sight, pulled the trigger, and she pitched headlong off the tree. For a few seconds there was silence, then a splash of leaves and three huge black males leaped into full view from the summit of a tall tree. They were silhouetted against a patch of sky and I fired twice in quick succession registering two clean misses. The bullets must have whizzed too close for comfort and they faded instantly into the forest like three black shadows. For ten minutes we strained our eyes into the dense foliage hoping to catch a glimpse of a swaying branch. Suddenly Yvette heard a rustling in the low tree beneath which we were sitting and seized me violently by the arm, screaming excitedly, "There's one, right above us. Quick, quick, he's going!" I looked up and could hardly believe my eyes for not twenty feet away hung a huge brown monkey half the size of a man. Almost in a daze I fired with the shotgun. The gibbon stopped, slowly pivoted on one long arm and a pair of eyes blazing like living coals, stared into mine. I fired again point blank as the huge mouth, baring four ugly fangs, opened and emitted a bloodcurdling howl. The monkey slowly swung back again, its arm relaxed and the animal fell at my feet, stone dead. It was a magnificent old female. By a lucky chance we had chosen, from all the trees in the forest, to sit under the very one in which the gibbon had been hiding and she had tried to steal away unnoticed. While my wife waited to direct me from the rim of the gorge, I climbed down into the jungle to try and make my way up the opposite side where the other monkeys had fallen. It was dangerous work, for the rocks were covered with a thin layer of earth which supported a dense growth of vegetation. If I tried to let myself down a steep slope by clinging to a thick fern it would almost invariably strip away with a long layer of dirt and send me headlong. After two bad falls I reached the bottom of the ravine where a mountain torrent leaped and foamed over the rocks and dropped in a beautiful cascade to a pool fifty or sixty feet below. The climb up the opposite side was more difficult than the descent and twice I had to return after finding the way impassable. A sheer, clean wall almost seventy feet high separated me from the spot where the gibbons had fallen. I skirted the rock face and had laboriously worked my way around and above it when a vine to which I had been clinging stripped off and I began to slide. Faster and faster I went, dragging a mass of ferns and creepers with me, for everything I grasped gave way. I thought it was the end of things for me because I was hardly ten feet above the precipice which fell away to the jagged rocks of the stream bed in a drop of seventy feet. The rifle slung to my back saved my life. Suddenly it caught on a tiny ragged ledge and held me flattened out against the cliff. But even then I was far from safe, as I realized when I tried to twist about to reach a rope of creepers which swung outward from a bush above my head. How I managed to crawl back to safety among the trees I can remember only vaguely. I finally got down to the bottom of the cañon, but felt weak and sick and it was half an hour before I could climb up to the place where my wife was waiting. She was already badly frightened for she had not seen me since I left her an hour before and, when I answered her call, she was about to follow into the jungle where I had disappeared. We left the two monkeys to be recovered from above and went slowly back to camp. The gibbons of Ho-mu-shu are quite unlike those of the Nam-ting River. They represent a well-known species called the "hoolock" (_Hylobates hoolock_) which is also found in Burma. The males, both old and young, are coal black with a fringe of white hairs about the face, and the females are light brown. Their note is totally unlike the Nam-ting River gibbons and, instead of sitting quietly in the top of a dead tree to call to their neighbors across the jungle for an hour or two, the hoolocks howl for about twenty minutes as they swing through the branches and are silent during the remainder of the day. They called most frequently on bright mornings and we seldom heard them during cloudy weather. Apparently they had regular feeding grounds, which were visited every day, but the herds seemed to cover a great deal of territory. Like the gibbons of the Nam-ting River, the hoolocks traveled through the tree tops at almost unbelievable speed, and one of the most amazing things which I have ever witnessed was the way in which they could throw themselves from one tree to another with unerring precision. On April 5, we received the first mail in nearly three months and our share amounted to 105 letters besides a great quantity of magazines. Wu had ridden to Teng-yueh for us and, as well as the greatly desired mail, had a basket of delicious vegetables and a sheaf of Reuter's cablegrams which were kindly sent by Messrs. Palmer and Abertsen, gentlemen in the employ of the Chinese Customs, who had cared for our mail. Mr. Abertsen also sent a note telling us of a good hunting ground near Teng-yueh. We spent an entire afternoon and evening over our letters and papers and, through them, began to get in touch with the world again. It is strange how little one misses the morning newspaper once one is beyond its reach and has properly adjusted one's mental perspective. And it is just as strange how essential it all seems immediately one is again within reach of such adjuncts of civilization. On April 6, we had the first rain for weeks. The water fell in torrents, and the roar, as it drummed upon the tent, was so incessant that we could barely hear each other shout. Because of the long dry spell our camp had not been made with reference to weather and during the night I waked to find that we were in the middle of a pond with fifteen inches of water in the tent. Shoes, clothes, guns, and cameras were soaked, and the surface of the water was only an inch below the bottoms of our cots. This was the beginning of a ten days' rain after which we had six weeks of as delightful weather as one could wish. CHAPTER XXXV TENG-YUEH; A LINK WITH CIVILIZATION After a week on the pass above Ho-mu-shu we shifted camp to a village called Tai-ping-pu, ten miles nearer Teng-yueh on the same road. The ride along the summit of the mountain was a delight, for we passed through grove after grove of rhododendrons in full blossom. The trees were sometimes thirty feet in height and the red flowers glowed like clusters of living coals among their dark green leaves. In the northern part of Yün-nan the rhododendrons grow above other timber line on mountains where it is too high even for spruces. It rained continually during our stay at Tai-ping-pu. I had another attack of the Salween malaria and for five or six days could do little work. Heller, however, made good use of his time and killed a beautiful horned pheasant, Temmick's tragopan (_Ceriornis temmincki_), besides half a dozen langurs of the same species as those we had collected on the Nam-ting River. He also was fortunate in shooting one of the huge flying squirrels (_Petaurista yunnanensis_) which we had hoped to get at Wei-hsi. He saw the animal in the upper branches of a dead tree on the first evening we were in Tai-ping-pu but was not able to get a shot. The next night he watched the same spot and killed the squirrel with a charge of "fours." It measured forty-two and one-quarter inches from the nose to the end of the tail and was a rich mahogany red grizzled with whitish above; the underparts were cream white. As in all flying squirrels, the four legs were connected by a sheet of skin called the "patagium" which is continuous with the body. This acts as a parachute and enables the animal to sail from tree to tree for, of course, it cannot fly like a bat. As these huge squirrels are strictly nocturnal, they are not often seen even by the natives. We were told by the Lutzus on the Mekong River that by building huge fires in the woods they could attract the animals and shoot them with their crossbows. A few weeks later we purchased a live flying squirrel from a native and kept it for several days in the hope that it might become tame. The animal was exceedingly savage and would grind its teeth angrily and spring at anyone who approached its basket. It could not be tempted to eat or drink and, as it was a valuable specimen, we eventually chloroformed it. Just below our camp in a pretty little valley a half dozen families of Lisos were living, and we hired the men to hunt for us. They were good-natured fellows, as all the natives of this tribe seem to be, and worked well. One day they brought in a fine muntjac buck which had been killed with their crossbows and poisoned darts. The arrows were about twelve inches long, made of bamboo and "feathered" with a triangular piece of the same wood. Those for shooting birds and squirrels were sharpened to a needle point, but the hunting darts were tipped with steel or iron. The poison they extracted from a plant, which I never saw, and it was said that it takes effect very rapidly. The muntjac which the Lisos killed had been shot in the side with a single arrow and they assured us that only the flesh immediately surrounding the wound had been spoiled for food. These natives like the Mosos, Lolos, and others carried their darts in a quiver made from the leg skin of a black bear, and none of the men wished to sell their weapons; I finally did obtain a crossbow and quiver for six dollars (Mexican). Two days before we left Tai-ping-pu, three of the Lisos guided my wife and me to a large cave where they said there was a colony of bats. The cavern was an hour's ride from camp, and proved to be in a difficult and dangerous place in the side of a cliff just above a swift mountain stream. We strung our gill net across the entrance and then sent one of the natives inside to stir up the animals while we caught them as they flew out. In less than half an hour we had twenty-eight big brown bats, but our fingers were cut and bleeding from the vicious bites of their needle-like teeth. They all represented a widely distributed species which we had already obtained at Yün-nan Fu. From Lung-ling I had sent a runner to Mr. Evans at Ta-li Fu asking him to forward to Teng-yueh the specimens which we had left in his care, and the day following our visit to the bat cave the caravan bearing our cases passed us at Tai-ping-pu. We, ourselves, were about ready to leave and two days later at ten o'clock in the morning we stood on a precipitous mountain summit, gazing down at the beautiful Teng-yueh plain which lay before us like a relief map. It is as flat as a plain well can be and, except where a dozen or more villages cluster on bits of dry land, the valley is one vast watery rice field. Far in the distance, outside the gray city walls, we could see two temple-like buildings surrounded by white-walled compounds, and Wu told us they were the houses of the Customs officials. Teng-yueh, although only given the rank of a "ting" or second-class Chinese city, is one of the most important places in the province, for it stands as the door to India. All the trade of Burma and Yün-nan flows back and forth through the gates of Teng-yueh, over the great caravan road to Bhamo on the upper Irawadi. An important post of the Chinese Foreign Customs, which are administered by the British government as security for the Boxer indemnity, is situated in this city, and we were looking forward with the greatest interest to meeting its white population. At the time of our visit the foreigners included Messrs. H.G. Fletcher and Ralph C. Grierson, respectively Acting Commissioner and Assistant Commissioner of Customs; Messrs. W.R. Palmer and Abertsen, also of the Customs; Mr. Eastes, H.B.M. Consul; Dr. Chang, Indian Medical Officer, and Reverend and Mrs. Embry of the China Inland Mission; Mr. Eastes, accompanied by the resident mandarin, was absent on a three months' opium inspection tour so that we did not meet him. We reached Teng-yueh on Sunday morning and camped in a temple outside the city walls. Immediately after tiffin we called upon Mr. Grierson and went with him to the Customs House where Messrs. Abertsen and Palmer were living. We found there a Scotch botanist, Mr. Forrest, an old traveler in Yün-nan who was _en route_ to A-tun-zu on a three-year plant-hunting expedition for an English commercial firm. We had heard much of Forrest from Messrs. Kok and Hanna and were especially glad to meet him because of his wide knowledge of the northwestern part of the province. Mr. Forrest was interested chiefly in primroses and rhododendrons, I believe, and in former years obtained a rather remarkable collection of these plants. From Mr. Grierson we first learned that the United States had declared war on Germany. It had been announced only a week before, and the information had reached Teng-yueh by cable and telegraph almost immediately. It came as welcome news to us Americans who had been vainly endeavoring to justify to ourselves and others our country's lethargy in the face of Teuton insolence, and made us feel that once again we could acknowledge our nationality with the pride we used to feel. On Monday Mr. Grierson invited us to become his guests and to move our caravan and belongings to his beautiful home. We were charmed with it and our host. The house was built with upturned, temple-like gables, and from his cool verandah we could look across an exquisite flower-filled garden to the blue mountains from which we had had our first view of Teng-yueh the day before. The interior of the dwelling was as attractive as its surroundings, and the beautifully served meals were as varied and dainty as one could have had in the midst of a great city. Like all Britishers, the Customs men had carried their sport with them. Just beyond the city walls an excellent golf course had been laid out with Chinese graves as bunkers, and there was a cement tennis court behind the Commissioner's house. Mr. Grierson had two excellent polo ponies, besides three trained pointer dogs, and riding and shooting over the beautiful hills gave him an almost ideal life. We found that Mr. Fletcher had a really remarkable selection of records and an excellent Victrola. After dinner, as we listened to the music, we had only to close our eyes and float back to New York and the Metropolitan Opera House on the divine harmony of the sextet from "Lucia" or Caruso's matchless voice. But none of us wished to be there in body for more than a fleeting visit at least, and the music already brought with it a lingering sadness because our days in the free, wild mountains of China were drawing to a close. During the week we spent with Mr. Grierson we dried and packed all our specimens in tin-lined boxes which were purchased from the agent of the British American Tobacco Company in Teng-yueh. They were just the right size to carry on muleback and, after the birds and mammals had been wrapped in cotton and sprinkled with napthalene, the cases were soldered and made air tight. The most essential thing in sending specimens of any kind through a moist, tropical climate such as India is to have them perfectly dry before the boxes are sealed; otherwise they will arrive at their destination covered with mildew and absolutely ruined. On the day of our arrival in Teng-yueh we purchased from a native two bear cubs (_Ursus tibetanus_) about a week old. Each was coal black except for a V-shaped white mark on the breast and a brown nose. When they first came to us they were too young to eat and we fed them diluted condensed milk from a spoon. The little chaps were as playful as kittens and the story of their amusing ways as they grew older is a book in itself. After a month one of the cubs died, leaving great sorrow in the camp; the other not only lived and flourished but traveled more than 16,000 miles. He went with us on a pack mule to Bhamo, down the Irawadi River to Rangoon, and across the Bay of Bengal to Calcutta. He then visited many cities in India, and at Bombay boarded the P. & O.S.S. _Namur_ for Hongkong and became the pet of the ship. From China we took him to Japan, across the Pacific to Vancouver, and finally to our home at Lawrence Park, Bronxville, New York. After an adventurous career as a house pet, when his exploits had made him famous and ourselves disliked by all the neighbors, we regretfully sent him to the National Zoölogical Park, Washington, D.C., where he is living happily at the present time. He was the most delightful little pet we have ever owned and, although now he is nearly a full grown bear, his early life is perpetuated in motion pictures and we can see him still as he came to us the first week. He might well have been the model for the original "Teddy Bear" for he was a round ball of fur, mostly head and ears and sparkling little eyes. CHAPTER XXXVI A BIG GAME PARADISE A few months previous to our arrival, Mr. Abertsen had discovered a splendid hunting ground near the village of Hui-yao, about eighty _li_ from Teng-yueh. He had been shooting rabbits and pheasants and, while passing through the village, the natives told him that a large herd of _gnai-yang_ or "wild goats" lived on the side of a hill through which a branch of the Shweli River had cut a deep gorge. Although Abertsen was decidedly skeptical as to the accuracy of the report he spent two days hunting and with his shotgun killed two gorals; moreover, he saw twenty-five others. We examined the two skins and realized at once that they represented a different species from those of the Snow Mountain. Therefore, when we left Teng-yueh our first camp was at Hui-yao. Heller and I started with four natives shortly after daylight. We crossed a tumbledown wooden bridge over the river at a narrow cañon where the sides were straight walls of rock, and followed down the gorge for about two miles. On the way Heller, who was in front, saw two muntjac standing in the grass on an open hillside, and shot the leader. The deer pitched headlong but got to its feet in a few moments and struggled off into the thick cover at the edge of the meadow. It had disappeared before Heller reached the clearing but he saw the second deer, a fine doe, standing on a rock. Although his bullet passed through both lungs the animal ran a quarter of a mile, and he finally discovered her several hours later in the bushes beside the river. In a short time we reached an open hillside which rose six or seven hundred feet above the river in a steep slope; the opposite side was a sheer wall of rock bordered on the rim by an open pine forest. We separated at this point. Heller, with two natives, keeping near the river, while I climbed up the hill to work along the cliffs half way to the summit. In less than ten minutes Heller heard a loud snort and, looking up, saw three gorals standing on a ledge seventy-five yards above him. He fired twice but missed and the animals disappeared around a corner of the hill. A few hundred yards farther on he saw a single old ram but his two shots apparently had no effect. Meanwhile I had continued along the hillside not far from the summit for a mile or more without seeing an animal. Fresh tracks were everywhere and well-cut trails crossed and recrossed among the rocks and grass. I had reached an impassable precipice and was returning across a steep slope when seven gorals jumped out of the grass where they had been lying asleep. I was in a thick grove of pine trees and fired twice in quick succession as the animals appeared through the branches, but missed both times. I ran out from the trees but the gorals were then nearly two hundred yards away. One big ram had left the herd and was trotting along broadside on. I aimed just in front of him and pulled the trigger as his head appeared in the peep sight. He turned a beautiful somersault and rolled over and over down the hill, finally disappearing in the bushes at the edge of the water. The other gorals had disappeared, but a few seconds later I saw a small one slowly skirting the rocks on the very summit of the hill. The first shot kicked the dirt beside him, but the second broke his leg and he ran behind a huge boulder. I rested the little Mannlicher on the trunk of a tree, covering the edge of the rock with the ivory head of the front sight and waited. I was perfectly sure that the goral would try to steal out, and in two or three minutes his head appeared. I fired instantly, boring him through both shoulders, and he rolled over and over stone dead lodging against a rock not fifty yards from where we stood. The two natives were wild with excitement and, yelling at the top of their lungs, ran up the hill like goats to bring the animal down to me. It was a young male in full summer coat, and with horns about two inches long. Our pleasure was somewhat dampened, however, when we went to recover the first goral for we found that when it had landed in the grass at the edge of the river it had either rolled or crawled into the water. We searched along the bank for half a mile but without success and returned to Hui-yao just in time for tiffin. In the afternoon we shifted camp to a beautiful little grove on the opposite side of the river behind the hunting grounds. Heller, instead of going over with the caravan, went back along the rim of the gorge in the pine forest where he could look across the river to the hill on which we had hunted in the morning. With his field glasses he discovered five gorals in an open meadow, and opened fire. It was long shooting but the animals did not know which way to run, and he killed three of the herd before they disappeared. Our first day had, therefore, netted us one deer and four gorals which was better than at any other camp we had had in China. We realized from the first day's work that Hui-yao would prove to be a wonderful hunting ground, and the two weeks we spent there justified all our hopes. At other places the cover was so dense or the country so rough that it was necessary to depend entirely upon dogs and untrained natives, but here the animals were on open hillsides where they could be still hunted with success. Moreover, we had an opportunity to learn something about the habits of the animals for we could watch them with glasses from the opposite side of the river when they were quite unconscious of our presence. There was only one day of our stay at Hui-yao that we did not bring in one or more gorals and even after we had obtained an unrivaled series, dozens were left. Shooting the animals from across the river was rather an unsportsmanlike way of hunting but it was a very effective method of collecting the particular specimens we needed for the Museum series. The distance was so great that the gorals were unable to tell from where the bullets were coming and almost any number of shots might be had before the animals made for cover. It became simply a case of long range target shooting at seldom less than three hundred yards. Still hunting on the cliffs was quite a different matter, however, and was as good sport as I have ever had. The rocks and open meadow slopes were so precipitous that there was very real danger every moment, for one misstep would send a man rolling hundreds of feet to the bottom where he would inevitably be killed. The gorals soon learned to lie motionless along the sheerest cliffs or to hide in the rank grass, and it took close work to find them. I used most frequently to ride from camp to the river, send back the horse by a _mafu_, and work along the face of the rock wall with my two native boys. Their eyesight was wonderful and they often discovered gorals lying among the rocks when I had missed them entirely with my powerful prism binoculars. Their eyes had never been dimmed by study and I suppose were as keen as those of primitive man who possibly hunted gorals or their relatives thousands of years ago over these same hills. There were many glorious hunts and it would be wearisome were I to describe them all, but one afternoon stands out in my memory above the others. It was a brilliant day, and about four o'clock I rode away from camp, across the rice fields and up the grassy valley to the long sweep of open meadow on the rim of the river gorge. Sending back the horse, "Achi," my native hunter, and I crawled carefully to a jutting point of rocks and lay face down to inspect the cliffs above and to the left. With my glasses I scanned every inch of the gray wall, but could not discover a sign of life. Glancing at Achi I saw him gazing intently at the rock which I had just examined, and in a moment he whispered excitedly "_gnai-yang_." By putting both hands to the side of his head he indicated that the animal was lying down, and although he pointed with my rifle, it was full five minutes before I could discover the goral flat upon his belly against the cliff, with head stretched out, and fore legs doubled beneath his body. He was sound asleep in the sun and looked as though he might remain forever. By signs Achi indicated that we were to climb up above and circle around the cliff to a ragged promontory which jutted into space within a hundred yards of the animal. It was a good three quarters of an hour before we peered cautiously between two rocks opposite the ledge where the goral had been asleep. The animal was gone. We looked at each other in blank amazement and then began a survey of the ground below. Halfway down the mountain-side Achi discovered the ram feeding in an open meadow and we began at once to make our way down the face of the cliff. It was dangerous going, but we gained the meadow in safety and worked cautiously up to a grassy ridge where the goral had been standing. Again we crawled like snakes among the rocks and again an empty slope of waving grass met our eyes. The goral had disappeared, and even Achi could not discover a sign of life upon the meadow. With an exclamation of disgust I got to my feet and looked around. Instantly there was a rattle of stones and a huge goral leaped out of the grass thirty yards away and dashed up the hill. I threw up my rifle and shot hurriedly, chipping a bit of rock a foot behind the animal. Swearing softly at my carelessness, I threw in another shell, selected a spot in front of the ram, and fired. The splendid animal sank in its tracks without a quiver, shot through the base of the neck. I had just ejected the empty shell when Achi seized me by the arm, whispering "_gnai-yang, gnai-yang, gnai-yang, na, na, na, na_," and pointing to the cliffs two hundred yards above us. I looked up just in time to see another goral flash behind a rock on the very summit of the ridge. An instant later he appeared again and stopped broadside on with his noble head thrown up, silhouetted against the sky. It was a perfect target and, resting my rifle on a flat rock, I covered the animal with the white bead and centered it in the rear sight. As I touched the hair trigger and the roar of the high-power shell crashed back from the face of the cliff, the animal leaped with legs straight out, whirling over and over down the meadow and bringing up against a boulder not twenty yards from the first goral. That night as I walked over the hills in the cool dusk I would not have changed my lot with any man on earth. The breathless excitement of the stalk and the wild thrill of exultation at the clean kill of two splendid rams were still rioting in my veins. I came out of the valley and across the rice fields to the blazing camp fire. Yvette ran to the edge of the grove, her hands filled with wet photographic negatives. "How many?" she called. "Two," I answered, "and both big ones. How many for you?" "Fourteen color plates," she sung back happily, "and all good." CHAPTER XXXVII SEROW AND SAMBUR We had a delightful visit from Mr. Grierson during our first week in camp. He rode out on Thursday afternoon and remained until Sunday, bringing us mail, war news, and fresh vegetables, and returning with goral meat for all the foreigners in Teng-yueh. On the afternoon of his visit I had killed three monkeys which represented a different species from any we had obtained before. They were the Indian baboon (_Macacus rhesus_) and were probably like those of the Salween River at Changlung. I found two great troupes of the monkeys running along the opposite river bank. The first herd was climbing up the almost perpendicular rock walls, swinging on the bushes and sometimes almost disappearing in the tufts of grass. I could not approach nearer than one hundred and fifty yards and did some very bad shooting at the little beasts, but a running monkey at that distance is a pretty uncertain mark, and it requires a much better shot than I am to register more hits than misses. I did kill two, but both dropped into the river and promptly sank, so that I gave it up. Less than a half mile farther on another and larger troupe appeared among the boulders just at the water's edge. Profiting by my experience, I kept out of sight among the bushes and watched the animals play about until one hopped to a rock and sat quietly for an instant. I got six in this way, but we were able to recover only three of them from the water. Heller shot three muntjac at Hui-yao, besides the doe which he killed on the first day. One of the largest bucks had a pair of beautiful antlers three and one half inches long from the burr to the tip. The skin-covered projections, or pedicels, of the frontal bone, from the summits of which the antlers grow, measured two and one-half inches from the skull to the burrs. Evidently the muntjac are somewhat irregular in shedding for, although they were all in full summer pelage, two already had lost their antlers while the other had not. I can think of no more delicious meat than the flesh of these little deer and they seem to be as highly esteemed by the English sportsmen of India as they are by the foreigners of China. I did not see a muntjac while at Hui-yao, but was fortunate in killing a splendid coal-black serow which represents a sub-species new to science; although the natives said that serow were known to occur in the thick jungle on the south side of the river, none had been seen for years. Heller and I had gone to this part of the gorge to hunt for a troupe of monkeys which he had located on the previous day. We had separated, Heller keeping close to the water while I skirted the cliffs near the summit not far from the road which led through the pine forest. I was walking just under the rim of the gorge when suddenly with a snort a large animal dashed out of a thicket below and to the left. I caught a glimpse of a great coal-black body and a pair of short curved horns as the beast disappeared in a shallow gully, and realized that it was a serow. A few seconds later it reappeared, running directly away from me along the upper edge of the gorge. I fired and the animal dropped, gave a convulsive twist, rolled over, and plunged into the cañon. As the serow disappeared we heard a chorus of excited yells from below, and it was evident that some natives near the water had seen it fall. I had slight hope that they might have rescued it from the river, but my heart was heavy as we worked along the cliff trying to find a place where it was possible to descend. A wood cutter whom we discovered a short distance away guided us down a trail so steep that it seemed impossible for a human being to walk along it, and in proof I slid the last half of the way to the rocks at the river's edge, narrowly escaping a broken neck. When we reached the stream it was only to find a flat wall against which the water surged in a mass of white foam, separating us from the place where the serow had fallen. I tried to wade around the rock but in two steps the water was above my waist. It was evident that we would have to swim, and I began to undress, inviting Achi and the wood cutter to follow; the former refused, but the latter pulled off his few clothes with considerable hesitation. It was a swim of only about forty feet around the face of the cliff but the current was strong and it was no easy matter to fight my way to the other side. After I had climbed out upon the rocks I called to the wood cutter to follow and he slipped into the water. Evidently the current was more than he had bargained for and a look of fear crossed his face, but he went manfully at it. He had almost reached the rock on which I was standing with outstretched hand when his strength seemed suddenly to go and he cried out in terror. I jumped into the water, hanging to the rocks with one hand and letting my legs float out behind. The wood cutter just managed to reach my big toe, to which he clung as if it had in reality been the straw of the drowning man and I dragged him up stream until, to my intense relief, he could grasp the rocks. We picked our way among the boulders for a few yards and suddenly came upon the serow lying partly in the water. I felt like dancing with delight but the sharp rocks were not conducive to any such demonstrations and I merely yelled to Achi who understood from the tone, if not from my words, that the animal was safe. The men who had shouted when the animal fell over the cliff were only fifty feet away, but they too were separated from it by a wall of rock and surging water. They said that there was an easier way up the cliff than the one by which we had descended, and prepared a line of tough vines, one end of which they let down to us. We made it fast to the serow and I kept a second vine rope in my hands, swimming beside the animal as they dragged it to the other shore. It was landed safely and the wood cutter was hauled over by the same means. I had intended to swim back for my clothes but discovered that Achi had disappeared, taking my garments and those of the wood cutter with him. He evidently intended to meet us on the hilltop, but it left us in the rather awkward predicament of making our way through the thick brush with only the proverbial smile and minus even the necktie. The men fastened together the serow's four legs, slipped a pole beneath them and toiled up the steep slope preceded by a naked brown figure and followed by a white one. The side of the gorge was covered with vines and creepers, many of them thorny, and pushing through them with no bodily protection was far from comfortable. When we arrived at the road on the rim of the gorge I was dismayed to find that Achi was not there with my clothes. The wood cutter did not appear to be greatly worried and indicated that we would find him farther up the road. I walked on dubiously, expecting every second to meet some person, and sure enough, a Chinese woman suddenly appeared over a little hill. I dived into the tall ferns beside the road, burrowing like a rabbit, and from the frightened way in which she hurried past, she must have thought she had seen one of her ancestral spirits stalking abroad. We eventually found the boy, and, decently dressed, I faced the world again with confidence and happiness. On the way back to camp we saw a goral on the cliffs across the river. It was high up and fully three hundred and fifty yards away but, of course, quite unconscious of our presence. My first two shots struck close beside the animal, but at the third it rolled over and over down the hill, lodging among the rocks just above the river. Our entry into camp was triumphal, for fully half the village acted as an escort to the serow, an animal which few had ever seen. It was a female, and probably weighed about two hundred and fifty pounds. The mane was short and black and strikingly unlike the long white manes of the Snow Mountain serows; the horns were almost smooth. Getting this specimen was one of the lucky chances which sometimes come to a sportsman, for one might hunt for weeks in the same place without ever seeing another serow, as the jungle is exceedingly dense and the cliffs so steep that it is impossible to walk except in a few spots. The animal had been feeding on the new grass just at the edge of the heavy cover and probably had been sleeping under a bush when she was disturbed. Besides mammals and birds we made a fairly good collection of reptiles and lizards at Hui-yao, but in all other parts of the province which we visited they were exceedingly scarce. In fact, I have never been in a place where there were so few reptiles and batrachians. We obtained only one species of poisonous snake here. It was a small green viper which we sometimes saw coiled on a low bush watching mouse holes in the grass. Several species of nonpoisonous snakes were more common but were nowhere really abundant. We left Hui-yao the day after I killed the serow for a village called Wa-tien where there was a report of sambur. None of us had any real hope of finding the huge deer after our former unsuccessful hunts, but we camped in the early afternoon on an open hilltop five miles from Wa-tien where the natives assured us the animals often came to eat the young rice during the night. We engaged four men with three dogs as hunters, but awoke to find a dense fog blanketing the valley and mountains. It was not until half past nine that the gray mist yielded to the sun and left the hills clear enough for us to hunt. We climbed a wooded ridge directly behind the camp and skirted the edge of a heavily forested ravine which the men wished to drive. Heller took a position in a bean field while I climbed to a sharp ridge above and beyond him. In less than half an hour the dogs began to yelp in an uncertain way. I saw one of them running down hill, nose to the ground, and a few seconds later Heller fired twice in quick succession. Two sambur had skirted the edge of the wood less than one hundred yards away, but he had missed with both shots. The trail led into a deep ravine filled with dense underbrush. In a few moments the dogs began to yelp again and, while Heller remained on the hillside to watch the open fields, I followed the hounds along the creek bed. Suddenly the whiplike crack of his Savage 250-300 rifle sounded five times in quick succession just above our heads, and we climbed hurriedly out of the gorge. Heller shouted that he had fired at a huge sambur running along the edge of a bean field but the animal showed no sign of being hit. We easily picked up the trail in the soft earth and in a few moments found several drops of blood, showing that at least one bullet had found its mark. The blood soon ceased and we began to wonder if the sambur had not been merely scratched. Heller had seen the deer disappear in a second ravine, a branch of the one out of which it had first been driven, and while he watched the upper side I worked my way to the bottom to look for tracks. A few moments later the natives began to shout excitedly just above me, and Heller called out that they had found the deer, which was lying stone dead half way down the side of the gorge in a mass of thick ferns. The sambur had been hit only once but the powerful Savage bullet had crashed through the shoulder into the lungs; it was quite sufficient to do the work even on such a huge animal and the deer had run less than one hundred yards from the place where it had been shot. It was a splendid male, carrying a magnificent pair of antlers which measured twenty-seven inches in length. The deer was about the size of an American wapiti, or elk, and must have weighed at least seven hundred pounds, for it required eight men to lift it. The Chinese hunters were wild with excitement, but especially so when we began to eviscerate the animal, for they wished to save the blood which is considered of great medicinal value. They filled caps, sacks, bamboo joints, and every receptacle which they could find after each man had drunk all he could possibly force down his throat and had eaten the huge clots which choked the thorax. When the sambur was brought to camp a regular orgy was held by our servants, _mafus_, and dozens of villagers who gathered to buy, beg, or steal some of the blood. Our interpreter, Wu, took the heart as his perquisite, carefully extracted the blood, and dried it in a basin. The liver also seemed to be an especial desideratum, and in fact every part of the viscera was saved. Because the antlers were hard they were not considered of especial value, but had they been in the velvet we should have had to guard them closely; then they would have been worth about one hundred dollars (Mexican). We expected from our easy hunt of the morning that it would not be difficult to get sambur, and indeed, Heller did see another in the afternoon but failed to kill it. Unfortunately, a relative of one of the hunters died suddenly during the night and all the men went off with their dogs to the burial feast which lasted several days, and we were not able to find any other good hounds. There were undoubtedly several sambur in the vicinity of our camp but they fed entirely during the night and spent the day in such thick cover that it was impossible to drive them out except with good beaters or dogs. We hunted faithfully every morning and afternoon but did not get another shot and, after a week, moved camp to the base of a great mountain range six miles away near a Liso village. The scenery in this region is magnificent. The mountain range is the same on which we hunted at Ho-mu-shu and reaches a height of 11,000 feet near Wa-tien. It is wild and uninhabited, and the splendid forests must shelter a good deal of game. The foothills on which we were camped are low wooded ridges rising out of open cultivated valleys, which often run into the jungle-filled ravines in which the sambur sleep. Why the deer should occur in this particular region and not in the neighboring country is a mystery unless it is the proximity of the great forested mountain range. But in similar places only a few miles away, where there is an abundance of cover, the natives said the animals had never been seen, and neither were they known on the opposite side of the mountain range where the Teng-yueh--Tali-Fu road crosses the Salween valley. On May 20, we started back to Hui-yao to spend three or four days hunting monkeys before we returned to Teng-yueh to pack our specimens and end the field work of the Expedition. On the way my wife and I became separated from the caravan but as we had one of our servants for a guide we were not uneasy. The man was a lazy, stupid fellow named Le Ping-sang (which we had changed to "Leaping Frog" because he never did leap for any cause whatever), and before long he had us hopelessly lost. It would appear easy enough to ask the way from the natives, but the Chinese are so suspicious that they often will intentionally misdirect a stranger. They do not know what business the inquirer may have in the village to which he wishes to go and therefore, just on general principles, they send him off in the wrong direction. Apparently this is what happened to us, for a farmer of whom we inquired the way directed us to a road at nearly right angles to the one we should have taken, and it was late in the afternoon before we finally found the caravan. CHAPTER XXXVIII LAST DAYS IN CHINA It was of paramount importance to pack our specimens before the beginning of the summer rains. They might be expected to break in full violence any day after June 1, and when they really began it would be impossible to get our boxes to Bhamo, for virtually all caravan travel ceases during the wet season. Therefore our second stay at Hui-yao was short and we returned to Teng-yueh on May 24, ending the active field work of the Expedition exactly a year from the time it began with our trip up the Min River to Yeng-ping in Fukien Province. Mr. Grierson had kindly invited us again to become his guests and no place ever seemed more delightful, after our hot and dusty ride, than his beautiful garden and cool, shady verandah where a dainty tea was served. Our days in Teng-yueh were busy ones, for after the specimens were packed and the boxes sealed it was necessary to wrap them in waterproof covers; moreover, the equipment had to be sorted and sold or discarded, a caravan engaged, and nearly a thousand feet of motion-picture film developed. This was done in the spacious dark room connected with Mr. Grierson's house which offered a welcome change from the cramped quarters of the tent which we had used for so many months. Much of the success of our motion film lay in the fact that it was developed within a short time after exposure, for had we attempted to bring or send it to Shanghai, the nearest city with facilities for doing such work, it would inevitably have been ruined by the climatic changes. Although cinematograph photography requires an elaborate and expensive outfit and is a source of endless work, nevertheless, the value of an actual moving record of the life of such remote regions is worth all the trouble it entails. The Paget natural color plates proved to be eminently satisfactory and were among the most interesting results of the expedition. The stereoscopic effects and the faithful reproduction of the delicate atmospheric shading in the photographs are remarkable. Although the plates had been subjected to a variety of climatic conditions and temperatures by the time the last ones were exposed in Burma, a year and a half after their manufacture, they showed no signs of deterioration even when the ordinary negatives which we brought with us from America had been ruined. The other photographs, some of which are reproduced in this book, speak for themselves. The entire collections of the Expedition were packed in forty-one cases and included the following specimens: 2,100 mammals 800 birds 200 reptiles and batrachians 200 skeletons and formalin preparations for anatomical study 150 Paget natural color plates 500 photographic negatives 10,000 feet of motion-picture film. Since the Expedition was organized primarily for the study of the mammalian fauna and its distribution, our efforts were directed very largely toward this branch of science, and other specimens were gathered only when conditions were especially favorable. I believe that the mammal collection is the most extensive ever taken from China by a single continuous expedition, and a large percentage undoubtedly will prove to represent species new to science. Our tents were pitched in 108 different spots from 15,000 feet to 1,400 feet above sea level, and because of this range in altitudes, the fauna represented by our specimens is remarkably varied. Moreover, during our nine months in Yün-nan we spent 115 days in the saddle, riding 2,000 miles on horse or mule back, largely over small roads or trails in little known parts of the province. In Teng-yueh we were entertained most hospitably and the leisure hours were made delightful by golf, tennis, riding, and dinners. Mr. Grierson was a charming host who placed himself, as well as his house and servants, at our disposal, utter strangers though we were, and we shall never forget his welcome. We decided to take four man-chairs to Bhamo because of the rain which was expected every day, and the coolies made us very comfortable upon our sleeping bags which were swung between two bamboo poles and covered with a strip of yellow oil-cloth. They were the regulation Chinese "mountain schooner," at which we had so often laughed, but they proved to be infinitely more desirable than riding in the rain. With the forty-one cases of specimens we left Teng-yueh on June 1, behind a caravan of thirty mules for the eight-day journey to Bhamo on the outskirts of civilization. Our chair-coolies were miserable specimens of humanity. They were from S'suchuan Province and were all unmarried which alone is almost a crime in China. Every cent of money, earned by the hardest sort of work, they spent in drinking, gambling, and smoking opium. As Wu tersely put it "they make how much--spend how much!" About every two hours they would deposit us unceremoniously in the midst of a filthy village and disappear into some dark den in spite of our remonstrances. We would grumble and fume and finally, getting out of our chairs, peer into the hole. In the half light we would see them huddled on a "kang" over tiny yellow flames sucking at their pipes. At tiffin each one would stretch out under a tree with a stone for a pillow and his broad straw hat propped up to screen him from the wind. With infinite care he would extract a few black grains from a dirty box, mix them with a little water, and cook them over an alcohol lamp until the opium bubbled and was almost ready to drop. Then placing it lovingly in the bowl of his pipe he would hold it against the flame and draw in long breaths of the sickly-sweet smoke. The men could work all day without food, but opium was a prime necessity. It was almost impossible to start them in the morning and it became my regular duty to make the rounds of the filthy holes in which they slept, seize them by the collars and drag them into the street. Force made the only appeal to their deadened senses and we were heartily sick of them before we reached Bhamo. The road to Bhamo is a gradual descent from five thousand feet to almost sea level. Because of the fever the valleys are largely inhabited by "Chinese Shans" who differ in dress and customs from the Southern Shans of the Nam-ting River. Few of the men were tattooed and the women all wore the enormous cylindrical turban which we had seen once before in the Salween Valley. At noon of the fifth day we crossed the Yün-nan border into Burma. It is a beautiful spot where a foaming mountain torrent rushes out of the jungle in a series of picturesque cascades and loses itself in a living wall of green. The stream is spanned by a splendid iron bridge from which a fine wide road of crushed stone leads all the way to Bhamo. What a difference between the country we were leaving and the one we were about to enter! It is the "deadly parallel" of the old East and the new West. On the one side is China with her flooded roads and bridges of rotting timber, the outward and visible signs of a nation still living in the Middle Ages, fighting progress, shackled by the iron doctrines of Confucius to the long dead past. Across the river is English Burma, with eyes turned forward, ever watchful of the welfare of her people, her iron bridges and macadam roads representing the very essence of modern thought and progress. With paternal care of her officials the British government has provided _dâk_ (mail) bungalows at the end of each day's journey which are open to every foreign traveler. They are comfortable little houses set on piles. Each one has a spacious living room, with a large teakwood table and inviting lounge chairs. In a corner stands a cabinet of cutlery, china, and glass, all clean and in perfect order. The two bedrooms are provided with adjoining baths and a covered passageway connects the kitchen with the house. All is ready for the tired traveler, and a boy can be hired for a trifling sum to make the punkah "punk." Such comforts can only be appreciated when one has journeyed for months in a country where they do not exist. Our last night on the road was spent at a _dâk_ bungalow near a village only a few miles from Bhamo. We were seated at the window, when, with a rattle of wheels, the first cart we had seen in nine months passed by. That cart brought to us more forcibly than any other thing a realization that the Expedition was ended and that we were standing on the threshold of civilization. As Yvette turned from the window her eyes were wet with unshed tears, and a lump had risen in my throat. Not all the pleasures of the city, the love of friends or relatives, could make us wish to end the wild, free life of the year gone by. Silently we left the house and walked across the sunlit road into a grove of graceful, drooping palms; a white pagoda gleamed between the trees, and the pungent odor of wood smoke filled the air. The spot was redolent with the atmosphere of the lazy East; the East which, like the fabled "Lorelei," weaves a mystic spell about the wanderer whom she has loved and taken to her heart, while yet he feels it not. And when he would cast her off and return to his own again she knows full well that her subtle charm will bring him back once more. * * * * * The next morning we entered Bhamo. It is a city of low, cool houses, wide lawns and tree-decked streets built on the bank of the muddy Irawadi River. Only a few miles away the railroad reaches Katha, and palatial steamers run to Mandalay and Rangoon. We called upon Mr. Farmer, the Deputy Commissioner, who offered the hospitality of the "Circuit House" and in the evening took us with him to the Club. A military band was playing and men in white, well-dressed women, and officers in uniform strolled about or sipped iced drinks beside the tennis court. We felt strange and shy but doubtless we seemed more strange to them for we were newly come from a far country which they saw only as a mystic, unknown land. On June 9, at noon, we embarked for the 1,200-mile journey to Rangoon, exactly nine months after we had ridden away from Yün-nan Fu toward the Mountain of Eternal Snow. Our further travels need not be related here. When we reached civilization we expected that our transport difficulties were ended; instead they had only begun. India was well-nigh isolated from the Pacific and to expose our valuable collection to the attacks of German pirates in the Mediterranean and Atlantic was not to be considered even though it necessitated traveling two thirds around the world to reach America safely. We left Rangoon for Calcutta, crossed India with all our baggage to Bombay, and after a seemingly endless wait eventually succeeded in arriving at Hongkong by way of Singapore. There we separated from our faithful Wu and sent him to his home in Foochow. It was hard to say "good-by" to Wu, for his efficient service, his enthusiastic interest in the work of the Expedition, and, above all, his willingness to do whatever needed to be done, had won our gratitude and affection. We ourselves went northward to Japan, across the Pacific to Vancouver, and overland to New York, arriving on October 1, 1917, nearly nineteen months from the time we left. We were never separated from our collections for, had we left them, I doubt if they would ever have reached America. It was difficult enough to gather them in the field, but infinitely more so to guide the forty-one cases through the tangled shipping net of a war-mad world. They reached New York without the loss of a single specimen and are now being prepared in the American Museum of Natural History for the study which will place the scientific results of the Asiatic Zoölogical Expedition before the public. * * * * * The story of our travels is at an end. Once more we are indefinable units in a vast work-a-day world, bound by the iron chains of convention to the customs of civilized men and things. The glorious days in our beloved East are gone, and yet, to us, the Orient seems not far away, for the miles of land and water can be traversed in a thought. Again we stand before our tent with the fragrant breath of the pines about us, watching the glistening peaks of the Snow Mountain turn purple and gold in the setting sun; again, we feel the mystic spell of the jungle, or hear the low, sweet tones of a gibbon's call. We have only to shut our eyes to bring back a picture of the bleak barriers of the Forbidden Land or the sunlit streets of a Burma village. Thank God, we saw it all together and such blessed memories can never die. INDEX Abercrombie & Fitch Co. Abertsen, Mr., Chinese Customs, employee of; discovered hunting ground near Hui-yao; killed two gorals Africa Akeley, Carl E. Alaska Allen, Dr. J.A. American flags American Legation, Peking American Museum Journal American Museum of Natural History; trustees of, specimens being prepared at Americans Ammunition, loss of Amoy _Anas boscas_ (Mallard ducks) Anglo-Chinese College Animal life, lack of Annamits Antlers Ape, gray (_Pygathrix_) _Apodemus_ (white-footed mouse) Asia _Asia_ Magazine, quoted from Asiatic Zoölogical Expedition; members of Assam Assistants A-tun-zu Babies, killing and selling of Baboon, brown (_Macacus_) Baboon, Indian (_Macacus rhesus_) Bamboo chickens Bandits, attack of Bankhardt, Mr. Bat apartment house Bat cave, description of; experience of girl in Bats, method of killing Batrachians Bear cubs (_Ursus tibetanus_), purchased at Teng-yueg Bedding Berger, Anna Katherine, acknowledgment to Bering Strait Bernheimer, Mr. and Mrs. Charles L. Betel nut Bhamo; railroad from; road to; description of Big Ravine, description of; temples near Birds, game _Blarina_ Boat, Chinese, eye on Bode, Mr. Bohea Hills Bound feet Bowdoin, George Bradley, Dr.; established leper hospital at Paik-hoi Brahmin priests Brahminy ducks; habits of Bridge, suspension, description of Bridges, rope Brigand, seal of a pardoned Brigandage Brigands; beheading of; infest Yün-nan; description of British American Tobacco Co., Hongkong British East Africa Brooke, Englishman, killed by Lolos Buffaloes; water Bui-tao Bureau of Foreign Affairs, Director of Burial, expenses of Burma; border of; girls of; mammals caught near; frontier of; boundary of Burmans Calcutta Caldwell, Rev. Harry R.; letter from; house of; stationed at Futsing; tiger hunting, method of; obtains serows at Yen-ping; purchases serow skins in Fukien California _Callosciurus erythraeus_ Camera equipment Canadian Pacific R.R. Co., Hongkong, General Passenger Agent of Cantonese, chiefly of Shan stock _Capricornulus crispus_ _Capricornis sumatrensis_ _Capricornis sumatrensis argyrochaetes_ _Capricornis sumatrensis milne-edwardsi_ Caravan, robbing of; buying of; renting of Caravan ponies Caravans, distance traveled by Cary, F.W., Commissioner of Customs _Casarca casarca_ (ruddy sheldrake) Caverns Central Asia Central Asian plateau _Cervus macneilli_ Chair-coolies Chairs, description of Chang, Dr. Chang-hu-fan; night at Changlung; ferry at Chien-chuan Chi-li China; aboriginal inhabitants of; press; inland mission Chinaman, Cantonese Chinese, Republic; army of; face saving; Foreign Office; screaming, habit of; lack of sympathy of; not affected by sun; love of companionship; bride of; wedding of; dress of; Commissioner of Foreign Affairs, meeting with; education of; villages, description of; etiquette of; New Year; collecting debts of Chipmunk (_Tamiops macclellandi_) Chi-yuen-kang Chou Chou Christians, native, persecution of Christianity, lesson in Christmas; celebration of Chu-hsuing Fu Chung-tien Civet (_Viverra_) Clive, Captain Clothing Colgate, Mr. and Mrs. Sidney M. Collecting case Color plates Confucius, rules of Cook, difficulty in obtaining; description of Coolies Cormorants Corn Cows, used as burden-bearers by Chinese Cranes; habits of Crossbows Cui-kau; description of Da-Da Daing-nei _Dâk_ (mail) bungalows Da-Ming Darjeeling Davies, Major H.R.; quoted Dead, burying of Deer Deer, barking Denby, Hon. Charles Dennet, Tyler, quoted D'Ollone, Major, member French Expedition D'Orleans, Prince Henri Dog, red, death of Dogs, description of; for food Doumer, M., Governor-General of French Indo-China Duai Uong Ducks brahminy; shooting of Dupontès, Georges Chemin, assistance of, to expedition Eastes, Mr., Consul Education, foreign _Elaphodus_ Elephants Elk Ellsworth, Lincoln Embry, Rev. and Mrs., China Inland Mission, members of Empress Dowager; issued edict prohibiting opium growing Equipment, purchase of Erh Hai or Ta-li Fu Lake Etiquette Europe European war Evans, H.G.; assistance of Expedition, announcement of; applicants for positions on; results of Expeditions, preliminary Eye on Chinese boat Farmer, Mr. Fauna, mammalian _Felis temmicki_ _Felis uncia_ Ferry Fletcher, H.G. Flying squirrel Foochow; foreign residents of; streets of; mail from; schools for native girls at; woman's college at Food box Foot binding, origin of; method of; Natural Foot Society of; agitation against Forbidden City Ford, James B. Foreign Office Forest conservation, lack of Formosa Forrest, Mr. Fossil animals; beds Francolins French Consul Frick, Childs Frick, Henry C. Fukien Province, China; deforestation of; mammals of; climate and temperature of; collecting in summer at; birds of; herpetology of; trapping for small mammals at; zoölogical study of; language of; travel in; servants in; serows hunted in; missionary work in Funeral customs Futsing; blue tiger hunting at Galápagos Islands _Gallus gallus_ _Gallus lafayetti_ _Gallus sonnerati_ _Gallus varius_ Gamblers Geese Gen-kang Gibbon (_Hylobates_); description of; hunting of Goffe, Consul-General at Yün-nan Fu Goitre, prevalence of Gorals; first hunt for; ceremonies at death of; collecting for groups; color of; invisibility of; description of; horns of; distribution of; hunting of; fighting of; habits of; feet of; hunting of, at Hui-yao Great Invisible Grierson, Ralph C. _Grus communis_ _Grus nigricollis_ Habala; hunting at Hainan, description of; fauna of Haiphong; arrival at Hanna, Rev. William J. Hanoi, description of _Harper's Magazine_ Hartford, Mabel Heller, Edmund Himalaya Mountains Hoi-hau Homes Ho-mu-shu; monkeys found near Hongkong, purchase of supplies at Hoolock (_Hylobates hoolock_) Hornbill Horses, size of Hospital attendants Hotenfa Hsia-kuan, description of Hui-yao; reptiles and lizards found at Hunan Hung-Hsien Hunters Hutchins, Commander Thomas Hwa Shan (Flower Mountain), massacre at _Hylobates_ _Hylomys_ _Hystrix_ India Inns Irawadi River Japan Japanese newspaper reporters Joline, Mrs. Adrian Hoffman Jungle fowl; habits of Kachins; women, appearance of Katha Kellogg, C.R. Kok, Rev. and Mrs. A.; Pentecostal missionary; assistance of Koko-nor Koo, Wellington Korea; pheasants found in Kraemer, M. Kucheng Kwang-si Kwei-chau Province Lane & Crawford Company of Hongkong Lang, Herbert, photograph of serow loaned by Languages and dialects, number of; reason for Langur Langurs (_Pygathrix_) Lao-kay, first hotel on railroad Lapwings Las Lashio Legge, Prof. J., quoted Leopards Leper hospital _Li_, length of Li-chang; animal life on route to; arrival at; camp in; collecting in; mammals of; important fur market at; inhabitants of; return to Li-Hung Chang Ling-suik, monastery of; description of; priests at; collecting at Lisos Livingstone, H.W. Loads, weight of Lolos; depredations of; independence of; dress of; capes worn by London Zoölogical Society's Garden Long Ravine, blue tiger seen at Lucas, Dr. F.A., acknowledgment to Lui, Mr., salt commissioner at Tsia-kuan Lung-ling Lung-tao Lutzus McMurray, J.V.A. _Macacus rhesus_ _Mafus_, description of Mail Malaria Malay Peninsula Ma-li-ling Ma-li-pa; poppy fields at Mallard ducks Mammals, small, importance of; preparing of Man, primitive, migrations of Man-eater, killing of Mandalay Mandarins, relations with Ma-po-lo, low valley at; game at; fog in Marco Polo Massacre in Hwa Shan (Flower Mountain) Mazzetti-Haendel, Baron Meadow vole (_Microtus_) Mekong Mekong river, description of Mekong-Salween divide Mekong valley; vegetables in; zoölogy of Meng-ting; description of; mandarin of; Buddhist monastery at; market at; Cantonese visit and buy opium at; fog at; valley at; birds at Mergansers Methodist mission Mexico Miao village Mice _Micromys_ _Microtus_, meadow vole Min River; life on Mission hospital; China Inland Missionaries; servants of; natives trading with; civilizing influence of Mohammedan Chinese, married to a Shan Mohammedan hunter Mohammedan war Mole Molloy, Agnes F., acknowledgment to Money, carrying of; transmitting of Monkey Monkey temple Moose Morgan, Cordelia Mosos; description of; capes worn by Motion pictures; developing of Mountain goat "Mountain Goat Hunting with Camera," quoted from Mouse (_Micromys_) Moving picture film Mu-cheng Muntjac, description of Museum authorities Mustelidae Myitkyina district _Naemorhedus griseus_ Nam-ka, Shans at; description of; camp at Nam-ting River, ferry at; camping at; hunters at; camp on; polecat trapped at; monkeys, hunting at; hornbill, seen at; monkeys found at; Shans seen at; caravan crossed _Namur_, S.S. Natives; inaccuracy of New York, return to Ngu-cheng Non-Chinese tribes North America Northern soldiers Northern troops Opium; growing of; inspection of; scandal; smuggling of; smoking of Osborn, Henry Fairfield, quoted Pack saddle, description of Pack, weight of Page, Howard Paget color plates Pagoda Anchorage Paik-hoi; leper hospital at Palaungs Palmer, Mr. Pandas, coats of Pangolin, scales of Parrots Partridges, bamboo Passports _Pavo cristatus_ _Pavo munticus_ Peacock, black-shouldered Peacock, hunting of; habits of; eggs of; domestication of Peacock, Indian Peafowl, killed on Salween River; flesh of Peking _Petaruista yunnanensis_ Phasiandae Pheasants, shooting of; Lady Amherst's; silver; horned Phete; country about; natives of Photographic work Photographs in natural colors Photography, cinematograph Pigeons Pigs, killing of; wild; treatment of Pin-tail Pleistocene Pocock, Mr. Polecat Polo, Marco; quoted Poppy blossoms Poppy fields Porcupine, description of Portable dark room Prjevalsky, Lieutenant-Colonel P'u-erh _Pygathrix_ (monkeys) Railroad, Hanoi to Yün-nan; description of Rain, last of the season Rainey, Paul J. Rangoon _Ratufa gigantea_ Rebellion of 1913 Reinsch, Hon. Paul Republic Rhododendrons Rice Rice fields Rifle, Mannlicher; Savage; Winchester Riot in Shanghai Roads, descriptions of Rocky Mountain sheep Roosevelt, Colonel Theodore _Rupicapra_ Rupicaprine antelopes, horns of Salt, preparation of Salween River; heat of Sambur; hunting of; blood of Sammons, Mr., American Consul-General Sampans, first night in San Francisco Scandinavian steamer Schools for native girls Sclater, Mr. Screaming, Chinese habit of Sedan chairs Serows; hunt for; habits of; hunting for; description of; color variation of; Japanese; difference from gorals; horns of; relationship of; appearance of; killed on Snow Mountain; obtained by Mr. Caldwell at Yen-ping; distribution of; habits of; weight of; hunting of at Hui-yao Servants, wages of Shanghai; riot in Shans; description of village of; houses of; heavily tattooed; tribes of; description of Sheldrakes Sherwood, George H., assistance rendered to Expedition by Shia-chai Shie-tien; bird life at; natives, curiosity of Shih-ku ferry Shoverling, Daly & Gales, ammunition, guns, tents, furnished by Shrew Shwelie River Singapore Slave raiding Smith, Arthur H., quoted Snow Mountain, camp at; traveling to; description of hunters at; mammalogy of; camp on slopes of; mammals collected at; serows killed on Soldiers, guard of; guns of; expense of; use of; treatment by natives of; fight with; extortions of South America Specimens, packing of Squirrel, flying (_Petaurista yunnanensis_); _Ratufa gigantea_; red-bellied (_Callosciurus erythraeus_) S'suchuan Province S'su-mao Standard Oil Co.; launch of Su Ek Sun-birds _Sung-kiang_, S.S. Tablets, ancestral, description of Tai-ping-pu Taku Taku ferry Ta-li Fu; soldiers guard to; road to; graves at; lake at; mandarin at; pagodas at Ta-li Fu Lake, description of _Tamiops macclellandi_ Taoist temple _Tao-tai_ Tartars Temple, camp in Teng-yueh; return to Tents _Tenyo Maru_ Thompson, Dr. Tibet; monopoly of gold in Tibetan plateaus Tibetans, description of; photographing of; dislike for strangers of; influence of Chinese on Tiger; man-eating; lairs of; stalking a goat; habits of; daring of; strength of; excitement of hunting; weight of; blood of; skins in temples of; food of; hunting in lair of; flesh and bones of; marking trees by; skins of Tiger, blue; description of; hunting of; trying to trap Tonking Tragopan, Temmick's Transportation, difficulties of Trapping, methods of Traps, steel; method of setting Trees, marking of, by tiger Tribes, non-Chinese, description of Trimble, Dr.; house of Trowbridge, Captain Harry Tsai-ao, General _Tsamba_ Tsang mountains Tsinan-fu _Tupaia belangeri chinensis_ United States Universal Camera _Ursus tibetanus_ Vegetarians _Viverra_ Viverridae Vochang Vole Von Hintze, Admiral Wapiti War, Mohammedan Was Waterhole Wa-tien Wei-hsi White Water; camp at; weather at Wild boar Wilden, Henry M., French Consul Wolves Woman's college at Foochow Women, position of, in China Worship, ancestor Wu-Hung-tao, interpreter _Yamen_ Yangtze River; road to; crossing of; barrier to mammals Yangtze gorge, description of Yen-ping; climate of; description of; residence of Mr. Caldwell at; Methodist Mission at; trapping at; rebellion in; refugees from; fighting in; attacked by rebels in; wounded in; schools for native girls at; Chinese wedding at; missionary buildings of Yokohama Yuan Yuan-Shi-kai; death of Yuchi; brigands at Yung-chang, Chinese New Year at; road to; water buffaloes at; battle at Yung-chang-Teng-yueh road Yün-nan; size of; topography of; boundaries of; fauna of; natives of; language of; infested with brigands; zoölogical study of; meaning of; summer climate of Yün-nan Fu; foreign residents of; foreign office at; Dr. Thompson's hospital at Zoölogical Garden, Berlin Zoölogical Park, Calcutta 13940 ---- THE PROBLEM OF CHINA BY BERTRAND RUSSELL O.M., F.K.S. _London_ GEORGE ALLEN & UNWIN LTD RUSKIN HOUSE MUSEUM STREET FIRST PUBLISHED IN 1922 SECOND IMPRESSION 1966 PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN BY PHOTOLITHOGRAPHY UNWIN BROTHERS LIMITED WOKING AND LONDON CONTENTS CHAPTER FOREWORD I. QUESTIONS II. CHINA BEFORE THE NINETEENTH CENTURY III. CHINA AND THE WESTERN POWERS IV. MODERN CHINA V. JAPAN BEFORE THE RESTORATION VI. MODERN JAPAN VII. JAPAN AND CHINA BEFORE 1914 VIII. JAPAN AND CHINA DURING THE WAR IX. THE WASHINGTON CONFERENCE X. PRESENT FORCES AND TENDENCIES IN THE FAR EAST XI. CHINESE AND WESTERN CIVILIZATION CONTRASTED XII. THE CHINESE CHARACTER XIII. HIGHER EDUCATION IN CHINA XIV. INDUSTRIALISM IN CHINA XV. THE OUTLOOK FOR CHINA APPENDIX INDEX The Ruler of the Southern Ocean was Shû (Heedless), the Ruler of the Northern Ocean was Hû (Sudden), and the Ruler of the Centre was Chaos. Shû and Hû were continually meeting in the land of Chaos, who treated them very well. They consulted together how they might repay his kindness, and said, "Men all have seven orifices for the purpose of seeing, hearing, eating, and breathing, while this poor Ruler alone has not one. Let us try and make them for him." Accordingly they dug one orifice in him every day; and at the end of seven days Chaos died.--[_Chuang Tze_, Legge's translation.] The Problem of China CHAPTER I QUESTIONS A European lately arrived in China, if he is of a receptive and reflective disposition, finds himself confronted with a number of very puzzling questions, for many of which the problems of Western Europe will not have prepared him. Russian problems, it is true, have important affinities with those of China, but they have also important differences; moreover they are decidedly less complex. Chinese problems, even if they affected no one outside China, would be of vast importance, since the Chinese are estimated to constitute about a quarter of the human race. In fact, however, all the world will be vitally affected by the development of Chinese affairs, which may well prove a decisive factor, for good or evil, during the next two centuries. This makes it important, to Europe and America almost as much as to Asia, that there should be an intelligent understanding of the questions raised by China, even if, as yet, definite answers are difficult to give. The questions raised by the present condition of China fall naturally into three groups, economic, political, and cultural. No one of these groups, however, can be considered in isolation, because each is intimately bound up with the other two. For my part, I think the cultural questions are the most important, both for China and for mankind; if these could be solved, I would accept, with more or less equanimity, any political or economic system which ministered to that end. Unfortunately, however, cultural questions have little interest for practical men, who regard money and power as the proper ends for nations as for individuals. The helplessness of the artist in a hard-headed business community has long been a commonplace of novelists and moralizers, and has made collectors feel virtuous when they bought up the pictures of painters who had died in penury. China may be regarded as an artist nation, with the virtues and vices to be expected of the artist: virtues chiefly useful to others, and vices chiefly harmful to oneself. Can Chinese virtues be preserved? Or must China, in order to survive, acquire, instead, the vices which make for success and cause misery to others only? And if China does copy the model set by all foreign nations with which she has dealings, what will become of all of us? China has an ancient civilization which is now undergoing a very rapid process of change. The traditional civilization of China had developed in almost complete independence of Europe, and had merits and demerits quite different from those of the West. It would be futile to attempt to strike a balance; whether our present culture is better or worse, on the whole, than that which seventeenth-century missionaries found in the Celestial Empire is a question as to which no prudent person would venture to pronounce. But it is easy to point to certain respects in which we are better than old China, and to other respects in which we are worse. If intercourse between Western nations and China is to be fruitful, we must cease to regard ourselves as missionaries of a superior civilization, or, worse still, as men who have a right to exploit, oppress, and swindle the Chinese because they are an "inferior" race. I do not see any reason to believe that the Chinese are inferior to ourselves; and I think most Europeans, who have any intimate knowledge of China, would take the same view. In comparing an alien culture with one's own, one is forced to ask oneself questions more fundamental than any that usually arise in regard to home affairs. One is forced to ask: What are the things that I ultimately value? What would make me judge one sort of society more desirable than another sort? What sort of ends should I most wish to see realized in the world? Different people will answer these questions differently, and I do not know of any argument by which I could persuade a man who gave an answer different from my own. I must therefore be content merely to state the answer which appeals to me, in the hope that the reader may feel likewise. The main things which seem to me important on their own account, and not merely as means to other things, are: knowledge, art, instinctive happiness, and relations of friendship or affection. When I speak of knowledge, I do not mean all knowledge; there is much in the way of dry lists of facts that is merely useful, and still more that has no appreciable value of any kind. But the understanding of Nature, incomplete as it is, which is to be derived from science, I hold to be a thing which is good and delightful on its own account. The same may be said, I think, of some biographies and parts of history. To enlarge on this topic would, however, take me too far from my theme. When I speak of art as one of the things that have value on their own account, I do not mean only the deliberate productions of trained artists, though of course these, at their best, deserve the highest place. I mean also the almost unconscious effort after beauty which one finds among Russian peasants and Chinese coolies, the sort of impulse that creates folk-songs, that existed among ourselves before the time of the Puritans, and survives in cottage gardens. Instinctive happiness, or joy of life, is one of the most important widespread popular goods that we have lost through industrialism and the high pressure at which most of us live; its commonness in China is a strong reason for thinking well of Chinese civilization. In judging of a community, we have to consider, not only how much of good or evil there is within the community, but also what effects it has in promoting good or evil in other communities, and how far the good things which it enjoys depend upon evils elsewhere. In this respect, also, China is better than we are. Our prosperity, and most of what we endeavour to secure for ourselves, can only be obtained by widespread oppression and exploitation of weaker nations, while the Chinese are not strong enough to injure other countries, and secure whatever they enjoy by means of their own merits and exertions alone. These general ethical considerations are by no means irrelevant in considering the practical problems of China. Our industrial and commercial civilization has been both the effect and the cause of certain more or less unconscious beliefs as to what is worth while; in China one becomes conscious of these beliefs through the spectacle of a society which challenges them by being built, just as unconsciously, upon a different standard of values. Progress and efficiency, for example, make no appeal to the Chinese, except to those who have come under Western influence. By valuing progress and efficiency, we have secured power and wealth; by ignoring them, the Chinese, until we brought disturbance, secured on the whole a peaceable existence and a life full of enjoyment. It is difficult to compare these opposite achievements unless we have some standard of values in our minds; and unless it is a more or less conscious standard, we shall undervalue the less familiar civilization, because evils to which we are not accustomed always make a stronger impression than those that we have learned to take as a matter of course. The culture of China is changing rapidly, and undoubtedly rapid change is needed. The change that has hitherto taken place is traceable ultimately to the military superiority of the West; but in future our economic superiority is likely to be quite as potent. I believe that, if the Chinese are left free to assimilate what they want of our civilization, and to reject what strikes them as bad, they will be able to achieve an organic growth from their own tradition, and to produce a very splendid result, combining our merits with theirs. There are, however, two opposite dangers to be avoided if this is to happen. The first danger is that they may become completely Westernized, retaining nothing of what has hitherto distinguished them, adding merely one more to the restless, intelligent, industrial, and militaristic nations which now afflict this unfortunate planet. The second danger is that they may be driven, in the course of resistance to foreign aggression, into an intense anti-foreign conservatism as regards everything except armaments. This has happened in Japan, and it may easily happen in China. The future of Chinese culture is intimately bound up with political and economic questions; and it is through their influence that dangers arise. China is confronted with two very different groups of foreign Powers, on the one hand the white nations, on the other hand Japan. In considering the effect of the white races on the Far East as a whole, modern Japan must count as a Western product; therefore the responsibility for Japan's doings in China rests ultimately with her white teachers. Nevertheless, Japan remains very unlike Europe and America, and has ambitions different from theirs as regards China. We must therefore distinguish three possibilities: (1) China may become enslaved to one or more white nations; (2) China may become enslaved to Japan; (3) China may recover and retain her liberty. Temporarily there is a fourth possibility, namely that a consortium of Japan and the White Powers may control China; but I do not believe that, in the long run, the Japanese will be able to co-operate with England and America. In the long run, I believe that Japan must dominate the Far East or go under. If the Japanese had a different character this would not be the case; but the nature of their ambitions makes them exclusive and unneighbourly. I shall give the reasons for this view when I come to deal with the relations of China and Japan. To understand the problem of China, we must first know something of Chinese history and culture before the irruption of the white man, then something of modern Chinese culture and its inherent tendencies; next, it is necessary to deal in outline with the military and diplomatic relations of the Western Powers with China, beginning with our war of 1840 and ending with the treaty concluded after the Boxer rising of 1900. Although the Sino-Japanese war comes in this period, it is possible to separate, more or less, the actions of Japan in that war, and to see what system the White Powers would have established if Japan had not existed. Since that time, however, Japan has been the dominant foreign influence in Chinese affairs. It is therefore necessary to understand how the Japanese became what they are: what sort of nation they were before the West destroyed their isolation, and what influence the West has had upon them. Lack of understanding of Japan has made people in England blind to Japan's aims in China, and unable to apprehend the meaning of what Japan has done. Political considerations alone, however, will not suffice to explain what is going on in relation to China; economic questions are almost more important. China is as yet hardly industrialized, and is certainly the most important undeveloped area left in the world. Whether the resources of China are to be developed by China, by Japan, or by the white races, is a question of enormous importance, affecting not only the whole development of Chinese civilization, but the balance of power in the world, the prospects of peace, the destiny of Russia, and the chances of development towards a better economic system in the advanced nations. The Washington Conference has partly exhibited and partly concealed the conflict for the possession of China between nations all of which have guaranteed China's independence and integrity. Its outcome has made it far more difficult than before to give a hopeful answer as regards Far Eastern problems, and in particular as regards the question: Can China preserve any shadow of independence without a great development of nationalism and militarism? I cannot bring myself to advocate nationalism and militarism, yet it is difficult to know what to say to patriotic Chinese who ask how they can be avoided. So far, I have found only one answer. The Chinese nation, is the most, patient in the world; it thinks of centuries as other nations think of decades. It is essentially indestructible, and can afford to wait. The "civilized" nations of the world, with their blockades, their poison gases, their bombs, submarines, and negro armies, will probably destroy each other within the next hundred years, leaving the stage to those whose pacifism has kept them alive, though poor and powerless. If China can avoid being goaded into war, her oppressors may wear themselves out in the end, and leave the Chinese free to pursue humane ends, instead of the war and rapine and destruction which all white nations love. It is perhaps a slender hope for China, and for ourselves it is little better than despair. But unless the Great Powers learn some moderation and some tolerance, I do not see any better possibility, though I see many that are worse. Our Western civilization is built upon assumptions, which, to a psychologist, are rationalizings of excessive energy. Our industrialism, our militarism, our love of progress, our missionary zeal, our imperialism, our passion for dominating and organizing, all spring from a superflux of the itch for activity. The creed of efficiency for its own sake, without regard for the ends to which it is directed, has become somewhat discredited in Europe since the war, which would have never taken place if the Western nations had been slightly more indolent. But in America this creed is still almost universally accepted; so it is in Japan, and so it is by the Bolsheviks, who have been aiming fundamentally at the Americanization of Russia. Russia, like China, may be described as an artist nation; but unlike China it has been governed, since the time of Peter the Great, by men who wished to introduce all the good and evil of the West. In former days, I might have had no doubt that such men were in the right. Some (though not many) of the Chinese returned students resemble them in the belief that Western push and hustle are the most desirable things on earth. I cannot now take this view. The evils produced in China by indolence seem to me far less disastrous, from the point of view of mankind at large, than those produced throughout the world by the domineering cocksureness of Europe and America. The Great War showed that something is wrong with our civilization; experience of Russia and China has made me believe that those countries can help to show us what it is that is wrong. The Chinese have discovered, and have practised for many centuries, a way of life which, if it could be adopted by all the world, would make all the world happy. We Europeans have not. Our way of life demands strife, exploitation, restless change, discontent and destruction. Efficiency directed to destruction can only end in annihilation, and it is to this consummation that our civilization is tending, if it cannot learn some of that wisdom for which it despises the East. It was on the Volga, in the summer of 1920, that I first realized how profound is the disease in our Western mentality, which the Bolsheviks are attempting to force upon an essentially Asiatic population, just as Japan and the West are doing in China. Our boat travelled on, day after day, through an unknown and mysterious land. Our company were noisy, gay, quarrelsome, full of facile theories, with glib explanations of everything, persuaded that there is nothing they could not understand and no human destiny outside the purview of their system. One of us lay at death's door, fighting a grim battle with weakness and terror and the indifference of the strong, assailed day and night by the sounds of loud-voiced love-making and trivial laughter. And all around us lay a great silence, strong as death, unfathomable as the heavens. It seemed that none had leisure to hear the silence, yet it called to me so insistently that I grew deaf to the harangues of propagandists and the endless information of the well-informed. One night, very late, our boat stopped in a desolate spot where there were no houses, but only a great sandbank, and beyond it a row of poplars with the rising moon behind them. In silence I went ashore, and found on the sand a strange assemblage of human beings, half-nomads, wandering from some remote region of famine, each family huddled together surrounded by all its belongings, some sleeping, others silently making small fires of twigs. The flickering flames lighted up gnarled, bearded faces of wild men, strong, patient, primitive women, and children as sedate and slow as their parents. Human beings they undoubtedly were, and yet it would have been far easier for me to grow intimate with a dog or a cat or a horse than with one of them. I knew that they would wait there day after day, perhaps for weeks, until a boat came in which they could go to some distant place in which they had heard--falsely perhaps--that the earth was more generous than in the country they had left. Some would die by the way, all would suffer hunger and thirst and the scorching mid-day sun, but their sufferings would be dumb. To me they seemed to typify the very soul of Russia, unexpressive, inactive from despair, unheeded by the little set of Westernizers who make up all the parties of progress or reaction. Russia is so vast that the articulate few are lost in it as man and his planet are lost in interstellar space. It is possible, I thought, that the theorists may increase the misery of the many by trying to force them into actions contrary to their primeval instincts, but I could not believe that happiness was to be brought to them by a gospel of industrialism and forced labour. Nevertheless, when morning came I resumed the interminable discussions of the materialistic conception of history and the merits of a truly popular government. Those with whom I discussed had not seen the sleeping wanderers, and would not have been interested if they had seen them, since they were not material for propaganda. But something of that patient silence had communicated itself to me, something lonely and unspoken remained in my heart throughout all the comfortable familiar intellectual talk. And at last I began to feel that all politics are inspired by a grinning devil, teaching the energetic and quickwitted to torture submissive populations for the profit of pocket or power or theory. As we journeyed on, fed by food extracted from the peasants, protected by an army recruited from among their sons, I wondered what we had to give them in return. But I found no answer. From time to time I heard their sad songs or the haunting music of the balalaika; but the sound mingled with the great silence of the steppes, and left me with a terrible questioning pain in which Occidental hopefulness grew pale. It was in this mood that I set out for China to seek a new hope. CHAPTER II CHINA BEFORE THE NINETEENTH CENTURY Where the Chinese came from is a matter of conjecture. Their early history is known only from their own annals, which throw no light upon the question. The Shu-King, one of the Confucian classics (edited, not composed, by Confucius), begins, like Livy, with legendary accounts of princes whose virtues and vices are intended to supply edification or warning to subsequent rulers. Yao and Shun were two model Emperors, whose date (if any) was somewhere in the third millennium B.C. "The age of Yao and Shun," in Chinese literature, means what "the Golden Age" mean with us. It seems certain that, when Chinese history begins, the Chinese occupied only a small part of what is now China, along the banks of the Yellow River. They were agricultural, and had already reached a fairly high level of civilization--much higher than that of any other part of Eastern Asia. The Yellow River is a fierce and terrible stream, too swift for navigation, turgid, and full of mud, depositing silt upon its bed until it rises above the surrounding country, when it suddenly alters its course, sweeping away villages and towns in a destructive torrent. Among most early agricultural nations, such a river would have inspired superstitious awe, and floods would have been averted by human sacrifice; in the Shu-King, however, there is little trace of superstition. Yao and Shun, and Yü (the latter's successor), were all occupied in combating the inundations, but their methods were those of the engineer, not of the miracle-worker. This shows, at least, the state of belief in the time of Confucius. The character ascribed to Yao shows what was expected of an Emperor:-- He was reverential, intelligent, accomplished, and thoughtful--naturally and without effort. He was sincerely courteous, and capable of all complaisance. The display of these qualities reached to the four extremities of the empire, and extended from earth to heaven. He was able to make the able and virtuous distinguished, and thence proceeded to the love of the nine classes of his kindred, who all became harmonious. He also regulated and polished the people of his domain, who all became brightly intelligent. Finally, he united and harmonized the myriad States of the empire; and lo! the black-haired people were transformed. The result was universal concord.[1] The first date which can be assigned with precision in Chinese history is that of an eclipse of the sun in 776 B.C.[2] There is no reason to doubt the general correctness of the records for considerably earlier times, but their exact chronology cannot be fixed. At this period, the Chou dynasty, which fell in 249 B.C. and is supposed to have begun in 1122 B.C., was already declining in power as compared with a number of nominally subordinate feudal States. The position of the Emperor at this time, and for the next 500 years, was similar to that of the King of France during those parts of the Middle Ages when his authority was at its lowest ebb. Chinese history consists of a series of dynasties, each strong at first and weak afterwards, each gradually losing control over subordinates, each followed by a period of anarchy (sometimes lasting for centuries), and ultimately succeeded by a new dynasty which temporarily re-establishes a strong Central Government. Historians always attribute the fall of a dynasty to the excessive power of eunuchs, but perhaps this is, in part, a literary convention. What distinguishes the Emperor is not so much his political power, which fluctuates with the strength of his personality, as certain religious prerogatives. The Emperor is the Son of Heaven; he sacrifices to Heaven at the winter solstice. The early Chinese used "Heaven" as synonymous with "The Supreme Ruler," a monotheistic God;[3] indeed Professor Giles maintains, by arguments which seem conclusive, that the correct translation of the Emperor's title would be "Son of God." The word "Tien," in Chinese, is used both for the sky and for God, though the latter sense has become rare. The expression "Shang Ti," which means "Supreme Ruler," belongs in the main to pre-Confucian times, but both terms originally represented a God as definitely anthropomorphic as the God of the Old Testament.[4] As time went by the Supreme Ruler became more shadowy, while "Heaven" remained, on account of the Imperial rites connected with it. The Emperor alone had the privilege of worshipping "Heaven," and the rites continued practically unchanged until the fall of the Manchu dynasty in 1911. In modern times they were performed in the Temple of Heaven in Peking, one of the most beautiful places in the world. The annual sacrifice in the Temple of Heaven represented almost the sole official survival of pre-Confucian religion, or indeed of anything that could be called religion in the strict sense; for Buddhism and Taoism have never had any connection with the State. The history of China is known in some detail from the year 722 B.C., because with this year begins Confucius' _Springs and Autumns_, which is a chronicle of the State of Lu, in which Confucius was an official. One of the odd things about the history of China is that after the Emperors have been succeeding each other for more than 2,000 years, one comes to a ruler who is known as the "First Emperor," Shih Huang Ti. He acquired control over the whole Empire, after a series of wars, in 221 B.C., and died in 210 B.C. Apart from his conquests, he is remarkable for three achievements: the building of the Great Wall against the Huns, the destruction of feudalism, and the burning of the books. The destruction of feudalism, it must be confessed, had to be repeated by many subsequent rulers; for a long time, feudalism tended to grow up again whenever the Central Government was in weak hands. But Shih Huang Ti was the first ruler who made his authority really effective over all China in historical times. Although his dynasty came to an end with his son, the impression he made is shown by the fact that our word "China" is probably derived from his family name, Tsin or Chin[5]. (The Chinese put the family name first.) His Empire was roughly co-extensive with what is now China proper. The destruction of the books was a curious incident. Shih Huang Ti, as appears from his calling himself "First Emperor," disliked being reminded of the fact that China had existed before his time; therefore history was anathema to him. Moreover the literati were already a strong force in the country, and were always (following Confucius) in favour of the preservation of ancient customs, whereas Shih Huang Ti was a vigorous innovator. Moreover, he appears to have been uneducated and not of pure Chinese race. Moved by the combined motives of vanity and radicalism, he issued an edict decreeing that-- All official histories, except the memoirs of Tsin (his own family), shall be burned; except the persons who have the office of literati of the great learning, those who in the Empire permit themselves to hide the Shi-King, the Shu-King (Confucian classics), or the discourses of the hundred schools, must all go before the local civil and military authorities so that they may be burned. Those who shall dare to discuss among themselves the Shi-King and the Shu-King shall be put to death and their corpses exposed in a public place; those who shall make use of antiquity to belittle modern times shall be put to death with their relations.... Thirty days after the publication of this edict, those who have not burned their books shall be branded and sent to forced labour. The books which shall not be proscribed are those of medicine and pharmacy, of divination ..., of agriculture and of arboriculture. As for those who desire to study the laws and ordinances, let them take the officials as masters. (Cordier, op. cit. i. p. 203.) It will be seen that the First Emperor was something of a Bolshevik. The Chinese literati, naturally, have blackened his memory. On the other hand, modern Chinese reformers, who have experienced the opposition of old-fashioned scholars, have a certain sympathy with his attempt to destroy the innate conservatism of his subjects. Thus Li Ung Bing[6] says:-- No radical change can take place in China without encountering the opposition of the literati. This was no less the case then than it is now. To abolish feudalism by one stroke was a radical change indeed. Whether the change was for the better or the worse, the men of letters took no time to inquire; whatever was good enough for their fathers was good enough for them and their children. They found numerous authorities in the classics to support their contention and these they freely quoted to show that Shih Huang Ti was wrong. They continued to criticize the government to such an extent that something had to be done to silence the voice of antiquity ... As to how far this decree (on the burning of the books) was enforced, it is hard to say. At any rate, it exempted all libraries of the government, or such as were in possession of a class of officials called Po Szu or Learned Men. If any real damage was done to Chinese literature under the decree in question, it is safe to say that it was not of such a nature as later writers would have us believe. Still, this extreme measure failed to secure the desired end, and a number of the men of letters in Han Yang, the capital, was subsequently buried alive. This passage is written from the point of view of Young China, which is anxious to assimilate Western learning in place of the dead scholarship of the Chinese classics. China, like every other civilized country, has a tradition which stands in the way of progress. The Chinese have excelled in stability rather than in progress; therefore Young China, which perceives that the advent of industrial civilization has made progress essential to continued national existence, naturally looks with a favourable eye upon Shih Huang Ti's struggle with the reactionary pedants of his age. The very considerable literature which has come down to us from before his time shows, in any case, that his edict was somewhat ineffective; and in fact it was repealed after twenty-two years, in 191. B.C. After a brief reign by the son of the First Emperor, who did not inherit his capacity, we come to the great Han dynasty, which reigned from 206 B.C. to A.D. 220. This was the great age of Chinese imperialism--exactly coeval with the great age of Rome. In the course of their campaigns in Northern India and Central Asia, the Chinese were brought into contact with India, with Persia, and even with the Roman Empire.[7] Their relations with India had a profound effect upon their religion, as well as upon that of Japan, since they led to the introduction of Buddhism. Relations with Rome were chiefly promoted by the Roman desire for silk, and continued until the rise of Mohammedanism. They had little importance for China, though we learn, for example, that about A.D. 164 a treatise on astronomy was brought to China from the Roman Empire.[8] Marcus Aurelius appears in Chinese history under the name An Tun, which stands for Antoninus. It was during this period that the Chinese acquired that immense prestige in the Far East which lasted until the arrival of European armies and navies in the nineteenth century. One is sometimes tempted to think that the irruption of the white man into China may prove almost as ephemeral as the raids of Huns and Tartars into Europe. The military superiority of Europe to Asia is not an eternal law of nature, as we are tempted to think; and our superiority in civilization is a mere delusion. Our histories, which treat the Mediterranean as the centre of the universe, give quite a wrong perspective. Cordier,[9] dealing with the campaigns and voyages of discovery which took place under the Han dynasty, says:-- The Occidentals have singularly contracted the field of the history of the world when they have grouped around the people of Israel, Greece, and Rome the little that they knew of the expansion of the human race, being completely ignorant of these voyagers who ploughed the China Sea and the Indian Ocean, of these cavalcades across the immensities of Central Asia up to the Persian Gulf. The greatest part of the universe, and at the same time a civilization different but certainly as developed as that of the ancient Greeks and Romans, remained unknown to those who wrote the history of their little world while they believed that they, were setting forth the history of the world as a whole. In our day, this provincialism, which impregnates all our culture, is liable to have disastrous consequences politically, as well as for the civilization of mankind. We must make room for Asia in our thoughts, if we are not to rouse Asia to a fury of self-assertion. After the Han dynasty there are various short dynasties and periods of disorder, until we come to the Tang dynasty (A.D. 618-907). Under this dynasty, in its prosperous days, the Empire acquired its greatest extent, and art and poetry reached their highest point.[10] The Empire of Jenghis Khan (died 1227) was considerably greater, and contained a great part of China; but Jenghis Khan was a foreign conqueror. Jenghis and his generals, starting from Mongolia, appeared as conquerors in China, India, Persia, and Russia. Throughout Central Asia, Jenghis destroyed every man, woman, and child in the cities he captured. When Merv was captured, it was transformed into a desert and 700,000 people were killed. But it was said that many had escaped by lying among the corpses and pretending to be dead; therefore at the capture of Nishapur, shortly afterwards, it was ordered that all the inhabitants should have their heads cut off. Three pyramids of heads were made, one of men, one of women, and one of children. As it was feared that some might have escaped by hiding underground, a detachment of soldiers was left to kill any that might emerge.[11] Similar horrors were enacted at Moscow and Kieff, in Hungary and Poland. Yet the man responsible for these massacres was sought in alliance by St. Louis and the Pope. The times of Jenghis Khan remind one of the present day, except that his methods of causing death were more merciful than those that have been employed since the Armistice. Kublai Khan (died 1294), who is familiar, at least by name, through Marco Polo and Coleridge; was the grandson of Jenghis Khan, and the first Mongol who was acknowledged Emperor of China, where he ousted the Sung dynasty (960-1277). By this time, contact with China had somewhat abated the savagery of the first conquerors. Kublai removed his capital from Kara Korom in Mongolia to Peking. He built walls like those which still surround the city, and established on the walls an observatory which is preserved to this day. Until 1900, two of the astronomical instruments constructed by Kublai were still to be seen in this observatory, but the Germans removed them to Potsdam after the suppression of the Boxers.[12] I understand they have been restored in accordance with one of the provisions of the Treaty of Versailles. If so, this was probably the most important benefit which that treaty secured to the world. Kublai plays the same part in Japanese history that Philip II plays in the history of England. He prepared an Invincible Armada, or rather two successive armadas, to conquer Japan, but they were defeated, partly by storms, and partly by Japanese valour. After Kublai, the Mongol Emperors more and more adopted Chinese ways, and lost their tyrannical vigour. Their dynasty came to an end in 1370, and was succeeded by the pure Chinese Ming dynasty, which lasted until the Manchu conquest of 1644. The Manchus in turn adopted Chinese ways, and were overthrown by a patriotic revolution in 1911, having contributed nothing notable to the native culture of China except the pigtail, officially abandoned at the Revolution. The persistence of the Chinese Empire down to our own day is not to be attributed to any military skill; on the contrary, considering its extent and resources, it has at most times shown itself weak and incompetent in war. Its southern neighbours were even less warlike, and were less in extent. Its northern and western neighbours inhabited a barren country, largely desert, which was only capable of supporting a very sparse population. The Huns were defeated by the Chinese after centuries of warfare; the Tartars and Manchus, on the contrary, conquered China. But they were too few and too uncivilized to impose their ideas or their way of life upon China, which absorbed them and went on its way as if they had never existed. Rome could have survived the Goths, if they had come alone, but the successive waves of barbarians came too quickly to be all civilized in turn. China was saved from this fate by the Gobi Desert and the Tibetan uplands. Since the white men have taken to coming by sea, the old geographical immunity is lost, and greater energy will be required to preserve the national independence. In spite of geographical advantages, however, the persistence of Chinese civilization, fundamentally unchanged since the introduction of Buddhism, is a remarkable phenomenon. Egypt and Babylonia persisted as long, but since they fell there has been nothing comparable in the world. Perhaps the main cause is the immense population of China, with an almost complete identity of culture throughout. In the middle of the eighth century, the population of China is estimated at over 50 millions, though ten years later, as a result of devastating wars, it is said to have sunk to about 17 millions.[13] A census has been taken at various times in Chinese history, but usually a census of houses, not of individuals. From the number of houses the population is computed by a more or less doubtful calculation. It is probable, also, that different methods were adopted on different occasions, and that comparisons between different enumerations are therefore rather unsafe. Putnam Weale[14] says:-- The first census taken by the Manchus in 1651, after the restoration of order, returned China's population at 55 million persons, which is less than the number given in the first census of the Han dynasty, A.D. 1, and about the same as when Kublai Khan established the Mongal dynasty in 1295. (This is presumably a misprint, as Kublai died in 1294.) Thus we are faced by the amazing fact that, from the beginning of the Christian era, the toll of life taken by internecine and frontier wars in China was so great that in spite of all territorial expansion the population for upwards of sixteen centuries remained more or less stationary. There is in all history no similar record. Now, however, came a vast change. Thus three years after the death of the celebrated Manchu Emperor Kang Hsi, in 1720, the population had risen to 125 millions. At the beginning of the reign of the no less illustrious Ch'ien Lung (1743) it was returned at 145 millions; towards the end of his reign, in 1783, it had doubled, and was given as 283 millions. In the reign of Chia Ch'ing (1812) it had risen to 360 millions; before the Taiping rebellion (1842) it had grown to 413 millions; after that terrible rising it sunk to 261 millions. I do not think such definite statements are warranted. The China Year Book for 1919 (the latest I have seen) says (p. 1):-- The taking of a census by the methods adopted in Western nations has never yet been attempted in China, and consequently estimates of the total population have varied to an extraordinary degree. The nearest approach to a reliable estimate is, probably, the census taken by the Minchengpu (Ministry of Interior) in 1910, the results of which are embodied in a report submitted to the Department of State at Washington by Mr. Raymond P. Tenney, a Student Interpreter at the U.S. Legation, Peking.... It is pointed out that even this census can only be regarded as approximate, as, with few exceptions, households and not individuals were counted. The estimated population of the Chinese Empire (exclusive of Tibet) is given, on the basis of this census, as 329,542,000, while the population of Tibet is estimated at 1,500,000. Estimates which have been made at various other dates are given as follows (p. 2): A.D. A.D. 1381 59,850,000 / 143,125,225 1412 66,377,000 1760--203,916,477 1580 60,692,000 1761 205,293,053 1662 21,068,000 1762 198,214,553 1668 25,386,209 1790 155,249,897 / 23,312,200 / 307,467,200 1710 --27,241,129 1792- 333,000,000 1711 28,241,129 / 362,467,183 1736 125,046,245 1812--360,440,000 / 157,343,975 1842 413,021,000 1743 149,332,730 1868 404,946,514 \ 150,265,475 1881 380,000,000 1753 103,050,600 1882 381,309,000 1885 377,636,000 These figures suffice to show how little is known about the population of China. Not only are widely divergent estimates made in the same year (_e.g._ 1760), but in other respects the figures are incredible. Mr. Putnam Weale might contend that the drop from 60 millions in 1580 to 21 millions in 1662 was due to the wars leading to the Manchu conquest. But no one can believe that between 1711 and 1736 the population increased from 28 millions to 125 millions, or that it doubled between 1790 and 1792. No one knows whether the population of China is increasing or diminishing, whether people in general have large or small families, or any of the other facts that vital statistics are designed to elucidate. What is said on these subjects, however dogmatic, is no more than guess-work. Even the population of Peking is unknown. It is said to be about 900,000, but it may be anywhere between 800,000 and a million. As for the population of the Chinese Empire, it is probably safe to assume that it is between three and four hundred millions, and somewhat likely that it is below three hundred and fifty millions. Very little indeed can be said with confidence as to the population of China in former times; so little that, on the whole, authors who give statistics are to be distrusted. There are certain broad features of the traditional Chinese civilization which give it its distinctive character. I should be inclined to select as the most important: (1) The use of ideograms instead of an alphabet in writing; (2) The substitution of the Confucian ethic for religion among the educated classes; (3) government by literati chosen by examination instead of by a hereditary aristocracy. The family system distinguishes traditional China from modern Europe, but represents a stage which most other civilizations have passed through, and which is therefore not distinctively Chinese; the three characteristics which I have enumerated, on the other hand, distinguish China from all other countries of past times. Something must be said at this stage about each of the three. 1. As everyone knows, the Chinese do not have letters, as we do, but symbols for whole words. This has, of course, many inconveniences: it means that, in learning to write, there are an immense number of different signs to be learnt, not only 26 as with us; that there is no such thing as alphabetical order, so that dictionaries, files, catalogues, etc., are difficult to arrange and linotype is impossible; that foreign words, such as proper names and scientific terms, cannot be written down by sound, as in European languages, but have to be represented by some elaborate device.[15] For these reasons, there is a movement for phonetic writing among the more advanced Chinese reformers; and I think the success of this movement is essential if China is to take her place among the bustling hustling nations which consider that they have a monopoly of all excellence. Even if there were no other argument for the change, the difficulty of elementary education, where reading and writing take so long to learn, would be alone sufficient to decide any believer in democracy. For practical purposes, therefore, the movement for phonetic writing deserves support. There are, however, many considerations, less obvious to a European, which can be adduced in favour of the ideographic system, to which something of the solid stability of the Chinese civilization is probably traceable. To us, it seems obvious that a written word must represent a sound, whereas to the Chinese it represents an idea. We have adopted the Chinese system ourselves as regards numerals; "1922," for example, can be read in English, French, or any other language, with quite different sounds, but with the same meaning. Similarly what is written in Chinese characters can be read throughout China, in spite of the difference of dialects which are mutually unintelligible when spoken. Even a Japanese, without knowing a word of spoken Chinese, can read out Chinese script in Japanese, just as he could read a row of numerals written by an Englishman. And the Chinese can still read their classics, although the spoken language must have changed as much as French has changed from Latin. The advantage of writing over speech is its greater permanence, which enables it to be a means of communication between different places and different times. But since the spoken language changes from place to place and from time to time, the characteristic advantage of writing is more fully attained by a script which does not aim at representing spoken sounds than by one which does. Speaking historically, there is nothing peculiar in the Chinese method of writing, which represents a stage through which all writing probably passed. Writing everywhere seems to have begun as pictures, not as a symbolic representation of sounds. I understand that in Egyptian hieroglyphics the course of development from ideograms to phonetic writing can be studied. What is peculiar in China is the preservation of the ideographic system throughout thousands of years of advanced civilization--a preservation probably due, at least in part, to the fact that the spoken language is monosyllabic, uninflected and full of homonyms. As to the way in which the Chinese system of writing has affected the mentality of those who employ it, I find some suggestive reflections in an article published in the _Chinese Students' Monthly_ (Baltimore), for February 1922, by Mr. Chi Li, in an article on "Some Anthropological Problems of China." He says (p. 327):-- Language has been traditionally treated by European scientists as a collection of sounds instead of an expression of something inner and deeper than the vocal apparatus as it should be. The accumulative effect of language-symbols upon one's mental formulation is still an unexploited field. Dividing the world culture of the living races on this basis, one perceives a fundamental difference of its types between the alphabetical users and the hieroglyphic users, each of which has its own virtues and vices. Now, with all respects to alphabetical civilization, it must be frankly stated that it has a grave and inherent defect in its lack of solidity. The most civilized portion under the alphabetical culture is also inhabited by the most fickled people. The history of the Western land repeats the same story over and over again. Thus up and down with the Greeks; up and down with Rome; up and down with the Arabs. The ancient Semitic and Hametic peoples are essentially alphabetic users, and their civilizations show the same lack of solidity as the Greeks and the Romans. Certainly this phenomenon can be partially explained by the extra-fluidity of the alphabetical language which cannot be depended upon as a suitable organ to conserve any solid idea. Intellectual contents of these people may be likened to waterfalls and cataracts, rather than seas and oceans. No other people is richer in ideas than they; but no people would give up their valuable ideas as quickly as they do.... The Chinese language is by all means the counterpart of the alphabetic stock. It lacks most of the virtues that are found in the alphabetic language; but as an embodiment of simple and final truth, it is invulnerable to storm and stress. It has already protected the Chinese civilization for more than forty centuries. It is solid, square, and beautiful, exactly as the spirit of it represents. Whether it is the spirit that has produced this language or whether this language has in turn accentuated the spirit remains to be determined. Without committing ourselves wholly to the theory here set forth, which is impregnated with Chinese patriotism, we must nevertheless admit that the Westerner is unaccustomed to the idea of "alphabetical civilization" as merely one kind, to which he happens to belong. I am not competent to judge as to the importance of the ideographic script in producing the distinctive characteristics of Chinese civilization, but I have no doubt that this importance is very great, and is more or less of the kind indicated in the above quotation. 2. Confucius (B.C. 551-479) must be reckoned, as regards his social influence, with the founders of religions. His effect on institutions and on men's thoughts has been of the same kind of magnitude as that of Buddha, Christ, or Mahomet, but curiously different in its nature. Unlike Buddha and Christ, he is a completely historical character, about whose life a great deal is known, and with whom legend and myth have been less busy than with most men of his kind. What most distinguishes him from other founders is that he inculcated a strict code of ethics, which has been respected ever since, but associated it with very little religious dogma, which gave place to complete theological scepticism in the countless generations of Chinese literati who revered his memory and administered the Empire. Confucius himself belongs rather to the type of Lycurgus and Solon than to that of the great founders of religions. He was a practical statesman, concerned with the administration of the State; the virtues he sought to inculcate were not those of personal holiness, or designed to secure salvation in a future life, but rather those which lead to a peaceful and prosperous community here on earth. His outlook was essentially conservative, and aimed at preserving the virtues of former ages. He accepted the existing religion--a rather unemphatic monotheism, combined with belief that the spirits of the dead preserved a shadowy existence, which it was the duty of their descendants to render as comfortable as possible. He did not, however, lay any stress upon supernatural matters. In answer to a question, he gave the following definition of wisdom: "To cultivate earnestly our duty towards our neighbour, and to reverence spiritual beings while maintaining always a due reserve."[16] But reverence for spiritual beings was not an _active_ part of Confucianism, except in the form of ancestor-worship, which was part of filial piety, and thus merged in duty towards one's neighbour. Filial piety included obedience to the Emperor, except when he was so wicked as to forfeit his divine right--for the Chinese, unlike the Japanese, have always held that resistance to the Emperor was justified if he governed very badly. The following passage from Professor Giles[17] illustrates this point:-- The Emperor has been uniformly regarded as the son of God by adoption only, and liable to be displaced from that position as a punishment for the offence of misrule.... If the ruler failed in his duties, the obligation of the people was at an end, and his divine right disappeared simultaneously. Of this we have an example in a portion of the Canon to be examined by and by. Under the year 558 B.C. we find the following narrative. One of the feudal princes asked an official, saying, "Have not the people of the Wei State done very wrong in expelling their ruler?" "Perhaps the ruler himself," was the reply, "may have done very wrong.... If the life of the people is impoverished, and if the spirits are deprived of their sacrifices, of what use is the ruler, and what can the people do but get rid of him?" This very sensible doctrine has been accepted at all times throughout Chinese history, and has made rebellions only too frequent. Filial piety, and the strength of the family generally, are perhaps the weakest point in Confucian ethics, the only point where the system departs seriously from common sense. Family feeling has militated against public spirit, and the authority of the old has increased the tyranny of ancient custom. In the present day, when China is confronted with problems requiring a radically new outlook, these features of the Confucian system have made it a barrier to necessary reconstruction, and accordingly we find all those foreigners who wish to exploit China praising the old tradition and deriding the efforts of Young China to construct something more suited to modern needs. The way in which Confucian emphasis on filial piety prevented the growth of public spirit is illustrated by the following story:[18] One of the feudal princes was boasting to Confucius of the high level of morality which prevailed in his own State. "Among us here," he said, "you will find upright men. If a father has stolen a sheep, his son will give evidence against him." "In my part of the country," replied Confucius, "there is a different standard from this. A father will shield his son, a son will shield his father. It is thus that uprightness will be found." It is interesting to contrast this story with that of the elder Brutus and his sons, upon which we in the West were all brought up. Chao Ki, expounding the Confucian doctrine, says it is contrary to filial piety to refuse a lucrative post by which to relieve the indigence of one's aged parents.[19] This form of sin, however, is rare in China as in other countries. The worst failure of filial piety, however, is to remain without children, since ancestors are supposed to suffer if they have no descendants to keep up their cult. It is probable that this doctrine has made the Chinese more prolific, in which case it has had great biological importance. Filial piety is, of course, in no way peculiar to China, but has been universal at a certain stage of culture. In this respect, as in certain others, what is peculiar to China is the preservation of the old custom after a very high level of civilization had been attained. The early Greeks and Romans did not differ from the Chinese in this respect, but as their civilization advanced the family became less and less important. In China, this did not begin to happen until our own day. Whatever may be said against filial piety carried to excess, it is certainly less harmful than its Western counterpart, patriotism. Both, of course, err in inculcating duties to a certain portion of mankind to the practical exclusion of the rest. But patriotism directs one's loyalty to a fighting unit, which filial piety does not (except in a very primitive society). Therefore patriotism leads much more easily to militarism and imperialism. The principal method of advancing the interests of one's nation is homicide; the principal method of advancing the interest of one's family is corruption and intrigue. Therefore family feeling is less harmful than patriotism. This view is borne out by the history and present condition of China as compared to Europe. Apart from filial piety, Confucianism was, in practice, mainly a code of civilized behaviour, degenerating at times into an etiquette book. It taught self-restraint, moderation, and above all courtesy. Its moral code was not, like those of Buddhism and Christianity, so severe that only a few saints could hope to live up to it, or so much concerned with personal salvation as to be incompatible with political institutions. It was not difficult for a man of the world to live up to the more imperative parts of the Confucian teaching. But in order to do this he must exercise at all times a certain kind of self-control--an extension of the kind which children learn when they are taught to "behave." He must not break into violent passions; he must not be arrogant; he must "save face," and never inflict humiliations upon defeated adversaries; he must be moderate in all things, never carried away by excessive love or hate; in a word, he must keep calm reason always in control of all his actions. This attitude existed in Europe in the eighteenth century, but perished in the French Revolution: romanticism, Rousseau, and the guillotine put an end to it. In China, though wars and revolutions have occurred constantly, Confucian calm has survived them all, making them less terrible for the participants, and making all who were not immediately involved hold aloof. It is bad manners in China to attack your adversary in wet weather. Wu-Pei-Fu, I am told, once did it, and won a victory; the beaten general complained of the breach of etiquette; so Wu-Pei-Fu went back to the position he held before the battle, and fought all over again on a fine day. (It should be said that battles in China are seldom bloody.) In such a country, militarism is not the scourge it is with us; and the difference is due to the Confucian ethics.[20] Confucianism did not assume its present form until the twelfth century A.D., when the personal God in whom Confucius had believed was thrust aside by the philosopher Chu Fu Tze,[21] whose interpretation of Confucianism has ever since been recognized as orthodox. Since the fall of the Mongols (1370), the Government has uniformly favoured Confucianism as the teaching of the State; before that, there were struggles with Buddhism and Taoism, which were connected with magic, and appealed to superstitious Emperors, quite a number of whom died of drinking the Taoist elixir of life. The Mongol Emperors were Buddhists of the Lama religion, which still prevails in Tibet and Mongolia; but the Manchu Emperors, though also northern conquerors, were ultra-orthodox Confucians. It has been customary in China, for many centuries, for the literati to be pure Confucians, sceptical in religion but not in morals, while the rest of the population believed and practised all three religions simultaneously. The Chinese have not the belief, which we owe to the Jews, that if one religion is true, all others must be false. At the present day, however, there appears to be very little in the way of religion in China, though the belief in magic lingers on among the uneducated. At all times, even when there was religion, its intensity was far less than in Europe. It is remarkable that religious scepticism has not led, in China, to any corresponding ethical scepticism, as it has done repeatedly in Europe. 3. I come now to the system of selecting officials by competitive examination, without which it is hardly likely that so literary and unsuperstitious a system as that of Confucius could have maintained its hold. The view of the modern Chinese on this subject is set forth by the present President of the Republic of China, Hsu Shi-chang, in his book on _China after the War_, pp. 59-60.[22] After considering the educational system under the Chou dynasty, he continues: In later periods, in spite of minor changes, the importance of moral virtues continued to be stressed upon. For instance, during the most flourishing period of Tang Dynasty (627-650 A.D.), the Imperial Academy of Learning, known as Kuo-tzu-chien, was composed of four collegiate departments, in which ethics was considered as the most important of all studies. It was said that in the Academy there were more than three thousand students who were able and virtuous in nearly all respects, while the total enrolment, including aspirants from Korea and Japan, was as high as eight thousand. At the same time, there was a system of "elections" through which able and virtuous men were recommended by different districts to the Emperor for appointment to public offices. College training and local elections supplemented each other, but in both moral virtues were given the greatest emphasis. Although the Imperial Academy exists till this day, it has never been as nourishing as during that period. For this change the introduction of the competitive examination or Ko-chü system, must be held responsible. The "election" system furnished no fixed standard for the recommendation of public service candidates, and, as a result, tended to create an aristocratic class from which alone were to be found eligible men. Consequently, the Sung Emperors (960-1277 A.D.) abolished the elections, set aside the Imperial Academy, and inaugurated the competitive examination system in their place. The examinations were to supply both scholars and practical statesmen, and they were periodically held throughout the later dynasties until the introduction of the modern educational regime. Useless and stereotyped as they were in later days, they once served some useful purpose. Besides, the ethical background of Chinese education had already been so firmly established, that, in spite of the emphasis laid by these examinations on pure literary attainments, moral teachings have survived till this day in family education and in private schools. Although the system of awarding Government posts for proficiency in examinations is much better than most other systems that have prevailed, such as nepotism, bribery, threats of insurrection, etc., yet the Chinese system, at any rate after it assumed its final form, was harmful through the fact that it was based solely on the classics, that it was purely literary, and that it allowed no scope whatever for originality. The system was established in its final form by the Emperor Hung Wu (1368-1398), and remained unchanged until 1905. One of the first objects of modern Chinese reformers was to get it swept away. Li Ung Bing[23] says: In spite of the many good things that may be said to the credit of Hung Wu, he will ever be remembered in connection with a form of evil which has eaten into the very heart of the nation. This was the system of triennial examinations, or rather the form of Chinese composition, called the "Essay," or the "Eight Legs," which, for the first time in the history of Chinese literature, was made the basis of all literary contests. It was so-named, because after the introduction of the theme the writer was required to treat it in four paragraphs, each consisting of two members, made up of an equal number of sentences and words. The theme was always chosen from either the Four Books, or the Five Classics. The writer could not express any opinion of his own, or any views at variance with those expressed by Chu Hsi and his school. All he was required to do was to put the few words of Confucius, or whomsoever it might be, into an essay in conformity with the prescribed rules. Degrees, which were to serve as passports to Government positions, were awarded the best writers. To say that the training afforded by the time required to make a man efficient in the art of such writing, would at the same time qualify him to hold the various offices under the Government, was absurd. But absurd as the whole system was, it was handed down to recent times from the third year of the reign of Hung Wu, and was not abolished until a few years ago. No system was more perfect or effective in retarding the intellectual and literary development of a nation. With her "Eight Legs," China long ago reached the lowest point on her downhill journey. It is largely on account of the long lease of life that was granted to this rotten system that the teachings of the Sung philosophers have been so long venerated. These are the words of a Chinese patriot of the present day, and no doubt, as a modern system, the "Eight Legs" deserve all the hard things that he says about them. But in the fourteenth century, when one considers the practicable alternatives, one can see that there was probably much to be said for such a plan. At any rate, for good or evil, the examination system profoundly affected the civilization of China. Among its good effects were: A widely-diffused respect for learning; the possibility of doing without a hereditary aristocracy; the selection of administrators who must at least have been capable of industry; and the preservation of Chinese civilization in spite of barbarian conquest. But, like so much else in traditional China, it has had to be swept away to meet modern needs. I hope nothing of greater value will have to perish in the struggle to repel the foreign exploiters and the fierce and cruel system which they miscall civilization. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 1: Legge's _Shu-King,_ p. 15. Quoted in Hirth, _Ancient History of China_, Columbia University Press, 1911--a book which gives much useful critical information about early China.] [Footnote 2: Hirth, op. cit. p. 174. 775 is often wrongly given.] [Footnote 3: See Hirth, op. cit., p. 100 ff.] [Footnote 4: On this subject, see Professor Giles's _Confucianism and its Rivals,_ Williams & Norgate, 1915, Lecture I, especially p. 9.] [Footnote 5: Cf. Henri Cordier, _Histoire Générale de la Chine_, Paris, 1920, vol. i. p. 213.] [Footnote 6: _Outlines of Chinese History_ (Shanghai, Commercial Press, 1914), p. 61.] [Footnote 7: See Hirth, _China and the Roman Orient_ (Leipzig and Shanghai, 1885), an admirable and fascinating monograph. There are allusions to the Chinese in Virgil and Horace; cf. Cordier, op. cit., i. p. 271.] [Footnote 8: Cordier, op. cit. i. p. 281.] [Footnote 9: Cordier, op. cit. i. p. 237.] [Footnote 10: Murdoch, in his _History of Japan_ (vol. i. p. 146), thus describes the greatness of the early Tang Empire: "In the following year (618) Li Yuen, Prince of T'ang, established the illustrious dynasty of that name, which continued to sway the fortunes of China for nearly three centuries (618-908). After a brilliant reign of ten years he handed over the imperial dignity to his son, Tai-tsung (627-650), perhaps the greatest monarch the Middle Kingdom has ever seen. At this time China undoubtedly stood in the very forefront of civilization. She was then the most powerful, the most enlightened, the most progressive, and the best governed empire, not only in Asia, but on the face of the globe. Tai-tsung's frontiers reached from the confines of Persia, the Caspian Sea, and the Altai of the Kirghis steppe, along these mountains to the north side of the Gobi desert eastward to the inner Hing-an, while Sogdiana, Khorassan, and the regions around the Hindu Rush also acknowledged his suzerainty. The sovereign of Nepal and Magadha in India sent envoys; and in 643 envoys appeared from the Byzantine Empire and the Court of Persia."] [Footnote 11: Cordier, op. cit. ii. p. 212.] [Footnote 12: Cordier, op. cit. ii. p. 339.] [Footnote 13: Cordier, op. cit. i. p. 484.] [Footnote 14: _The Truth About China and Japan_. George Allen & Unwin, Ltd., pp. 13, 14.] [Footnote 15: For example, the nearest approach that could be made in Chinese to my own name was "Lo-Su." There is a word "Lo," and a word "Su," for both of which there are characters; but no combination of characters gives a better approximation to the sound of my name.] [Footnote 16: Giles, op. cit., p. 74. Professor Giles adds, _à propos_ of the phrase "maintaining always a due reserve," the following footnote: "Dr. Legge has 'to keep aloof from them,' which would be equivalent to 'have nothing to do with them.' Confucius seems rather to have meant 'no familiarity.'"] [Footnote 17: Op. cit., p. 21.] [Footnote 18: Giles, op. cit. p. 86.] [Footnote 19: Cordier, op. cit. i. p. 167.] [Footnote 20: As far as anti-militarism is concerned, Taoism is even more emphatic. "The best soldiers," says Lao-Tze, "do not fight." (Giles, op. cit. p. 150.) Chinese armies contain many good soldiers.] [Footnote 21: Giles, op. cit., Lecture VIII. When Chu Fu Tze was dead, and his son-in-law was watching beside his coffin, a singular incident occurred. Although the sage had spent his life teaching that miracles are impossible, the coffin rose and remained suspended three feet above the ground. The pious son-in-law was horrified. "O my revered father-in-law," he prayed, "do not destroy my faith that miracles are impossible." Whereupon the coffin slowly descended to earth again, and the son-in-law's faith revived.] [Footnote 22: Translated by the Bureau of Economic Information, Peking, 1920.] [Footnote 23: Op. cit. p. 233.] CHAPTER III CHINA AND THE WESTERN POWERS In order to understand the international position of China, some facts concerning its nineteenth-century history are indispensable. China was for many ages the supreme empire of the Far East, embracing a vast and fertile area, inhabited by an industrious and civilized people. Aristocracy, in our sense of the word, came to an end before the beginning of the Christian era, and government was in the hands of officials chosen for their proficiency in writing in a dead language, as in England. Intercourse with the West was spasmodic and chiefly religious. In the early centuries of the Christian era, Buddhism was imported from India, and some Chinese scholars penetrated to that country to master the theology of the new religion in its native home, but in later times the intervening barbarians made the journey practically impossible. Nestorian Christianity reached China in the seventh century, and had a good deal of influence, but died out again. (What is known on this subject is chiefly from the Nestorian monument discovered in Hsianfu in 1625.) In the seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries Roman Catholic missionaries acquired considerable favour at Court, because of their astronomical knowledge and their help in rectifying the irregularities and confusions of the Chinese calendar.[24] Their globes and astrolabes are still to be seen on the walls of Peking. But in the long run they could not resist quarrels between different orders, and were almost completely excluded from both China and Japan. In the year 1793, a British ambassador, Lord Macartney, arrived in China, to request further trade facilities and the establishment of a permanent British diplomatic representative. The Emperor at this time was Chien Lung, the best of the Manchu dynasty, a cultivated man, a patron of the arts, and an exquisite calligraphist. (One finds specimens of his writing in all sorts of places in China.) His reply to King George III is given by Backhouse and Bland.[25] I wish I could quote it all, but some extracts must suffice. It begins: You, O King, live beyond the confines of many seas, nevertheless, impelled by your humble desire to partake of the benefits of our civilization, you have despatched a mission respectfully bearing your memorial.... To show your devotion, you have also sent offerings of your country's produce. I have read your memorial: the earnest terms in which it is cast reveal a respectful humility on your part, which is highly praiseworthy. He goes on to explain, with the patient manner appropriate in dealing with an importunate child, why George III's desires cannot possibly be gratified. An ambassador, he assures him, would be useless, for: If you assert that your reverence for our Celestial Dynasty fills you with a desire to acquire our civilization, our ceremonies and code of laws differ so completely from your own that, even if your Envoy were able to acquire the rudiments of our civilization, you could not possibly transplant our manners and customs to your alien soil. Therefore, however adept the Envoy might become, nothing would be gained thereby. Swaying the wide world, I have but one aim in view, namely, to maintain a perfect governance and to fulfil the duties of the State; strange and costly objects do not interest me. I ... have no use for your country's manufactures. ...It behoves you, O King, to respect my sentiments and to display even greater devotion and loyalty in future, so that, by perpetual submission to our Throne, you may secure peace and prosperity for your country hereafter. He can understand the English desiring the produce of China, but feels that they have nothing worth having to offer in exchange: "Our Celestial Empire possesses all things in prolific abundance and lacks no product within its own borders. There was therefore no need to import the manufactures of outside barbarians in exchange for our own produce. But as the tea, silk and porcelain which the Celestial Empire produces are absolute necessities to European nations and to yourselves," the limited trade hitherto permitted at Canton is to continue. He would have shown less favour to Lord Macartney, but "I do not forget the lonely remoteness of your island, cut off from the world by intervening wastes of sea, nor do I overlook your excusable ignorance of the usages of our Celestial Empire." He concludes with the injunction: "Tremblingly obey and show no negligence!" What I want to suggest is that no one understands China until this document has ceased to seem absurd. The Romans claimed to rule the world, and what lay outside their Empire was to them of no account. The Empire of Chien Lung was more extensive, with probably a larger population; it had risen to greatness at the same time as Rome, and had not fallen, but invariably defeated all its enemies, either by war or by absorption. Its neighbours were comparatively barbarous, except the Japanese, who acquired their civilization by slavish imitation of China. The view of Chien Lung was no more absurd than that of Alexander the Great, sighing for new worlds to conquer when he had never even heard of China, where Confucius had been dead already for a hundred and fifty years. Nor was he mistaken as regards trade: China produces everything needed for the happiness of its inhabitants, and we have forced trade upon them solely for our benefit, giving them in exchange only things which they would do better without. Unfortunately for China, its culture was deficient in one respect, namely science. In art and literature, in manners and customs, it was at least the equal of Europe; at the time of the Renaissance, Europe would not have been in any way the superior of the Celestial Empire. There is a museum in Peking where, side by side with good Chinese art, may be seen the presents which Louis XIV made to the Emperor when he wished to impress him with the splendour of _Le Roi Soleil_. Compared to the Chinese things surrounding them, they were tawdry and barbaric. The fact that Britain has produced Shakespeare and Milton, Locke and Hume, and all the other men who have adorned literature and the arts, does not make us superior to the Chinese. What makes us superior is Newton and Robert Boyle and their scientific successors. They make us superior by giving us greater proficiency in the art of killing. It is easier for an Englishman to kill a Chinaman than for a Chinaman to kill an Englishman. Therefore our civilization is superior to that of China, and Chien Lung is absurd. When we had finished with Napoleon, we soon set to work to demonstrate this proposition. Our first war with China was in 1840, and was fought because the Chinese Government endeavoured to stop the importation of opium. It ended with the cession of Hong-Kong and the opening of five ports to British trade, as well as (soon afterwards) to the trade of France, America and Scandinavia. In 1856-60, the English and French jointly made war on China, and destroyed the Summer Palace near Peking,[26] a building whose artistic value, on account of the treasures it contained, must have been about equal to that of Saint Mark's in Venice and much greater than that of Rheims Cathedral. This act did much to persuade the Chinese of the superiority of our civilization so they opened seven more ports and the river Yangtze, paid an indemnity and granted us more territory at Hong-Kong. In 1870, the Chinese were rash enough to murder a British diplomat, so the remaining British diplomats demanded and obtained an indemnity, five more ports, and a fixed tariff for opium. Next, the French took Annam and the British took Burma, both formerly under Chinese suzerainty. Then came the war with Japan in 1894-5, leading to Japan's complete victory and conquest of Korea. Japan's acquisitions would have been much greater but for the intervention of France, Germany and Russia, England holding aloof. This was the beginning of our support of Japan, inspired by fear of Russia. It also led to an alliance between China and Russia, as a reward for which Russia acquired all the important rights in Manchuria, which passed to Japan, partly after the Russo-Japanese war, and partly after the Bolshevik revolution. The next incident begins with the murder of two German missionaries in Shantung in 1897. Nothing in their life became them like the leaving of it; for if they had lived they would probably have made very few converts, whereas by dying they afforded the world an object-lesson in Christian ethics. The Germans seized Kiaochow Bay and created a naval base there; they also acquired railway and mining rights in Shantung, which, by the Treaty of Versailles, passed to Japan in accordance with the Fourteen Points. Shantung therefore became virtually a Japanese possession, though America at Washington has insisted upon its restitution. The services of the two missionaries to civilization did not, however, end in China, for their death was constantly used in the German Reichstag during the first debates on the German Big Navy Bills, since it was held that warships would make Germany respected in China. Thus they helped to exacerbate the relations of England and Germany and to hasten the advent of the Great War. They also helped to bring on the Boxer rising, which is said to have begun as a movement against the Germans in Shantung, though the other Powers emulated the Germans in every respect, the Russians by creating a naval base at Port Arthur, the British by acquiring Wei-hai-wei and a sphere of influence in the Yangtze, and so on. The Americans alone held aloof, proclaiming the policy of Chinese integrity and the Open Door. The Boxer rising is one of the few Chinese events that all Europeans know about. After we had demonstrated our superior virtue by the sack of Peking, we exacted a huge indemnity, and turned the Legation Quarter of Peking into a fortified city. To this day, it is enclosed by a wall, filled with European, American, and Japanese troops, and surrounded by a bare space on which the Chinese are not allowed to build. It is administered by the diplomatic body, and the Chinese authorities have no powers over anyone within its gates. When some unusually corrupt and traitorous Government is overthrown, its members take refuge in the Japanese (or other) Legation and so escape the punishment of their crimes, while within the sacred precincts of the Legation Quarter the Americans erect a vast wireless station said to be capable of communicating directly with the United States. And so the refutation of Chien Lung is completed. Out of the Boxer indemnity, however, one good thing has come. The Americans found that, after paying all just claims for damages, they still had a large surplus. This they returned to China to be spent on higher education, partly in colleges in China under American control, partly by sending advanced Chinese students to American universities. The gain to China has been enormous, and the benefit to America from the friendship of the Chinese (especially the most educated of them) is incalculable. This is obvious to everyone, yet England shows hardly any signs of following suit. To understand the difficulties with which the Chinese Government is faced, it is necessary to realize the loss of fiscal independence which, China has suffered as the result of the various wars and treaties which have been forced upon her. In the early days, the Chinese had no experience of European diplomacy, and did not know what to avoid; in later days, they have not been allowed to treat old treaties as scraps of paper, since that is the prerogative of the Great Powers--a prerogative which every single one of them exercises. The best example of this state of affairs is the Customs tariff.[27] At the end of our first war with China, in 1842, we concluded a treaty which provided for a duty at treaty ports of 5 per cent. on all imports and not more than 5 per cent on exports. This treaty is the basis of the whole Customs system. At the end of our next war, in 1858, we drew up a schedule of conventional prices on which the 5 per cent. was to be calculated. This was to be revised every ten years, but has in fact only been revised twice, once in 1902 and once in 1918.[28] Revision of the schedule is merely a change in the conventional prices, not a change in the tariff, which remains fixed at 5 per cent. Change in the tariff is practically impossible, since China has concluded commercial treaties involving a most-favoured-nation clause, and the same tariff, with twelve States besides Great Britain, and therefore any change in the tariff requires the unanimous consent of thirteen Powers. When foreign Powers speak of the Open Door as a panacea for China, it must be remembered that the Open Door does nothing to give the Chinese the usual autonomy as regards Customs that is enjoyed by other sovereign States.[29] The treaty of 1842 on which the system rests, has no time-limit of provision for denunciation by either party, such as other commercial treaties contain. A low tariff suits the Powers that wish to find a market for their goods in China, and they have therefore no motive for consenting to any alteration. In the past, when we practised free trade, we could defend ourselves by saying that the policy we forced upon China was the same as that which we adopted ourselves. But no other nation could make this excuse, nor can we now that we have abandoned free trade by the Safeguarding of Industries Act. The import tariff being so low, the Chinese Government is compelled, for the sake of revenue, to charge the maximum of 5 per cent, on all exports. This, of course, hinders the development of Chinese commerce, and is probably a mistake. But the need of sources of revenue is desperate, and it is not surprising that the Chinese authorities should consider the tax indispensable. There is also another system in China, chiefly inherited from the time of the Taiping rebellion, namely the erection of internal customs barriers at various important points. This plan is still adopted with the internal trade. But merchants dealing with the interior and sending goods to or from a Treaty Port can escape internal customs by the payment of half the duty charged under the external tariff. As this is generally less than the internal tariff charges, this provision favours foreign produce at the expense of that of China. Of course the system of internal customs is bad, but it is traditional, and is defended on the ground that revenue is indispensable. China offered to abolish internal customs in return for certain uniform increases in the import and export tariff, and Great Britain, Japan, and the United States consented. But there were ten other Powers whose consent was necessary, and not all could be induced to agree. So the old system remains in force, not chiefly through the fault of the Chinese central government. It should be added that internal customs are collected by the provincial authorities, who usually intercept them and use them for private armies and civil war. At the present time, the Central Government is not strong enough to stop these abuses. The administration of the Customs is only partially in the hands of the Chinese. By treaty, the Inspector-General, who is at the head of the service, must be British so long as our trade with China exceeds that of any other treaty State; and the appointment of all subordinate officials is in his hands. In 1918 (the latest year for which I have the figures) there were 7,500 persons employed in the Customs, and of these 2,000 were non-Chinese. The first Inspector-General was Sir Robert Hart, who, by the unanimous testimony of all parties, fulfilled his duties exceedingly well. For the time being, there is much to be said for the present system. The Chinese have the appointment of the Inspector-General, and can therefore choose a man who is sympathetic to their country. Chinese officials are, as a rule, corrupt and indolent, so that control by foreigners is necessary in creating a modern bureaucracy. So long as the foreign officials are responsible to the Chinese Government, not to foreign States, they fulfil a useful educative function, and help to prepare the way for the creation of an efficient Chinese State. The problem for China is to secure practical and intellectual training from the white nations without becoming their slaves. In dealing with this problem, the system adopted in the Customs has much to recommend it during the early stages.[30] At the same time, there are grave infringements of Chinese independence in the present position of the Customs, apart altogether from the fact that the tariff is fixed by treaty for ever. Much of the revenue derivable from customs is mortgaged for various loans and indemnities, so that the Customs cannot be dealt with from the point of view of Chinese interests alone. Moreover, in the present state of anarchy, the Customs administration can exercise considerable control over Chinese politics by recognizing or not recognizing a given _de facto_ Government. (There is no Government _de jure_, at any rate in the North.) At present, the Customs Revenue is withheld in the South, and an artificial bankruptcy is being engineered. In view of the reactionary instincts of diplomats, this constitutes a terrible obstacle to internal reform. It means that no Government which is in earnest in attempting to introduce radical improvements can hope to enjoy the Customs revenue, which interposes a formidable fiscal barrier in the way of reconstruction. There is a similar situation as regards the salt tax. This also was accepted as security for various foreign loans, and in order to make the security acceptable the foreign Powers concerned insisted upon the employment of foreigners in the principal posts. As in the case of the Customs, the foreign inspectors are appointed by the Chinese Government, and the situation is in all respects similar to that existing as regards the Customs. The Customs and the salt tax form the security for various loans to China. This, together with foreign administration, gives opportunities of interference by the Powers which they show no inclination to neglect. The way in which the situation is utilized may be illustrated by three telegrams in _The Times_ which appeared during January of this year. On January 14, 1922, _The Times_ published the following in a telegram from its Peking correspondent: It is curious to reflect that this country (China) could be rendered completely solvent and the Government provided with a substantial income almost by a stroke of the foreigner's pen, while without that stroke there must be bankruptcy, pure and simple. Despite constant civil war and political chaos, the Customs revenue consistently grows, and last year exceeded all records by £1,000,000. The increased duties sanctioned by the Washington Conference will provide sufficient revenue to liquidate the whole foreign and domestic floating debt in a very few years, leaving the splendid salt surplus unencumbered for the Government. The difficulty is not to provide money, but to find a Government to which to entrust it. Nor is there any visible prospect of the removal of this difficulty. I venture to think _The Times_ would regard the difficulty as removed if the Manchu Empire were restored. As to the "splendid salt surplus," there are two telegrams from the Peking correspondent to _The Times_ (of January 12th and 23rd, respectively) showing what we gain by making the Peking Government artificially bankrupt. The first telegram (sent on January 10th) is as follows:-- Present conditions in China are aptly illustrated by what is happening in one of the great salt revenue stations on the Yangtsze, near Chinkiang. That portion of the Chinese fleet faithful to the Central Government--the better half went over to the Canton Government long ago--has dispatched a squadron of gunboats to the salt station and notified Peking that if $3,000,000 (about £400,000) arrears of pay were not immediately forthcoming the amount would be forcibly recovered from the revenue. Meanwhile the immense salt traffic on the Yangtsze has been suspended. The Legations concerned have now sent an Identic Note to the Government warning it of the necessity for immediately securing the removal of the obstruction to the traffic and to the operations of the foreign collectorate. The second telegram is equally interesting. It is as follows:-- The question of interference with the Salt Gabelle is assuming a serious aspect. The Chinese squadron of gunboats referred to in my message of the 10th is still blocking the salt traffic near Chingkiang, while a new intruder in the shape of an agent of Wu-Pei-Fu [the Liberal military leader] has installed himself in the collectorate at Hankow, and is endeavouring to appropriate the receipts for his powerful master. The British, French, and Japanese Ministers accordingly have again addressed the Government, giving notice that if these irregular proceedings do not cease they will be compelled to take independent action. The Reorganization Loan of £25,000,000 is secured on the salt revenues, and interference with the foreign control of the department constitutes an infringement of the loan agreement. In various parts of China, some independent of Peking, others not, the local _Tuchuns_ (military governors) impound the collections and materially diminish the total coming under the control of the foreign inspectorate, but the balance remaining has been so large, and protest so useless, that hitherto all concerned have considered it expedient to acquiesce. But interference at points on the Yangtsze, where naval force can be brought to bear, is another matter. The situation is interesting in view of the amiable resolutions adopted at Washington, by which the Powers would seem to have debarred themselves, in the future, from any active form of intervention in this country. In view of the extensive opposition to the Liang Shih-yi Cabinet and the present interference with the salt negotiations, the $90,000,000 (£11,000,000) loan to be secured on the salt surplus has been dropped. The problem of how to weather the new year settlement on January 28th remains unsolved. It is a pretty game: creating artificial bankruptcy, and then inflicting punishment for the resulting anarchy. How regrettable that the Washington Conference should attempt to interfere! It is useless to deny that the Chinese have brought these troubles upon themselves, by their inability to produce capable and honest officials. This inability has its roots in Chinese ethics, which lay stress upon a man's duty to his family rather than to the public. An official is expected to keep all his relations supplied with funds, and therefore can only be honest at the expense of filial piety. The decay of the family system is a vital condition of progress in China. All Young China realizes this, and one may hope that twenty years hence the level of honesty among officials may be not lower in China than in Europe--no very extravagant hope. But for this purpose friendly contact with Western nations is essential. If we insist upon rousing Chinese nationalism as we have roused that of India and Japan, the Chinese will begin to think that wherever they differ from Europe, they differ for the better. There is more truth in this than Europeans like to think, but it is not wholly true, and if it comes to be believed our power for good in China will be at an end. I have described briefly in this chapter what the Christian Powers did to China while they were able to act independently of Japan. But in modern China it is Japanese aggression that is the most urgent problem. Before considering this, however, we must deal briefly with the rise of modern Japan--a quite peculiar blend of East and West, which I hope is not prophetic of the blend to be ultimately achieved in China. But before passing to Japan, I will give a brief description of the social and political condition of modern China, without which Japan's action in China would be unintelligible. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 24: In 1691 the Emperor Kang Hsi issued an edict explaining his attitude towards various religions. Of Roman Catholicism he says: "As to the western doctrine which glorifies _Tien Chu_, the Lord of the Sky, that, too, is heterodox; but because its priests are thoroughly conversant with mathematics, the Government makes use of them--a point which you soldiers and people should understand." (Giles, op. cit. p. 252.)] [Footnote 25: _Annals and Memoirs of the Court of Peking_, pp. 322 ff.] [Footnote 26: The Summer Palace now shown to tourists is modern, chiefly built by the Empress Dowager.] [Footnote 27: There is an admirable account of this question in Chap. vii. of Sih-Gung Cheng's _Modern China_, Clarendon Press, 1919.] [Footnote 28: A new revision has been decided upon by the Washington Conference.] [Footnote 29: If you lived in a town where the burglars had obtained possession of the Town Council, they would very likely insist upon the policy of the Open Door, but you might not consider it wholly satisfactory. Such is China's situation among the Great Powers.] [Footnote 30: _The Times_ of November 26, 1921, had a leading article on Mr. Wellington Koo's suggestion, at Washington, that China ought to be allowed to recover fiscal autonomy as regards the tariff. Mr. Koo did not deal with the Customs _administration_, nevertheless _The Times_ assumed that his purpose was to get the administration into the hands of the Chinese on account of the opportunities of lucrative corruption which it would afford. I wrote to _The Times_ pointing out that they had confused the administration with the tariff, and that Mr. Koo was dealing only with the tariff. In view of the fact that they did not print either my letter or any other to the same effect, are we to conclude that their misrepresentation was deliberate and intentional?] CHAPTER IV MODERN CHINA The position of China among the nations of the world is quite peculiar, because in population and potential strength China is the greatest nation in the world, while in actual strength at the moment it is one of the least. The international problems raised by this situation have been brought into the forefront of world-politics by the Washington Conference. What settlement, if any, will ultimately be arrived at, it is as yet impossible to foresee. There are, however, certain broad facts and principles which no wise solution can ignore, for which I shall try to give the evidence in the course of the following chapters, but which it may be as well to state briefly at the outset. First, the Chinese, though as yet incompetent in politics and backward in economic development, have, in other respects, a civilization at least as good as our own, containing elements which the world greatly needs, and which we shall destroy at our peril. Secondly, the Powers have inflicted upon China a multitude of humiliations and disabilities, for which excuses have been found in China's misdeeds, but for which the sole real reason has been China's military and naval weakness. Thirdly, the best of the Great Powers at present, in relation to China, is America, and the worst is Japan; in the interests of China, as well as in our own larger interests, it is an immense advance that we have ceased to support Japan and have ranged ourselves on the side of America, in so far as America stands for Chinese freedom, but not when Japanese freedom is threatened. Fourthly, in the long run, the Chinese cannot escape economic domination by foreign Powers unless China becomes military or the foreign Powers become Socialistic, because the capitalist system involves in its very essence a predatory relation of the strong towards the weak, internationally as well as nationally. A strong military China would be a disaster; therefore Socialism in Europe and America affords the only ultimate solution. After these preliminary remarks, I come to the theme of this chapter, namely, the present internal condition of China. As everyone knows, China, after having an Emperor for forty centuries, decided, eleven years ago, to become a modern democratic republic. Many causes led up to this result. Passing over the first 3,700 years of Chinese history, we arrive at the Manchu conquest in 1644, when a warlike invader from the north succeeded in establishing himself upon the Dragon Throne. He set to work to induce Chinese men to wear pigtails and Chinese women to have big feet. After a time a statesmanlike compromise was arranged: pigtails were adopted but big feet were rejected; the new absurdity was accepted and the old one retained. This characteristic compromise shows how much England and China have in common. The Manchu Emperors soon became almost completely Chinese, but differences of dress and manners kept the Manchus distinct from the more civilized people whom they had conquered, and the Chinese remained inwardly hostile to them. From 1840 to 1900, a series of disastrous foreign wars, culminating in the humiliation of the Boxer time, destroyed the prestige of the Imperial Family and showed all thoughtful people the need of learning from Europeans. The Taiping rebellion, which lasted for 15 years (1849-64), is thought by Putnam Weale to have diminished the population by 150 millions,[31] and was almost as terrible a business as the Great War. For a long time it seemed doubtful whether the Manchus could suppress it, and when at last they succeeded (by the help of Gordon) their energy was exhausted. The defeat of China by Japan (1894-5) and the vengeance of the Powers after the Boxer rising (1900) finally opened the eyes of all thoughtful Chinese to the need for a better and more modern government than that of the Imperial Family. But things move slowly in China, and it was not till eleven years after the Boxer movement that the revolution broke out. The revolution of 1911, in China, was a moderate one, similar in spirit to ours of 1688. Its chief promoter, Sun Yat Sen, now at the head of the Canton Government, was supported by the Republicans, and was elected provisional President. But the Nothern Army remained faithful to the dynasty, and could probably have defeated the revolutionaries. Its Commander-in-Chief, Yuan Shih-k'ai, however, hit upon a better scheme. He made peace with the revolutionaries and acknowledged the Republic, on condition that he should be the first President instead of Sun Yat Sen. Yuan Shih-k'ai was, of course, supported by the Legations, being what is called a "strong man," _i.e._ a believer in blood and iron, not likely to be led astray by talk about democracy or freedom. In China, the North has always been more military and less liberal than the South, and Yuan Shih-k'ai had created out of Northern troops whatever China possessed in the way of a modern army. As he was also ambitious and treacherous, he had every quality needed for inspiring confidence in the diplomatic corps. In view of the chaos which has existed since his death, it must be admitted, however, that there was something to be said in favour of his policy and methods. A Constituent Assembly, after enacting a provisional constitution, gave place to a duly elected Parliament, which met in April 1913 to determine the permanent constitution. Yuan soon began to quarrel with the Parliament as to the powers of the President, which the Parliament wished to restrict. The majority in Parliament was opposed to Yuan, but he had the preponderance in military strength. Under these circumstances, as was to be expected, constitutionalism was soon overthrown. Yuan made himself financially independent of Parliament (which had been duly endowed with the power of the purse) by unconstitutionally concluding a loan with the foreign banks. This led to a revolt of the South, which, however, Yuan quickly suppressed. After this, by various stages, he made himself virtually absolute ruler of China. He appointed his army lieutenants military governors of provinces, and sent Northern troops into the South. His régime might have lasted but for the fact that, in 1915, he tried to become Emperor, and was met by a successful revolt. He died in 1916--of a broken heart, it was said. Since then there has been nothing but confusion in China. The military governors appointed by Yuan refused to submit to the Central Government when his strong hand was removed, and their troops terrorized the populations upon whom they were quartered. Ever since there has been civil war, not, as a rule, for any definite principle, but simply to determine which of various rival generals should govern various groups of provinces. There still remains the issue of North versus South, but this has lost most of its constitutional significance. The military governors of provinces or groups of provinces, who are called Tuchuns, govern despotically in defiance of Peking, and commit depredations on the inhabitants of the districts over which they rule. They intercept the revenue, except the portions collected and administered by foreigners, such as the salt tax. They are nominally appointed by Peking, but in practice depend only upon the favour of the soldiers in their provinces. The Central Government is nearly bankrupt, and is usually unable to pay the soldiers, who live by loot and by such portions of the Tuchun's illgotten wealth as he finds it prudent to surrender to them. When any faction seemed near to complete victory, the Japanese supported its opponents, in order that civil discord might be prolonged. While I was in Peking, the three most important Tuchuns met there for a conference on the division of the spoils. They were barely civil to the President and the Prime Minister, who still officially represent China in the eyes of foreign Powers. The unfortunate nominal Government was obliged to pay to these three worthies, out of a bankrupt treasury, a sum which the newspapers stated to be nine million dollars, to secure their departure from the capital. The largest share went to Chang-tso-lin, the Viceroy of Manchuria and commonly said to be a tool of Japan. His share was paid to cover the expenses of an expedition to Mongolia, which had revolted; but no one for a moment supposed that he would undertake such an expedition, and in fact he has remained at Mukden ever since.[32] In the extreme south, however, there has been established a Government of a different sort, for which it is possible to have some respect. Canton, which has always been the centre of Chinese radicalism, succeeded, in the autumn of 1920, in throwing off the tyranny of its Northern garrison and establishing a progressive efficient Government under the Presidency of Sun Yat Sen. This Government now embraces two provinces, Kwangtung (of which Canton is the capital) and Kwangsi. For a moment it seemed likely to conquer the whole of the South, but it has been checked by the victories of the Northern General Wu-Pei-Fu in the neighbouring province of Hunan. Its enemies allege that it cherishes designs of conquest, and wishes to unite all China under its sway.[33] In all ascertainable respects it is a Government which deserves the support of all progressive people. Professor Dewey, in articles in the _New Republic_, has set forth its merits, as well as the bitter enmity which it has encountered from Hong-Kong and the British generally. This opposition is partly on general principles, because we dislike radical reform, partly because of the Cassel agreement. This agreement--of a common type in China--would have given us a virtual monopoly of the railways and mines in the province of Kwangtung. It had been concluded with the former Government, and only awaited ratification, but the change of Government has made ratification impossible. The new Government, very properly, is befriended by the Americans, and one of them, Mr. Shank, concluded an agreement with the new Government more or less similar to that which we had concluded with the old one. The American Government, however, did not support Mr. Shank, whereas the British Government did support the Cassel agreement. Meanwhile we have lost a very valuable though very iniquitous concession, merely because we, but not the Americans, prefer what is old and corrupt to what is vigorous and honest. I understand, moreover, that the Shank agreement lapsed because Mr. Shank could not raise the necessary capital. The anarchy in China is, of course, very regrettable, and every friend of China must hope that it will be brought to an end. But it would be a mistake to exaggerate the evil, or to suppose that it is comparable in magnitude to the evils endured in Europe. China must not be compared to a single European country, but to Europe as a whole. In _The Times_ of November 11, 1921, I notice a pessimistic article headed: "The Peril of China. A dozen rival Governments." But in Europe there are much more than a dozen Governments, and their enmities are much fiercer than those of China. The number of troops in Europe is enormously greater than in China, and they are infinitely better provided with weapons of destruction. The amount of fighting in Europe since the Armistice has been incomparably more than the amount in China during the same period. You may travel through China from end to end, and it is ten to one that you will see no signs of war. Chinese battles are seldom bloody, being fought by mercenary soldiers who take no interest in the cause for which they are supposed to be fighting. I am inclined to think that the inhabitants of China, at the present moment, are happier, on the average, than the inhabitants of Europe taken as a whole. It is clear, I think, that political reform in China, when it becomes possible, will have to take the form of a federal constitution, allowing a very large measure of autonomy to the provinces. The division into provinces is very ancient, and provincial feeling is strong. After the revolution, a constitution more or less resembling our own was attempted, only with a President instead of a King. But the successful working of a non-federal constitution requires a homogeneous population without much local feeling, as may be seen from our own experience in Ireland. Most progressive Chinese, as far as I was able to judge, now favour a federal constitution, leaving to the Central Government not much except armaments, foreign affairs, and customs. But the difficulty of getting rid of the existing military anarchy is very great. The Central Government cannot disband the troops, because it cannot find the money to pay them. It would be necessary to borrow from abroad enough money to pay off the troops and establish them in new jobs. But it is doubtful whether any Power or Powers would make such a loan without exacting the sacrifice of the last remnants of Chinese independence. One must therefore hope that somehow the Chinese will find a way of escaping from their troubles without too much foreign assistance. It is by no means impossible that one of the Tuchuns may become supreme, and may then make friends with the constitutionalists as the best way of consolidating his influence. China is a country where public opinion has great weight, and where the desire to be thought well of may quite possibly lead a successful militarist into patriotic courses. There are, at the moment, two Tuchuns who are more important than any of the others. These are Chang-tso-lin and Wu-Pei-Fu, both of whom have been already mentioned. Chang-tso-lin is supreme in Manchuria, and strong in Japanese support; he represents all that is most reactionary in China. Wu-Pei-Fu, on the other hand, is credited with liberal tendencies. He is an able general; not long ago, nominally at the bidding of Peking, he established his authority on the Yangtze and in Hunan, thereby dealing a blow to the hopes of Canton. It is not easy to see how he could come to terms with the Canton Government, especially since it has allied itself with Chang-tso-lin, but in the rest of China he might establish his authority and seek to make it permanent by being constitutional (see Appendix). If so, China might have a breathing-space, and a breathing-space is all that is needed. The economic life of China, except in the Treaty Ports and in a few regions where there are mines, is still wholly pre-industrial. Peking has nearly a million inhabitants, and covers an enormous area, owing to the fact that all the houses have only a ground floor and are built round a courtyard. Yet it has no trams or buses or local trains. So far as I could see, there are not more than two or three factory chimneys in the whole town. Apart from begging, trading, thieving and Government employment, people live by handicrafts. The products are exquisite and the work less monotonous than machine-minding, but the hours are long and the pay infinitesimal. Seventy or eighty per cent. of the population of China are engaged in agriculture. Rice and tea are the chief products of the south, while wheat and other kinds of grain form the staple crops in the north.[34] The rainfall is very great in the south, but in the north it is only just sufficient to prevent the land from being a desert. When I arrived in China, in the autumn of 1920, a large area in the north, owing to drought, was afflicted with a terrible famine, nearly as bad, probably, as the famine in Russia in 1921. As the Bolsheviks were not concerned, foreigners had no hesitation in trying to bring relief. As for the Chinese, they regarded it passively as a stroke of fate, and even those who died of it shared this view. Most of the land is in the hands of peasant proprietors, who divide their holdings among their sons, so that each man's share becomes barely sufficient to support himself and his family. Consequently, when the rainfall is less than usual, immense numbers perish of starvation. It would of course be possible, for a time, to prevent famines by more scientific methods of agriculture, and to prevent droughts and floods by afforestation. More railways and better roads would give a vastly improved market, and might greatly enrich the peasants for a generation. But in the long run, if the birth-rate is as great as is usually supposed, no permanent cure for their poverty is possible while their families continue to be so large. In China, Malthus's theory of population, according to many writers, finds full scope.[35] If so, the good done by any improvement of methods will lead to the survival of more children, involving a greater subdivision of the land, and in the end, a return to the same degree of poverty. Only education and a higher standard of life can remove the fundamental cause of these evils. And popular education, on a large scale, is of course impossible until there is a better Government and an adequate revenue. Apart even from these difficulties, there does not exist, as yet, a sufficient supply of competent Chinese teachers for a system of universal elementary education. Apart from war, the impact of European civilization upon the traditional life of China takes two forms, one commercial, the other intellectual. Both depend upon the prestige of armaments; the Chinese would never have opened either their ports to our trade or their minds to our ideas if we had not defeated them in war. But the military beginning of our intercourse with the Middle Kingdom has now receded into the background; one is not conscious, in any class, of a strong hostility to foreigners as such. It would not be difficult to make out a case for the view that intercourse with the white races is proving a misfortune to China, but apparently this view is not taken by anyone in China except where unreasoning conservative prejudice outweighs all other considerations. The Chinese have a very strong instinct for trade, and a considerable intellectual curiosity, to both of which we appeal. Only a bare minimum of common decency is required to secure their friendship, whether privately or politically. And I think their thought is as capable of enriching our culture as their commerce of enriching our pockets. In the Treaty Ports, Europeans and Americans live in their own quarters, with streets well paved and lighted, houses in European style, and shops full of American and English goods. There is generally also a Chinese part of the town, with narrow streets, gaily decorated shops, and the rich mixture of smells characteristic of China. Often one passes through a gate, suddenly, from one to the other; after the cheerful disordered beauty of the old town, Europe's ugly cleanliness and Sunday-go-to-meeting decency make a strange complex impression, half-love and half-hate. In the European town one finds safety, spaciousness and hygiene; in the Chinese town, romance, overcrowding and disease. In spite of my affection for China, these transitions always made me realize that I am a European; for me, the Chinese manner of life would not mean happiness. But after making all necessary deductions for the poverty and the disease, I am inclined to think that Chinese life brings more happiness to the Chinese than English life does to us. At any rate this seemed to me to be true for the men; for the women I do not think it would be true. Shanghai and Tientsin are white men's cities; the first sight of Shanghai makes one wonder what is the use of travelling, because there is so little change from what one is used to. Treaty Ports, each of which is a centre of European influence, exist practically all over China, not only on the sea coast. Hankow, a very important Treaty Port, is almost exactly in the centre of China. North and South China are divided by the Yangtze; East and West China are divided by the route from Peking to Canton. These two dividing lines meet at Hankow, which has long been an important strategical point in Chinese history. From Peking to Hankow there is a railway, formerly Franco-Belgian, now owned by the Chinese Government. From Wuchang, opposite Hankow on the southern bank of the river, there is to be a railway to Canton, but at present it only runs half-way, to Changsha, also a Treaty Port. The completion of the railway, together with improved docks, will greatly increase the importance of Canton and diminish that of Hong-Kong. In the Treaty Ports commerce is the principal business; but in the lower Yangtze and in certain mining districts there are beginnings of industrialism. China produces large amounts of raw cotton, which are mostly manipulated by primitive methods; but there are a certain number of cotton-mills on modern lines. If low wages meant cheap labour for the employer, there would be little hope for Lancashire, because in Southern China the cotton is grown on the spot, the climate is damp, and there is an inexhaustible supply of industrious coolies ready to work very long hours for wages upon which an English working-man would find it literally impossible to keep body and soul together. Nevertheless, it is not the underpaid Chinese coolie whom Lancashire has to fear, and China will not become a formidable competitor until improvement in methods and education enables the Chinese workers to earn good wages. Meanwhile, in China, as in every other country, the beginnings of industry are sordid and cruel. The intellectuals wish to be told of some less horrible method by which their country may be industrialized, but so far none is in sight. The intelligentsia in China has a very peculiar position, unlike that which it has in any other country. Hereditary aristocracy has been practically extinct in China for about 2,000 years, and for many centuries the country has been governed by the successful candidates in competitive examinations. This has given to the educated the kind of prestige elsewhere belonging to a governing aristocracy. Although the old traditional education is fast dying out, and higher education now teaches modern subjects, the prestige of education has survived, and public opinion is still ready to be influenced by those who have intellectual qualifications. The Tuchuns, many of whom, including Chang-tso-lin, have begun by being brigands,[36] are, of course, mostly too stupid and ignorant to share this attitude, but that in itself makes their régime weak and unstable. The influence of Young China--_i.e._ of those who have been educated either abroad or in modern colleges at home--is far greater than it would be in a country with less respect for learning. This is, perhaps, the most hopeful feature in the situation, because the number of modern students is rapidly increasing, and their outlook and aims are admirable. In another ten years or so they will probably be strong enough to regenerate China--if only the Powers will allow ten years to elapse without taking any drastic action. It is important to try to understand the outlook and potentialities of Young China. Most of my time was spent among those Chinese who had had a modern education, and I should like to give some idea of their mentality. It seemed to me that one could already distinguish two generations: the older men, who had fought their way with great difficulty and almost in solitude out of the traditional Confucian prejudices; and the younger men, who had found modern schools and colleges waiting for them, containing a whole world of modern-minded people ready to give sympathy and encouragement in the inevitable fight against the family. The older men--men varying in age from 30 to 50--have gone through an inward and outward struggle resembling that of the rationalists of Darwin's and Mill's generation. They have had, painfully and with infinite difficulty, to free their minds from the beliefs instilled in youth, and to turn their thoughts to a new science and a new ethic. Imagine (say) Plotinus recalled from the shades and miraculously compelled to respect Mr. Henry Ford; this will give you some idea of the centuries across which these men have had to travel in becoming European. Some of them are a little weary with the effort, their forces somewhat spent and their originality no longer creative. But this can astonish no one who realizes the internal revolution they have achieved in their own minds. It must not be supposed that an able Chinaman, when he masters our culture, becomes purely imitative. This may happen among the second-rate Chinese, especially when they turn Christians, but it does not happen among the best. They remain Chinese, critical of European civilization even when they have assimilated it. They retain a certain crystal candour and a touching belief in the efficacy of moral forces; the industrial revolution has not yet affected their mental processes. When they become persuaded of the importance of some opinion, they try to spread it by setting forth the reasons in its favour; they do not hire the front pages of newspapers for advertising, or put up on hoardings along the railways "So-and-so's opinion is the best." In all this they differ greatly from more advanced nations, and particularly from America; it never occurs to them to treat opinions as if they were soaps. And they have no admiration for ruthlessness, or love of bustling activity without regard to its purpose. Having thrown over the prejudices in which they were brought up, they have not taken on a new set, but have remained genuinely free in their thoughts, able to consider any proposition honestly on its merits. The younger men, however, have something more than the first generation of modern intellectuals. Having had less of a struggle, they have retained more energy and self-confidence. The candour and honesty of the pioneers survive, with more determination to be socially effective. This may be merely the natural character of youth, but I think it is more than that. Young men under thirty have often come in contact with Western ideas at a sufficiently early age to have assimilated them without a great struggle, so that they can acquire knowledge without being torn by spiritual conflicts. And they have been able to learn Western knowledge from Chinese teachers to begin with, which has made the process less difficult. Even the youngest students, of course, still have reactionary families, but they find less difficulty than their predecessors in resisting the claims of the family, and in realizing practically, not only theoretically, that the traditional Chinese reverence for the old may well be carried too far. In these young men I see the hope of China. When a little experience has taught them practical wisdom, I believe they will be able to lead Chinese opinion in the directions in which it ought to move. There is one traditional Chinese belief which dies very hard, and that is the belief that correct ethical sentiments are more important then detailed scientific knowledge. This view is, of course, derived from the Confucian tradition, and is more or less true in a pre-industrial society. It would have been upheld by Rousseau or Dr. Johnson, and broadly speaking by everybody before the Benthamites. We, in the West, have now swung to the opposite extreme: we tend to think that technical efficiency is everything and moral purpose nothing. A battleship may be taken as the concrete embodiment of this view. When we read, say, of some new poison-gas by means of which one bomb from an aeroplane can exterminate a whole town, we have a thrill of what we fondly believe to be horror, but it is really delight in scientific skill. Science is our god; we say to it, "Though thou slay me, yet will I trust in thee." And so it slays us. The Chinese have not this defect, but they have the opposite one, of believing that good intentions are the only thing really necessary. I will give an illustration. Forsythe Sherfesee, Forestry Adviser to the Chinese Government, gave an address at the British Legation in January 1919 on "Some National Aspects of Forestry in China."[37] In this address he proves (so far as a person ignorant of forestry can judge) that large parts of China which now lie waste are suitable for forestry, that the importation of timber (_e.g_. for railway sleepers) which now takes place is wholly unnecessary, and that the floods which often sweep away whole districts would be largely prevented if the slopes of the mountains from which the rivers come were reafforested. Yet it is often difficult to interest even the most reforming Chinese in afforestation, because it is not an easy subject for ethical enthusiasm. Trees are planted round graves, because Confucius said they should be; if Confucianism dies out, even these will be cut down. But public-spirited Chinese students learn political theory as it is taught in our universities, and despise such humble questions as the utility of trees. After learning all about (say) the proper relations of the two Houses of Parliament, they go home to find that some Tuchun has dismissed both Houses, and is governing in a fashion not considered in our text-books. Our theories of politics are only true in the West (if there); our theories of forestry are equally true everywhere. Yet it is our theories of politics that Chinese students are most eager to learn. Similarly the practical study of industrial processes might be very useful, but the Chinese prefer the study of our theoretical economics, which is hardly applicable except where industry is already developed. In all these respects, however, there is beginning to be a marked improvement. It is science that makes the difference between our intellectual outlook and that of the Chinese intelligentsia. The Chinese, even the most modern, look to the white nations, especially America, for moral maxims to replace those of Confucius. They have not yet grasped that men's morals in the mass are the same everywhere: they do as much harm as they dare, and as much good as they must. In so far as there is a difference of morals between us and the Chinese, we differ for the worse, because we are more energetic, and can therefore commit more crimes _per diem_. What we have to teach the Chinese is not morals, or ethical maxims about government, but science and technical skill. The real problem for the Chinese intellectuals is to acquire Western knowledge without acquiring the mechanistic outlook. Perhaps it is not clear what I mean by "the mechanistic outlook." I mean something which exists equally in Imperialism, Bolshevism and the Y.M.C.A.; something which distinguishes all these from the Chinese outlook, and which I, for my part, consider very evil. What I mean is the habit of regarding mankind as raw material, to be moulded by our scientific manipulation into whatever form may happen to suit our fancy. The essence of the matter, from the point of view of the individual who has this point of view, is the cultivation of will at the expense of perception, the fervent moral belief that it is our duty to force other people to realize our conception of the world. The Chinese intellectual is not much troubled by Imperialism as a creed, but is vigorously assailed by Bolshevism and the Y.M.C.A., to one or other of which he is too apt to fall a victim, learning a belief from the one in the class-war and the dictatorship of the communists, from the other in the mystic efficacy of cold baths and dumb-bells. Both these creeds, in their Western adepts, involve a contempt for the rest of mankind except as potential converts, and the belief that progress consists in the spread of a doctrine. They both involve a belief in government and a life against Nature. This view, though I have called it mechanistic, is as old as religion, though mechanism has given it new and more virulent forms. The first of Chinese philosophers, Lao-Tze, wrote his book to protest against it, and his disciple Chuang-Tze put his criticism into a fable[38]:-- Horses have hoofs to carry them over frost and snow; hair, to protect them from wind and cold. They eat grass and drink water, and fling up their heels over the champaign. Such is the real nature of horses. Palatial dwellings are of no use to them. One day Po Lo appeared, saying: "I understand the management of horses." So he branded them, and clipped them, and pared their hoofs, and put halters on them, tying them up by the head and shackling them by the feet, and disposing them in stables, with the result that two or three in every ten died. Then he kept them hungry and thirsty, trotting them and galloping them, and grooming, and trimming, with the misery of the tasselled bridle before and the fear of the knotted whip behind, until more than half of them were dead. The potter says: "I can do what I will with clay. If I want it round, I use compasses; if rectangular, a square." The carpenter says: "I can do what I will with wood. If I want it curved, I use an arc; if straight, a line." But on what grounds can we think that the natures of clay and wood desire this application of compasses and square, of arc and line? Nevertheless, every age extols Po Lo for his skill in managing horses, and potters and carpenters for their skill with clay and wood. Those who _govern_ the Empire make the same mistake. Although Taoism, of which Lao-Tze was the founder and Chuang-Tze the chief apostle, was displaced by Confucianism, yet the spirit of this fable has penetrated deeply into Chinese life, making it more urbane and tolerant, more contemplative and observant, than the fiercer life of the West. The Chinese watch foreigners as we watch animals in the Zoo, to see whether they "drink water and fling up their heels over the champaign," and generally to derive amusement from their curious habits. Unlike the Y.M.C.A., they have no wish to alter the habits of the foreigners, any more than we wish to put the monkeys at the Zoo into trousers and stiff shirts. And their attitude towards each other is, as a rule, equally tolerant. When they became a Republic, instead of cutting off the Emperor's head, as other nations do, they left him his title, his palace, and four million dollars a year (about £600,000), and he remains to this moment with his officials, his eunuchs and his etiquette, but without one shred of power or influence. In talking with a Chinese, you feel that he is trying to understand you, not to alter you or interfere with you. The result of his attempt may be a caricature or a panegyric, but in either case it will be full of delicate perception and subtle humour. A friend in Peking showed me a number of pictures, among which I specially remember various birds: a hawk swooping on a sparrow, an eagle clasping a big bough of a tree in his claws, water-fowl standing on one leg disconsolate in the snow. All these pictures showed that kind of sympathetic understanding which one feels also in their dealings with human beings--something which I can perhaps best describe as the antithesis of Nietzsche. This quality, unfortunately, is useless in warfare, and foreign nations are doing their best to stamp it out. But it is an infinitely valuable quality, of which our Western world has far too little. Together with their exquisite sense of beauty, it makes the Chinese nation quite extraordinarily lovable. The injury that we are doing to China is wanton and cruel, the destruction of something delicate and lovely for the sake of the gross pleasures of barbarous millionaires. One of the poems translated from the Chinese by Mr. Waley[39] is called _Business Men_, and it expresses, perhaps more accurately than I could do, the respects in which the Chinese are our superiors:-- Business men boast of their skill and cunning But in philosophy they are like little children. Bragging to each other of successful depredations They neglect to consider the ultimate fate of the body. What should they know of the Master of Dark Truth Who saw the wide world in a jade cup, By illumined conception got clear of heaven and earth: On the chariot of Mutation entered the Gate of Immutability? I wish I could hope that some respect for "the Master of Dark Truth" would enter into the hearts of our apostles of Western culture. But as that is out of the question, it is necessary to seek other ways of solving the Far Eastern question. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 31: _The Truth about China and Japan_, Allen & Unwin, 1921, p. 14. On the other hand Sih-Gung Cheng (_Modern China_, p. 13) says that it "killed twenty million people," which is the more usual estimate, cf. _China of the Chinese_ by E.T.C. Werner, p. 24. The extent to which the population was diminished is not accurately known, but I have no doubt that 20 millions is nearer the truth than 150 millions.] [Footnote 32: In January 1922, he came to Peking to establish a more subservient Government, the dismissal of which has been ordered by Wu-Pei-Fu. A clash is imminent. See Appendix.] [Footnote 33: The blame for this is put upon Sun Yat Sen, who is said to have made an alliance with Chang-tso-lin. The best element in the Canton Government was said to be represented by Sun's colleague General Cheng Chiung Ming, who is now reported to have been dismissed (_The Times_, April 24, 1922). These statements are apparently unfounded. See Appendix.] [Footnote 34: The soya bean is rapidly becoming an important product, especially in Manchuria.] [Footnote 35: There are, however, no accurate statistics as to the birth-rate or the death-rate in China, and some writers question whether the birth-rate is really very large. From a privately printed pamphlet by my friend Mr. V.K. Ting, I learn that Dr. Lennox, of the Peking Union Medical College, from a careful study of 4,000 families, found that the average number of children (dead and living) per family was 2.1, while the infant mortality was 184.1. Other investigations are quoted to show that the birth-rate near Peking is between 30 and 50. In the absence of statistics, generalizations about the population question in China must be received with extreme caution.] [Footnote 36: I repeat what everybody, Chinese or foreign, told me. Mr. Bland, _per contra_, describes Chang-tso-lin as a polished Confucian. Contrast p. 104 of his _China, Japan and Korea_ with pp. 143, 146 of Coleman's _The Far East Unveiled_, which gives the view of everybody except Mr. Bland. Lord Northcliffe had an interview with Chang-tso-lin reported in _The Times_ recently, but he was, of course, unable to estimate Chang-tso-lin's claims to literary culture.] [Footnote 37: Printed in _China in 1918_, published by the _Peking Leader_.] [Footnote 38: _Musings of a Chinese Mystic_, by Lionel Giles (Murray), p. 66. For Legge's translation, see Vol. I, p. 277 of his _Texts of Taoism_ in _Sacred Books of the East_, Vol. XXXIX.] [Footnote 39: Waley, 170 _Chinese Poems_, p. 96.] CHAPTER V JAPAN BEFORE THE RESTORATION For modern China, the most important foreign nation is Japan. In order to understand the part played by Japan, it is necessary to know something of that country, to which we must now turn our attention. In reading the history of Japan, one of the most amazing things is the persistence of the same forces and the same beliefs throughout the centuries. Japanese history practically begins with a "Restoration" by no means unlike that of 1867-8. Buddhism was introduced into Japan from Korea in 552 A.D.[40] At the same time and from the same source Chinese civilization became much better known in Japan than it had been through the occasional intercourse of former centuries. Both novelties won favour. Two Japanese students (followed later by many others) went to China in 608 A.D., to master the civilization of that country. The Japanese are an experimental nation, and before adopting Buddhism nationally they ordered one or two prominent courtiers to adopt it, with a view to seeing whether they prospered more or less than the adherents of the traditional Shinto religion.[41] After some vicissitudes, the experiment was held to have favoured the foreign religion, which, as a Court religion, acquired more prestige than Shinto, although the latter was never ousted, and remained the chief religion of the peasantry until the thirteenth century. It is remarkable to find that, as late as the sixteenth century, Hideyoshi, who was of peasant origin, had a much higher opinion of "the way of the gods" (which is what "Shinto" means) than of Buddhism.[42] Probably the revival of Shinto in modern times was facilitated by a continuing belief in that religion on the part of the less noisy sections of the population. But so far as the people mentioned in history are concerned, Buddhism plays a very much greater part than Shinto. The object of the Restoration in 1867-8 was, at any rate in part, to restore the constitution of 645 A.D. The object of the constitution of 645 A.D. was to restore the form of government that had prevailed in the good old days. What the object was of those who established the government of the good old days, I do not profess to know. However that may be, the country before 645 A.D. was given over to feudalism and internal strife, while the power of the Mikado had sunk to a very low ebb. The Mikado had had the civil power, but had allowed great feudatories to acquire military control, so that the civil government fell into contempt. Contact with the superior civilization of China made intelligent people think that the Chinese constitution deserved imitation, along with the Chinese morals and religion. The Chinese Emperor was the Son of Heaven, so the Mikado came to be descended from the Sun Goddess. The Chinese Emperor, whenever he happened to be a vigorous man, was genuinely supreme, so the Mikado must be made so. The similarity of the influence of China in producing the Restoration of 645 A.D. and that of Europe in producing the Restoration of 1867-8 is set forth by Murdoch[43] as follows:-- In the summer of 1863 a band of four Choshu youths were smuggled on board a British steamer by the aid of kind Scottish friends who sympathized with their endeavour to proceed to Europe for purposes of study. These, friends possibly did not know that some of the four had been protagonists in the burning down of the British Legation on Gotenyama a few months before, and they certainly could never have suspected that the real mission of the four youths was to master the secrets of Western civilization with a sole view of driving the Western barbarians from the sacred soil of Japan. Prince Ito and Marquis Inouye--for they were two of this venturesome quartette--have often told of their rapid disillusionment when they reached London, and saw these despised Western barbarians at home. On their return to Japan they at once became the apostles of a new doctrine, and their effective preaching has had much to do with the pride of place Dai Nippon now holds among the Great Powers of the world. The two students who went to China in 608 A.D. "rendered even more illustrious service to their country perhaps than Ito and Inouye have done. For at the Revolution of 1868, the leaders of the movement harked back to the 645-650 A.D. period for a good deal of their inspiration, and the real men of political knowledge at that time were the two National Doctors." Politically, what was done in 645 A.D. and the period immediately following was not unlike what was done in France by Louis XI and Richelieu--curbing of the great nobles and an exaltation of the sovereign, with a substitution of civil justice for military anarchy. The movement was represented by its promoters as a Restoration, probably with about the same amount of truth as in 1867. At the latter date, there was restoration so far as the power of the Mikado was concerned, but innovation as regards the introduction of Western ideas. Similarly, in 645 A.D., what was done about the Mikado was a return to the past, but what was done in the way of spreading Chinese civilization was just the opposite. There must have been, in both cases, the same curious mixture of antiquarian and reforming tendencies. Throughout subsequent Japanese history, until the Restoration, one seems to see two opposite forces struggling for mastery over people's minds, namely the ideas of government, civilization and art derived from China on the one hand, and the native tendency to feudalism, clan government, and civil war on the other. The conflict is very analogous to that which went on in mediæval Europe between the Church, which represented ideas derived from Rome, and the turbulent barons, who were struggling to preserve the way of life of the ancient Teutons. Henry IV at Canossa, Henry II doing penance for Becket, represent the triumph of civilization over rude vigour; and something similar is to be seen at intervals in Japan. After 645, the Mikado's Government had real power for some centuries, but gradually it fell more and more under the sway of the soldiers. So long as it had wealth (which lasted long after it ceased to have power) it continued to represent what was most civilized in Japan: the study of Chinese literature, the patronage of art, and the attempt to preserve respect for something other than brute force. But the Court nobles (who remained throughout quite distinct from the military feudal chiefs) were so degenerate and feeble, so stereotyped and unprogressive, that it would have been quite impossible for the country to be governed by them and the system they represented. In this respect they differed greatly from the mediæval Church, which no one could accuse of lack of vigour, although the vigour of the feudal aristocracy may have been even greater. Accordingly, while the Church in Europe usually defeated the secular princes, the exact opposite happened in Japan, where the Mikado and his Court sank into greater and greater contempt down to the time of the Restoration. The Japanese have a curious passion for separating the real and the nominal Governments, leaving the show to the latter and the substance of power to the former. First the Emperors took to resigning in favour of their infant sons, and continuing to govern in reality, often from some monastery, where they had become monks. Then the Shogun, who represented the military power, became supreme, but still governed in the name of the Emperor. The word "Shogun" merely means "General"; the full title of the people whom we call "Shogun" is "Sei-i-Tai Shogun," which means "Barbarian-subduing great General"; the barbarians in question being the Ainus, the Japanese aborigines. The first to hold this office in the form which it had at most times until the Restoration was Minamoto Yoritomo, on whom the title was conferred by the Mikado in 1192. But before long the Shogun became nearly as much of a figure-head as the Mikado. Custom confined the Shogunate to the Minamoto family, and the actual power was wielded by Regents in the name of the Shogun. This lasted until near the end of the sixteenth century, when it happened that Iyeyasu, the supreme military commander of his day, belonged to the Minamoto family, and was therefore able to assume the office of Shogun himself. He and his descendants held the office until it was abolished at the Restoration. The Restoration, however, did not put an end to the practice of a real Government behind the nominal one. The Prime Minister and his Cabinet are presented to the world as the Japanese Government, but the real Government is the Genro, or Elder Statesmen, and their successors, of whom I shall have more to say in the next chapter. What the Japanese made of Buddhism reminds one in many ways of what the Teutonic nations made of Christianity. Buddhism and Christianity, originally, were very similar in spirit. They were both religions aiming at the achievement of holiness by renunciation of the world. They both ignored politics and government and wealth, for which they substituted the future life as what was of real importance. They were both religions of peace, teaching gentleness and non-resistance. But both had to undergo great transformations in adapting themselves to the instincts of warlike barbarians. In Japan, a multitude of sects arose, teaching doctrines which differed in many ways from Mahayana orthodoxy. Buddhism became national and militaristic; the abbots of great monasteries became important feudal chieftains, whose monks constituted an army which was ready to fight on the slightest provocation. Sieges of monasteries and battles with monks are of constant occurrence in Japanese history. The Japanese, as every one knows, decided, after about 100 years' experience of Western missionaries and merchants, to close their country completely to foreigners, with the exception of a very restricted and closely supervised commerce with the Dutch. The first arrival of the Portuguese in Japan was in or about the year 1543, and their final expulsion was in the year 1639. What happened between these two dates is instructive for the understanding of Japan. The first Portuguese brought with them Christianity and fire-arms, of which the Japanese tolerated the former for the sake of the latter. At that time there was virtually no Central Government in the country, and the various Daimyo were engaged in constant wars with each other. The south-western island, Kyushu, was even more independent of such central authority as existed than were the other parts of Japan, and it was in this island (containing the port of Nagasaki) that the Portuguese first landed and were throughout chiefly active. They traded from Macao, bringing merchandise, match-locks and Jesuits, as well as artillery on their larger vessels. It was found that they attached importance to the spread of Christianity, and some of the Daimyo, in order to get their trade and their guns, allowed themselves to be baptized by the Jesuits. The Portuguese of those days seem to have been genuinely more anxious to make converts than to extend their trade; when, later on, the Japanese began to object to missionaries while still desiring trade, neither the Portuguese nor the Spaniards could be induced to refrain from helping the Fathers. However, all might have gone well if the Portuguese had been able to retain the monopoly which had been granted to them by a Papal Bull. Their monopoly of trade was associated with a Jesuit monopoly of missionary activity. But from 1592 onward, the Spaniards from Manila competed with the Portuguese from Macao, and the Dominican and Franciscan missionaries, brought by the Spaniards, competed with the Jesuit missionaries brought by the Portuguese. They quarrelled furiously, even at times when they were suffering persecution; and the Japanese naturally believed the accusations that each side brought against the other. Moreover, when they were shown maps displaying the extent of the King of Spain's dominions, they became alarmed for their national independence. In the year 1596, a Spanish ship, the _San Felipe_, on its way from Manila to Acapulco, was becalmed off the coast of Japan. The local Daimyo insisted on sending men to tow it into his harbour, and gave them instructions to run it aground on a sandbank, which they did. He thereupon claimed the whole cargo, valued at 600,000 crowns. However, Hideyoshi, who was rapidly acquiring supreme power in Japan, thought this too large a windfall for a private citizen, and had the Spanish pilot interviewed by a man named Masuda. The pilot, after trying reason in vain, attempted intimidation. He produced a map of the world, and on it pointed out the vast extent of the dominions of Philip II. Thereupon Masuda asked him how it was so many countries had been brought to acknowledge the sway of a single man.... "Our Kings," said this outspoken seaman, "begin by sending into the countries they wish to conquer _religieux_ who induce the people to embrace our religion, and when they have made considerable progress, troops are sent who combine with the new Christians, and then our Kings have not much trouble in accomplishing the rest."[44] As Spain and Portugal were at this time both subject to Philip II, the Portuguese also suffered from the suspicions engendered by this speech. Moreover, the Dutch, who were at war with Spain, began to trade with Japan, and to tell all they knew against Jesuits, Dominicans, Franciscans, and Papists generally. A breezy Elizabethan sea captain, Will Adams, was wrecked in Japan, and on being interrogated naturally gave a good British account of the authors of the Armada. As the Japanese had by this time mastered the use and manufacture of fire-arms, they began to think that they had nothing more to learn from Christian nations. Meanwhile, a succession of three great men--Nobunaga, Hideyoshi, and Iyeyasu--had succeeded in unifying Japan, destroying the quasi-independence of the feudal nobles, and establishing that reign of internal peace which lasted until the Restoration--period of nearly two and a half centuries. It was possible, therefore, for the Central Government to enforce whatever policy it chose to adopt with regard to the foreigners and their religion. The Jesuits and the Friars between them had made a considerable number of converts in Japan, probably about 300,000. Most of these were in the island of Kyushu, the last region to be subdued by Hideyoshi. They tended to disloyalty, not only on account of their Christianity, but also on account of their geographical position. It was in this region that the revolt against the Shogun began in 1867, and Satsuma, the chief clan in the island of Kyushu, has had great power in the Government ever since the Restoration, except during its rebellion of 1877. It is hard to disentangle what belongs to Christianity and what to mere hostility to the Central Government in the movements of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. However that may be, Iyeyasu decided to persecute the Christians vigorously, if possible without losing the foreign trade. His successors were even more anti-Christian and less anxious for trade. After an abortive revolt in 1637, Christianity was stamped out, and foreign trade was prohibited in the most vigorous terms:-- So long as the sun warms the earth, let no Christian be so bold as to come to Japan, and let all know that if King Philip himself, or even the very God of the Christians, or the great Shaka contravene this prohibition, they shall pay for it with their heads.[45] The persecution of Christians, though it was ruthless and exceedingly cruel, was due, not to religious intolerance, but solely to political motives. There was reason to fear that the Christians might side with the King of Spain if he should attempt to conquer Japan; and even if no foreign power intervened, there was reason to fear rebellions of Christians against the newly established central power. Economic exploitation, in the modern sense of the word, did not yet exist apart from political domination, and the Japanese would have welcomed trade if there had been no danger of conquest. They seem to have overrated the power of Spain, which certainly could not have conquered them. Japanese armies were, in those days, far larger than the armies of Europe; the Japanese had learnt the use of fire-arms; and their knowledge of strategy was very great. Kyoto, the capital, was one of the largest cities in the world, having about a million inhabitants. The population of Japan was probably greater than that of any European State. It would therefore have been possible, without much trouble, to resist any expedition that Europe could have sent against Japan. It would even have been easy to conquer Manila, as Hideyoshi at one time thought of doing. But we can well understand how terrifying would be a map of the world showing the whole of North and South America as belonging to Philip II. Moreover the Japanese Government sent pretended converts to Europe, where they became priests, had audience of the Pope, penetrated into the inmost councils of Spain, and mastered all the meditated villainies of European Imperialism. These spies, when they came home and laid their reports before the Government, naturally increased its fears. The Japanese, therefore, decided to have no further intercourse with the white men. And whatever may be said against this policy, I cannot feel convinced that it was unwise. For over two hundred years, until the coming of Commodore Perry's squadron from the United States in 1853, Japan enjoyed complete peace and almost complete stagnation--the only period of either in Japanese history, It then became necessary to learn fresh lessons in the use of fire-arms from Western nations, and to abandon the exclusive policy until they were learnt. When they have been learnt, perhaps we shall see another period of isolation. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 40: The best book known to me on early Japan is Murdoch's _History of Japan_, The volume dealing with the earlier period is published by Kegan Paul, 1910. The chronologically later volume was published earlier; its title is: _A History of Japan during the Century of Early Foreign Intercourse_ (1542--1651), by James Murdoch M.A. in collaboration with Isoh Yamagata. Kobe, office of the _Japan Chronicle_, 1903. I shall allude to these volumes as Murdoch I and Murdoch II respectively.] [Footnote 41: Murdoch I. pp. 113 ff.] [Footnote 42: Ibid., II. pp. 375 ff.] [Footnote 43: Murdoch I. p. 147.] [Footnote 44: Murdoch, II, p. 288.] [Footnote 45: Murdoch II, p. 667.] CHAPTER VI MODERN JAPAN The modern Japanese nation is unique, not only in this age, but in the history of the world. It combines elements which most Europeans would have supposed totally incompatible, and it has realized an original plan to a degree hardly known in human affairs. The Japan which now exists is almost exactly that which was intended by the leaders of the Restoration in 1867. Many unforeseen events have happened in the world: American has risen and Russia has fallen, China has become a Republic and the Great War has shattered Europe. But throughout all these changes the leading statesmen of Japan have gone along the road traced out for them at the beginning of the Meiji era, and the nation has followed them with ever-increasing faithfulness. One single purpose has animated leaders and followers alike: the strengthening and extension of the Empire. To realize this purpose a new kind of policy has been created, combining the sources of strength in modern America with those in Rome at the time of the Punic Wars, uniting the material organization and scientific knowledge of pre-war Germany with the outlook on life of the Hebrews in the Book of Joshua. The transformation of Japan since 1867 is amazing, and people have been duly amazed by it. But what is still more amazing is that such an immense change in knowledge and in way of life should have brought so little change in religion and ethics, and that such change as it has brought in these matters should have been in a direction opposite to that which would have been naturally expected. Science is supposed to tend to rationalism; yet the spread of scientific knowledge in Japan has synchronized with a great intensification of Mikado-Worship, the most anachronistic feature in the Japanese civilization. For sociology, for social psychology, and for political theory, Japan is an extraordinarily interesting country. The synthesis of East and West which has been effected is of a most peculiar kind. There is far more of the East than appears on the surface; but there is everything of the West that tends to national efficiency. How far there is a genuine fusion of Eastern and Western elements may be doubted; the nervous excitability of the people suggests something strained and artificial in their way of life, but this may possibly be a merely temporary phenomenon. Throughout Japanese politics since the Restoration, there are two separate strands, one analogous to that of Western nations, especially pre-war Germany, the other inherited from the feudal age, which is more analogous to the politics of the Scottish Highlands down to 1745. It is no part of my purpose to give a history of modern Japan; I wish only to give an outline of the forces which control events and movements in that country, with such illustrations as are necessary. There are many good books on Japanese politics; the one that I have found most informative is McLaren's _Political History of Japan during the Meiji Era_ 1867-1912 (Allen and Unwin, 1916). For a picture of Japan as it appeared in the early years of the Meiji era, Lafcadio Hearn is of course invaluable; his book _Japan, An Interpretation_ shows his dawning realization of the grim sides of the Japanese character, after the cherry-blossom business has lost its novelty. I shall not have much to say about cherry-blossom; it was not flowering when I was in Japan. Before, 1867, Japan was a feudal federation of clans, in which the Central Government was in the hands of the Shogun, who was the head of his own clan, but had by no means undisputed sway over the more powerful of the other clans. There had been various dynasties of Shoguns at various times, but since the seventeenth century the Shogunate had been in the Tokugawa clan. Throughout the Tokugawa Shogunate, except during its first few years, Japan had been closed to foreign intercourse, except for a strictly limited commerce with the Dutch. The modern era was inaugurated by two changes: first, the compulsory opening of the country to Western trade; secondly, the transference of power from the Tokugawa clan to the clans of Satsuma and Choshu, who have governed Japan ever since. It is impossible to understand Japan or its politics and possibilities without realizing the nature of the governing forces and their roots in the feudal system of the former age. I will therefore first outline these internal movements, before coming to the part which Japan has played in international affairs. What happened, nominally, in 1867 was that the Mikado was restored to power, after having been completely eclipsed by the Shogun since the end of the twelfth century. During this long period, the Mikado seems to have been regarded by the common people with reverence as a holy personage, but he was allowed no voice in affairs, was treated with contempt by the Shogun, was sometimes deposed if he misbehaved, and was often kept in great poverty. Of so little importance was the Imperial person in the days of early foreign intercourse that the Jesuits hardly knew of the Emperor's existence. They seem to have thought of him as a Japanese counterpart of the Pope of Rome, except that he had no aspirations for temporal power. The Dutch writers likewise were in the habit of referring to the Shogun as "His Majesty," and on their annual pilgrimage from Dashima to Yedo, Kyoto (where the Mikado lived) was the only city which they were permitted to examine freely. The privilege was probably accorded by the Tokugawa to show the foreigners how lightly the Court was regarded. Commodore Perry delivered to the Shogun in Yedo the autograph letter to the Emperor of Japan, from the President of the United States, and none of the Ambassadors of the Western Powers seem to have entertained any suspicion that in dealing with the authorities in Yedo they were not approaching the throne. In the light of these facts, some other explanation of the relations between the Shogunate and the Imperial Court must be sought than that which depends upon the claim now made by Japanese historians of the official type, that the throne, throughout this whole period, was divinely preserved by the Heavenly Gods.[46] What happened, in outline, seems to have been a combination of very different forces. There were antiquarians who observed that the Mikado had had real power in the tenth century, and who wished to revert to the ancient customs. There were patriots who were annoyed with the Shogun for yielding to the pressure of the white men and concluding commercial treaties with them. And there were the western clans, which had never willingly submitted to the authority of the Shogun. To quote McLaren once more (p. 33):-- The movement to restore the Emperor was coupled with a form of Chauvinism or intense nationalism which may be summed up in the expression "Exalt the Emperor! Away with the barbarians!" (Kinno! Joi!) From this it would appear that the Dutch scholars' work in enlightening the nation upon the subject of foreign scientific attainments was anathema, but a conclusion of that kind must not be hastily arrived at. The cry, "Away with the barbarians!" was directed against Perry and the envoys of other foreign Powers, but there was nothing in that slogan which indicates a general unwillingness to emulate the foreigners' achievements in armaments or military tactics. In fact, for a number of years previous to 1853, Satsuma and Choshu and other western clans had been very busily engaged in manufacturing guns and practising gunnery: to that extent, at any rate, the discoveries of the students of European sciences had been deliberately used by those men who were to be foremost in the Restoration. This passage gives the key to the spirit which has animated modern Japan down to the present day. The Restoration was, to a greater extent than is usually realized in the West, a conservative and even reactionary movement. Professor Murdoch, in his authoritative _History of Japan,_[47] says:-- In the interpretation of this sudden and startling development most European writers and critics show themselves seriously at fault. Even some of the more intelligent among them find the solution of this portentous enigma in the very superficial and facile formula of "imitation." But the Japanese still retain their own unit of social organization, which is not the individual, as with us, but the _family_. Furthermore, the resemblance of the Japanese administrative system, both central and local, to certain European systems is not the result of imitation, or borrowing, or adaptation. Such resemblance is merely an odd and fortuitous resemblance. When the statesmen who overthrew the Tokugawa régime in 1868, and abolished the feudal system in 1871, were called upon to provide the nation with a new equipment of administrative machinery, they did not go to Europe for their models. They simply harked back for some eleven or twelve centuries in their own history and resuscitated the administrative machinery that had first been installed in Japan by the genius of Fujiwara Kamatari and his coadjutors in 645 A.D., and more fully supplemented and organized in the succeeding fifty or sixty years. The present Imperial Cabinet of ten Ministers, with their departments and departmental staff of officials, is a modified revival of the Eight Boards adapted from China and established in the seventh century.... The present administrative system is indeed of alien provenance; but it was neither borrowed nor adapted a generation ago, nor borrowed nor adapted from Europe. It was really a system of hoary antiquity that was revived to cope with pressing modern exigencies. The outcome was that the clans of Satsuma and Choshu acquired control of the Mikado, made his exaltation the symbol of resistance to the foreigner (with whom the Shogun had concluded unpopular treaties), and secured the support of the country by being the champions of nationalism. Under extraordinarily able leaders, a policy was adopted which has been pursued consistently ever since, and has raised Japan from being the helpless victim of Western greed to being one of the greatest Powers in the world. Feudalisim was abolished, the Central Government was made omnipotent, a powerful army and navy were created, China and Russia were successively defeated, Korea was annexed and a protectorate established over Manchuria and Inner Mongolia, industry and commerce were developed, universal compulsory education instituted; and worship of the Mikado firmly established by teaching in the schools and by professorial patronage of historical myths. The artificial creation of Mikado-worship is one of the most interesting features of modern Japan, and a model to all other States as regards the method of preventing the growth of rationalism. There is a very instructive little pamphlet by Professor B.H. Chamberlain, who was Professor of Japanese and philosophy at Tokyo, and had a knowledge of Japanese which few Europeans had equalled. His pamphlet is called _The Invention of a New Religion_, and is published by the Rationalist Press Association. He points out that, until recent times, the religion of Japan was Buddhism, to the practical exclusion of every other. There had been, in very ancient times, a native religion called Shinto, and it had lingered on obscurely. But it is only during the last forty years or so that Shinto has been erected into a State religion, and has been reconstructed so as to suit modern requirements.[48] It is, of course, preferable to Buddhism because it is native and national; it is a tribal religion, not one which aims at appealing to all mankind. Its whole purpose, as it has been developed by modern statesmen, is to glorify Japan and the Mikado. Professor Chamberlain points out how little reverence there was for the Mikado until some time after the Restoration:-- The sober fact is that no nation probably has ever treated its sovereigns more cavalierly than the Japanese have done, from the beginning of authentic history down to within the memory of living men. Emperors have been deposed, emperors have been assassinated; for centuries every succession to the throne was the signal for intrigues and sanguinary broils. Emperors have been exiled; some have been murdered in exile.... For long centuries the Government was in the hands of Mayors of the Palace, who substituted one infant sovereign for another, generally forcing each to abdicate as he approached man's estate. At one period, these Mayors of the Palace left the Descendant of the Sun in such distress that His Imperial Majesty and the Imperial Princes were obliged to gain a livelihood by selling their autographs! Nor did any great party in the State protest against this condition of affairs. Even in the present reign (that of Meiji)--the most glorious in Japanese history--there have been two rebellions, during one of which a rival Emperor was set up in one part of the country, and a Republic proclaimed in another. This last sentence, though it states sober historical fact, is scarcely credible to those who only know twentieth-century Japan. The spread of superstition has gone _pari passu_ with the spread of education, and a revolt against the Mikado is now unthinkable. Time and again, in the midst of political strife, the Mikado has been induced to intervene, and instantly the hottest combatants have submitted abjectly. Although there is a Diet, the Mikado is an absolute ruler--as absolute as any sovereign ever has been. The civilization of Japan, before the Restoration, came from China. Religion, art, writing, philosophy and ethics, everything was copied from Chinese models. Japanese history begins in the fifth century A.D., whereas Chinese history goes back to about 2,000 B.C., or at any rate to somewhere in the second millennium B.C. This was galling to Japanese pride, so an early history was invented long ago, like the theory that the Romans were descended from Æneas. To quote Professor Chamberlain again:-- The first glimmer of genuine Japanese history dates from the fifth century _after_ Christ, and even the accounts of what happened in the sixth century must be received with caution. Japanese scholars know this as well as we do; it is one of the certain results of investigation. But the Japanese bureaucracy does not desire to have the light let in on this inconvenient circumstance. While granting a dispensation _re_ the national mythology, properly so called, it exacts belief in every iota of the national historic legends. Woe to the native professor who strays from the path of orthodoxy. His wife and children (and in Japan every man, however young, has a wife and children) will starve. From the late Prince Ito's grossly misleading _Commentary on the Japanese Constitution_ down to school compendiums, the absurd dates are everywhere insisted upon. This question of fictitious early history might be considered unimportant, like the fact that, with us, parsons have to pretend to believe the Bible, which some people think innocuous. But it is part of the whole system, which has a political object, to which free thought and free speech are ruthlessly sacrificed. As this same pamphlet says:-- Shinto, a primitive nature cult, which had fallen into discredit, was taken out of its cupboard and dusted. The common people, it is true, continued to place their affections on Buddhism, the popular festivals were Buddhist; Buddhist also the temples where they buried their dead. The governing class determined to change all this. They insisted on the Shinto doctrine that the Mikado descends in direct succession from the native Goddess of the Sun, and that He himself is a living God on earth who justly claims the absolute fealty of his subjects. Such things as laws and constitutions are but free gifts on His part, not in any sense popular rights. Of course, the ministers and officials, high and low, who carry on His government, are to be regarded not as public servants, but rather as executants of supreme--one might say supernatural--authority. Shinto, because connected with the Imperial family, is to be alone honoured. All this is not mere theorizing; it is the practical basis of Japanese politics. The Mikado, after having been for centuries in the keeping of the Tokugawa Shoguns, was captured by the clans of Satsuma and Choshu, and has been in their keeping ever since. They were represented politically by five men, the Genro or Elder Statesmen, who are sometimes miscalled the Privy Council. Only two still survive. The Genro have no constitutional existence; they are merely the people who have the ear of the Mikado. They can make him say whatever they wish; therefore they are omnipotent. It has happened repeatedly that they have had against them the Diet and the whole force of public opinion; nevertheless they have invariably been able to enforce their will, because they could make the Mikado speak, and no one dare oppose the Mikado. They do not themselves take office; they select the Prime Minister and the Ministers of War and Marine, and allow them to bear the blame if anything goes wrong. The Genro are the real Government of Japan, and will presumably remain so until the Mikado is captured by some other clique. From a patriotic point of view, the Genro have shown very great wisdom in the conduct of affairs. There is reason to think that if Japan were a democracy its policy would be more Chauvinistic than it is. Apologists of Japan, such as Mr. Bland, are in the habit of telling us that there is a Liberal anti-militarist party in Japan, which is soon going to dominate foreign policy. I see no reason to believe this. Undoubtedly there is a strong movement for increasing the power of the Diet and making the Cabinet responsible to it; there is also a feeling that the Ministers of War and Marine ought to be responsible to the Cabinet and the Prime Minister, not only to the Mikado directly.[49] But democracy in Japan does not mean a diminution of Chauvinism in foreign policy. There is a small Socialist party which is genuinely anti-Chauvinist and anti-militarist; this party, probably, will grow as Japanese industrialism grows. But so-called Japanese Liberals are just as Chauvinistic as the Government, and public opinion is more so. Indeed there have been occasions when the Genro, in spite of popular fury, has saved the nation from mistakes which it would certainly have committed if the Government had been democratic. One of the most interesting of these occasions was the conclusion of the Treaty of Portsmouth, after the Sino-Japanese war, which deserves to be told as illustrative of Japanese politics.[50] In 1905, after the battles of Tsushima and Mukden, it became clear to impartial observers that Russia could accomplish nothing further at sea, and Japan could accomplish nothing further on land. The Russian Government was anxious to continue the war, having gradually accumulated men and stores in Manchuria, and greatly improved the working of the Siberian railway. The Japanese Government, on the contrary, knew that it had already achieved all the success it could hope for, and that it would be extremely difficult to raise the loans required for a prolongation of the war. Under these circumstances, Japan appealed secretly to President Roosevelt requesting his good offices for the restoration of peace. President Roosevelt therefore issued invitations to both belligerents to a peace conference. The Russian Government, faced by a strong peace party and incipient revolution, dared not refuse the invitation, especially in view of the fact that the sympathies of neutrals were on the whole with Japan. Japan, being anxious for peace, led Russia to suppose that Japan's demands would be so excessive as to alienate the sympathy of the world and afford a complete answer to the peace party in Russia. In particular, the Japanese gave out that they would absolutely insist upon an indemnity. The Government had in fact resolved, from the first, not to insist on an indemnity, but this was known to very few people in Japan, and to no one outside Japan. The Russians, believing that the Japanese would not give way about the indemnity, showed themselves generous as regards all other Japanese demands. To their horror and consternation, when they had already packed up and were just ready to break up the conference, the Japanese announced (as they had from the first intended to do) that they accepted the Russian concessions and would waive the claim to an indemnity. Thus the Russian Government and the Japanese people were alike furious, because they had been tricked--the former in the belief that it could yield everything except the indemnity without bringing peace, the latter in the belief that the Government would never give way about the indemnity. In Russia there was revolution; in Japan there were riots, furious diatribes in the Press, and a change of Government--of the nominal Government, that is to say, for the Genro continued to be the real power throughout. In this case, there is no doubt that the decision of the Genro to make peace was the right one from every point of view; there is also very little doubt that a peace advantageous to Japan could not have been made without trickery. Foreigners unacquainted with Japan, knowing that there is a Diet in which the Lower House is elected, imagine that Japan is at least as democratic as pre-war Germany. This is a delusion. It is true that Marquis Ito, who framed the Constitution, which was promulgated in 1889, took Germany for his model, as the Japanese have always done in all their Westernizing efforts, except as regards the Navy, in which Great Britain has been copied. But there were many points in which the Japanese Constitution differed from that of the German Empire. To begin with, the Reichstag was elected by manhood suffrage, whereas in Japan there is a property qualification which restricts the franchise to about 25 per cent of the adult males. This, however, is a small matter compared to the fact that the Mikado's power is far less limited than that of the Kaiser was. It is true that Japan does not differ from pre-war Germany in the fact that Ministers are not responsible to the Diet, but to the Emperor, and are responsible severally, not collectively. The War Minister must be a General, the Minister of Marine must be an Admiral; they take their orders, not from the Prime Minister, but from the military and naval authorities respectively, who, of course, are under the control of the Mikado. But in Germany the Reichstag had the power of the purse, whereas in Japan, if the Diet refuses to pass the Budget, the Budget of the previous year can be applied, and when the Diet is not sitting, laws can be enacted temporarily by Imperial decree--a provision which had no analogue in the German Constitution. The Constitution having been granted by the Emperor of his free grace, it is considered impious to criticize it or to suggest any change in it, since this would imply that His Majesty's work was not wholly perfect. To understand the Constitution, it is necessary to read it in conjunction with the authoritative commentary of Marquis Ito, which was issued at the same time. Mr. Coleman very correctly summarizes the Constitution as follows[51]:-- Article I of the Japanese Constitution provides that "The Empire of Japan shall be reigned over and governed by a line of Emperors unbroken for ages eternal." "By reigned over and governed," wrote Marquis Ito in his _Commentaries on the Constitution of Japan_, "it is meant that the Emperor on His Throne combines in Himself the Sovereignty of the State and the Government of the country and of His subjects." Article 3 of the Constitution states that "the Emperor is sacred and inviolate." Marquis Ito's comment in explanation of this is peculiarly Japanese. He says, "The Sacred Throne was established at the time when the heavens and earth became separated. The Empire is Heaven-descended, divine and sacred; He is pre-eminent above all His subjects. He must be reverenced and is inviolable. He has, indeed, to pay due respect to the law, but the law has no power to hold Him accountable to it. Not only shall there be no irreverence for the Emperor's person, but also shall He neither be made a topic of derogatory comment nor one of discussion." Through the Constitution of Japan the Japanese Emperor exercises the legislative power, the executive power, and the judiciary power. The Emperor convokes the Imperial Diet, opens, closes, prorogues, and dissolves it. When the Imperial Diet is not sitting, Imperial ordinances may be issued in place of laws. The Emperor has supreme control of the Army and Navy, declares war, makes peace, and concludes treaties; orders amnesty, pardon and commutation of punishments. As to the Ministers of State, the Constitution of Japan, Article 55, says: "The respective Ministers of State shall give their advice to the Emperor and be responsible for it." Ito's commentary on this article indicates his intention in framing it. "When a Minister of State errs in the discharge of his functions, the power of deciding upon his responsibilities belongs to the Sovereign of the State: he alone can dismiss a Minister who has appointed him. Who then is it, except the Sovereign, that can appoint, dismiss, and punish a Minister of State? The appointment and dismissal of them having been included by the Constitution in the sovereign power of the Emperor, it is only a legitimate consequence that the power of deciding as to the responsibility of Ministers is withheld from the Diet. But the Diet may put questions to the Ministers and demand open answers from them before the public, and it may also present addresses to the Sovereign setting forth its opinions. "The Minister President of State is to make representations to the Emperor on matters of State, and to indicate, according to His pleasure, the general course of the policy of the State, every branch of the administration being under control of the said Minister. The compass of his duties is large, and his responsibilities cannot but be proportionately great. As to the other Ministers of State, they are severally held responsible for the matters within their respective competency; there is no joint responsibility among them in regard to such matters. For, the Minister President and the other Ministers of State, being alike personally appointed by the Emperor, the proceedings of each one of them are, in every respect, controlled by the will of the Emperor, and the Minister President himself has no power of control over the posts occupied by other Ministers, while the latter ought not to be dependent upon the former. In some countries, the Cabinet is regarded as constituting a corporate body, and the Ministers are not held to take part in the conduct of the Government each one in an individual capacity, but joint responsibility is the rule. The evil of such a system is that the power of party combination will ultimately overrule the supreme power of the Sovereign. Such a state of things can never be approved of according to our Constitution." In spite of the small powers of the Diet, it succeeded, in the first four years of its existence (1890-94), in causing some annoyance to the Government. Until 1894, the policy of Japan was largely controlled by Marquis Ito, who was opposed to militarism and Chauvinism. The statesmen of the first half of the Meiji era were concerned mainly with introducing modern education and modern social organization; they wished to preserve Japanese independence _vis-à-vis_ the Western Powers, but did not aim, for the time being, at imperialist expansion on their own account. Ito represented this older school of Restoration statesmen. Their ideas of statecraft were in the main derived from the Germany of the 'eighties, which was kept by Bismarck from undue adventurousness. But when the Diet proved difficult to manage, they reverted to an earlier phase of Bismarck's career for an example to imitate. The Prussian Landtag (incredible as it may seem) was vigorously obstreperous at the time when Bismarck first rose to power, but he tamed it by glutting the nation with military glory in the wars against Austria and France. Similarly, in 1894, the Japanese Government embarked on war against China, and instantly secured the enthusiastic support of the hitherto rebellious Diet. From that day to this, the Japanese Government has never been vigorously opposed except for its good deeds (such as the Treaty of Portsmouth); and it has atoned for these by abundant international crimes, which the nation has always applauded to the echo. Marquis Ito was responsible for the outbreak of war in 1894. He was afterwards again opposed to the new policy of predatory war, but was powerless to prevent it.[52] His opposition, however, was tiresome, until at last he was murdered in Korea. Since the outbreak of the Sino-Japanese war in 1894, Japan has pursued a consistent career of imperialism, with quite extraordinary success. The nature and fruits of that career I shall consider in the next two chapters. For the time being, it has arrested whatever tendency existed towards the development of democracy; the Diet is quite as unimportant as the English Parliament was in the time of the Tudors. Whether the present system will continue for a long time, it is impossible to guess. An unsuccessful foreign war would probably destroy not only the existing system, but the whole unity and _morale_ of the nation; I do not believe that Japan would be as firm in defeat as Germany has proved to be. Diplomatic failure, without war, would probably produce a more Liberal regime, without revolution. There is, however, one very explosive element in Japan, and that is industrialism. It is impossible for Japan to be a Great Power without developing her industry, and in fact everything possible is done to increase Japanese manufactures. Moreover, industry is required to absorb the growing population, which cannot emigrate to English-speaking regions, and will not emigrate to the mainland of Asia because Chinese competition is too severe. Therefore the only way to support a larger population is to absorb it into industrialism, manufacturing goods for export as a means of purchasing food abroad. Industrialism in Japan requires control of China, because Japan contains hardly any of the raw materials of industry, and cannot obtain them sufficiently cheaply or securely in open competition with America and Europe. Also dependence upon imported food requires a strong navy. Thus the motives for imperialism and navalism in Japan are very similar to those that have prevailed in England. But this policy requires high taxation, while successful competition in neutral markets requires--or rather, is thought to require--starvation wages and long hours for operatives. In the cotton industry of Osoka, for example, most of the work is done by girls under fourteen, who work eleven hours a day and got, in 1916, an average daily wage of 5d.[53] Labour organization is in its infancy, and so is Socialism;[54] but both are certain to spread if the number of industrial workers increases without a very marked improvement in hours and wages. Of course the very rigidity of the Japanese policy, which has given it its strength, makes it incapable of adjusting itself to Socialism and Trade Unionism, which are vigorously persecuted by the Government. And on the other hand Socialism and Trade Unionism cannot accept Mikado-worship and the whole farrago of myth upon which the Japanese State depends.[55] There is therefore a likelihood, some twenty or thirty years hence--assuming a peaceful and prosperous development in the meantime--of a very bitter class conflict between the proletarians on the one side and the employers and bureaucrats on the other. If this should happen to synchronize with agrarian discontent, it would be impossible to foretell the issue. The problems facing Japan are therefore very difficult. To provide for the growing population it is necessary to develop industry; to develop industry it is necessary to control Chinese raw materials; to control Chinese raw materials it is necessary to go against the economic interests of America and Europe; to do this successfully requires a large army and navy, which in turn involve great poverty for wage-earners. And expanding industry with poverty for wage-earners means growing discontent, increase of Socialism, dissolution of filial piety and Mikado-worship in the poorer classes, and therefore a continually greater and greater menace to the whole foundation on which the fabric of the State is built. From without, Japan is threatened with the risk of war against America or of a revival of China. From within, there will be, before long, the risk of proletarian revolution. From all these dangers, there is only one escape, and that is a diminution of the birth-rate. But such an idea is not merely abhorrent to the militarists as diminishing the supply of cannon-fodder; it is fundamentally opposed to Japanese religion and morality, of which patriotism and filial piety are the basis. Therefore if Japan is to emerge successfully, a much more intense Westernizing must take place, involving not only mechanical processes and knowledge of bare facts, but ideals and religion and general outlook on life. There must be free thought, scepticism, diminution in the intensity of herd-instinct. Without these, the population question cannot be solved; and if that remains unsolved, disaster is sooner or later inevitable. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 46: McLaren, op. cit. p. 19.] [Footnote 47: Kegan Paul, 1910, vol. i. p. 20.] [Footnote 48: "What _popular_ Shinto, as expounded by its village priests in the old time, was we simply do not know. Our carefully selected and edited official edition of Shinto is certainly not true aboriginal Shinto as practised in Yamato before the introduction of Buddhism and Chinese culture, and many plausible arguments which disregard that indubitable fact lose much of their weight." (Murdoch, I, p. 173 n.)] [Footnote 49: The strength of this movement may, however, be doubted. Murdoch (op. cit. i, p. 162) says: "At present, 1910, the War Office and Admiralty are, of all Ministries, by far the strongest in the Empire. When a party Government does by any strange hap make its appearance on tho political stage, the Ministers of War and of Marine can afford to regard its advent with the utmost insouciance. For tho most extreme of party politicians readily and unhesitatingly admit that the affairs of the Army and Navy do not fall within the sphere of party politics, but are the exclusive concern of the Commander-in-Chief, his Imperial Majesty the Emperor of Japan. On none in the public service of Japan are titles of nobility, high rank, and still more substantial emoluments showered with a more liberal hand than upon the great captains and the great sailors of the Empire. In China, on the other hand, the military man is, if not a pariah, at all events an exceptional barbarian, whom policy makes it advisable to treat with a certain amount of gracious, albeit semi-contemptuous, condescension."] [Footnote 50: The following account is taken from McLaren, op. cit. chaps, xii. and xiii.] [Footnote 51: _The Far East Unveiled_, pp. 252-58.] [Footnote 52: See McLaren, op. cit. pp. 227, 228, 289.] [Footnote 53: Coleman, op. cit. chap. xxxv.] [Footnote 54: See an invaluable pamphlet, "The Socialist and Labour Movements in Japan," published by the _Japan Chronicle_, 1921, for an account of what is happening in this direction.] [Footnote 55: _The Times_ of February 7, 1922, contains a telegram from its correspondent in Tokyo, _à propos_ of the funeral of Prince Yamagata, Chief of the Genro, to the following effect:-- "To-day a voice was heard in the Diet in opposition to the grant of expenses for the State funeral of Prince Yamagata. The resolution, which was introduced by the member for Osaka constituency, who is regarded as the spokesman of the so-called Parliamentary Labour Party founded last year, states that the Chief of the Genro (Elder Statesmen) did not render true service to the State, and, although the recipient of the highest dignities, was an enemy of mankind and suppressor of democratic institutions. The outcome was a foregone conclusion, but the fact that the introducer could obtain the necessary support to table the resolution formally was not the least interesting feature of the incident."] CHAPTER VII JAPAN AND CHINA BEFORE 1914 Before going into the detail of Japan's policy towards China, it is necessary to put the reader on his guard against the habit of thinking of the "Yellow Races," as though China and Japan formed some kind of unity. There are, of course, reasons which, at first sight, would lead one to suppose that China and Japan could be taken in one group in comparison with the races of Europe and of Africa. To begin with, the Chinese and Japanese are both yellow, which points to ethnic affinities; but the political and cultural importance of ethnic affinities is very small. The Japanese assert that the hairy Ainus, who are low in the scale of barbarians, are a white race akin to ourselves. I never saw a hairy Ainu, and I suspect the Japanese of malice in urging us to admit the Ainus as poor relations; but even if they really are of Aryan descent, that does not prove that they have anything of the slightest importance in common with us as compared to what the Japanese and Chinese have in common with us. Similarity of culture is infinitely more important than a common racial origin. It is true that Japanese culture, until the Restoration, was derived from China. To this day, Japanese script is practically the same as Chinese, and Buddhism, which is still the religion of the people, is of the sort derived originally from China. Loyalty and filial piety, which are the foundations of Japanese ethics, are Confucian virtues, imported along with the rest of ancient Chinese culture. But even before the irruption of European influences, China and Japan had had such different histories and national temperaments that doctrines originally similar had developed in opposite directions. China has been, since the time of the First Emperor (_c._ 200 B.C.), a vast unified bureaucratic land empire, having much contact with foreign nations--Annamese, Burmese, Mongols, Tibetans and even Indians. Japan, on the other hand, was an island kingdom, having practically no foreign contact except with Korea and occasionally with China, divided into clans which were constantly at war with each other, developing the virtues and vices of feudal chivalry, but totally unconcerned with economic or administrative problems on a large scale. It was not difficult to adapt the doctrines of Confucius to such a country, because in the time of Confucius China was still feudal and still divided into a number of petty kingdoms, in one of which the sage himself was a courtier, like Goethe at Weimar. But naturally his doctrines underwent a different development from that which befel them in their own country. In old Japan, for instance, loyalty to the clan chieftain is the virtue one finds most praised; it is this same virtue, with its scope enlarged, which has now become patriotism. Loyalty is a virtue naturally praised where conflicts between roughly equal forces are frequent, as they were in feudal Japan, and are in the modern international world. In China, on the contrary, power seemed so secure, the Empire was so vast and immemorial, that the need for loyalty was not felt. Security bred a different set of virtues, such as courtesy, considerateness, and compromise. Now that security is gone, and the Chinese find themselves plunged into a world of warring bandits, they have difficulty in developing the patriotism, ruthlessness, and unscrupulousness which the situation demands. The Japanese have no such difficulty, having been schooled for just such requirements by their centuries of feudal anarchy. Accordingly we find that Western influence has only accentuated the previous differences between China and Japan: modern Chinese like our thought but dislike our mechanism, while modern Japanese like our mechanism but dislike our thought. From some points of view, Asia, including Russia, may be regarded as a unity; but from this unity Japan must be excluded. Russia, China, and India contain vast plains given over to peasant agriculture; they are easily swayed by military empires such as that of Jenghis Khan; with modern railways, they could be dominated from a centre more securely than in former times. They could be self-subsistent economically, and invulnerable to outside attack, independent of commerce, and so strong as to be indifferent to progress. All this may come about some day, if Russia happens to develop a great conqueror supported by German organizing ability. But Japan stands outside this order of possibilities. Japan, like Great Britain, must depend upon commerce for power and prosperity. As yet, Japan has not developed the Liberal mentality appropriate to a commercial nation, and is still bent upon Asiatic conquest and military prowess. This policy brings with it conflicts with China and Russia, which the present weakness of those Powers has enabled Japan, hitherto, to conduct successfully. But both are likely to recover their strength sooner or later, and then the essential weakness of present Japanese policy will become apparent. It results naturally from the situation that the Japanese have two somewhat incompatible ambitions. On the one hand, they wish to pose as the champions of Asia against the oppression of the white man; on the other hand, they wish to be admitted to equality by the white Powers, and to join in the feast obtained by exploiting the nations that are inefficient in homicide. The former policy should make them friendly to China and India and hostile to the white races; the latter policy has inspired the Anglo-Japanese Alliance and its fruits in the annexation of Korea and the virtual annexation of Manchuria and Inner Mongolia. As a member of the League of Nations, of the Big Five at Versailles, and of the Big Three at Washington, Japan appears as one of the ordinary Great Powers; but at other moments Japan aims at establishing a hegemony in Asia by standing for the emancipation from white tyranny of those who happen to be yellow or brown, but not black. Count Okuma, speaking in the Kobe Chamber of Commerce, said: "There are three hundred million natives in India looking to us to rescue them from the thraldom of Great Britain."[56] While in the Far East, I inquired of innumerable Englishmen what advantage our Government could suppose that we derived from the Japanese Alliance. The only answer that seemed to me to supply an intelligible motive was that the Alliance somewhat mitigates the intensity of Japanese anti-British propaganda in India. However that may be, there can be no doubt that the Japanese would like to pose before the Indians as their champions against white tyranny. Mr. Pooley[57] quotes Dr. Ichimura of the Imperial University of Kyoto as giving the following list of white men's sins:-- (1) White men consider that they alone are human beings, and that all coloured races belong to a lower order of civilization. (2) They are extremely selfish, insisting on their own interests, but ignoring the interests of all whom they regard as inferiors. (3) They are full of racial pride and conceit. If any concession is made to them they demand and take more. (4) They are extreme in everything, exceeding the coloured races in greatness and wickedness. (5) They worship money, and believing that money is the basis of everything, will adopt any measures to gain it. This enumeration of our vices appears to me wholly just. One might have supposed that a nation which saw us in this light would endeavour to be unlike us. That, however, is not the moral which the Japanese draw. They argue, on the contrary, that it is necessary to imitate us as closely as possible. We shall find that, in the long catalogue of crimes committed by Europeans towards China, there is hardly one which has not been equalled by the Japanese. It never occurs to a Japanese, even in his wildest dreams, to think of a Chinaman as an equal. And although he wants the white man to regard himself as an equal, he himself regards Japan as immeasurably superior to any white country. His real desire is to be above the whites, not merely equal with them. Count Okuma put the matter very simply in an address given in 1913:-- The white races regard the world as their property and all other races are greatly their inferiors. They presume to think that the rôle of the whites in the universe is to govern the world as they please. The Japanese were a people who suffered by this policy, and wrongfully, for the Japanese were not inferior to the white races, but fully their equals. The whites were defying destiny, and woe to them.[58] It would be easy to quote statements by eminent men to the effect that Japan is the greatest of all nations. But the same could be said of the eminent men of all other nations down to Ecuador. It is the acts of the Japanese rather than their rhetoric that must concern us. The Sino-Japanese war of 1894-5 concerned Korea, with whose internal affairs China and Japan had mutually agreed not to interfere without first consulting each other. The Japanese claimed that China had infringed this agreement. Neither side was in the right; it was a war caused by a conflict of rival imperialisms. The Chinese were easily and decisively defeated, and from that day to this have not ventured to oppose any foreign Power by force of arms, except unofficially in the Boxer rebellion. The Japanese were, however, prevented from reaping the fruits of their victory by the intervention of Russia, Germany and France, England holding aloof. The Russians coveted Korea for themselves, the French came in as their allies, and the Germans presumably joined them because of William II's dread of the Yellow Peril. However that may be, this intervention made the Russo-Japanese war inevitable. It would not have mattered much to Japan if the Chinese had established themselves in Korea, but the Russians would have constituted a serious menace. The Russians did not befriend China for nothing; they acquired a lease of Port Arthur and Dalny (now called Dairen), with railway and mining rights in Manchuria. They built the Chinese Eastern Railway, running right through Manchuria, connecting Port Arthur and Peking with the Siberian Railway and Europe. Having accomplished all this, they set to work to penetrate Korea. The Russo-Japanese war would presumably not have taken place but for the Anglo-Japanese Alliance, concluded in 1902. In British policy, this Alliance has always had a somewhat minor place, while it has been the corner-stone of Japanese foreign policy, except during the Great War, when the Japanese thought that Germany would win. The Alliance provided that, in the event of either Power being attacked by two Powers at once, the other should come to its assistance. It was, of course, originally inspired by fear of Russia, and was framed with a view to preventing the Russian Government, in the event of war with Japan or England, from calling upon the help of France. In 1902 we were hostile to France and Russia, and Japan remained hostile to Russia until after the Treaty of Portsmouth had been supplemented by the Convention of 1907. The Alliance served its purpose admirably for both parties during the Russo-Japanese war. It kept France from joining Russia, and thereby enabled Japan to acquire command of the sea. It enabled Japan to weaken Russia, thus curbing Russian ambitions, and making it possible for us to conclude an Entente with Russia in 1907. Without this Entente, the Entente concluded with France in 1904 would have been useless, and the alliance which defeated Germany could not have been created. Without the Anglo-Japanese Alliance, Japan could not have fought Russia alone, but would have had to fight France also. This was beyond her strength at that time. Thus the decisive step in Japan's rise to greatness was due to our support. The war ended with a qualified victory for Japan. Russia renounced all interference in Korea, surrendered Port Arthur and Dalny (since called Dairen) to the Japanese, and also the railway as far north as Changchun. This part of the railway, with a few branch lines, has since then been called the South Manchurian Railway. From Dairen to Changchun is 437 miles; Changchun is 150 miles south of Harbin. The Japanese use Dairen as the commercial port for Manchuria, reserving Port Arthur for purely naval purposes. In regard to Korea, Japan has conformed strictly to Western models. During the Russo-Japanese war, the Japanese made a treaty guaranteeing the independence and integrity of Korea; in 1910 they annexed Korea; since then they have suppressed Korean nationalists with every imaginable severity. All this establishes their claim to be fully the equals of the white men. The Japanese not merely hold the South Manchurian Railway, but have a monopoly of railway construction in South Manchuria. As this was practically the beginning of Japan's control of large regions in China by means of railways monopolies, it will be worth while to quote Mr. Pooley's account of the Fa-ku-Men Railway incident,[59] which shows how the South Manchurian monopoly was acquired:-- "In November 1907 the Chinese Government signed a contract with Messrs Pauling and Co. for an extension of the Imperial Chinese railways northwards from Hsin-min-Tung to Fa-ku-Men, the necessary capital for the work being found by the British and Chinese Corporation. Japan protested against the contract, firstly, on an alleged secret protocol annexed to the treaty of Peking, which was alleged to have said that 'the Chinese Government shall not construct any main line in the neighbourhood of or parallel to the South Manchurian Railway, nor any branch line which should be prejudicial to the interests of that railway'; and, secondly, on the Convention of 1902, between China and Russia, that no railway should be built from Hsin-min-Tung without Russian consent. As by the Treaty of Portsmouth, Japan succeeded to the Russian rights, the projected line could not be built without her consent. Her diplomatic communications were exceedingly offensive in tone, and concluded with a notification that, if she was wrong, it was obviously only Russia who could rightfully take her to task! "The Chinese Government based its action in granting the contract on the clause of the 1898 contract for the construction of the Chung-hon-so to Hsin-min-Tung line, under which China specifically reserved the right to build the Fa-ku-Men line with the aid of the same contractors. Further, although by the Russo-British Note of 1898 British subjects were specificially excluded from participation in railway construction north of the Great Wall, by the Additional Note attached to the Russo-British Note the engagements between the Chinese Government and the British and Chinese Corporation were specifically reserved from the purview of the agreement. "Even if Japan, as the heir of Russia's assets and liabilities in Manchuria, had been justified in her protest by the Convention of 1902 and by the Russo-British Note of 1899, she had not fulfilled her part of the bargain, namely, the Russian undertaking in the Note to abstain from seeking concession, rights and privileges in the valley of the Yangtze. Her reliance on the secret treaty carried weight with Great Britain, but with no one else, as may be gauged from the records of the State Department at Washington. A later claim advanced by Japan that her action was justified by Article VI of the Treaty of Portsmouth, which assigned to Japan all Russian rights in the Chinese Eastern Railway (South Manchurian Railway) 'with all rights and properties appertaining thereto,' was effectively answered by China's citation of Articles III and IV of the same Treaty. Under the first of these articles it is declared that 'Russia has no territorial advantages or preferential or exclusive concessions in Manchuria in impairment of Chinese sovereignty or inconsistent with the principle of equal opportunity'; whilst the second is a reciprocal engagement by Russia and Japan 'not to obstruct any general measures common to all countries which China may take for the development of the commerce and industry of Manchuria.' "It would be interesting to know whether a refusal to allow China to build a railway on her own territory is or is not an impairment of Chinese sovereignty and whether such a railway as that proposed was not a measure for the 'development of the commerce and industry of Manchuria.' "It is doubtful if even the Russo-Japanese war created as much feeling in China as did the Fa-ku-men incident. Japan's action was of such flagrant dishonesty and such a cynical repudiation of her promises and pledges that her credit received a blow from which it has never since recovered. The abject failure of the British Government to support its subjects' treaty rights was almost as much an eye-opener to the world as the protest from Tokio.... "The methods which had proved so successful in stopping the Fa-ku-men railway were equally successful in forcing the abandonment of other projected railways. Among these were the Chin-chou-Aigun line and the important Antung-Mukden line.[60] The same alleged secret protocol was used equally brutally and successfully for the acquisition of the Newchwang line, and participation in 1909, and eventual acquisition in 1914, of the Chan-Chun-Kirin lines. Subsequently by an agreement with Russia the sixth article of the Russo-Chinese Agreement of 1896 was construed to mean 'the absolute and exclusive rights of administration within the railway zone.'" Japan's spheres of influence have been subsequently extended to cover the whole of Manchuria and the whole of Shantung--though the latter has been nominally renounced at Washington. By such methods as the above, or by loans to impecunious Chinese authorities, the Japanese have acquired vast railway monopolies wherever their influence has penetrated, and have used the railways as a means of acquiring all real power in the provinces through which they run. After the Russo-Japanese war, Russia and Japan became firm friends, and agreed to bring pressure on China jointly in any matter affecting Manchuria. Their friendship lasted until the Bolshevik revolution. Russia had entered into extensive obligations to support Japan's claims at the Peace Conference, which of course the Bolsheviks repudiated. Hence the implacable hostility of Japan to Soviet Russia, leading to the support of innumerable White filibusters in the territory of the Far Eastern Republic, and to friendship with France in all international questions. As soon as there began to be in China a revolutionary party aiming at the overthrow of the Manchus, the Japanese supported it. They have continuously supported either or both sides in Chinese dissensions, as they judged most useful for prolonging civil war and weakening China politically. Before the revolution of 1911, Sun Yat Sen was several times in Japan, and there is evidence that as early as 1900 he was obtaining financial support from some Japanese.[61] When the revolution actually broke out, Japan endeavoured to support the Manchus, but was prevented from doing so effectively by the other Legations. It seems that the policy of Japan at that time, as later, was to prevent the union of North and South, and to confine the revolution to the South. Moreover, reverence for monarchy made Japan unwilling to see the Emperor of China dispossessed and his whole country turned into a Republic, though it would have been agreeable to see him weakened by the loss of some southern provinces. Mr. Pooley gives a good account of the actions of Japan during the Chinese Revolution, of which the following quotation gives the gist[62]:-- It [the Genro] commenced with a statement from Prince Katsura on December 18th [1911], that the time for intervention had arrived, with the usual rider "for the sake of the peace of the Far East." This was followed by a private instruction to M. Ijuin, Japanese Minister in Peking, whereunder the latter on December 23rd categorically informed Yuan-shi-kai that under no circumstances would Japan recognize a republican form of government in China.... In connection with the peace conference held at Shanghai, Mr. Matsui (now Japanese Ambassador to France), a trusted Councillor of the Foreign Office, was dispatched to Peking to back M. Ijuin in the negotiations to uphold the dynasty. Simultaneously, Mr. Denison, Legal Adviser to the Japanese Foreign Office, was sent to Shanghai to negotiate with the rebel leaders. Mr. Matsui's mission was to bargain for Japanese support of the Manchus against the rebels, Manchuria against the throne; Mr. Denison's mission was to bargain for Japanese support of the rebels against the throne, recognition by Peking of the Southern Republic against virtually a Japanese protectorate of that Republic and exclusive railway and mining concessions within its borders. The rebels absolutely refused Mr. Denison's offer, and sent the proposed terms to the Russian Minister at Peking, through whom they eventually saw the light of day. Needless to say the Japanese authorities strenuously denied their authenticity. The British Legation, however, supported Yuan Shi-k'ai, against both the Manchus and Sun Yat Sen; and it was the British policy which won the day. Yuan Shi-k'ai became President, and remained so until 1915. He was strongly anti-Japanese, and had, on that ground, been opposed as strongly as Japan dared. His success was therefore a blow to the influence of Japan in China. If the Western Powers had remained free to make themselves felt in the Far East, the course of events would doubtless have been much less favourable to the Japanese; but the war came, and the Japanese saw their chance. How they used it must be told in a separate chapter. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 56: Quoted by A.M. Pooley, _Japan's Foreign Policy_, Allen & Unwin, 1920, p. 18.] [Footnote 57: Op. cit. p. 16 n.] [Footnote 58: Pooley, op. cit. p. 17.] [Footnote 59: A.M. Pooley, _Japan's Foreign Policies_, pp. 48-51.] [Footnote 60: This line was subsequently built by the Japanese.] [Footnote 61: Pooley, op. cit., pp. 67-8.] [Footnote 62: Page 66.] CHAPTER VIII JAPAN AND CHINA DURING THE WAR The most urgent problem in China's relations with foreign powers is Japanese aggression. Originally Japan was less powerful than China, but after 1868 the Japanese rapidly learnt from us whatever we had to teach in the way of skilful homicide, and in 1894 they resolved to test their new armaments upon China, just as Bismarck tested his on Denmark. The Chinese Government preserved its traditional haughtiness, and appears to have been quite unaware of the defeat in store for it. The question at issue was Korea, over which both Powers claimed suzerainty. At that time there would have been no reason for an impartial neutral to take one side rather than the other. The Japanese were quickly and completely victorious, but were obliged to fight Russia before obtaining secure possession of Korea. The war with Russia (1904-5) was fought chiefly in Manchuria, which the Russians had gained as a reward for befriending China. Port Arthur and Southern Manchuria up to Mukden were acquired by the Japanese as a result of the Russo-Japanese war; the rest of Manchuria came under Japanese control as a result of Russia's collapse after the Great War. The nominal sovereignty in Manchuria is still Chinese; the Chinese have the civil administration, an army, and the appointment of the Viceroy. But the Japanese also have troops in Manchuria; they have the railways, the industrial enterprises, and the complete economic and military control. The Chinese Viceroy could not remain in power a week if he were displeasing to the Japanese, which, however, he takes care not to be. (See Note A.) The same situation was being brought about in Shantung. Shantung brings us to what Japan did in the Great War. In 1914, China could easily have been induced to join the Allies and to set to work to turn the Germans out of Kiao-Chow, but this did not suit the Japanese, who undertook the work themselves and insisted upon the Chinese remaining neutral (until 1917). Having captured Tsing-tau, they presented to the Chinese the famous Twenty-One Demands, which gave the Chinese Question its modern form. These demands, as originally presented in January 1915, consisted of five groups. The first dealt with Shantung, demanding that China should agree in advance to whatever terms Japan might ultimately make with Germany as regarded this Chinese province, that the Japanese should have the right to construct certain specified railways, and that certain ports (unspecified) should be opened to trade; also that no privileges in Shantung should be granted to any Power other than Japan. The second group concerns South Manchuria and Eastern Inner Mongolia, and demands what is in effect a protectorate, with control of railways, complete economic freedom for Japanese enterprise, and exclusion of all other foreign industrial enterprise. The third group gives Japan a monopoly of the mines and iron and steel works in a certain region of the Yangtze,[63] where we claim a sphere of influence. The fourth group consists of a single demand, that China shall not cede any harbour, bay or island to any Power except Japan. The fifth group, which was the most serious, demanded that Japanese political, financial, and military advisers should be employed by the Chinese Government; that the police in important places should be administered by Chinese and Japanese jointly, and should be largely Japanese in _personnel_; that China should purchase from Japan at least 50 per cent. of her munitions, or obtain them from a Sino-Japanese arsenal to be established in China, controlled by Japanese experts and employing Japanese material; that Japan should have the right to construct certain railways in and near the Yangtze valley; that Japan should have industrial priority in Fukien (opposite Formosa); and finally that the Japanese should have the right of missionary propaganda in China, to spread the knowledge of their admirable ethics. These demands involved, as is obvious, a complete loss of Chinese independence, the closing of important areas to the commerce and industry of Europe and America, and a special attack upon the British position in the Yangtze. We, however, were so busy with the war that we had no time to think of keeping ourselves alive. Although the demands constituted a grave menace to our trade, although the Far East was in an uproar about them, although America took drastic diplomatic action against them, Mr. Lloyd George never heard of them until they were explained to him by the Chinese Delegation at Versailles.[64] He had no time to find out what Japan wanted, but had time to conclude a secret agreement with Japan in February 1917, promising that whatever Japan wanted in Shantung we would support at the Peace Conference.[65] By the terms of the Anglo-Japanese Alliance, Japan was bound to communicate the Twenty-one Demands to the British Government. In fact, Japan communicated the first four groups, but not the fifth and worst, thus definitely breaking the treaty;[66] but this also, one must suppose, Mr. Lloyd George only discovered by chance when he got to Versailles. China negotiated with Japan about the Twenty-one Demands, and secured certain modifications, but was finally compelled to yield by an ultimatum. There was a modification as regards the Hanyehping mines on the Yangtze, presumably to please us; and the specially obnoxious fifth group was altered into an exchange of studiously vague Notes.[67] In this form, the demands were accepted by China on May 9, 1915. The United States immediately notified Japan that they could not recognize the agreement. At that time America was still neutral, and was therefore still able to do something to further the objects for which we were supposed to be fighting, such as protection of the weaker nations. In 1917, however, after America had entered the war for self-determination, it became necessary to placate Japan, and in November of that year the Ishii-Lansing Agreement was concluded, by which "the Government of the United States recognizes that Japan has special interests in China, particularly for the parts to which her possessions are contiguous." The rest of the agreement (which is long) consists of empty verbiage.[68] I come now to the events leading up to China's entry into the war.[69] In this matter, the lead was taken by America so far as severing diplomatic relations was concerned, but passed to Japan as regards the declaration of war. It will be remembered that, when America broke off diplomatic relations with Germany, President Wilson called upon all neutrals to do likewise. Dr. Paul S. Reinsch, United States Minister in Peking, proceeded to act with vigour in accordance with this policy. He induced China first, on February 9, 1917, to send a Note of expostulation to Germany on the subject of the submarine campaign; then, on March 14th, to break off diplomatic relations. The further step of declaring war was not taken until August 14th. The intrigues connected with these events deserve some study. In view of the fact that the Japanese were among the Allies, the Chinese had not any strong tendency to take sides against Germany. The English, French and Russians had always desired the participation of China (for reasons which I shall explain presently), and there appears to have been some suggestion, in the early days of the war, that China should participate in return for our recognizing Yuan Shi-k'ai as Emperor. These suggestions, however, fell through owing to the opposition of Japan, based partly on hostility to Yuan Shi-k'ai, partly on the fear that China would be protected by the Allies if she became a belligerent. When, in November 1915, the British, French and Russian Ambassadors in Tokyo requested Japan to join in urging China to join the Allies, Viscount Ishii said that "Japan considered developments in China as of paramount interest to her, and she must keep a firm hand there. Japan could not regard with equanimity the organization of an efficient Chinese army such as would be required for her active participation in the war, nor could Japan fail to regard with uneasiness a liberation of the economic activities of 400,000,000 people."[70] Accordingly the proposal lapsed. It must be understood that throughout the war the Japanese were in a position to blackmail the Allies, because their sympathies were with Germany, they believed Germany would win, and they filled their newspapers with scurrilous attacks on the British, accusing them of cowardice and military incompetence.[71] But when America severed diplomatic relations with Germany, the situation for China was changed. America was not bound to subservience to Japan, as we were; America was not one of the Allies; and America had always been China's best friend. Accordingly, the Chinese were willing to take the advice of America, and proceeded to sever diplomatic relations with Germany in March 1917. Dr. Reinsch was careful to make no _promises_ to the Chinese, but of course he held out hopes. The American Government, at that time, could honestly hold out hopes, because it was ignorant of the secret treaties and agreements by which the Allies were bound. The Allies, however, can offer no such excuse for having urged China to take the further step of declaring war. Russia, France, and Great Britain had all sold China's rights to secure the continued support of Japan. In May 1916, the Japanese represented to the Russians that Germany was inviting Japan to make a separate peace. In July 1916, Russia and Japan concluded a secret treaty, subsequently published by the Bolsheviks. This treaty constituted a separate alliance, binding each to come to the assistance of the other in any war, and recognizing that "the vital interests of one and the other of them require the safeguarding of China from the political domination of any third Power whatsoever, having hostile designs against Russia or Japan." The last article provided that "the present agreement must remain profoundly secret except to both of the High Contracting Parties."[72] That is to say, the treaty was not communicated to the other Allies, or even to Great Britain, in spite of Article 3 of the Anglo-Japanese Alliance, which provides that "The High Contracting Parties agree that neither of them will, without consulting the other, enter into a separate agreement with another Power to the prejudice of the objects described in the preamble of this Agreement," one of which objects was the preservation of equal opportunity for all Powers in China and of the independence and integrity of the Chinese Empire. On February 16, 1917, at the very time when America was urging China to sever diplomatic relations with Germany, we concluded an agreement with Japan containing the following words:-- His Britannic Majesty's Government accedes with pleasure to the request of the Japanese Government, for an assurance that they will support Japan's claims in regard to the disposal of Germany's rights in Shantung and possessions in the islands north of the equator on the occasion of the Peace Conference; it being understood that the Japanese Government will, in the eventual peace settlement, treat in the same spirit Great Britain's claims to the German islands south of the equator. The French attitude about Shantung, at the same time, is indicated by Notes which passed between France and Japan at Tokyo.[73] On February 19th, Baron Motono sent a communication to the French and Russian Ambassadors stating, among other things, that "the Imperial Japanese Government proposes to demand from Germany at the time of the peace negotiations, the surrender of the territorial rights and special interests Germany possessed before the war in Shantung and the islands belonging to her situated north of the equator in the Pacific Ocean." The French Ambassador, on March 2nd, replied as follows:-- The Government of the French Republic is disposed to give the Japanese Government its accord in regulating at the time of the Peace Negotiations questions vital to Japan concerning Shantung and the German islands on the Pacific north of the equator. It also agrees to support the demands of the Imperial Japanese Government for the surrender of the rights Germany possessed before the war in this Chinese province and these islands. M. Briand demands on the other hand that Japan give its support to obtain from China the breaking of its diplomatic relations with Germany, and that it give this act desirable significance. The consequences in China should be the following: First, handing passports to the German diplomatic agents and consuls; Second, the obligation of all under German jurisdiction to leave Chinese territory; Third, the internment of German ships in Chinese ports and the ultimate requisition of these ships in order to place them at the disposition of the Allies, following the example of Italy and Portugal; Fourth, requisition of German commercial houses, established in China; forfeiting the rights of Germany in the concessions she possesses in certain ports of China. The Russian reply to Baron Motono's Note to the French and Russian Ambassadors, dated March 5, 1917, was as follows:-- In reply to the Note of the Japanese Ministry of Foreign Affairs, under the date of February 19th last, the Russian Embassy is charged with giving the Japanese Government the assurance that it can entirely count on the support of the Imperial Government of Russia with regard to its desiderata concerning the eventual surrender to Japan of the rights belonging to Germany in Shantung and of the German Islands, occupied by the Japanese forces, in the Pacific Ocean to the north of the Equator.[74] It will be observed that, unlike England and France, Russia demands no _quid pro quo_, doubtless owing to the secret treaty concluded in the previous year. After these agreements, Japan saw no further objection to China's participation in the war. The chief inducement held out to China was the hope of recovering Shantung; but as there was now no danger of this hope being realized, Japan was willing that America, in more or less honest ignorance, should unofficially use this hope for the persuasion of the Chinese. It is true that Japan had reason to fear America until the last days of the Peace Conference, but this fear was considerably diminished by the conclusion of the Lansing-Ishii Agreement in November 1917. Meanwhile Japan had discovered that the question of China's entry into the war could be used to increase internal strife in China, which has been one of the aims of Japanese policy ever since the beginning of the revolutionary movement.[75] If the Chinese had not been interfered with at this time, there was some prospect of their succeeding in establishing a stable democratic government. Yuan was dead, and his successor in the Presidency, Li Yuan Hung, was a genuine constitutionalist. He reassembled the Parliament which Yuan had dismissed, and the work of drafting a permanent constitution was resumed. The President was opposed to severing diplomatic relations, and, of course, still more to declaring war. The Prime Minister, Tuan Chih-jui, a militarist, was strongly in favour of war. He and his Cabinet persuaded a considerable majority of both Houses of the Chinese Parliament to side with them on the question of severing diplomatic relations, and the President, as in duty bound, gave way on this issue. On the issue of declaring war, however, public opinion was different. It was President Wilson's summons to the neutrals to follow him in breaking off diplomatic relations that had given force to the earlier campaign; but on June 5th the American Minister, acting on instructions, presented a Note to the Chinese Government urging that the preservation of national unity was more important than entry into the war, and suggesting the desirability of preserving peace for the present. What had happened in the meantime was that the war issue, which might never have become acute but for President's Wilson's action, had been used by the Japanese to revive the conflict between North and South, and to instigate the Chinese militarists to unconstitutional action. Sun Yat Sen and most of the Southern politicians were opposed to the declaration of war; Sun's reasons were made known in an open letter to Mr. Lloyd George on March 7th. They were thoroughly sound.[76] The Cabinet, on May 1st, decided in favour of war, but by the Constitution a declaration of war required the consent of Parliament. The militarists attempted to coerce Parliament, which had a majority against war; but as this proved impossible, they brought military force to bear on the President to compel him to dissolve Parliament unconstitutionally. The bulk of the Members of Parliament retired to the South, where they continued to act as a Parliament and to regard themselves as the sole source of constitutional government. After these various illegalities, the military autocrats were still compelled to deal with one of their number, who, in July, effected a five days' restoration of the Manchu Emperor. The President resigned, and was succeeded by a person more agreeable to the militarists, who have henceforth governed in the North, sometimes without a Parliament, sometimes with a subservient unconstitutional Northern Parliament. Then at last they were free to declare war. It was thus that China entered the war for democracy and against militarism. Of course China helped little, if at all, towards the winning of the war, but that was not what the Allies expected of her. The objects of the European Allies are disclosed in the French Note quoted above. We wished to confiscate German property in China, to expel Germans living in China, and to prevent, as far as possible, the revival of German trade in China after the war. The confiscation of German property was duly carried out--not only public property, but private property also, so that the Germans in China were suddenly reduced to beggary. Owing to the claims on shipping, the expulsion of the Germans had to wait till after the Armistice. They were sent home through the Tropics in overcrowded ships, sometimes with only 24 hours' notice; no degree of hardship was sufficient to secure exemption. The British authorities insisted on expelling delicate pregnant women, whom they officially knew to be very likely to die on the voyage. All this was done after the Armistice, for the sake of British trade. The kindly Chinese often took upon themselves to hide Germans, in hard cases, from the merciless persecution of the Allies; otherwise, the miseries inflicted would have been much greater. The confiscation of private property during the war and by the Treaty of Versailles was a new departure, showing that on this point all the belligerents agreed with the Bolsheviks. Dr. Reid places side by side two statements, one by President Wilson when asking Congress to agree to the Declaration of War: "We shall, I feel confident, conduct our operations as belligerents without passion, and ourselves observe with proud punctilio the principles of right and fairplay we profess to be fighting for"; the other by Senator Hitchcock, when the war was over, after a day spent with President Wilson in learning the case for ratification of the Versailles Treaty: "Through the Treaty, we will yet get very much of importance.... In violation of all international law and treaties we have made disposition of a billion dollars of German-owned properly here. The Treaty validates all that."[77] The European Allies secured very similar advantages from inducing China to enter the war for righteousness. We have seen what England and France gained by the Chinese declaration of war. What Japan gained was somewhat different. The Northern military faction, which controlled the Peking Government, was completely dependent upon Japan, and could do nothing to resist Japanese aggression. All the other Powers were fully occupied with the war, and had sold China to Japan in return for Japanese neutrality--for Japan can hardly be counted as a belligerent after the capture of Tsingtau in November 1914. The Southern Government and all the liberal elements in the North were against the clique which had seized the Central Government. In March 1918, military and naval agreements were concluded between China and Japan, of which the text, never officially published, is given by Millard.[78] By these agreements the Japanese were enabled, under pretence of military needs in Manchuria and Mongolia, to send troops into Chinese territory, to acquire control of the Chinese Eastern Railway and consequently of Northern Manchuria, and generally to keep all Northern China at their mercy. In all this, the excuse of operations against the Bolsheviks was very convenient. After this the Japanese went ahead gaily. During the year 1918, they placed loans in China to the extent of Yen 246,000,000,[79] _i.e.,_ about £25,000,000. China was engaged in civil war, and both sides were as willing as the European belligerents to sell freedom for the sake of victory. Unfortunately for Japan, the side on which Japan was fighting in the war proved suddenly victorious, and some portion of the energies of Europe and America became available for holding Japan in check. For various reasons, however, the effect of this did not show itself until after the Treaty of Versailles was concluded. During the peace negotiations, England and France, in virtue of secret agreements, were compelled to support Japan. President Wilson, as usual, sacrificed everything to his League of Nations, which the Japanese would not have joined unless they had been allowed to keep Shantung. The chapter on this subject in Mr. Lansing's account of the negotiations is one of the most interesting in his book.[80] By Article 156 of the Treaty of Versailles, "Germany renounces, in favour of Japan, all her rights, title, and privileges" in the province of Shantung.[81] Although President Wilson had consented to this gross violation of justice, America refused to ratify the Treaty, and was therefore free to raise the issue of Shantung at Washington. The Chinese delegates at Versailles resisted the clauses concerning Shantung to the last, and finally, encouraged by a vigorous agitation of Young China,[82] refused to sign the Treaty. They saw no reason why they should be robbed of a province as a reward for having joined the Allies. All the other Allies agreed to a proceeding exactly as iniquitous as it would have been if we had annexed Virginia as a reward to the Americans for having helped us in the war, or France had annexed Kent on a similar pretext. Meanwhile, Young China had discovered that it could move Chinese public opinion on the anti-Japanese cry. The Government in Peking in 1919-20 was in the hands of the pro-Japanese An Fu party, but they were forcibly ejected, in the summer of 1920, largely owing to the influence of the Young China agitation on the soldiers stationed in Peking. The An Fu leaders took refuge in the Japanese Legation, and since then the Peking Government has ventured to be less subservient to Japan, hoping always for American support. Japan did everything possible to consolidate her position in Shantung, but always with the knowledge that America might re-open the question at any time. As soon as the Washington Conference was announced, Japan began feverishly negotiating with China, with a view to having the question settled before the opening of the Conference. But the Chinese, very wisely, refused the illusory concessions offered by Japan, and insisted on almost unconditional evacuation. At Washington, both parties agreed to the joint mediation of England and America. The pressure of American public opinion caused the American Administration to stand firm on the question of Shantung, and I understand that the British delegation, on the whole, concurred with America. Some concessions were made to Japan, but they will not amount to much if American interest in Shantung lasts for another five years. On this subject, I shall have more to say when I come to the Washington Conference. There is a question with which the Washington Conference determined not to concern itself, but which nevertheless is likely to prove of great importance in the Far East--I mean the question of Russia. It was considered good form in diplomatic circles, until the Genoa Conference, to pretend that there is no such country as Russia, but the Bolsheviks, with their usual wickedness, have refused to fall in with this pretence. Their existence constitutes an embarrassment to America, because in a quarrel with Japan the United States would unavoidably find themselves in unwilling alliance with Russia. The conduct of Japan towards Russia has been quite as bad as that of any other Power. At the time of the Czecho-Slovak revolt, the Allies jointly occupied Vladivostok, but after a time all withdrew except the Japanese. All Siberia east of Lake Baikal, including Vladivostok, now forms one State, the Far Eastern Republic, with its capital at Chita. Against this Republic, which is practically though not theoretically Bolshevik, the Japanese have launched a whole series of miniature Kolchaks--Semenov, Horvath, Ungern, etc. These have all been defeated, but the Japanese remain in military occupation of Vladivostok and a great part of the Maritime Province, though they continually affirm their earnest wish to retire. In the early days of the Bolshevik régime the Russians lost Northern Manchuria, which is now controlled by Japan. A board consisting partly of Chinese and partly of reactionary Russians forms the directorate of the Chinese Eastern Railway, which runs through Manchuria and connects with the Siberian Railway. There is not through communication by rail between Peking and Europe as in the days before 1914. This is an extreme annoyance to European business men in the Far East, since it means that letters or journeys from Peking to London take five or six weeks instead of a fortnight. They try to persuade themselves that the fault lies with the Bolsheviks, but they are gradually realizing that the real cause is the reactionary control of the Chinese Eastern Railway. Meanwhile, various Americans are interesting themselves in this railway and endeavouring to get it internationalized. Motives similar to those which led to the Vanderlip concession are forcing friendship with Russia upon all Americans who have Siberian interests. If Japan were engaged in a war with America, the Bolsheviks would in all likelihood seize the opportunity to liberate Vladivostok and recover Russia's former position in Manchuria. Already, according to _The Times_ correspondent in Peking, Outer Mongolia, a country about as large as England, France and Germany combined, has been conquered by Bolshevik armies and propaganda. The Bolsheviks have, of course, the enthusiastic sympathy of the younger Chinese students. If they can weather their present troubles, they have a good chance of being accepted by all vigorous progressive people in Asia as the liberators of Asia from the tyranny of the Great Powers. As they were not invited to Washington, they are not a party to any of the agreements reached there, and it may turn out that they will upset impartially the ambitions of Japan, Great Britain and America.[83] For America, no less than other Powers, has ambitions, though they are economic rather than territorial. If America is victorious in the Far East, China will be Americanized, and though the shell of political freedom may remain, there will be an economic and cultural bondage beneath it. Russia is not strong enough to dominate in this way, but may become strong enough to secure some real freedom for China. This, however, is as yet no more than a possibility. It is worth remembering, because everybody chooses to forget it, and because, while Russia is treated as a pariah, no settlement of the Far East can be stable. But what part Russia is going to play in the affairs of China it is as yet impossible to say. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 63: On this subject George Gleason, _What Shall I Think of Japan?_ pp. 174-5, says: "This paragraph concerns the iron and steel mills at the city of Hanyang, which, with Wuchang and Hangkow, form the Upper Yangtze commercial centre with a population of 1,500,000 people. The Hanyeping Company owns a large part of the Tayeh iron mines, eighty miles east of Hangkow, with which there are water and rail connections. The ore is 67 per cent. iron, fills the whole of a series of hills 500 feet high, and is sufficient to turn out 1,000,000 tons a year for 700 years. [Probably an overstatement.] Coal for the furnaces is obtained from Pinghsiang, 200 miles distant by water, where in 1913 five thousand miners dug 690,000 tons. Japanese have estimated that the vein is capable of producing yearly a million tons for at least five centuries.... "Thus did Japan attempt to enter and control a vital spot in the heart of China which for many years Great Britain has regarded as her special trade domain." Mr. Gleason is an American, not an Englishman. The best account of this matter is given by Mr. Coleman, _The Far East Unveiled_, chaps. x.-xiv. See below, pp. 232-3.] [Footnote 64: See letter from Mr. Eugene Chen, _Japan Weekly Chronicle_, October 20, 1921.] [Footnote 65: The Notes embodying this agreement are quoted in Pooley, _Japan's Foreign Policies_, Allen & Unwin, 1920, pp. 141-2.] [Footnote 66: On this subject, Baron Hayashi, now Japanese Ambassador to the United Kingdom, said to Mr. Coleman: "When Viscount Kato sent China a Note containing five groups, however, and then sent to England what purported to be a copy of his Note to China, and that copy only contained four of the groups and omitted the fifth altogether, which was directly a breach of the agreement contained in the Anglo-Japanese Alliance, he did something which I can no more explain than you can. Outside of the question of probity involved, his action was unbelievably foolish" (_The Far East Unveiled_, p. 73).] [Footnote 67: The demands in their original and revised forms, with the negotiations concerning them, are printed in Appendix B of _Democracy and the Eastern Question_, by Thomas F. Millard, Allen & Unwin, 1919.] [Footnote 68: The texts concerned in the various stages of the Shantung question are printed in S.G. Cheng's _Modern China_, Appendix ii, iii and ix. For text of Ishii-Lansing Agreement, see Gleason, op. cit. pp. 214-6.] [Footnote 69: Three books, all by Americans, give the secret and official history of this matter. They are: _An American Diplomat in China_, by Paul S. Reinsch, Doubleday, Page & Co., 1922; _Democracy and the Eastern Question_, by Thomas F. Millard, Allen & Unwin, 1919; and _China, Captive or Free?_ by the Rev. Gilbert Reid, A.M., D.D. Director of International Institute of China, Allen & Unwin, 1922.] [Footnote 70: Millard, p. 99.] [Footnote 71: See Pooley, _Japan's Foreign Policies_, pp. 23 ff; Coleman, _The Far East Unveiled_, chap, v., and Millard, chap. iii.] [Footnote 72: Millard, pp. 64-66.] [Footnote 73: Reid, op. cit. pp. 114-5; Cheng, op. cit., pp. 343-6.] [Footnote 74: See Appendix III of Cheng's _Modern China_, which contains this note (p. 346) as well as the other "documents relative to the negotiations between Japan and the Allied Powers as to the disposal of the German rights in respect of Shantung Province, and the South Sea Islands north of the Equator."] [Footnote 75: The story of the steps leading up to China's declaration of war is admirably told in Reid, op. cit. pp. 88-109.] [Footnote 76: Port of the letter is quoted by Dr. Reid, p. 108.] [Footnote 77: Reid, op. cit. p. 161. Chap. vii. of this book, "Commercial Rivalries as affecting China," should be read by anyone who still thinks that the Allies stood for honesty or mercy or anything except money-grubbing.] [Footnote 78: Appendix C, pp. 421-4.] [Footnote 79: A list of these loans is given by Hollington K. Tong in an article on "China's Finances in 1918" in _China in_ 1918, published early in 1919 by the Peking leader, pp. 61-2. The list and some of the comments appear also in Putnam Weale's _The Truth about China and Japan_.] [Footnote 80: Mr. Lansing's book, in so far as it deals with Japanese questions, is severely criticized from a Japanese point of view in Dr. Y. Soyeda's pamphlet "Shantung Question and Japanese Case," League of Nations Association of Japan, June 1921. I do not think Dr. Soyeda's arguments are likely to appeal to anyone who is not Japanese.] [Footnote 81: See the clauses concerning Shantung, in full, in Cheng's _Modern China_, Clarendon Press, pp. 360-1.] [Footnote 82: This agitation is well described in Mr. M.T.Z. Tyau's _China Awakened_ (Macmillan, 1922) chap, ix., "The Student Movement."] [Footnote 83: "Soviet Russia has addressed to the Powers a protest against the discussion at the Washington Conference of the East China Railway, a question exclusively affecting China and Russia, and declares that it reserves for itself full liberty of action in order to compel due deference to the rights of the Russian labouring masses and to make demands consistent with those rights" (_Daily Herald_, December 22, 1921). This is the new-style imperialism. It was not the "Russian labouring masses," but the Chinese coolies, who built the railway. What Russia contributed was capital, but one is surprised to find the Bolsheviks considering that this confers rights upon themselves as heirs of the capitalists.] CHAPTER IX THE WASHINGTON CONFERENCE The Washington Conference, and the simultaneous conference, at Washington, between the Chinese and Japanese, have somewhat modified the Far Eastern situation. The general aspects of the new situation will be dealt with in the next chapter; for the present it is the actual decisions arrived at in Washington that concern us, as well as their effect upon the Japanese position in Siberia. In the first place, the Anglo-Japanese Alliance has apparently been brought to an end, as a result of the conclusion of the Four Power Pact between America, Great Britain, France and Japan. Within this general alliance of the exploiting Powers, there is a subordinate grouping of America and Great Britain against France and Japan, the former standing for international capitalism, the latter for national capitalism. The situation is not yet plain, because England and America disagree as regards Russia, and because America is not yet prepared to take part in the reconstruction of Europe; but in the Far East, at any rate, we seem to have decided to seek the friendship of America rather than of Japan. It may perhaps be hoped that this will make our Chinese policy more liberal than it has been. We have announced the restoration of Wei-hai-wei--a piece of generosity which would have been more impressive but for two facts: first, that Wei-hai-wei is completely useless to us, and secondly, that the lease had only two more years to run. By the terms of the lease, in fact, it should have been restored as soon as Russia lost Port Arthur, however many years it still had to run at that date. One very important result of the Washington Conference is the agreement not to fortify islands in the Pacific, with certain specified exceptions. This agreement, if it is adhered to, will make war between America and Japan very difficult, unless we were allied with America. Without a naval base somewhere near Japan, America could hardly bring naval force to bear on the Japanese Navy. It had been the intention of the Navy Department to fortify Guam with a view to turning it into a first-class naval base. The fact that America has been willing to forgo this intention must be taken as evidence of a genuine desire to preserve the peace with Japan. Various small concessions were made to China. There is to be a revision of the Customs Schedule to bring it to an effective five per cent. The foreign Post Offices are to be abolished, though the Japanese have insisted that a certain number of Japanese should be employed in the Chinese Post Office. They had the effrontery to pretend that they desired this for the sake of the efficiency of the postal service, though the Chinese post is excellent and the Japanese is notoriously one of the worst in the world. The chief use to which the Japanese have put their postal service in China has been the importation of morphia, as they have not allowed the Chinese Customs authorities to examine parcels sent through their Post Office. The development of the Japanese importation of morphia into China, as well as the growth of the poppy in Manchuria, where they have control, has been a very sinister feature of their penetration of China.[84] Of course the Open Door, equality of opportunity, the independence and integrity of China, etc. etc., were reaffirmed at Washington; but these are mere empty phrases devoid of meaning. From the Chinese point of view, the chief achievement at Washington was the Shantung Treaty. Ever since the expulsion by the Germans at the end of 1914, the Japanese had held Kiaochow Bay, which includes the port of Tsingtau; they had stationed troops along the whole extent of the Shantung Railway; and by the treaty following the Twenty-one Demands, they had preferential treatment as regards all industrial undertakings in Shantung. The railway belonged to them by right of conquest, and through it they acquired control of the whole province. When an excuse was needed for increasing the garrison, they supplied arms to brigands, and claimed that their intervention was necessary to suppress the resulting disorder. This state of affairs was legalized by the Treaty of Versailles, to which, however, America and China were not parties. The Washington Conference, therefore, supplied an opportunity of raising the question afresh. At first, however, it seemed as if the Japanese would have things all their own way. The Chinese wished to raise the question before the Conference, while the Japanese wished to settle it in direct negotiation with China. This point was important, because, ever since the Lansing-Ishii agreement, the Japanese have tried to get the Powers to recognize, in practice if not in theory, an informal Japanese Protectorate over China, as a first step towards which it was necessary to establish the principle that the Japanese should not be interfered with in their diplomatic dealings with China. The Conference agreed to the Japanese proposal that the Shantung question should not come before the Conference, but should be dealt with in direct negotiations between the Japanese and Chinese. The Japanese victory on this point, however, was not complete, because it was arranged that, in the event of a deadlock, Mr. Hughes and Sir Arthur Balfour should mediate. A deadlock, of course, soon occurred, and it then appeared that the British were no longer prepared to back up the Japanese whole-heartedly, as in the old days. The American Administration, for the sake of peace, showed some disposition to urge the Chinese to give way. But American opinion was roused on the Shantung question, and it appeared that, unless a solution more or less satisfactory to China was reached, the Senate would probably refuse to ratify the various treaties which embodied the work of the Conference. Therefore, at the last moment, the Americans strongly urged Japan to give way, and we took the same line, though perhaps less strongly. The result was the conclusion of the Shantung Treaty between China and Japan. By this Treaty, the Chinese recover everything in Shantung, except the private property of Japanese subjects, and certain restrictions as regards the railway. The railway was the great difficulty in the negotiations, since, so long as the Japanese could control that, they would have the province at their mercy. The Chinese offered to buy back the railway at once, having raised about half the money as a result of a patriotic movement among their merchants. This, however, the Japanese refused to agree to. What was finally done was that the Chinese were compelled to borrow the money from the Japanese Government to be repaid in fifteen years, with an option of repayment in five years. The railway was valued at 53,400,000 gold marks, plus the costs involved in repairs or improvements incurred by Japan, less deterioration; and it was to be handed over to China within nine months of the signature of the treaty. Until the purchase price, borrowed from Japan, is repaid, the Japanese retain a certain degree of control over the railway: a Japanese traffic manager is to be appointed, and two accountants, one Chinese and the other Japanese, under the control of a Chinese President. It is clear that, on paper, this gives the Chinese everything five years hence. Whether things will work out so depends upon whether, five years hence, any Power is prepared to force Japan to keep her word. As both Mr. Hughes and Sir Arthur Balfour strongly urged the Chinese to agree to this compromise, it must be assumed that America and Great Britain have some responsibility for seeing that it is properly carried out. In that case, we may perhaps expect that in the end China will acquire complete control of the Shantung railway. On the whole, it must be said that China did better at Washington than might have been expected. As regards the larger aspects of the new international situation arising out of the Conference, I shall deal with them in the next chapter. But in our present connection it is necessary to consider certain Far Eastern questions _not_ discussed at Washington, since the mere fact that they were not discussed gave them a new form. The question of Manchuria and Inner Mongolia was not raised at Washington. It may therefore be assumed that Japan's position there is secure until such time as the Chinese, or the Russians, or both together, are strong enough to challenge it. America, at any rate, will not raise the question unless friction occurs on some other issue. (See Appendix.) The Siberian question also was not settled. Therefore Japan's ambitions in Vladivostok and the Maritime Provinces will presumably remain unchecked except in so far as the Russians unaided are able to check them. There is a chronic state of semi-war between the Japanese and the Far Eastern Republic, and there seems no reason why it should end in any near future. The Japanese from time to time announce that they have decided to withdraw, but they simultaneously send fresh troops. A conference between them and the Chita Government has been taking place at Dairen, and from time to time announcements have appeared to the effect that an agreement has been reached or was about to be reached. But on April 16th (1922) the Japanese broke up the Conference. _The Times_ of April 27th contains both the Japanese and the Russian official accounts of this break up. The Japanese statement is given in _The Times_ as follows:-- The Japanese Embassy communicates the text of a statement given out on April 20th by the Japanese Foreign Office on the Dairen Conference. It begins by recalling that in response to the repeatedly expressed desire of the Chita Government, the Japanese Government decided to enter into negotiations. The first meeting took place on August 26th last year. The Japanese demands included the non-enforcement of communistic principles in the Republic against Japanese, the prohibition of Bolshevist propaganda, the abolition of menacing military establishments, the adoption of the principle of the open door in Siberia, and the removal of industrial restrictions on foreigners. Desiring speedily to conclude an agreement, so that the withdrawal of troops might be carried out as soon as possible, Japan met the wishes of Chita as far as practicable. Though, from the outset, Chita pressed for a speedy settlement of the Nicolaievsk affair, Japan eventually agreed to take up the Nicolaievsk affair immediately after the conclusion of the basis agreement. She further assured Chita that in settling the affair Japan had no intention of violating the sovereignty and territorial integrity of Russia, and that the troops would be speedily withdrawn from Saghalin after the settlement of the affair, and that Chita'a wishes in regard to the transfer of property now in the custody of the Japanese authorities would be met. The 11th Division of the troops in Siberia was originally to be relieved during April, but if the Dairen Conference had progressed satisfactorily, the troops, instead of being relieved, would have been sent home. Japan therefore intimated to Chita that should the basis agreement be concluded within a reasonable period these troops would be immediately withdrawn, and proposed the signature of the agreement by the middle of April, so that the preparations for the relief of the said division might be dispensed with. Thereupon Chita not only proposed the immediate despatch of Chita troops to Vladivostok without waiting for the withdrawal of the Japanese troops, but urged that Japan should fix a tine-limit for the complete withdrawal of all her troops. Japan informed Chita that the withdrawal would be carried out within a short period after the conclusion of the detailed arrangements, giving a definite period as desired, and at the same time she proposed the signing of the agreement drawn up by Japan. Whereas Japan thus throughout the negotiations maintained a sincere and conciliatory attitude, the Chita delegates entirely ignored the spirit in which she offered concessions and brought up one demand after another, thereby trying to gain time. Not only did they refuse to entertain the Japanese proposals, but declared that they would drop the negotiations and return to Chita immediately. The only conclusion from this attitude of the Chita Government is that they lacked a sincere effort to bring the negotiations to fruition, and the Japanese Government instructed its delegates to quit Dairen. The Russian official account is given by _The Times_ immediately below the above. It is as follows:-- On April 16th the Japanese broke up the Dairen Conference with the Far Eastern Republic. The Far Eastern Delegation left Dairen. Agreement was reached between the Japanese and Russian Delegations on March 30th on all points of the general treaty, but when the question of military evacuation was reached the Japanese Delegation proposed a formula permitting continued Japanese intervention. Between March 30th and April 15th the Japanese dragged on the negotiations _re_ military convention, reproaching the Far Eastern delegates for mistrusting the Japanese Government. The Russian Delegation declared that the general treaty would be signed only upon obtaining precise written guarantees of Japanese military evacuation. On April 15th the Japanese Delegation presented an ultimatum demanding a reply from the Far Eastern representatives in half an hour as to whether they were willing to sign a general agreement with new Japanese conditions forbidding an increase in the Far Eastern Navy and retaining a Japanese military mission on Far Eastern territory. _Re_ evacuation, the Japanese presented a Note promising evacuation if "not prevented by unforeseen circumstances." The Russian Delegation rejected this ultimatum. On April 16th the Japanese declared the Dairen Conference broken up. The Japanese delegates left for Tokyo, and Japanese troops remain in the zone established by the agreement of March 29th. Readers will believe one or other of these official statements according to their prejudices, while those who wish to think themselves impartial will assume that the truth lies somewhere between the two. For my part, I believe the Russian statement. But even from the Japanese communiqué it is evident that what wrecked the Conference was Japanese unwillingness to evacuate Vladivostok and the Maritime Province; all that they were willing to give was a vague promise to evacuate some day, which would have had no more value than Mr. Gladstone's promise to evacuate Egypt. It will be observed that the Conference went well for Chita until the Senate had ratified the Washington treaties. After that, the Japanese felt that they had a free hand in all Far Eastern matters not dealt with at Washington. The practical effect of the Washington decisions will naturally be to make the Japanese seek compensation, at the expense of the Far Eastern Republic, for what they have had to surrender in China. This result was to be expected, and was presumably foreseen by the assembled peacemakers.[85] It will be seen that the Japanese policy involves hostility to Russia. This is no doubt one reason for the friendship between Japan and France. Another reason is that both are the champions of nationalistic capitalism, as against the international capitalism aimed at by Messrs. Morgan and Mr. Lloyd George, because France and Japan look to their armaments as the chief source of their income, while England and America look rather to their commerce and industry. It would be interesting to compute how much coal and iron France and Japan have acquired in recent years by means of their armies. England and America already possessed coal and iron; hence their different policy. An uninvited delegation from the Far Eastern Republic at Washington produced documents tending to show that France and Japan came there as secret allies. Although the authenticity of the documents was denied, most people, apparently, believed them to be genuine. In any case, it is to be expected that France and Japan will stand together, now that the Anglo-Japanese Alliance has come to an end and the Anglo-French Entente has become anything but cordial. Thus it is to be feared that Washington and Genoa have sown the seeds of future wars--unless, by some miracle, the "civilized" nations should grow weary of suicide. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 84: See _e.g._ chap. viii. of Millard's _Democracy and the Eastern Question._] [Footnote 85: I ought perhaps to confess that I have a bias in favour of the Far Eastern Republic, owing to my friendship for their diplomatic mission which was in Peking while I was there. I never met a more high-minded set of men in any country. And although they were communists, and knew the views that I had expressed on Russia, they showed me great kindness. I do not think, however, that these courtesies have affected my view of the dispute between Chita and Tokyo.] CHAPTER X PRESENT FORCES AND TENDENCIES IN THE FAR EAST The Far Eastern situation is so complex that it is very difficult to guess what will be the ultimate outcome of the Washington Conference, and still more difficult to know what outcome we ought to desire. I will endeavour to set forth the various factors each in turn, not simplifying the issues, but rather aiming at producing a certain hesitancy which I regard as desirable in dealing with China. I shall consider successively the interests and desires of America, Japan, Russia and China, with an attempt, in each case, to gauge what parts of these various interests and desires are compatible with the welfare of mankind as a whole.[86] I begin with America, as the leading spirit in the Conference and the dominant Power in the world. American public opinion is in favour of peace, and at the same time profoundly persuaded that America is wise and virtuous while all other Powers are foolish and wicked. The pessimistic half of this opinion I do not desire to dispute, but the optimistic half is more open to question. Apart from peace, American public opinion believes in commerce and industry, Protestant morality, athletics, hygiene, and hypocrisy, which may be taken as the main ingredients of American and English Kultur. Every American I met in the Far East, with one exception, was a missionary for American Kultur, whether nominally connected with Christian Missions or not. I ought to explain that when I speak of hypocrisy I do not mean the conscious hypocrisy practised by Japanese diplomats in their dealings with Western Powers, but that deeper, unconscious kind which forms the chief strength of the Anglo-Saxons. Everybody knows Labouchere's comment on Mr. Gladstone, that like other politicians he always had a card up his sleeve, but, unlike the others, he thought the Lord had put it there. This attitude, which has been characteristic of England, has been somewhat chastened among ourselves by the satire of men like Bernard Shaw; but in America it is still just as prevalent and self-confident as it was with us fifty years ago. There is much justification for such an attitude. Gladstonian England was more of a moral force than the England of the present day; and America is more of a moral force at this moment than any other Power (except Russia). But the development from Gladstone's moral fervour to the cynical imperialism of his successors is one which we can now see to be inevitable; and a similar development is bound to take place in the United States. Therefore, when we wish to estimate the desirability of extending the influence of the United States, we have to take account of this almost certain future loss of idealism. Nor is idealism in itself always an unmixed blessing to its victims. It is apt to be incompatible with tolerance, with the practice of live-and-let-live, which alone can make the world endurable for its less pugnacious and energetic inhabitants. It is difficult for art or the contemplative outlook to exist in an atmosphere of bustling practical philanthropy, as difficult as it would be to write a book in the middle of a spring cleaning. The ideals which inspire a spring-cleaning are useful and valuable in their place, but when they are not enriched by any others they are apt to produce a rather bleak and uncomfortable sort of world. All this may seem, at first sight, somewhat remote from the Washington Conference, but it is essential if we are to take a just view of the friction between America and Japan. I wish to admit at once that, hitherto, America has been the best friend of China, and Japan the worst enemy. It is also true that America is doing more than any other Power to promote peace in the world, while Japan would probably favour war if there were a good prospect of victory. On these grounds, I am glad to see our Government making friends with America and abandoning the militaristic Anglo-Japanese Alliance. But I do not wish this to be done in a spirit of hostility to Japan, or in a blind reliance upon the future good intentions of America. I shall therefore try to state Japan's case, although, _for the present_, I think it weaker than America's. It should be observed, in the first place, that the present American policy, both in regard to China and in regard to naval armaments, while clearly good for the world, is quite as clearly in line with American interests. To take the naval question first: America, with a navy equal to our own, will be quite strong enough to make our Admiralty understand that it is out of the question to go to war with America, so that America will have as much control of the seas as there is any point in having.[87] The Americans are adamant about the Japanese Navy, but very pliant about French submarines, which only threaten us. Control of the seas being secured, limitation of naval armaments merely decreases the cost, and is an equal gain to all parties, involving no sacrifice of American interests. To take next the question of China: American ambitions in China are economic, and require only that the whole country should be open to the commerce and industry of the United States. The policy of spheres of influence is obviously less advantageous, to so rich and economically strong a country as America, than the policy of the universal Open Door. We cannot therefore regard America's liberal policy as regards China and naval armaments as any reason for expecting a liberal policy when it goes against self-interest. In fact, there is evidence that when American interests or prejudices are involved liberal and humanitarian principles have no weight whatever. I will cite two instances: Panama tolls, and Russian trade. In the matter of the Panama canal, America is bound by treaty not to discriminate against our shipping; nevertheless a Bill has been passed by a two-thirds majority of the House of Representatives, making a discrimination in favour of American shipping. Even if the President ultimately vetoes it, its present position shows that at least two-thirds of the House of Representatives share Bethmann-Hollweg's view of treaty obligations. And as for trade with Russia, England led the way, while American hostility to the Bolsheviks remained implacable, and to this day Gompers, in the name of American labour, thunders against "shaking hands with murder." It cannot therefore be said that America is _always_ honourable or humanitarian or liberal. The evidence is that America adopts these virtues when they suit national or rather financial interests, but fails to perceive their applicability in other cases. I could of course have given many other instances, but I content myself with one, because it especially concerns China. I quote from an American weekly, The _Freeman_ (November 23, 1921, p. 244):-- On November 1st, the Chinese Government failed to meet an obligation of $5,600,000, due and payable to a large banking-house in Chicago. The State Department had facilitated the negotiation of this loan in the first instance; and now, in fulfilment of the promise of Governmental support in an emergency, an official cablegram was launched upon Peking, with intimations that continued defalcation might have a most serious effect upon the financial and political rating of the Chinese Republic. In the meantime, the American bankers of the new international consortium had offered to advance to the Chinese Government an amount which would cover the loan in default, together with other obligations already in arrears, and still others which will fall due on December 1st; and this proposal had also received the full and energetic support of the Department of State. That is to say, American financiers and politicians were at one and the same time the heroes and villains of the piece; having co-operated in the creation of a dangerous situation, they came forward handsomely in the hour of trial with an offer to save China from themselves as it were, if the Chinese Government would only enter into relations with the consortium, and thus prepare the way for the eventual establishment of an American financial protectorate. It should be added that the Peking Government, after repeated negotiations, had decided not to accept loans from the consortium on the terms on which they were offered. In my opinion, there were very adequate grounds for this decision. As the same article in the _Freeman_ concludes:-- If this plan is put through, it will make the bankers of the consortium the virtual owners of China; and among these bankers, those of the United States are the only ones who are prepared to take full advantage of the situation. There is some reason to think that, at the beginning of the Washington Conference, an attempt was made by the consortium banks, with the connivance of the British but not of the American Government, to establish, by means of the Conference, some measure of international control over China. In the _Japan Weekly Chronicle_ for November 17, 1921 (p. 725), in a telegram headed "International Control of China," I find it reported that America is thought to be seeking to establish international control, and that Mr. Wellington Koo told the _Philadelphia Public Ledger_: "We suspect the motives which led to the suggestion and we thoroughly doubt its feasibility. China will bitterly oppose any Conference plan to offer China international aid." He adds: "International control will not do. China must be given time and opportunity to find herself. The world should not misinterpret or exaggerate the meaning of the convulsion which China is now passing through." These are wise words, with which every true friend of China must agree. In the same issue of the _Japan Weekly Chronicle_--which, by the way, I consider the best weekly paper in the world--I find the following (p. 728):-- Mr. Lennox Simpson [Putnam Weale] is quoted as saying: "The international bankers have a scheme for the international control of China. Mr. Lamont, representing the consortium, offered a sixteen-million-dollar loan to China, which the Chinese Government refused to accept because Mr. Lamont insisted that the Hukuang bonds, German issue, which had been acquired by the Morgan Company, should be paid out of it." Mr. Lamont, on hearing this charge, made an emphatic denial, saying: "Simpson's statement is unqualifiedly false. When this man Simpson talks about resisting the control of the international banks he is fantastic. We don't want control. We are anxious that the Conference result in such a solution as will furnish full opportunity to China to fulfil her own destiny." Sagacious people will be inclined to conclude that so much anger must be due to being touched on the raw, and that Mr. Lamont, if he had had nothing to conceal, would not have spoken of a distinguished writer and one of China's best friends as "this man Simpson." I do not pretend that the evidence against the consortium is conclusive, and I have not space here to set it all forth. But to any European radical Mr. Lamont's statement that the consortium does not want control reads like a contradiction in terms. Those who wish to lend to a Government which is on the verge of bankruptcy, must aim at control, for, even if there were not the incident of the Chicago Bank, it would be impossible to believe that Messrs. Morgan are so purely philanthropic as not to care whether they get any interest on their money or not, although emissaries of the consortium in China have spoken as though this were the case, thereby greatly increasing the suspicions of the Chinese. In the _New Republic_ for November 30, 1921, there is an article by Mr. Brailsford entitled "A New Technique of Peace," which I fear is prophetic even if not wholly applicable at the moment when it was written. I expect to see, if the Americans are successful in the Far East, China compelled to be orderly so as to afford a field for foreign commerce and industry; a government which the West will consider good substituted for the present go-as-you-please anarchy; a gradually increasing flow of wealth from China to the investing countries, the chief of which is America; the development of a sweated proletariat; the spread of Christianity; the substitution of the American civilization for the Chinese; the destruction of traditional beauty, except for such _objets d'art_ as millionaires may think it worth while to buy; the gradual awakening of China to her exploitation by the foreigner; and one day, fifty or a hundred years hence, the massacre of every white man throughout the Celestial Empire at a signal from some vast secret society. All this is probably inevitable, human nature being what it is. It will be done in order that rich men may grow richer, but we shall be told that it is done in order that China may have "good" government. The definition of the word "good" is difficult, but the definition of "good government" is as easy as A.B.C.: it is government that yields fat dividends to capitalists. The Chinese are gentle, urbane, seeking only justice and freedom. They have a civilization superior to ours in all that makes for human happiness. They have a vigorous movement of young reformers, who, if they are allowed a little time, will revivify China and produce something immeasurably better than the worn-out grinding mechanism that we call civilization. When Young China has done its work, Americans will be able to make money by trading with China, without destroying the soul of the country. China needs a period of anarchy in order to work out her salvation; all great nations need such a period, from time to time. When America went through such a period, in 1861-5, England thought of intervening to insist on "good government," but fortunately abstained. Now-a-days, in China, all the Powers want to intervene. Americans recognize this in the case of the wicked Old World, but are smitten with blindness when it comes to their own consortium. All I ask of them is that they should admit that they are as other men, and cease to thank God that they are not as this publican. So much by way of criticism by America; we come now to the defence of Japan. Japan's relations with the Powers are not of her own seeking; all that Japan asked of the world was to be let alone. This, however, did not suit the white nations, among whom America led the way. It was a United States squadron under Commodore Perry that first made Japan aware of Western aggressiveness. Very soon it became evident that there were only two ways of dealing with the white man, either to submit to him, or to fight him with his own weapons. Japan adopted the latter course, and developed a modern army trained by the Germans, a modern navy modelled on the British, modern machinery derived from America, and modern morals copied from the whole lot. Everybody except the British was horrified, and called the Japanese "yellow monkeys." However, they began to be respected when they defeated Russia, and after they had captured Tsing-tao and half-enslaved China they were admitted to equality with the other Great Powers at Versailles. The consideration shown to them by the West is due to their armaments alone; none of their other good qualities would have saved them from being regarded as "niggers." People who have never been outside Europe can hardly imagine the intensity of the colour prejudice that white men develop when brought into contact with any different pigmentation. I have seen Chinese of the highest education, men as cultured as (say) Dean Inge, treated by greasy white men as if they were dirt, in a way in which, at home, no Duke would venture to treat a crossing-sweeper. The Japanese are not treated in this way, because they have a powerful army and navy. The fact that white men, as individuals, no longer dare to bully individual Japanese, is important as a beginning of better relations towards the coloured races in general. If the Japanese, by defeat in war, are prevented from retaining the status of a Great Power, the coloured races in general will suffer, and the tottering insolence of the white man will be re-established. Also the world will have lost the last chance of the survival of civilizations of a different type from that of the industrial West. The civilization of Japan, in its material aspect, is similar to that of the West, though industrialism, as yet, is not very developed. But in its mental aspect it is utterly unlike the West, particularly the Anglo-Saxon West. Worship of the Mikado, as an actually divine being, is successfully taught in every village school, and provides the popular support for nationalism. The nationalistic aims of Japan are not merely economic; they are also dynastic and territorial in a mediæval way. The morality of the Japanese is not utilitarian, but intensely idealistic. Filial piety is the basis, and includes patriotism, because the Mikado is the father of his people. The Japanese outlook has the same kind of superstitious absence of realism that one finds in thirteenth-century theories as to the relations of the Emperor and the Pope. But in Europe the Emperor and the Pope were different people, and their quarrels promoted freedom of thought; in Japan, since 1868, they are combined in one sacred person, and there are no internal conflicts to produce doubt. Japan, unlike China, is a religious country. The Chinese doubt a proposition until it is proved to be true; the Japanese believe it until it is proved to be false. I do not know of any evidence against the view that the Mikado is divine. Japanese religion is essentially nationalistic, like that of the Jews in the Old Testament. Shinto, the State religion, has been in the main invented since 1868,[88] and propagated by education in schools. (There was of course an old Shinto religion, but most of what constitutes modern Shintoism is new.) It is not a religion which aims at being universal, like Buddhism, Christianity, and Islam; it is a tribal religion, only intended to appeal to the Japanese. Buddhism subsists side by side with it, and is believed by the same people. It is customary to adopt Shinto rites for marriages and Buddhist rites for funerals, because Buddhism is considered more suitable for mournful occasions. Although Buddhism is a universal religion, its Japanese form is intensely national,[89] like the Church of England. Many of its priests marry, and in some temples the priesthood is hereditary. Its dignitaries remind one vividly of English Archdeacons. The Japanese, even when they adopt industrial methods, do not lose their sense of beauty. One hears complaints that their goods are shoddy, but they have a remarkable power of adapting artistic taste to industrialism. If Japan were rich it might produce cities as beautiful as Venice, by methods as modern as those of New York. Industrialism has hitherto brought with it elsewhere a rising tide of ugliness, and any nation which can show us how to make this tide recede deserves our gratitude. The Japanese are earnest, passionate, strong-willed, amazingly hard working, and capable of boundless sacrifice to an ideal. Most of them have the correlative defects: lack of humour, cruelty, intolerance, and incapacity for free thought. But these defects are by no means universal; one meets among them a certain number of men and women of quite extraordinary excellence. And there is in their civilization as a whole a degree of vigour and determination which commands the highest respect. The growth of industrialism in Japan has brought with it the growth of Socialism and the Labour movement.[90] In China, the intellectuals are often theoretical Socialists, but in the absence of Labour organizations there is as yet little room for more than theory. In Japan, Trade Unionism has made considerable advances, and every variety of socialist and anarchist opinion is vigorously represented. In time, if Japan becomes increasingly industrial, Socialism may become a political force; as yet, I do not think it is. Japanese Socialists resemble those of other countries, in that they do not share the national superstitions. They are much persecuted by the Government, but not so much as Socialists in America--so at least I am informed by an American who is in a position to judge. The real power is still in the hands of certain aristocratic families. By the constitution, the Ministers of War and Marine are directly responsible to the Mikado, not to the Diet or the Prime Minister. They therefore can and do persist in policies which are disliked by the Foreign Office. For example, if the Foreign Office were to promise the evacuation of Vladivostok, the War Office might nevertheless decide to keep the soldiers there, and there would be no constitutional remedy. Some part, at least, of what appears as Japanese bad faith is explicable in this way. There is of course a party which wishes to establish real Parliamentary government, but it is not likely to come into power unless the existing régime suffers some severe diplomatic humiliation. If the Washington Conference had compelled the evacuation of not only Shantung but also Vladivostok by diplomatic pressure, the effect on the internal government of Japan would probably have been excellent. The Japanese are firmly persuaded that they have no friends, and that the Americana are their implacable foes. One gathers that the Government regards war with America as unavoidable in the long run. The argument would be that the economic imperialism of the United States will not tolerate the industrial development of a formidable rival in the Pacific, and that sooner or later the Japanese will be presented with the alternative of dying by starvation or on the battlefield. Then Bushido will come into play, and will lead to choice of the battlefield in preference to starvation. Admiral Sato[91] (the Japanese Bernhardi, as he is called) maintains that absence of Bushido in the Americans will lead to their defeat, and that their money-grubbing souls will be incapable of enduring the hardships and privations of a long war. This, of course, is romantic nonsense. Bushido is no use in modern war, and the Americans are quite as courageous and obstinate as the Japanese. A war might last ten years, but it would certainly end in the defeat of Japan. One is constantly reminded of the situation between England and Germany in the years before 1914. The Germans wanted to acquire a colonial empire by means similar to those which we had employed; so do the Japanese. We considered such methods wicked when employed by foreigners; so do the Americans. The Germans developed their industries and roused our hostility by competition; the Japanese are similarly competing with America in Far Eastern markets. The Germans felt themselves encircled by our alliances, which we regarded as purely defensive; the Japanese, similarly, found themselves isolated at Washington (except for French sympathy) since the superior diplomatic skill of the Americans has brought us over to their side. The Germans at last, impelled by terrors largely of their own creation, challenged the whole world, and fell; it is very much to be feared that Japan may do likewise. The pros and cons are so familiar in the case of Germany that I need not elaborate them further, since the whole argument can be transferred bodily to the case of Japan. There is, however, this difference, that, while Germany aimed at hegemony of the whole world, the Japanese only aim at hegemony in Eastern Asia. The conflict between America and Japan is superficially economic, but, as often happens, the economic rivalry is really a cloak for deeper passions. Japan still believes in the divine right of kings; America believes in the divine right of commerce. I have sometimes tried to persuade Americans that there may be nations which will not gain by an extension of their foreign commerce, but I have always found the attempt futile. The Americans believe also that their religion and morality and culture are far superior to those of the Far East. I regard this as a delusion, though one shared by almost all Europeans. The Japanese, profoundly and with all the strength of their being, long to preserve their own culture and to avoid becoming like Europeans or Americans; and in this I think we ought to sympathize with them. The colour prejudice is even more intense among Americans than among Europeans; the Japanese are determined to prove that the yellow man may be the equal of the white man. In this, also, justice and humanity are on the side of Japan. Thus on the deeper issues, which underlie the economic and diplomatic conflict, my feelings go with the Japanese rather than with the Americans. Unfortunately, the Japanese are always putting themselves in the wrong through impatience and contempt. They ought to have claimed for China the same consideration that they have extorted towards themselves; then they could have become, what they constantly profess to be, the champions of Asia against Europe. The Chinese are prone to gratitude, and would have helped Japan loyally if Japan had been a true friend to them. But the Japanese despise the Chinese more than the Europeans do; they do not want to destroy the belief in Eastern inferiority, but only to be regarded as themselves belonging to the West. They have therefore behaved so as to cause a well-deserved hatred of them in China. And this same behaviour has made the best Americans as hostile to them as the worst. If America had had none but base reasons for hostility to them, they would have found many champions in the United States; as it is, they have practically none. It is not yet too late; it is still possible for them to win the affection of China and the respect of the best Americans. To achieve this, they would have to change their Chinese policy and adopt a more democratic constitution; but if they do not achieve it, they will fall as Germany fell. And their fall will be a great misfortune for mankind. A war between America and Japan would be a very terrible thing in itself, and a still more terrible thing in its consequences. It would destroy Japanese civilization, ensure the subjugation of China to Western culture, and launch America upon a career of world-wide militaristic imperialism. It is therefore, at all costs, to be avoided. If it is to be avoided, Japan must become more liberal; and Japan will only become more liberal if the present régime is discredited by failure. Therefore, in the interests of Japan no less than in the interests of China, it would be well if Japan were forced, by the joint diplomatic pressure of England and America, to disgorge, not only Shantung, but also all of Manchuria except Port Arthur and its immediate neighbourhood. (I make this exception because I think nothing short of actual war would lead the Japanese to abandon Port Arthur.) Our Alliance with Japan, since the end of the Russo-Japanese war, has been an encouragement to Japan in all that she has done amiss. Not that Japan has been worse than we have, but that certain kinds of crime are only permitted to very great Powers, and have been committed by the Japanese at an earlier stage of their career than prudence would warrant. Our Alliance has been a contributory cause of Japan's mistakes, and the ending of the Alliance is a necessary condition of Japanese reform. We come now to Russia's part in the Chinese problem. There is a tendency in Europe to regard Russia as decrepit, but this is a delusion. True, millions are starving and industry is at a standstill. But that does not mean what it would in a more highly organized country. Russia is still able to steal a march on us in Persia and Afghanistan, and on the Japanese in Outer Mongolia. Russia is still able to organize Bolshevik propaganda in every country in Asia. And a great part of the effectiveness of this propaganda lies in its promise of liberation from Europe. So far, in China proper, it has affected hardly anyone except the younger students, to whom Bolshevism appeals as a method of developing industry without passing through the stage of private capitalism. This appeal will doubtless diminish as the Bolsheviks are more and more forced to revert to capitalism. Moreover, Bolshevism, as it has developed in Russia, is quite peculiarly inapplicable to China, for the following reasons: (1) It requires a strong centralized State, whereas China has a very weak State, and is tending more and more to federalism instead of centralization; (2) Bolshevism requires a very great deal of government, and more control of individual lives by the authorities than has ever been known before, whereas China has developed personal liberty to an extraordinary degree, and is the country of all others where the doctrines of anarchism seem to find successful practical application; (3) Bolshevism dislikes private trading, which is the breath of life to all Chinese except the literati. For these reasons, it is not likely that Bolshevism as a creed will make much progress in China proper. But Bolshevism as a political force is not the same thing as Bolshevism as a creed. The arguments which proved successful with the Ameer of Afghanistan or the nomads of Mongolia were probably different from those employed in discussion with Mr. Lansbury. The Asiatic expansion of Bolshevik influence is not a distinctively Bolshevik phenomenon, but a continuation of traditional Russian policy, carried on by men who are more energetic, more intelligent, and less corrupt than the officials of the Tsar's régime, and who moreover, like the Americans, believe themselves to be engaged in the liberation of mankind, not in mere imperialistic expansion. This belief, of course, adds enormously to the vigour and success of Bolshevik imperialism, and gives an impulse to Asiatic expansion which is not likely to be soon spent, unless there is an actual restoration of the Tsarist régime under some new Kolchak dependent upon alien arms for his throne and his life. It is therefore not at all unlikely, if the international situation develops in certain ways, that Russia may set to work to regain Manchuria, and to recover that influence over Peking which the control of Manchuria is bound to give to any foreign Power. It would probably be useless to attempt such an enterprise while Japan remains unembarrassed, but it would at once become feasible if Japan were at war with America or with Great Britain. There is therefore nothing improbable in the supposition that Russia may, within the next ten or twenty years, recover the position which she held in relation to China before the Russo-Japanese war. It must be remembered also that the Russians have an instinct for colonization, and have been trekking eastward for centuries. This tendency has been interrupted by the disasters of the last seven years, but is likely to assert itself again before long. The hegemony of Russia in Asia would not, to my mind, be in any way regrettable. Russia would probably not be strong enough to tyrannize as much as the English, the Americans, or the Japanese would do. Moreover, the Russians are sufficiently Asiatic in outlook and character to be able to enter into relations of equality and mutual understanding with Asiatics, in a way which seems quite impossible for the English-speaking nations. And an Asiatic block, if it could be formed, would be strong for defence and weak for attack, which would make for peace. Therefore, on the whole, such a result, if it came about, would probably be desirable In the interests of mankind as a whole. What, meanwhile, is China's interest? What would be ideally best for China would be to recover Manchuria and Shantung, and then be let alone. The anarchy in China might take a long time to subside, but in the end some system suited to China would be established. The artificial ending of Chinese anarchy by outside interference means the establishment of some system convenient for foreign trade and industry, but probably quite unfitted to the needs of the Chinese themselves. The English in the seventeenth century, the French in the eighteenth, the Americans in the nineteenth, and the Russians in our own day, have passed through years of anarchy and civil war, which were essential to their development, and could not have been curtailed by outside interference without grave detriment to the final solution. So it is with China. Western political ideas have swept away the old imperial system, but have not yet proved strong enough to put anything stable in its place. The problem of transforming China into a modern country is a difficult one, and foreigners ought to be willing to have some patience while the Chinese attempt its solution. They understand their own country, and we do not. If they are let alone, they will, in the end, find a solution suitable to their character, which we shall certainly not do. A solution slowly reached by themselves may be stable, whereas one prematurely imposed by outside Powers will be artificial and therefore unstable. There is, however, very little hope that the decisions reached by the Washington Conference will permanently benefit China, and a considerable chance that they may do quite the reverse. In Manchuria the _status quo_ is to be maintained, while in Shantung the Japanese have made concessions, the value of which only time can show. The Four Powers--America, Great Britain, France, and Japan--have agreed to exploit China in combination, not competitively. There is a consortium as regards loans, which will have the power of the purse and will therefore be the real Government of China. As the Americans are the only people who have much spare capital, they will control the consortium. As they consider their civilization the finest in the world, they will set to work to turn the Chinese into muscular Christians. As the financiers are the most splendid feature of the American civilization, China must be so governed as to enrich the financiers, who will in return establish colleges and hospitals and Y.M.C.A.'s throughout the length and breadth of the land, and employ agents to buy up the artistic treasures of China for sepulture in their mansions. Chinese intellect, like that of America, will be, directly or indirectly, in the pay of the Trust magnates, and therefore no effective voice will be, raised in favour of radical reform. The inauguration of this system will be welcomed even by some Socialists in the West as a great victory for peace and freedom. But it is impossible to make a silk purse out of a sow's ear, or peace and freedom out of capitalism. The fourfold agreement between England, France, America and Japan is, perhaps, a safeguard of peace, but in so far as it brings peace nearer it puts freedom further off. It is the peace obtained when competing firms join in a combine, which is by no means always advantageous to those who have profited by the previous competition. It is quite possible to dominate China without infringing the principle of the Open Door. This principle merely ensures that the domination everywhere shall be American, because America is the strongest Power financially and commercially. It is to America's interest to secure, in China, certain things consistent with Chinese interests, and certain others inconsistent with them. The Americans, for the sake of commerce and good investments, would wish to see a stable government in China, an increase in the purchasing power of the people, and an absence of territorial aggression by other Powers. But they will not wish to see the Chinese strong enough to own and work their own railways or mines, and they will resent all attempts at economic independence, particularly when (as is to be expected) they take the form of State Socialism, or what Lenin calls State Capitalism. They will keep a _dossier_ of every student educated in colleges under American control, and will probably see to it that those who profess Socialist or Radical opinions shall get no posts. They will insist upon the standard of hypocrisy which led them to hound out Gorky when he visited the United States. They will destroy beauty and substitute tidiness. In short, they will insist upon China becoming as like as possible to "God's own country," except that it will not be allowed to keep the wealth generated by its industries. The Chinese have it in them to give to the world a new contribution to civilization as valuable as that which they gave in the past. This would be prevented by the domination of the Americans, because they believe their own civilization to be perfect. The ideal of capitalism, if it could be achieved, would be to destroy competition among capitalists by means of Trusts, but to keep alive competition among workers. To some extent Trade Unionism has succeeded in diminishing competition among wage-earners within the advanced industrial countries; but it has only intensified the conflict between workers of different races, particularly between the white and yellow races.[92] Under the existing economic system, the competition of cheap Asiatic labour in America, Canada or Australia might well be harmful to white labour in those countries. But under Socialism an influx of industrious, skilled workers in sparsely populated countries would be an obvious gain to everybody. Under Socialism, the immigration of any person who produces more than he or she consumes will be a gain to every other individual in the community, since it increases the wealth per head. But under capitalism, owing to competition for jobs, a worker who either produces much or consumes little is the natural enemy of the others; thus the system makes for inefficient work, and creates an opposition between the general interest and the individual interest of the wage-earner. The case of yellow labour in America and the British Dominions is one of the most unfortunate instances of the artificial conflicts of interest produced by the capitalist system. This whole question of Asiatic immigration, which is liable to cause trouble for centuries to come, can only be radically solved by Socialism, since Socialism alone can bring the private interests of workers in this matter into harmony with the interests of their nation and of the world. The concentration of the world's capital in a few nations, which, by means of it, are able to drain all other nations of their wealth, is obviously not a system by which permanent peace can be secured except through the complete subjection of the poorer nations. In the long run, China will see no reason to leave the profits of industry in the hands of foreigners. If, for the present, Russia is successfully starved into submission to foreign capital, Russia also will, when the time is ripe, attempt a new rebellion against the world-empire of finance. I cannot see, therefore, any establishment of a stable world-system as a result of the syndicate formed at Washington. On the contrary, we may expect that, when Asia has thoroughly assimilated our economic system, the Marxian class-war will break out in the form of a war between Asia and the West, with America as the protagonist of capitalism, and Russia as the champion of Asia and Socialism. In such a war, Asia would be fighting for freedom, but probably too late to preserve the distinctive civilizations which now make Asia valuable to the human family. Indeed, the war would probably be so devastating that no civilization of any sort would survive it. To sum up: the real government of the world is in the hands of the big financiers, except on questions which rouse passionate public interest. No doubt the exclusion of Asiatics from America and the Dominions is due to popular pressure, and is against the interests of big finance. But not many questions rouse so much popular feeling, and among them only a few are sufficiently simple to be incapable of misrepresentation in the interests of the capitalists. Even in such a case as Asiatic immigration, it is the capitalist system which causes the anti-social interests of wage-earners and makes them illiberal. The existing system makes each man's individual interest opposed, in some vital point, to the interest of the whole. And what applies to individuals applies also to nations; under the existing economic system, a nation's interest is seldom the same as that of the world at large, and then only by accident. International peace might conceivably be secured under the present system, but only by a combination of the strong to exploit the weak. Such a combination is being attempted as the outcome of Washington; but it can only diminish, in the long run, the little freedom now enjoyed by the weaker nations. The essential evil of the present system, as Socialists have pointed out over and over again, is production for profit instead of for use. A man or a company or a nation produces goods, not in order to consume them, but in order to sell them. Hence arise competition and exploitation and all the evils, both in internal labour problems and in international relations. The development of Chinese commerce by capitalistic methods means an increase, for the Chinese, in the prices of the things they export, which are also the things they chiefly consume, and the artificial stimulation of new needs for foreign goods, which places China at the mercy of those who supply these goods, destroys the existing contentment, and generates a feverish pursuit of purely material ends. In a socialistic world, production will be regulated by the same authority which represents the needs of the consumers, and the whole business of competitive buying and selling will cease. Until then, it is possible to have peace by submission to exploitation, or some degree of freedom by continual war, but it is not possible to have both peace and freedom. The success of the present American policy may, for a time, secure peace, but will certainly not secure freedom for the weaker nations, such as Chinese. Only international Socialism can secure both; and owing to the stimulation of revolt by capitalist oppression, even peace alone can never be secure until international Socialism is established throughout the world. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 86: The interests of England, apart from the question of India, are roughly the same as those of America. Broadly speaking, British interests are allied with American finance, as against the pacifistic and agrarian tendencies of the Middle West.] [Footnote 87: It is interesting to observe that, since the Washington Conference, the American Administration has used the naval ratio there agreed upon to induce Congress to consent to a larger expenditure on the navy than would otherwise have been sanctioned. Expenditure on the navy is unpopular in America, but by its parade of pacifism the Government has been enabled to extract the necessary money out of the pockets of reluctant taxpayers. See _The Times'_ New York Correspondent's telegram in _The Times_ of April 10, 1922; also April 17 and 22.] [Footnote 88: See Chamberlain, _The Invention of a New Religion_, published by the Rationalist Press Association.] [Footnote 89: See Murdoch, _History of Japan_, I. pp. 500 ff.] [Footnote 90: An excellent account of these is given in _The Socialist and Labour Movement in Japan_, by an American Sociologist, published by the _Japan Chronicle_.] [Footnote 91: Author of a book called _If Japan and America Fight_.] [Footnote 92: The attitude of white labour to that of Asia is illustrated by the following telegram which appeared in _The Times_ for April 5, 1922, from its Melbourne correspondent: "A deputation of shipwrights and allied trades complained to Mr. Hughes, the Prime Minister, that four Commonwealth ships had been repaired at Antwerp instead of in Australia, and that two had been repaired in India by black labour receiving eight annas (8d.) a day. When the deputation reached the black labour allegation Mr. Hughes jumped from his chair and turned on his interviewers with, 'Black labour be damned. Go to blithering blazes. Don't talk to me about black labour.' Hurrying from the room, he pushed his way through the deputation...." I do not generally agree with Mr. Hughes, but on this occasion, deeply as I deplore his language, I find myself in agreement with his sentiments, assuming that the phrase "black labour be damned" is meant to confer a blessing.] CHAPTER XI CHINESE AND WESTERN CIVILIZATION CONTRASTED There is at present in China, as we have seen in previous chapters, a close contact between our civilization and that which is native to the Celestial Empire. It is still a doubtful question whether this contact will breed a new civilization better than either of its parents, or whether it will merely destroy the native culture and replace it by that of America. Contacts between different civilizations have often in the past proved to be landmarks in human progress. Greece learnt from Egypt, Rome from Greece, the Arabs from the Roman Empire, mediæval Europe from the Arabs, and Renaissance Europe from the Byzantines. In many of these cases, the pupils proved better than their masters. In the case of China, if we regard the Chinese as the pupils, this may be the case again. In fact, we have quite as much to learn from them as they from us, but there is far less chance of our learning it. If I treat the Chinese as our pupils, rather than vice versa, it is only because I fear we are unteachable. I propose in this chapter to deal with the purely cultural aspects of the questions raised by the contact of China with the West. In the three following chapters, I shall deal with questions concerning the internal condition of China, returning finally, in a concluding chapter, to the hopes for the future which are permissible in the present difficult situation. With the exception of Spain and America in the sixteenth century, I cannot think of any instance of two civilizations coming into contact after such a long period of separate development as has marked those of China and Europe. Considering this extraordinary separateness, it is surprising that mutual understanding between Europeans and Chinese is not more difficult. In order to make this point clear, it will be worth while to dwell for a moment on the historical origins of the two civilizations. Western Europe and America have a practically homogeneous mental life, which I should trace to three sources: (1) Greek culture; (2) Jewish religion and ethics; (3) modern industrialism, which itself is an outcome of modern science. We may take Plato, the Old Testament, and Galileo as representing these three elements, which have remained singularly separable down to the present day. From the Greeks we derive literature and the arts, philosophy and pure mathematics; also the more urbane portions of our social outlook. From the Jews we derive fanatical belief, which its friends call "faith"; moral fervour, with the conception of sin; religious intolerance, and some part of our nationalism. From science, as applied in industrialism, we derive power and the sense of power, the belief that we are as gods, and may justly be, the arbiters of life and death for unscientific races. We derive also the empirical method, by which almost all real knowledge has been acquired. These three elements, I think, account for most of our mentality. No one of these three elements has had any appreciable part in the development of China, except that Greece indirectly influenced Chinese painting, sculpture, and music.[93] China belongs, in the dawn of its history, to the great river empires, of which Egypt and Babylonia contributed to our origins, by the influence which they had upon the Greeks and Jews. Just as these civilizations were rendered possible by the rich alluvial soil of the Nile, the Euphrates, and the Tigris, so the original civilization of China was rendered possible by the Yellow River. Even in the time of Confucius, the Chinese Empire did not stretch far either to south or north of the Yellow River. But in spite of this similarity in physical and economic circumstances, there was very little in common between the mental outlook of the Chinese and that of the Egyptians and Babylonians. Lao-Tze[94] and Confucius, who both belong to the sixth century B.C., have already the characteristics which we should regard as distinctive of the modern Chinese. People who attribute everything to economic causes would be hard put to it to account for the differences between the ancient Chinese and the ancient Egyptians and Babylonians. For my part, I have no alternative theory to offer. I do not think science can, at present, account wholly for national character. Climate and economic circumstances account for part, but not the whole. Probably a great deal depends upon the character of dominant individuals who happen to emerge at a formative period, such as Moses, Mahomet, and Confucius. The oldest known Chinese sage is Lao-Tze, the founder of Taoism. "Lao Tze" is not really a proper name, but means merely "the old philosopher." He was (according to tradition) an older contemporary of Confucius, and his philosophy is to my mind far more interesting. He held that every person, every animal, and every thing has a certain way or manner of behaving which is natural to him, or her, or it, and that we ought to conform to this way ourselves and encourage others to conform to it. "Tao" means "way," but used in a more or less mystical sense, as in the text: "I am the Way and the Truth and the Life." I think he fancied that death was due to departing from the "way," and that if we all lived strictly according to nature we should be immortal, like the heavenly bodies. In later times Taoism degenerated into mere magic, and was largely concerned with the search for the elixir of life. But I think the hope of escaping from death was an element in Taoist philosophy from the first. Lao-Tze's book, or rather the book attributed to him, is very short, but his ideas were developed by his disciple Chuang-Tze, who is more interesting than his master. The philosophy which both advocated was one of freedom. They thought ill of government, and of all interferences with Nature. They complained of the hurry of modern life, which they contrasted with the calm existence of those whom they called "the pure men of old." There is a flavour of mysticism in the doctrine of the Tao, because in spite of the multiplicity of living things the Tao is in some sense one, so that if all live according to it there will be no strife in the world. But both sages have already the Chinese characteristics of humour, restraint, and under-statement. Their humour is illustrated by Chuang-Tze's account of Po-Lo who "understood the management of horses," and trained them till five out of every ten died.[95] Their restraint and under-statement are evident when they are compared with Western mystics. Both characteristics belong to all Chinese literature and art, and to the conversation of cultivated Chinese in the present day. All classes in China are fond of laughter, and never miss a chance of a joke. In the educated classes, the humour is sly and delicate, so that Europeans often fail to see it, which adds to the enjoyment of the Chinese. Their habit of under-statement is remarkable. I met one day in Peking a middle-aged man who told me he was academically interested in the theory of politics; being new to the country, I took his statement at its face value, but I afterwards discovered that he had been governor of a province, and had been for many years a very prominent politician. In Chinese poetry there is an apparent absence of passion which is due to the same practice of under-statement. They consider that a wise man should always remain calm, and though they have their passionate moments (being in fact a very excitable race), they do not wish to perpetuate them in art, because they think ill of them. Our romantic movement, which led people to like vehemence, has, so far as I know, no analogue in their literature. Their old music, some of which is very beautiful, makes so little noise that one can only just hear it. In art they aim at being exquisite, and in life at being reasonable. There is no admiration for the ruthless strong man, or for the unrestrained expression of passion. After the more blatant life of the West, one misses at first all the effects at which they are aiming; but gradually the beauty and dignity of their existence become visible, so that the foreigners who have lived longest in China are those who love the Chinese best. The Taoists, though they survive as magicians, were entirely ousted from the favour of the educated classes by Confucianism. I must confess that I am unable to appreciate the merits of Confucius. His writings are largely occupied with trivial points of etiquette, and his main concern is to teach people how to behave correctly on various occasions. When one compares him, however, with the traditional religious teachers of some other ages and races, one must admit that he has great merits, even if they are mainly negative. His system, as developed by his followers, is one of pure ethics, without religious dogma; it has not given rise to a powerful priesthood, and it has not led to persecution. It certainly has succeeded in producing a whole nation possessed of exquisite manners and perfect courtesy. Nor is Chinese courtesy merely conventional; it is quite as reliable in situations for which no precedent has been provided. And it is not confined to one class; it exists even in the humblest coolie. It is humiliating to watch the brutal insolence of white men received by the Chinese with a quiet dignity which cannot demean itself to answer rudeness with rudeness. Europeans often regard this as weakness, but it is really strength, the strength by which the Chinese have hitherto conquered all their conquerors. There is one, and only one, important foreign element in the traditional civilization of China, and that is Buddhism. Buddhism came to China from India in the early centuries of the Christian era, and acquired a definite place in the religion of the country. We, with the intolerant outlook which we have taken over from the Jews, imagine that if a man adopts one religion he cannot adopt another. The dogmas of Christianity and Mohammedanism, in their orthodox forms, are so framed that no man can accept both. But in China this incompatibility does not exist; a man may be both a Buddhist and a Confucian, because nothing in either is incompatible with the other. In Japan, similarly, most people are both Buddhists and Shintoists. Nevertheless there is a temperamental difference between Buddhism and Confucianism, which will cause any individual to lay stress on one or other even if he accepts both. Buddhism is a religion in the sense in which we understand the word. It has mystic doctrines and a way of salvation and a future life. It has a message to the world intended to cure the despair which it regards as natural to those who have no religious faith. It assumes an instinctive pessimism only to be cured by some gospel. Confucianism has nothing of all this. It assumes people fundamentally at peace with the world, wanting only instruction as to how to live, not encouragement to live at all. And its ethical instruction is not based upon any metaphysical or religious dogma; it is purely mundane. The result of the co-existence of these two religions in China has been that the more religious and contemplative natures turned to Buddhism, while the active administrative type was content with Confucianism, which was always the official teaching, in which candidates for the civil service were examined. The result is that for many ages the Government of China has been in the hands of literary sceptics, whose administration has been lacking in those qualities of energy and destructiveness which Western nations demand of their rulers. In fact, they have conformed very closely to the maxims of Chuang-Tze. The result has been that the population has been happy except where civil war brought misery; that subject nations have been allowed autonomy; and that foreign nations have had no need to fear China, in spite of its immense population and resources. Comparing the civilization of China with that of Europe, one finds in China most of what was to be found in Greece, but nothing of the other two elements of our civilization, namely Judaism and science. China is practically destitute of religion, not only in the upper classes, but throughout the population. There is a very definite ethical code, but it is not fierce or persecuting, and does not contain the notion "sin." Except quite recently, through European influence, there has been no science and no industrialism. What will be the outcome of the contact of this ancient civilization with the West? I am not thinking of the political or economic outcome, but of the effect on the Chinese mental outlook. It is difficult to dissociate the two questions altogether, because of course the cultural contact with the West must be affected by the nature of the political and economic contact. Nevertheless, I wish to consider the cultural question as far as I can in isolation. There is, in China, a great eagerness to acquire Western learning, not simply in order to acquire national strength and be able to resist Western aggression, but because a very large number of people consider learning a good thing in itself. It is traditional in China to place a high value on knowledge, but in old days the knowledge sought was only of the classical literature. Nowadays it is generally realized that Western knowledge is more useful. Many students go every year to universities in Europe, and still more to America, to learn science or economics or law or political theory. These men, when they return to China, mostly become teachers or civil servants or journalists or politicians. They are rapidly modernizing the Chinese outlook, especially in the educated classes. The traditional civilization of China had become unprogressive, and had ceased to produce much of value in the way of art and literature. This was not due, I think, to any decadence in the race, but merely to lack of new material. The influx of Western knowledge provides just the stimulus that was needed. Chinese students are able and extraordinarily keen. Higher education suffers from lack of funds and absence of libraries, but does not suffer from any lack of the finest human material. Although Chinese civilization has hitherto been deficient in science, it never contained anything hostile to science, and therefore the spread of scientific knowledge encounters no such obstacles as the Church put in its way in Europe. I have no doubt that if the Chinese could get a stable government and sufficient funds, they would, within the next thirty years, begin to produce remarkable work in science. It is quite likely that they might outstrip us, because they come with fresh zest and with all the ardour of a renaissance. In fact, the enthusiasm for learning in Young China reminds one constantly of the renaissance spirit in fifteenth-century Italy. It is very remarkable, as distinguishing the Chinese from the Japanese, that the things they wish to learn from us are not those that bring wealth or military strength, but rather those that have either an ethical and social value, or a purely intellectual interest. They are not by any means uncritical of our civilization. Some of them told me that they were less critical before 1914, but that the war made them think there must be imperfections in the Western manner of life. The habit of looking to the West for wisdom was, however, very strong, and some of the younger ones thought that Bolshevism could give what they were looking for. That hope also must be suffering disappointment, and before long they will realize that they must work out their own salvation by means of a new synthesis. The Japanese adopted our faults and kept their own, but it is possible to hope that the Chinese will make the opposite selection, keeping their own merits and adopting ours. The distinctive merit of our civilization, I should say, is the scientific method; the distinctive merit of the Chinese is a just conception of the ends of life. It is these two that one must hope to see gradually uniting. Lao-Tze describes the operation of Tao as "production without possession, action without self-assertion, development without domination." I think one could derive from these words a conception of the ends of life as reflective Chinese see them, and it must be admitted that they are very different from the ends which most white men set before themselves. Possession, self-assertion, domination, are eagerly sought, both nationally and individually. They have been erected into a philosophy by Nietzsche, and Nietzsche's disciples are not confined to Germany. But, it will be said, you have been comparing Western practice with Chinese theory; if you had compared Western theory with Chinese practice, the balance would have come out quite differently. There is, of course, a great deal of truth in this. Possession, which is one of the three things that Lao-Tze wishes us to forego, is certainly dear to the heart of the average Chinaman. As a race, they are tenacious of money--not perhaps more so than the French, but certainly more than the English or the Americans. Their politics are corrupt, and their powerful men make money in disgraceful ways. All this it is impossible to deny. Nevertheless, as regards the other two evils, self-assertion and domination, I notice a definite superiority to ourselves in Chinese practice. There is much less desire than among the white races to tyrannize over other people. The weakness of China internationally is quite as much due to this virtue as to the vices of corruption and so on which are usually assigned as the sole reason. If any nation in the world could ever be "too proud to fight," that nation would be China. The natural Chinese attitude is one of tolerance and friendliness, showing courtesy and expecting it in return. If the Chinese chose, they could be the most powerful nation in the world. But they only desire freedom, not domination. It is not improbable that other nations may compel them to fight for their freedom, and if so, they may lose their virtues and acquire a taste for empire. But at present, though they have been an imperial race for 2,000 years, their love of empire is extraordinarily slight. Although there have been many wars in China, the natural outlook of the Chinese is very pacifistic. I do not know of any other country where a poet would have chosen, as Po-Chui did in one of the poems translated by Mr. Waley, called by him _The Old Man with the Broken Arm_, to make a hero of a recruit who maimed himself to escape military service. Their pacifism is rooted in their contemplative outlook, and in the fact that they do not desire to change whatever they see. They take a pleasure--as their pictures show--in observing characteristic manifestations of different kinds of life, and they have no wish to reduce everything to a preconceived pattern. They have not the ideal of progress which dominates the Western nations, and affords a rationalization of our active impulses. Progress is, of course, a very modern ideal even with us; it is part of what we owe to science and industrialism. The cultivated conservative Chinese of the present day talk exactly as their earliest sages write. If one points out to them that this shows how little progress there has been, they will say: "Why seek progress when you already enjoy what is excellent?" At first, this point of view seems to a European unduly indolent; but gradually doubts as to one's own wisdom grow up, and one begins to think that much of what we call progress is only restless change, bringing us no nearer to any desirable goal. It is interesting to contrast what the Chinese have sought in the West with what the West has sought in China. The Chinese in the West seek knowledge, in the hope--which I fear is usually vain--that knowledge may prove a gateway to wisdom. White men have gone to China with three motives: to fight, to make money, and to convert the Chinese to our religion. The last of these motives has the merit of being idealistic, and has inspired many heroic lives. But the soldier, the merchant, and the missionary are alike concerned to stamp our civilization upon the world; they are all three, in a certain sense, pugnacious. The Chinese have no wish to convert us to Confucianism; they say "religions are many, but reason is one," and with that they are content to let us go our way. They are good merchants, but their methods are quite different from those of European merchants in China, who are perpetually seeking concessions, monopolies, railways, and mines, and endeavouring to get their claims supported by gunboats. The Chinese are not, as a rule, good soldiers, because the causes for which they are asked to fight are not worth fighting for, and they know it. But that is only a proof of their reasonableness. I think the tolerance of the Chinese is in excess of anything that Europeans can imagine from their experience at home. We imagine ourselves tolerant, because we are more so than our ancestors. But we still practise political and social persecution, and what is more, we are firmly persuaded that our civilization and our way of life are immeasurably better than any other, so that when we come across a nation like the Chinese, we are convinced that the kindest thing we can do to them is to make them like ourselves. I believe this to be a profound mistake. It seemed to me that the average Chinaman, even if he is miserably poor, is happier than the average Englishman, and is happier because the nation is built upon a more humane and civilized outlook than our own. Restlessness and pugnacity not only cause obvious evils, but fill our lives with discontent, incapacitate us for the enjoyment of beauty, and make us almost incapable of the contemplative virtues. In this respect we have grown rapidly worse during the last hundred years. I do not deny that the Chinese go too far in the other direction; but for that very reason I think contact between East and West is likely to be fruitful to both parties. They may learn from us the indispensable minimum of practical efficiency, and we may learn from them something of that contemplative wisdom which has enabled them to persist while all the other nations of antiquity have perished. When I went to China, I went to teach; but every day that I stayed I thought less of what I had to teach them and more of what I had to learn from them. Among Europeans who had lived a long time in China, I found this attitude not uncommon; but among those whose stay is short, or who go only to make money, it is sadly rare. It is rare because the Chinese do not excel in the things we really value--military prowess and industrial enterprise. But those who value wisdom or beauty, or even the simple enjoyment of life, will find more of these things in China than in the distracted and turbulent West, and will be happy to live where such things are valued. I wish I could hope that China, in return for our scientific knowledge, may give us something of her large tolerance and contemplative peace of mind. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 93: See Cordier, op. cit. i. p. 368, and Giles, op. cit. p. 187.] [Footnote 94: With regard to Lao-Tze, the book which bears his name is of doubtful authenticity, and was probably compiled two or three centuries after his death. Cf. Giles, op. cit., Lecture V.] [Footnote 95: Quoted in Chap. IV, pp. 82-3.] CHAPTER XII THE CHINESE CHARACTER There is a theory among Occidentals that the Chinaman is inscrutable, full of secret thoughts, and impossible for us to understand. It may be that a greater experience of China would have brought me to share this opinion; but I could see nothing to support it during the time when I was working in that country. I talked to the Chinese as I should have talked to English people, and they answered me much as English people would have answered a Chinese whom they considered educated and not wholly unintelligent. I do not believe in the myth of the "Subtle Oriental": I am convinced that in a game of mutual deception an Englishman or American can beat a Chinese nine times out of ten. But as many comparatively poor Chinese have dealings with rich white men, the game is often played only on one side. Then, no doubt, the white man is deceived and swindled; but not more than a Chinese mandarin would be in London. One of the most remarkable things about the Chinese is their power of securing the affection of foreigners. Almost all Europeans like China, both those who come only as tourists and those who live there for many years. In spite of the Anglo-Japanese Alliance, I can recall hardly a single Englishman in the Far East who liked the Japanese as well as the Chinese. Those who have lived long among them tend to acquire their outlook and their standards. New arrivals are struck by obvious evils: the beggars, the terrible poverty, the prevalence of disease, the anarchy and corruption in politics. Every energetic Westerner feels at first a strong desire to reform these evils, and of course they ought to be reformed. But the Chinese, even those who are the victims of preventable misfortunes, show a vast passive indifference to the excitement of the foreigners; they wait for it to go off, like the effervescence of soda-water. And gradually strange hesitations creep into the mind of the bewildered traveller; after a period of indignation, he begins to doubt all the maxims he has hitherto accepted without question. Is it really wise to be always guarding against future misfortune? Is it prudent to lose all enjoyment of the present through thinking of the disasters that may come at some future date? Should our lives be passed in building a mansion that we shall never have leisure to inhabit? The Chinese answer these questions in the negative, and therefore have to put up with poverty, disease, and anarchy. But, to compensate for these evils, they have retained, as industrial nations have not, the capacity for civilized enjoyment, for leisure and laughter, for pleasure in sunshine and philosophical discourse. The Chinese, of all classes, are more laughter-loving than any other race with which I am acquainted; they find amusement in everything, and a dispute can always be softened by a joke. I remember one hot day when a party of us were crossing the hills in chairs--the way was rough and very steep, the work for the coolies very severe. At the highest point of our journey, we stopped for ten minutes to let the men rest. Instantly they all sat in a row, brought out their pipes, and began to laugh among themselves as if they had not a care in the world. In any country that had learned the virtue of forethought, they would have devoted the moments to complaining of the heat, in order to increase their tip. We, being Europeans, spent the time worrying whether the automobile would be waiting for us at the right place. Well-to-do Chinese would have started a discussion as to whether the universe moves in cycles or progresses by a rectilinear motion; or they might have set to work to consider whether the truly virtuous man shows _complete_ self-abnegation, or may, on occasion, consider his own interest. One comes across white men occasionally who suffer under the delusion that China is not a civilized country. Such men have quite forgotten what constitutes civilization. It is true that there are no trams in Peking, and that the electric light is poor. It is true that there are places full of beauty, which Europeans itch to make hideous by digging up coal. It is true that the educated Chinaman is better at writing poetry than at remembering the sort of facts which can be looked up in _Whitaker's Almanac_. A European, in recommending a place of residence, will tell you that it has a good train service; the best quality he can conceive in any place is that it should be easy to get away from. But a Chinaman will tell you nothing about the trains; if you ask, he will tell you wrong. What he tells you is that there is a palace built by an ancient emperor, and a retreat in a lake for scholars weary of the world, founded by a famous poet of the Tang dynasty. It is this outlook that strikes the Westerner as barbaric. The Chinese, from the highest to the lowest, have an imperturbable quiet dignity, which is usually not destroyed even by a European education. They are not self-assertive, either individually or nationally; their pride is too profound for self-assertion. They admit China's military weakness in comparison with foreign Powers, but they do not consider efficiency in homicide the most important quality in a man or a nation. I think that, at bottom, they almost all believe that China is the greatest nation in the world, and has the finest civilization. A Westerner cannot be expected to accept this view, because it is based on traditions utterly different from his own. But gradually one comes to feel that it is, at any rate, not an absurd view; that it is, in fact, the logical outcome of a self-consistent standard of values. The typical Westerner wishes to be the cause of as many changes as possible in his environment; the typical Chinaman wishes to enjoy as much and as delicately as possible. This difference is at the bottom of most of the contrast between China and the English-speaking world. We in the West make a fetish of "progress," which is the ethical camouflage of the desire to be the cause of changes. If we are asked, for instance, whether machinery has really improved the world, the question strikes us as foolish: it has brought great changes and therefore great "progress." What we believe to be a love of progress is really, in nine cases out of ten, a love of power, an enjoyment of the feeling that by our fiat we can make things different. For the sake of this pleasure, a young American will work so hard that, by the time he has acquired his millions, he has become a victim of dyspepsia, compelled to live on toast and water, and to be a mere spectator of the feasts that he offers to his guests. But he consoles himself with the thought that he can control politics, and provoke or prevent wars as may suit his investments. It is this temperament that makes Western nations "progressive." There are, of course, ambitious men in China, but they are less common than among ourselves. And their ambition takes a different form--not a better form, but one produced by the preference of enjoyment to power. It is a natural result of this preference that avarice is a widespread failing of the Chinese. Money brings the means of enjoyment, therefore money is passionately desired. With us, money is desired chiefly as a means to power; politicians, who can acquire power without much money, are often content to remain poor. In China, the _tuchuns_ (military governors), who have the real power, almost always use it for the sole purpose of amassing a fortune. Their object is to escape to Japan at a suitable moment; with sufficient plunder to enable them to enjoy life quietly for the rest of their days. The fact that in escaping they lose power does not trouble them in the least. It is, of course, obvious that such politicians, who spread devastation only in the provinces committed to their care, are far less harmful to the world than our own, who ruin whole continents in order to win an election campaign. The corruption and anarchy in Chinese politics do much less harm than one would be inclined to expect. But for the predatory desires of the Great Powers--especially Japan--the harm would be much less than is done by our own "efficient" Governments. Nine-tenths of the activities of a modern Government are harmful; therefore the worse they are performed, the better. In China, where the Government is lazy, corrupt, and stupid, there is a degree of individual liberty which has been wholly lost in the rest of the world. The laws are just as bad as elsewhere; occasionally, under foreign pressure, a man is imprisoned for Bolshevist propaganda, just as he might be in England or America. But this is quite exceptional; as a rule, in practice, there is very little interference with free speech and a free Press.[96] The individual does not feel obliged to follow the herd, as he has in Europe since 1914, and in America since 1917. Men still think for themselves, and are not afraid to announce the conclusions at which they arrive. Individualism has perished in the West, but in China it survives, for good as well as for evil. Self-respect and personal dignity are possible for every coolie in China, to a degree which is, among ourselves, possible only for a few leading financiers. The business of "saving face," which often strikes foreigners in China as ludicrous, is only the carrying-out of respect for personal dignity in the sphere of social manners. Everybody has "face," even the humblest beggar; there are humiliations that you must not inflict upon him, if you are not to outrage the Chinese ethical code. If you speak to a Chinaman in a way that transgresses the code, he will laugh, because your words must be taken as spoken in jest if they are not to constitute an offence. Once I thought that the students to whom I was lecturing were not as industrious as they might be, and I told them so in just the same words that I should have used to English students in the same circumstances. But I soon found I was making a mistake. They all laughed uneasily, which surprised me until I saw the reason. Chinese life, even among the most modernized, is far more polite than anything to which we are accustomed. This, of course, interferes with efficiency, and also (what is more serious) with sincerity and truth in personal relations. If I were Chinese, I should wish to see it mitigated. But to those who suffer from the brutalities of the West, Chinese urbanity is very restful. Whether on the balance it is better or worse than our frankness, I shall not venture to decide. The Chinese remind one of the English in their love of compromise and in their habit of bowing to public opinion. Seldom is a conflict pushed to its ultimate brutal issue. The treatment of the Manchu Emperor may be taken as a case in point. When a Western country becomes a Republic, it is customary to cut off the head of the deposed monarch, or at least to cause him to fly the country. But the Chinese have left the Emperor his title, his beautiful palace, his troops of eunuchs, and an income of several million dollars a year. He is a boy of sixteen, living peaceably in the Forbidden City. Once, in the course of a civil war, he was nominally restored to power for a few days; but he was deposed again, without being in any way punished for the use to which he had been put. Public opinion is a very real force in China, when it can be roused. It was, by all accounts, mainly responsible for the downfall of the An Fu party in the summer of 1920. This party was pro-Japanese and was accepting loans from Japan. Hatred of Japan is the strongest and most widespread of political passions in China, and it was stirred up by the students in fiery orations. The An Fu party had, at first, a great preponderance of military strength; but their soldiers melted away when they came to understand the cause for which they were expected to fight. In the end, the opponents of the An Fu party were able to enter Peking and change the Government almost without firing a shot. The same influence of public opinion was decisive in the teachers' strike, which was on the point of being settled when I left Peking. The Government, which is always impecunious, owing to corruption, had left its teachers unpaid for many months. At last they struck to enforce payment, and went on a peaceful deputation to the Government, accompanied by many students. There was a clash with the soldiers and police, and many teachers and students were more or less severely wounded. This led to a terrific outcry, because the love of education in China is profound and widespread. The newspapers clamoured for revolution. The Government had just spent nine million dollars in corrupt payments to three Tuchuns who had descended upon the capital to extort blackmail. It could not find any colourable pretext for refusing the few hundred thousands required by the teachers, and it capitulated in panic. I do not think there is any Anglo-Saxon country where the interests of teachers would have roused the same degree of public feeling. Nothing astonishes a European more in the Chinese than their patience. The educated Chinese are well aware of the foreign menace. They realize acutely what the Japanese have done in Manchuria and Shantung. They are aware that the English in Hong-Kong are doing their utmost to bring to naught the Canton attempt to introduce good government in the South. They know that all the Great Powers, without exception, look with greedy eyes upon the undeveloped resources of their country, especially its coal and iron. They have before them the example of Japan, which, by developing a brutal militarism, a cast-iron discipline, and a new reactionary religion, has succeeded in holding at bay the fierce lusts of "civilized" industrialists. Yet they neither copy Japan nor submit tamely to foreign domination. They think not in decades, but in centuries. They have been conquered before, first by the Tartars and then by the Manchus; but in both cases they absorbed their conquerors. Chinese civilization persisted, unchanged; and after a few generations the invaders became more Chinese than their subjects. Manchuria is a rather empty country, with abundant room for colonization. The Japanese assert that they need colonies for their surplus population, yet the Chinese immigrants into Manchuria exceed the Japanese a hundredfold. Whatever may be the temporary political status of Manchuria, it will remain a part of Chinese civilization, and can be recovered whenever Japan happens to be in difficulties. The Chinese derive such strength from their four hundred millions, the toughness of their national customs, their power of passive resistance, and their unrivalled national cohesiveness--in spite of the civil wars, which merely ruffle the surface--that they can afford to despise military methods, and to wait till the feverish energy of their oppressors shall have exhausted itself in internecine combats. China is much less a political entity than a civilization--the only one that has survived from ancient times. Since the days of Confucius, the Egyptian, Babylonian, Persian, Macedonian, and Roman Empires have perished; but China has persisted through a continuous evolution. There have been foreign influences--first Buddhism, and now Western science. But Buddhism did not turn the Chinese into Indians, and Western science will not turn them into Europeans. I have met men in China who knew as much of Western learning as any professor among ourselves; yet they had not been thrown off their balance, or lost touch with their own people. What is bad in the West--its brutality, its restlessness, its readiness to oppress the weak, its preoccupation with purely material aims--they see to be bad, and do not wish to adopt. What is good, especially its science, they do wish to adopt. The old indigenous culture of China has become rather dead; its art and literature are not what they were, and Confucius does not satisfy the spiritual needs of a modern man, even if he is Chinese. The Chinese who have had a European or American education realize that a new element, is needed to vitalize native traditions, and they look to our civilization to supply it. But they do not wish to construct a civilization just like ours; and it is precisely in this that the best hope lies. If they are not goaded into militarism, they may produce a genuinely new civilization, better than any that we in the West have been able to create. So far, I have spoken chiefly of the good sides of the Chinese character; but of course China, like every other nation, has its bad sides also. It is disagreeable to me to speak of these, as I experienced so much courtesy and real kindness from the Chinese, that I should prefer to say only nice things about them. But for the sake of China, as well as for the sake of truth, it would be a mistake to conceal what is less admirable. I will only ask the reader to remember that, on the balance, I think the Chinese one of the best nations I have come across, and am prepared to draw up a graver indictment against every one of the Great Powers. Shortly before I left China, an eminent Chinese writer pressed me to say what I considered the chief defects of the Chinese. With some reluctance, I mentioned three: avarice, cowardice and callousness. Strange to say, my interlocutor, instead of getting angry, admitted the justice of my criticism, and proceeded to discuss possible remedies. This is a sample of the intellectual integrity which is one of China's greatest virtues. The callousness of the Chinese is bound to strike every Anglo-Saxon. They have none of that humanitarian impulse which leads us to devote one per cent. of our energy to mitigating the evils wrought by the other ninety-nine per cent. For instance, we have been forbidding the Austrians to join with Germany, to emigrate, or to obtain the raw materials of industry. Therefore the Viennese have starved, except those whom it has pleased us to keep alive from philanthropy. The Chinese would not have had the energy to starve the Viennese, or the philanthropy to keep some of them alive. While I was in China, millions were dying of famine; men sold their children into slavery for a few dollars, and killed them if this sum was unobtainable. Much was done by white men to relieve the famine, but very little by the Chinese, and that little vitiated by corruption. It must be said, however, that the efforts of the white men were more effective in soothing their own consciences than in helping the Chinese. So long as the present birth-rate and the present methods of agriculture persist, famines are bound to occur periodically; and those whom philanthropy keeps alive through one famine are only too likely to perish in the next. Famines in China can be permanently cured only by better methods of agriculture combined with emigration or birth-control on a large scale. Educated Chinese realize this, and it makes them indifferent to efforts to keep the present victims alive. A great deal of Chinese callousness has a similar explanation, and is due to perception of the vastness of the problems involved. But there remains a residue which cannot be so explained. If a dog is run over by an automobile and seriously hurt, nine out of ten passers-by will stop to laugh at the poor brute's howls. The spectacle of suffering does not of itself rouse any sympathetic pain in the average Chinaman; in fact, he seems to find it mildly agreeable. Their history, and their penal code before the revolution of 1911, show that they are by no means destitute of the impulse of active cruelty; but of this I did not myself come across any instances. And it must be said that active cruelty is practised by all the great nations, to an extent concealed from us only by our hypocrisy. Cowardice is prima facie a fault of the Chinese; but I am not sure that they are really lacking in courage. It is true that, in battles between rival tuchuns, both sides run away, and victory rests with the side that first discovers the flight of the other. But this proves only that the Chinese soldier is a rational man. No cause of any importance is involved, and the armies consist of mere mercenaries. When there is a serious issue, as, for instance, in the Tai-Ping rebellion, the Chinese are said to fight well, particularly if they have good officers. Nevertheless, I do not think that, in comparison with the Anglo-Saxons, the French, or the Germans, the Chinese can be considered a courageous people, except in the matter of passive endurance. They will endure torture, and even death, for motives which men of more pugnacious races would find insufficient--for example, to conceal the hiding-place of stolen plunder. In spite of their comparative lack of _active_ courage, they have less fear of death than we have, as is shown by their readiness to commit suicide. Avarice is, I should say, the gravest defect of the Chinese. Life is hard, and money is not easily obtained. For the sake of money, all except a very few foreign-educated Chinese will be guilty of corruption. For the sake of a few pence, almost any coolie will run an imminent risk of death. The difficulty of combating Japan has arisen mainly from the fact that hardly any Chinese politician can resist Japanese bribes. I think this defect is probably due to the fact that, for many ages, an honest living has been hard to get; in which case it will be lessened as economic conditions improve. I doubt if it is any worse now in China than it was in Europe in the eighteenth century. I have not heard of any Chinese general more corrupt than Marlborough, or of any politician more corrupt than Cardinal Dubois. It is, therefore, quite likely that changed industrial conditions will make the Chinese as honest as we are--which is not saying much. I have been speaking of the Chinese as they are in ordinary life, when they appear as men of active and sceptical intelligence, but of somewhat sluggish passions. There is, however, another side to them: they are capable of wild excitement, often of a collective kind. I saw little of this myself, but there can be no doubt of the fact. The Boxer rising was a case in point, and one which particularly affected Europeans. But their history is full of more or less analogous disturbances. It is this element in their character that makes them incalculable, and makes it impossible even to guess at their future. One can imagine a section of them becoming fanatically Bolshevist, or anti-Japanese, or Christian, or devoted to some leader who would ultimately declare himself Emperor. I suppose it is this element in their character that makes them, in spite of their habitual caution, the most reckless gamblers in the world. And many emperors have lost their thrones through the force of romantic love, although romantic love is far more despised than it is in the West. To sum up the Chinese character is not easy. Much of what strikes the foreigner is due merely to the fact that they have preserved an ancient civilization which is not industrial. All this is likely to pass away, under the pressure of the Japanese, and of European and American financiers. Their art is already perishing, and being replaced by crude imitations of second-rate European pictures. Most of the Chinese who have had a European education are quite incapable of seeing any beauty in native painting, and merely observe contemptuously that it does not obey the laws of perspective. The obvious charm which the tourist finds in China cannot be preserved; it must perish at the touch of industrialism. But perhaps something may be preserved, something of the ethical qualities in which China is supreme, and which the modern world most desperately needs. Among these qualities I place first the pacific temper, which seeks to settle disputes on grounds of justice rather than by force. It remains to be seen whether the West will allow this temper to persist, or will force it to give place, in self-defence, to a frantic militarism like that to which Japan has been driven. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 96: This vexes the foreigners, who are attempting to establish a very severe Press censorship in Shanghai. See "The Shanghai Printed Matter Bye-Law." Hollington K. Tong, _Review of the Far East,_ April 16, 1922.] CHAPTER XIII HIGHER EDUCATION IN CHINA China, like Italy and Greece, is frequently misjudged by persons of culture because they regard it as a museum. The preservation of ancient beauty is very important, but no vigorous forward-looking man is content to be a mere curator. The result is that the best people in China tend to be Philistines as regards all that is pleasing to the European tourist. The European in China, quite apart from interested motives, is apt to be ultra-conservative, because he likes everything distinctive and non-European. But this is the attitude of an outsider, of one who regards China as a country to be looked at rather than lived in, as a country with a past rather than a future. Patriotic Chinese naturally do not view their country in this way; they wish their country to acquire what is best in the modern world, not merely to remain an interesting survival of a by-gone age, like Oxford or the Yellowstone Park. As the first step to this end, they do all they can to promote higher education, and to increase the number of Chinese who can use and appreciate Western knowledge without being the slaves of Western follies. What is being done in this direction is very interesting, and one of the most hopeful things happening in our not very cheerful epoch. There is first the old traditional curriculum, the learning by rote of the classics without explanation in early youth, followed by a more intelligent study in later years. This is exactly like the traditional study of the classics in this country, as it existed, for example, in the eighteenth century. Men over thirty, even if, in the end, they have secured a thoroughly modern education, have almost all begun by learning reading and writing in old-fashioned schools. Such schools still form the majority, and give most of the elementary education that is given. Every child has to learn by heart every day some portion of the classical text, and repeat it out loud in class. As they all repeat at the same time, the din is deafening. (In Peking I lived next to one of these schools, so I can speak from experience.) The number of people who are taught to read by these methods is considerable; in the large towns one finds that even coolies can read as often as not. But writing (which is very difficult in Chinese) is a much rarer accomplishment. Probably those who can both read and write form about five per cent, of the population. The establishment of normal schools for the training of teachers on modern lines, which grew out of the edict of 1905 abolishing the old examination system and proclaiming the need of educational reform, has done much, and will do much more, to transform and extend elementary education. The following statistics showing the increase in the number of schools, teachers, and students in China are taken from Mr. Tyau's _China Awakened_, p. 4:-- 1910 1914 1917 1919 Number of Schools 42,444 59,796 128,048 134,000 Number of Teachers 185,566 200,000 326,417 326,000 Number of Students 1,625,534 3,849,554 4,269,197 4,500,000 Considering that the years concerned are years of revolution and civil war, it must be admitted that the progress shown by these figures is very remarkable. There are schemes for universal elementary education, but so far, owing to the disturbed condition of the country and the lack of funds, it has been impossible to carry them out except in a few places on a small scale. They would, however, be soon carried out if there were a stable government. The traditional classical education was, of course, not intended to be only elementary. The amount of Chinese literature is enormous, and the older texts are extremely difficult to understand. There is scope, within the tradition, for all the industry and erudition of the finest renaissance scholars. Learning of this sort has been respected in China for many ages. One meets old scholars of this type, to whose opinions, even in politics, it is customary to defer, although they have the innocence and unworldliness of the old-fashioned don. They remind one almost of the men whom Lamb describes in his essay on Oxford in the Vacation--learned, lovable, and sincere, but utterly lost in the modern world, basing their opinions of Socialism, for example, on what some eleventh-century philosopher said about it. The arguments for and against the type of higher education that they represent are exactly the same as those for and against a classical education in Europe, and one is driven to the same conclusion in both cases: that the existence of specialists having this type of knowledge is highly desirable, but that the ordinary curriculum for the average educated person should take more account of modern needs, and give more instruction in science, modern languages, and contemporary international relations. This is the view, so far as I could discover, of all reforming educationists in China. The second kind of higher education in China is that initiated by the missionaries, and now almost entirely in the hands of the Americans. As everyone knows, America's position in Chinese education was acquired through the Boxer indemnity. Most of the Powers, at that time, if their own account is to be believed, demanded a sum representing only actual loss and damage, but the Americans, according to their critics, demanded (and obtained) a vastly larger sum, of which they generously devoted the surplus to educating Chinese students, both in China and at American universities. This course of action has abundantly justified itself, both politically and commercially; a larger and larger number of posts in China go to men who have come under American influence, and who have come to believe that America is the one true friend of China among the Great Powers. One may take as typical of American work three institutions of which I saw a certain amount: Tsing-Hua College (about ten miles from Peking), the Peking Union Medical College (connected with the Rockefeller Hospital), and the so-called Peking University. Tsing-Hua College, delightfully situated at the foot of the Western hills, with a number of fine solid buildings,[97] in a good American style, owes its existence entirely to the Boxer indemnity money. It has an atmosphere exactly like that of a small American university, and a (Chinese) President who is an almost perfect reproduction of the American College President. The teachers are partly American, partly Chinese educated in America, and there tends to be more and more of the latter. As one enters the gates, one becomes aware of the presence of every virtue usually absent in China: cleanliness, punctuality, exactitude, efficiency. I had not much opportunity to judge of the teaching, but whatever I saw made me think that the institution was thorough and good. One great merit, which belongs to American institutions generally, is that the students are made to learn English. Chinese differs so profoundly from European languages that even with the most skilful translations a student who knows only Chinese cannot understand European ideas; therefore the learning of some European language is essential, and English is far the most familiar and useful throughout the Far East. The students at Tsing-Hua College learn mathematics and science and philosophy, and broadly speaking, the more elementary parts of what is commonly taught in universities. Many of the best of them go afterwards to America, where they take a Doctor's degree. On returning to China they become teachers or civil servants. Undoubtedly they contribute greatly to the improvement of their country in efficiency and honesty and technical intelligence. The Rockefeller Hospital is a large, conspicuous building, representing an interesting attempt to combine something of Chinese beauty with European utilitarian requirements. The green roofs are quite Chinese, but the walls and windows are European. The attempt is praiseworthy, though perhaps not wholly successful. The hospital has all the most modern scientific apparatus, but, with the monopolistic tendency of the Standard Oil Company, it refuses to let its apparatus be of use to anyone not connected with the hospital. The Peking Union Medical College teaches many things besides medicine--English literature, for example--and apparently teaches them well. They are necessary in order to produce Chinese physicians and surgeons who will reach the European level, because a good knowledge of some European language is necessary for medicine as for other kinds of European learning. And a sound knowledge of scientific medicine is, of course, of immense importance to China, where there is no sort of sanitation and epidemics are frequent. The so-called Peking University is an example of what the Chinese have to suffer on account of extra-territoriality. The Chinese Government (so at least I was told) had already established a university in Peking, fully equipped and staffed, and known as the Peking University. But the Methodist missionaries decided to give the name "Peking University" to their schools, so the already existing university had to alter its name to "Government University." The case is exactly as if a collection of old-fashioned Chinamen had established themselves in London to teach the doctrine of Confucius, and had been able to force London University to abandon its name to them. However, I do not wish to raise the question of extra-territoriality, the more so as I do not think it can be abandoned for some years to come, in spite of the abuses to which it sometimes gives rise. Returned students (_i.e._ students who have been at foreign universities) form a definite set in China.[98] There is in Peking a "Returned Students' Club," a charming place. It is customary among Europeans to speak ill of returned students, but for no good reason. There are occasionally disagreements between different sections; in particular, those who have been only to Japan are not regarded quite as equals by those who have been to Europe or America. My impression was that America puts a more definite stamp upon a student than any other country; certainly those returning from England are less Anglicized than those returning from the United States are Americanized. To the Chinaman who wishes to be modern and up-to-date, skyscrapers and hustle seem romantic, because they are so unlike his home. The old traditions which conservative Europeans value are such a mushroom growth compared to those of China (where authentic descendants of Confucius abound) that it is useless to attempt that way of impressing the Chinese. One is reminded of the conversation in _Eothen_ between the English country gentleman and the Pasha, in which the Pasha praises England to the refrain: "Buzz, buzz, all by steam; whir, whir, all on wheels," while the Englishman keeps saying: "Tell the Pasha that the British yeoman is still, thank God, the British yeoman." Although the educational work of the Americans in China is on the whole admirable, nothing directed by foreigners can adequately satisfy the needs of the country. The Chinese have a civilization and a national temperament in many ways superior to those of white men. A few Europeans ultimately discover this, but Americans never do. They remain always missionaries--not of Christianity, though they often think that is what they are preaching, but of Americanism. What is Americanism? "Clean living, clean thinking, and pep," I think an American would reply. This means, in practice, the substitution of tidiness for art, cleanliness for beauty, moralizing for philosophy, prostitutes for concubines (as being easier to conceal), and a general air of being fearfully busy for the leisurely calm of the traditional Chinese. Voltaire--that hardened old cynic--laid it down that the true ends of life are "_aimer et penser_." Both are common in China, but neither is compatible with "pep." The American influence, therefore, inevitably tends to eliminate both. If it prevailed it would, no doubt, by means of hygiene, save the lives of many Chinamen, but would at the same time make them not worth saving. It cannot therefore be regarded as wholly and altogether satisfactory. The best Chinese educationists are aware of this, and have established schools and universities which are modern but under Chinese direction. In these, a certain proportion of the teachers are European or American, but the spirit of the teaching is not that of the Y.M.C.A. One can never rid oneself of the feeling that the education controlled by white men is not disinterested; it seems always designed, unconsciously in the main, to produce convenient tools for the capitalist penetration of China by the merchants and manufacturers of the nation concerned. Modern Chinese schools and universities are singularly different: they are not hotbeds of rabid nationalism as they would be in any other country, but institutions where the student is taught to think freely, and his thoughts are judged by their intelligence, not by their utility to exploiters. The outcome, among the best young men, is a really beautiful intellectual disinterestedness. The discussions which I used to have in my seminar (consisting of students belonging to the Peking Government University) could not have been surpassed anywhere for keenness, candour, and fearlessness. I had the same impression of the Science Society of Nanking, and of all similar bodies wherever I came across them. There is, among the young, a passionate desire to acquire Western knowledge, together with a vivid realization of Western vices. They wish to be scientific but not mechanical, industrial but not capitalistic. To a man they are Socialists, as are most of the best among their Chinese teachers. They respect the knowledge of Europeans, but quietly put aside their arrogance. For the present, the purely Chinese modern educational institutions, such as the Peking Government University, leave much to be desired from the point of view of instruction; there are no adequate libraries, the teaching of English is not sufficiently thorough, and there is not enough mental discipline. But these are the faults of youth, and are unimportant compared with the profoundly humanistic attitude to life which is formed in the students. Most of the faults may be traced to the lack of funds, because the Government--loved by the Powers on account of its weakness--has to part with all its funds to the military chieftains who fight each other and plunder the country, as in Europe--for China must be compared with Europe, not with any one of the petty States into which Europe is unhappily divided. The students are not only full of public spirit themselves, but are a powerful force in arousing it throughout the nation. What they did in 1919, when Versailles awarded Shangtung to Japan, is well told by Mr. Tyau in his chapter on "The Student Movement." And what they did was not merely political. To quote Mr. Tyau (p. 146):-- Having aroused the nation, prevented the signature of the Versailles Treaty and assisted the merchants to enforce the Japanese boycott, the students then directed their energies to the enlightenment of their less educated brothers and sisters. For instance, by issuing publications, by popular lectures showing them the real situation, internally as well as externally; but especially by establishing free schools and maintaining them out of their own funds. No praise can be too high for such self-sacrifice, for the students generally also teach in these schools. The scheme is endorsed everywhere with the greatest enthusiasm, and in Peking alone it is estimated that fifty thousand children are benefited by such education. One thing which came as a surprise to me was to find that, as regards modern education under Chinese control, there is complete equality between men and women. The position of women in Peking Government University is better than at Cambridge. Women are admitted to examinations and degrees, and there are women teachers in the university. The Girls' Higher Normal School in Peking, where prospective women teachers are taught, is a most excellent and progressive institution, and the spirit of free inquiry among the girls would horrify most British head mistresses. There is a movement in favour of co-education, especially in elementary education, because, owing to the inadequate supply of schools, the girls tend to be left out altogether unless they can go to the same school as the boys. The first time I met Professor and Mrs. Dewey was at a banquet in Chang-sha, given by the Tuchun. When the time came for after-dinner speeches, Mrs. Dewey told the Tuchun that his province must adopt co-education. He made a statesmanlike reply, saying that the matter should receive his best consideration, but he feared the time was not ripe in Hunan. However, it was clear that the matter was within the sphere of practical politics. At the time, being new to China and having imagined China a somewhat backward country, I was surprised. Later on I realized that reforms which we only talk about can be actually carried out in China. Education controlled by missionaries or conservative white men cannot give what Young China needs. After throwing off the native superstitions of centuries, it would be a dismal fiasco to take on the European superstitions which have been discarded here by all progressive people. It is only where progressive Chinese themselves are in control that there is scope for the renaissance spirit of the younger students, and for that free spirit of sceptical inquiry by which they are seeking to build a new civilization as splendid as their old civilization in its best days. While I was in Peking, the Government teachers struck, not for higher pay, but for pay, because their salaries had not been paid for many months. Accompanied by some of the students, they went on a deputation to the Government, but were repulsed by soldiers and policemen, who clubbed them so severely that many had to be taken to hospital. The incident produced such universal fury that there was nearly a revolution, and the Government hastened to come to terms with the teachers with all possible speed. The modern teachers have behind them all that is virile, energetic, and public-spirited in China; the gang of bandits which controls the Government has behind it Japanese money and European intrigue. America occupies an intermediate position. One may say broadly that the old traditional education, with the military governors and the British and Japanese influence, stands for Conservatism; America and its commerce and its educational institutions stand for Liberalism; while the native modern education, practically though not theoretically, stands for Socialism. Incidentally, it alone stands for intellectual freedom. The Chinese are a great nation, incapable of permanent suppression by foreigners. They will not consent to adopt our vices in order to acquire military strength; but they are willing to adopt our virtues in order to advance in wisdom. I think they are the only people in the world who quite genuinely believe that wisdom is more precious than rubies. That is why the West regards them as uncivilized. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 97: It should be said that one sees just as fine buildings in purely Chinese institutions, such as Peking Government University and Nanking Teachers' Training College.] [Footnote 98: Mr. Tyau (op. cit. p. 27) quotes from _Who's Who of American Returned Students_, a classification of the occupations of 596 Chinese who have returned from American universities. The larger items are: In education, 38 as administrators and 197 as teachers; in Government service, 129 in executive offices (there are also three members of Parliament and four judges); 95 engineers; 35 medical practitioners (including dentists); 60 in business; and 21 social and religious workers. It is estimated that the total number of Chinese holding university degrees in America is 1,700, and in Great Britain 400 _(ib.)._ This disproportion is due to the more liberal policy of America in the matter of the Boxer indemnity. In 1916 there were 292 Chinese university students in Great Britain, and Mr. Tyau (p. 28) gives a classification of them by their subjects. The larger groups are: Medicine, 50; law and economics, 47; engineering, 42; mining, 22; natural science (including chemistry and geology, which are classified separately), 19.] CHAPTER XIV INDUSTRIALISM IN CHINA China is as yet only slightly industrialized, but the industrial possibilities of the country are very great, and it may be taken as nearly certain that there will be a rapid development throughout the next few decades. China's future depends as much upon the manner of this development as upon any other single factor; and China's difficulties are very largely connected with the present industrial situation. I will therefore first briefly describe this situation, and then consider the possibilities of the near future. We may take railways and mines as the foundation of a nation's industrial life. Let us therefore consider first the railways and then the mines, before going on to other matters. When railways were new, the Manchu Government, like the universities of Oxford and Cambridge (which it resembled in many ways), objected to them, and did all it could to keep them at a distance.[99] In 1875 a short line was built by foreigners from Shanghai to Woosung, but the Central Government was so shocked that it caused it to be destroyed. In 1881 the first permanent railway was constructed, but not very much was accomplished until after the Japanese War of 1894-5. The Powers then thought that China was breaking up, and entered upon a scramble for concessions and spheres of influence. The Belgians built the important line from Peking to Hankow; the Americans obtained a concession for a Hankow-Canton railway, which, however, has only been constructed as far as Changsha. Russia built the Manchurian Railway, connecting Peking with the Siberian Railway and with Europe. Germany built the Shantung Railway, from Tsingtau to Tsinanfu. The French built a railway in the south. England sought to obtain a monopoly of the railways in the Yangtze valley. All these railways were to be owned by foreigners and managed by foreign officials of the respective countries which had obtained the concessions. The Boxer rising, however, made Europe aware that some caution was needed if the Chinese were not to be exasperated beyond endurance. After this, ownership of new railways was left to the Chinese Government, but with so much foreign control as to rob it of most of its value. By this time, Chinese public opinion had come to realize that there must be railways in China, and that the real problem was how to keep them under Chinese control. In 1908, the Tientsin-Pukow line and the Shanghai-Hangchow line were sanctioned, to be built by the help of foreign loans, but with all the administrative control in the hands of the Chinese Government. At the same time, the Peking-Hankow line was bought back by the Government, and the Peking-Kalgan line was constructed by the Chinese without foreign financial assistance. Of the big main lines of China, this left not much foreign control outside the Manchurian Railway (Chinese Eastern Railway) and the Shantung Railway. The first of these is mainly under foreign control and must now be regarded as permanently lost, until such time as China becomes strong enough to defeat Japan in war; and the whole of Manchuria has come more or less under Japanese control. But the Shantung Railway, by the agreement reached at Washington, is to be bought back by China--five years hence, if all goes well. Thus, except in regions practically lost to China, the Chinese now have control of all their more important railways, or will have before long. This is a very hopeful feature of the situation, and a distinct credit to Chinese sagacity. Putnam Weale (Mr. Lennox Simpson) strongly urges--quite rightly, as I think--the great importance of nationalizing _all_ Chinese railways. At Washington recently, he helped to secure the Shantung Railway award, and to concentrate attention on the railway as the main issue. Writing early in 1919, he said[100]:-- _The key to the proper control of China and the building-up of the new Republican State is the railway key_.... The revolution of 1911, and the acceptance in principle of Western ideas of popular government, removed the danger of foreign provinces being carved out of the old Manchu Empire. There was, however, left behind a more subtle weapon. _This weapon is the railway_. Russia with her Manchurian Railway scheme taught Japan the new method. Japan, by the Treaty of Portsmouth in 1905, not only inherited the richer half of the Manchurian railways, but was able to put into practice a new technique, based on a mixture of twisted economics, police control, and military garrisons. Out of this grew the latter-day highly developed railway-zone which, to all intents and purposes, creates a new type of foreign _enclave_, subversive of the Chinese State. _The especial evil to-day is that Japan has transferred from Manchuria to Shantung this new technique,_ which ... she will eventually extend into the very heart of intramural China ... and also into extramural Chihli and Inner Mongolia (thus outflanking Peking) unless she is summarily arrested. _At all costs this must be stopped._ The method of doing so is easy: _It is to have it laid down categorically, and accepted by all the Powers, that henceforth all railways on Chinese soil are a vital portion of Chinese sovereignty and must be controlled directly from Peking by a National Railway Board; that stationmasters, personnel and police, must be Chinese citizens, technical foreign help being limited to a set standard; and that all railway concessions are henceforth to be considered simply as building concessions which must be handed over, section by section, as they are built, to the National Railway Board_. If the Shantung Railway Agreement is loyally carried out, this reform--as to whose importance I quite agree with Putnam Weale--will have been practically completed five years hence. But we must expect Japan to adopt every possible means of avoiding the carrying out of her promises, from instigating Chinese civil war to the murdering of Japanese employees by Japanese secret agents masquerading as Chinese. Therefore, until the Chinese actually have complete control of the Shantung Railway, we cannot feel confident that they will ever get it. It must not be supposed that the Chinese run railways badly. The Kalgan Railway, which they built, is just as well built as those constructed by foreigners; and the lines under Chinese administration are admirably managed. I quote from Mr. Tyau[101] the following statistics, which refer to the year 1919: Government railways, in operation, 6027 kilometres; under construction, 383 kilometres; private and provincial railways, 773 kilometres; concessioned railways, 3,780 kilometres. Total, 10,963 kilometres, or 6,852 miles. (The concessioned railways are mainly those in Manchuria and Shantung, of which the first must be regarded as definitely lost to China, while the second is probably recovered. The problem of concessioned railways has therefore no longer the importance that it had, though, by detaching Manchuria, the foreign railway has shown its power for evil). As regards financial results, Mr. Tyau gives the following figures for the principal State railways in 1918:-- Name of Line. Kilometres Year Per cent, earned Operated. Completed. on Investment. Peking-Mukden 987 1897 22.7 Peking-Hankow 1306 1905 15.8 Shanghai-Nanking 327 1908 6.2 Tientsin-Pukow 1107 1912 6.2 Peking-Suiyuan 490 1915 5.6 Subsequent years, for which I have not the exact figures, have been less prosperous. I cannot discover any evidence of incompetence in Chinese railway administration. On the contrary, much has been done to overcome the evils due to the fact that the various lines were originally constructed by different Powers, each following its own customs, so that there was no uniformity, and goods trucks could not be moved from one line on to another. There is, however, urgent need of further railways, especially to open up the west and to connect Canton with Hankow, the profit of which would probably be enormous. Mines are perhaps as important as railways, for if a country allows foreign control of its mineral resources it cannot build up either its industries or its munitions to the point where they will be independent of foreign favour. But the situation as regards mining is at present far from satisfactory. Mr. Julean Arnold, American Commercial Attaché at Peking, writing early in 1919, made the following statement as regards China's mineral resources:-- China is favoured with a wonderful wealth in coal and in a good supply of iron ore, two essentials to modern industrial development. To indicate how little China has developed its marvellous wealth in coal, this country imported, during 1917, 14,000,000 tons. It is estimated that China produces now 20,000,000 tons annually, but it is supposed to have richer resources in coal than has the United States which, in 1918, produced 650,000,000 tons. In iron ore it has been estimated that China has 400,000,000 tons suitable for furnace reaction, and an additional 300,000,000 tons which might be worked by native methods. During 1917, it is estimated that China's production of pig iron was 500,000 tons. The developments in the iron and steel industry in China are making rapid strides, and a few years hence it is expected that the production of pig iron and of finished steel will be several millions of tons annually.... In antimony and tin China is also particularly rich, and considerable progress has taken place in the mining and smelting of these ores during the past few years. China should jealously safeguard its mineral wealth, so as to preserve it for the country's welfare.[102] The _China Year Book_ for 1919 gives the total Chinese production of coal for 1914 as 6,315,735 tons, and of iron ore at 468,938 tons.[103] Comparing these with Mr. Arnold's figures for 1917, namely 20,000,000 tons of coal and 500,000 tons of pig iron (not iron ore), it is evident that great progress was made during those three years, and there is every reason to think that at least the same rate of progress has been maintained. The main problem for China, however, is not _rapid_ development, but _national_ development. Japan is poor in minerals, and has set to work to acquire as much as possible of the mineral wealth of China. This is important to Japan, for two different reasons: first, that only industrial development can support the growing population, which cannot be induced to emigrate to Japanese possessions on the mainland; secondly, that steel is an indispensable requisite for imperialism. The Chinese are proud of the Kiangnan dock and engineering works at Shanghai, which is a Government concern, and has proved its capacity for shipbuilding on modern lines. It built four ships of 10,000 tons each for the American Government. Mr. S.G. Cheng[104] says:-- For the construction of these ships, materials were mostly supplied by China, except steel, which had to be shipped from America and Europe (the steel produced in China being so limited in quantity, that after a certain amount is exported to Japan by virtue of a previous contract, little is left for home consumption). Considering how rich China is in iron ore, this state of affairs needs explanation. The explanation is valuable to anyone who wishes to understand modern politics. The _China Year Book_ for 1919[105] (a work as little concerned with politics as _Whitaker's Almanack_) gives a list of the five principal iron mines in China, with some information about each. The first and most important are the Tayeh mines, worked by the Hanyehping Iron and Coal Co., Ltd., which, as the reader may remember, was the subject of the third group in the Twenty-one Demands. The total amount of ore in sight is estimated by the _China Year Book_ at 50,000,000 tons, derived chiefly from two mines, in one of which the ore yields 65 per cent. of iron, in the other 58 to 63 per cent. The output for 1916 is given as 603,732 tons (it has been greatly increased since then). The _Year Book_ proceeds: "Japanese capital is invested in the Company, and by the agreement between China and Japan of May 1915 [after the ultimatum which enforced the revised Twenty-one Demands], the Chinese Government undertook not to convert the Company into a State-owned concern nor to compel it to borrow money from other than Japanese sources." It should be added that there is a Japanese accountant and a Japanese technical adviser, and that pig-iron and ore, up to a specified value, must be sold to the Imperial Japanese works at much below the market price, leaving a paltry residue for sale in the open market.[106] The second item in the _China Year Book's_ list is the Tungkuan Shan mines. All that is said about these is as follows: "Tungling district on the Yangtze, 55 miles above Wuhu, Anhui province. A concession to work these mines, granted to the London and China Syndicate (British) in 1904, was surrendered in 1910 for the sum of £52,000, and the mines were transferred to a Chinese Company to be formed for their exploitation." These mines, therefore, are in Chinese hands. I do not know what their capacity is supposed to be, and in view of the price at which they were sold, it cannot be very great. The capital of the Hanyehping Co. is $20,000,000, which is considerably more than £52,000. This was the only one of the five iron mines mentioned in the _Year Book_ which was not in Japanese hands at the time when the _Year Book_ was published. Next comes the Taochung Iron Mine, Anhui province. "The concession which was granted to the Sino-Japanese Industrial Development Co. will be worked by the Orient Steel Manufacturing Co. The mine is said to contain 60,000,000 tons of ore, containing 65 per cent. of pure iron. The plan of operations provides for the production of pig iron at the rate of 170,000 tons a year, a steel mill with a capacity of 100,000 tons of steel ingots a year, and a casting and forging mill to produce 75,000 tons a year." The fourth mine is at Chinlingchen, in Shantung, "worked in conjunction with the Hengshan Colliery by the railway." I presume it is to be sold back to China along with the railway. The fifth and last mine mentioned is the Penhsihu Mine, "one of the most promising mines in the nine mining areas in South Manchuria, where the Japanese are permitted by an exchange of Notes between the Chinese and Japanese Governments (May 25, 1915) to prospect for and operate mines. The seam of this mine extends from near Liaoyang to the neighbourhood of Penhsihu, and in size is pronounced equal to the Tayeh mine." It will be observed that this mine, also, was acquired by the Japanese as a result of the ultimatum enforcing the Twenty-one Demands. The _Year Book_ adds: "The Japanese Navy is purchasing some of the Penhsihu output. Osaka ironworks placed an order for 15,000 tons in 1915 and the arsenal at Osaka in the same year accepted a tender for Penhsihu iron." It will be seen from these facts that, as regards iron, the Chinese have allowed the Japanese to acquire a position of vantage from which they can only be ousted with great difficulty. Nevertheless, it is absolutely imperative that the Chinese should develop an iron and steel industry of their own on a large scale. If they do not, they cannot preserve their national independence, their own civilization, or any of the things that make them potentially of value to the world. It should be observed that the chief reason for which the Japanese desire Chinese iron is in order to be able to exploit and tyrannize over China. Confucius, I understand, says nothing about iron mines;[107] therefore the old-fashioned Chinese did not realize the importance of preserving them. Now that they are awake to the situation, it is almost too late. I shall come back later to the question of what can be done. For the present, let us continue our survey of facts. It may be presumed that the population of China will always be mainly agricultural. Tea, silk, raw cotton, grain, the soya bean, etc., are crops in which China excels. In production of raw cotton, China is the third country in the world, India being the first and the United States the second. There is, of course, room for great progress in agriculture, but industry is vital if China is to preserve her national independence, and it is industry that is our present topic. To quote Mr. Tyau: "At the end of 1916 the number of factory hands was officially estimated at 560,000 and that of mine workers 406,000. Since then no official returns for the whole country have been published ... but perhaps a million each would be an approximate figure for the present number of factory operatives and mine workers."[108] Of course, the hours are very long and the wages very low; Mr. Tyau mentions as specially modern and praiseworthy certain textile factories where the wages range from 15 to 45 cents a day.[109] (The cent varies in value, but is always somewhere between a farthing and a halfpenny.) No doubt as industry develops Socialism and labour unrest will also develop. If Mr. Tyau is to be taken as a sample of the modern Chinese governing classes, the policy of the Government towards Labour will be very illiberal. Mr. Tyau's outlook is that of an American capitalist, and shows the extent to which he has come under American influence, as well as that of conservative England (he is an LL.D. of London). Most of the Young Chinese I came across, however, were Socialists, and it may be hoped that the traditional Chinese dislike of uncompromising fierceness will make the Government less savage against Labour than the Governments of America and Japan. There is room for the development of a great textile industry in China. There are a certain number of modern mills, and nothing but enterprise is needed to make the industry as great as that of Lancashire. Shipbuilding has made a good beginning in Shanghai, and would probably develop rapidly if China had a flourishing iron and steel industry in native hands. The total exports of native produce in 1919 were just under £200,000,000 (630,000,000 taels), and the total imports slightly larger. It is better, however, to consider such statistics in taels, because currency fluctuations make the results deceptive when reckoned in sterling. The tael is not a coin, but a certain weight of silver, and therefore its value fluctuates with the value of silver. The _China Year Book_ gives imports and exports of Chinese produce for 1902 as 325 million taels and 214 million taels respectively; for 1911, as 482 and 377; for 1917, as 577 and 462; for 1920, as 762 and 541. (The corresponding figures in pounds sterling for 1911 are 64 millions and 50 millions; for 1917, 124 millions and 99,900,000.) It will thus be seen that, although the foreign trade of China is still small in proportion to population, it is increasing very fast. To a European it is always surprising to find how little the economic life of China is affected by such incidents as revolutions and civil wars. Certain principles seem to emerge from a study of the Chinese railways and mines as needing to be adopted by the Chinese Government if national independence is to be preserved. As regards railways, nationalization is obviously desirable, even if it somewhat retards the building of new lines. Railways not in the hands of the Government will be controlled, in the end if not in the beginning, by foreigners, who will thus acquire a power over China which will be fatal to freedom. I think we may hope that the Chinese authorities now realize this, and will henceforth act upon it. In regard to mines, development by the Chinese themselves is urgent, since undeveloped resources tempt the greed of the Great Powers, and development by foreigners makes it possible to keep China enslaved. It should therefore be enacted that, in future, no sale of mines or of any interest in mines to foreigners, and no loan from foreigners on the security of mines, will be recognized as legally valid. In view of extra-territoriality, it will be difficult to induce foreigners to accept such legislation, and Consular Courts will not readily admit its validity. But, as the example of extra-territoriality in Japan shows, such matters depend upon the national strength; if the Powers fear China, they will recognize the validity of Chinese legislation, but if not, not. In view of the need of rapid development of mining by Chinese, it would probably be unwise to nationalize all mines here and now. It would be better to provide every possible encouragement to genuinely Chinese private enterprise, and to offer the assistance of geological and mining experts, etc. The Government should, however, retain the right (_a_) to buy out any mining concern at a fair valuation; (_b_) to work minerals itself in cases where the private owners fail to do so, in spite of expert opinion in favour of their being worked. These powers should be widely exercised, and as soon as mining has reached the point compatible with national security, the mines should be all nationalized, except where, as at Tayeh, diplomatic agreements stand in the way. It is clear that the Tayeh mines must be recovered by China as soon as opportunity offers, but when or how that will be it is as yet impossible to say. Of course I have been assuming an orderly government established in China, but without that nothing vigorous can be done to repel foreign aggression. This is a point to which, along with other general questions connected with the industrializing of China, I shall return in my last chapter. It is said by Europeans who have business experience in China that the Chinese are not good at managing large joint-stock companies, such as modern industry requires. As everyone knows, they are proverbially honest in business, in spite of the corruption of their politics. But their successful businesses--so one gathers--do not usually extend beyond a single family; and even they are apt to come to grief sooner or later through nepotism. This is what Europeans say; I cannot speak from my own knowledge. But I am convinced that modern education is very quickly changing this state of affairs, which was connected with Confucianism and the family ethic. Many Chinese have been trained in business methods in America; there are Colleges of Commerce at Woosung and other places; and the patriotism of Young China has led men of the highest education to devote themselves to industrial development. The Chinese are no doubt, by temperament and tradition, more suited to commerce than to industry, but contact with the West is rapidly introducing new aptitudes and a new mentality. There is, therefore, every reason to expect, if political conditions are not too adverse, that the industrial development of China will proceed rapidly throughout the next few decades. It is of vital importance that that development should be controlled by the Chinese rather than by foreign nations. But that is part of the larger problem of the recovery of Chinese independence, with which I shall deal in my last chapter. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 99: For the history of Chinese railways, see Tyau, op. cit. pp. 183 ff.] [Footnote 100: _China in_ 1918. Published by the _Peking Leader_, pp. 45-6.] [Footnote 101: Op. cit. chap. xi.] [Footnote 102: _China in_ 1918, p. 26. There is perhaps some mistake in the figures given for iron ore, as the Tayeh mines alone are estimated by some to contain 700,000,000 tons of iron ore. Coleman, op cit. p. 51.] [Footnote 103: Page 63. The 1922 _Year Book_ gives 19,500,000 tons of coal production.] [Footnote 104: _Modern China,_ p, 265.] [Footnote 105: Pages 74-5.] [Footnote 106: Coleman, op. cit. chap. xiv.] [Footnote 107: It seems it would be inaccurate to maintain that there is nothing on the subject in the Gospels. An eminent American divine pointed out in print, as regards the advice against laying up treasure where moth and rust doth corrupt, that "moth and rust do not get at Mr. Rockefeller's oil wells, and thieves do not often break through and steal a railway. What Jesus condemned was hoarding wealth." See Upton Sinclair, _The Profits of Religion_, 1918, p. 175.] [Footnote 108: Page 237.] [Footnote 109: Page 218.] CHAPTER XV THE OUTLOOK FOR CHINA In this chapter I propose to take, as far as I am able, the standpoint of a progressive and public-spirited Chinese, and consider what reforms, in what order, I should advocate in that case. To begin with, it is clear that China must be saved by her own efforts, and cannot rely upon outside help. In the international situation, China has had both good and bad fortune. The Great War was unfortunate, because it gave Japan temporarily a free hand; the collapse of Tsarist Russia was fortunate, because it put an end to the secret alliance of Russians and Japanese; the Anglo-Japanese Alliance was unfortunate, because it compelled us to abet Japanese aggression even against our own economic interests; the friction between Japan and America was fortunate; but the agreement arrived at by the Washington Conference, though momentarily advantageous as regards Shantung, is likely, in the long run, to prove unfortunate, since it will make America less willing to oppose Japan. For reasons which I set forth in Chap. X., unless China becomes strong, either the collapse of Japan or her unquestioned ascendency in the Far East is almost certain to prove disastrous to China; and one or other of these is very likely to come about. All the Great Powers, without exception, have interests which are incompatible, in the long run, with China's welfare and with the best development of Chinese civilization. Therefore the Chinese must seek salvation in their own energy, not in the benevolence of any outside Power. The problem is not merely one of _political_ independence; a certain cultural independence is at least as important. I have tried to show in this book that the Chinese are, in certain ways, superior to us, and it would not be good either for them or for us if, in these ways, they had to descend to our level in order to preserve their existence as a nation. In this matter, however, a compromise is necessary. Unless they adopt some of our vices to some extent, we shall not respect them, and they will be increasingly oppressed by foreign nations. The object must be to keep this process within the narrowest limits compatible with safety. First of all, a patriotic spirit is necessary--not, of course, the bigoted anti-foreign spirit of the Boxers, but the enlightened attitude which is willing to learn from other nations while not willing to allow them to dominate. This attitude has been generated among educated Chinese, and to a great extent in the merchant class, by the brutal tuition of Japan. The danger of patriotism is that, as soon as it has proved strong enough for successful defence, it is apt to turn to foreign aggression. China, by her resources and her population, is capable of being the greatest Power in the world after the United States. It is much to be feared that, in the process of becoming strong enough to preserve their independence, the Chinese may become strong enough to embark upon a career of imperialism. It cannot be too strongly urged that patriotism should be only defensive, not aggressive. But with this proviso, I think a spirit of patriotism is absolutely necessary to the regeneration of China. Independence is to be sought, not as an end in itself, but as a means towards a new blend of Western skill with the traditional Chinese virtues. If this end is not achieved, political independence will have little value. The three chief requisites, I should say, are: (1) The establishment of an orderly Government; (2) industrial development under Chinese control; (3) The spread of education. All these aims will have to be pursued concurrently, but on the whole their urgency seems to me to come in the above order. We have already seen how large a part the State will have to take in building up industry, and how impossible this is while the political anarchy continues. Funds for education on a large scale are also unobtainable until there is good government. Therefore good government is the prerequisite of all other reforms. Industrialism and education are closely connected, and it would be difficult to decide the priority between them; but I have put industrialism first, because, unless it is developed very soon by the Chinese, foreigners will have acquired such a strong hold that it will be very difficult indeed to oust them. These reasons have decided me that our three problems ought to be taken in the above order. 1. _The establishment of an orderly government_.--At the moment of writing, the condition of China is as anarchic as it has ever been. A battle between Chang-tso-lin and Wu-Pei-Fu is imminent; the former is usually considered, though falsely according to some good authorities, the most reactionary force in China; Wu-Pei-Fu, though _The Times_ calls him "the Liberal leader," may well prove no more satisfactory than "Liberal" leaders nearer home. It is of course possible that, if he wins, he may be true to his promises and convoke a Parliament for all China; but it is at least equally possible that he may not. In any case, to depend upon the favour of a successful general is as precarious as to depend upon the benevolence of a foreign Power. If the progressive elements are to win, they must become a strong organized force. So far as I can discover, Chinese Constitutionalists are doing the best thing that is possible at the moment, namely, concerting a joint programme, involving the convoking of a Parliament and the cessation of military usurpation. Union is essential, even if it involves sacrifice of cherished beliefs on the part of some. Given a programme upon which all the Constitutionalists are united, they will acquire great weight in public opinion, which is very powerful in China. They may then be able, sooner or later, to offer a high constitutional position to some powerful general, on condition of his ceasing to depend upon mere military force. By this means they may be able to turn the scales in favour of the man they select, as the student agitation turned the scales in July 1920 in favour of Wu-Pei-Fu against the An Fu party. Such a policy can only be successful if it is combined with vigorous propaganda, both among the civilian population and among the soldiers, and if, as soon as peace is restored, work is found for disbanded soldiers and pay for those who are not disbanded. This raises the financial problem, which is very difficult, because foreign Powers will not lend except in return for some further sacrifice of the remnants of Chinese independence. (For reasons explained in Chap. X., I do not accept the statement by the American consortium bankers that a loan from them would not involve control over China's internal affairs. They may not mean control to be involved, but I am convinced that in fact it would be.) The only way out of this difficulty that I can see is to raise an internal loan by appealing to the patriotism of Chinese merchants. There is plenty of money in China, but, very naturally, rich Chinese will not lend to any of the brigands who now control the Government. When the time comes to draft a permanent Constitution, I have no doubt that it will have to be federal, allowing a very large measure of autonomy to the provinces, and reserving for the Central Government few things except customs, army and navy, foreign relations and railways. Provincial feeling is strong, and it is now, I think, generally recognized that a mistake was made in 1912 in not allowing it more scope. While a Constitution is being drafted, and even after it has been agreed upon, it will not be possible to rely upon the inherent prestige of Constitutionalism, or to leave public opinion without guidance. It will be necessary for the genuinely progressive people throughout the country to unite in a strongly disciplined society, arriving at collective decisions and enforcing support of those decisions upon all its members. This society will have to win the confidence of public opinion by a very rigid avoidance of corruption and political profiteering; the slightest failure of a member in this respect must be visited by expulsion. The society must make itself obviously the champion of the national interests as against all self-seekers, speculators and toadies to foreign Powers. It will thus become able authoritatively to commend or condemn politicians and to wield great influence over opinion, even in the army. There exists in Young China enough energy, patriotism and honesty to create such a society and to make it strong through the respect which it will command. But unless enlightened patriotism is organized in some such way, its power will not be equal to the political problems with which China is faced. Sooner or later, the encroachments of foreign Powers upon the sovereign rights of China must be swept away. The Chinese must recover the Treaty Ports, control of the tariff, and so on; they must also free themselves from extra-territoriality. But all this can probably be done, as it was in Japan, without offending foreign Powers (except perhaps the Japanese). It would be a mistake to complicate the early stages of Chinese recovery by measures which would antagonize foreign Powers in general. Russia was in a stronger position for defence than China, yet Russia has suffered terribly from the universal hostility provoked by the Bolsheviks. Given good government and a development of China's resources, it will be possible to obtain most of the needed concessions by purely diplomatic means; the rest can wait for a suitable opportunity. 2. _Industrial development._--On this subject I have already written in Chap. XIV.; it is certain general aspects of the subject that I wish to consider now. For reasons already given, I hold that all railways ought to be in the hands of the State, and that all successful mines ought to be purchased by the State at a fair valuation, even if they are not State-owned from the first. Contracts with foreigners for loans ought to be carefully drawn so as to leave the control to China. There would not be much difficulty about this if China had a stable and orderly government; in that case, many foreign capitalists would be willing to lend on good security, without exacting any part in the management. Every possible diplomatic method should be employed to break down such a monopoly as the consortium seeks to acquire in the matter of loans. Given good government, a large amount of State enterprise would be desirable in Chinese industry. There are many arguments for State Socialism, or rather what Lenin calls State Capitalism, in any country which is economically but not culturally backward. In the first place, it is easier for the State to borrow than for a private person; in the second place, it is easier for the State to engage and employ the foreign experts who are likely to be needed for some time to come; in the third place, it is easier for the State to make sure that vital industries do not come under the control of foreign Powers. What is perhaps more important than any of these considerations is that, by undertaking industrial enterprise from the first, the State can prevent the growth of many of the evils of private capitalism. If China can acquire a vigorous and honest State, it will be possible to develop Chinese industry without, at the same time, developing the overweening power of private capitalists by which the Western nations are now both oppressed and misled. But if this is to be done successfully, it will require a great change in Chinese morals, a development of public spirit in place of the family ethic, a transference to the public service of that honesty which already exists in private business, and a degree of energy which is at present rare. I believe that Young China is capable of fulfilling these requisites, spurred on by patriotism; but it is important to realize that they are requisites, and that, without them, any system of State Socialism must fail. For industrial development, it is important that the Chinese should learn to become technical experts and also to become skilled workers. I think more has been done towards the former of these needs than towards the latter. For the latter purpose, it would probably be wise to import skilled workmen--say from Germany--and cause them to give instruction to Chinese workmen in any new branch of industrial work that it might be desired to develop. 3. _Education._--If China is to become a democracy, as most progressive Chinese hope, universal education is imperative. Where the bulk of the population cannot read, true democracy is impossible. Education is a good in itself, but is also essential for developing political consciousness, of which at present there is almost none in rural China. The Chinese themselves are well aware of this, but in the present state of the finances it is impossible to establish universal elementary education. Until it has been established for some time, China must be, in fact, if not in form, an oligarchy, because the uneducated masses cannot have any effective political opinion. Even given good government, it is doubtful whether the immense expense of educating such a vast population could be borne by the nation without a considerable industrial development. Such industrial development as already exists is mainly in the hands of foreigners, and its profits provide warships for the Japanese, or mansions and dinners for British and American millionaires. If its profits are to provide the funds for Chinese education, industry must be in Chinese hands. This is another reason why industrial development must probably precede any complete scheme of education. For the present, even if the funds existed, there would not be sufficient teachers to provide a schoolmaster in every village. There is, however, such an enthusiasm for education in China that teachers are being trained as fast as is possible with such limited resources; indeed a great deal of devotion and public spirit is being shown by Chinese educators, whose salaries are usually many months in arrears. Chinese control is, to my mind, as important in the matter of education as in the matter of industry. For the present, it is still necessary to have foreign instructors in some subjects, though this necessity will soon cease. Foreign instructors, however, provided they are not too numerous, do no harm, any more than foreign experts in railways and mines. What does harm is foreign management. Chinese educated in mission schools, or in lay establishments controlled by foreigners, tend to become de-nationalized, and to have a slavish attitude towards Western civilization. This unfits them for taking a useful part in the national life, and tends to undermine their morals. Also, oddly enough, it makes them more conservative in purely Chinese matters than the young men and women who have had a modern education under Chinese auspices. Europeans in general are more conservative about China than the modern Chinese are, and they tend to convey their conservatism to their pupils. And of course their whole influence, unavoidably if involuntarily, militates against national self-respect in those whom they teach. Those who desire to do research in some academic subject will, for some time to come, need a period of residence in some European or American university. But for the great majority of university students it is far better, if possible, to acquire their education in China. Returned students have, to a remarkable extent, the stamp of the country from which they have returned, particularly when that country is America. A society such as was foreshadowed earlier in this chapter, in which all really progressive Chinese should combine, would encounter difficulties, as things stand, from the divergencies in national bias between students returned from (say) Japan, America and Germany. Given time, this difficulty can be overcome by the increase in purely Chinese university education, but at present the difficulty would be serious. To overcome this difficulty, two things are needed: inspiring leadership, and a clear conception of the kind of civilization to be aimed at. Leadership will have to be both intellectual and practical. As regards intellectual leadership, China is a country where writers have enormous influence, and a vigorous reformer possessed of literary skill could carry with him the great majority of Young China. Men with the requisite gifts exist in China; I might mention, as an example personally known to me, Dr. Hu Suh.[110] He has great learning, wide culture, remarkable energy, and a fearless passion for reform; his writings in the vernacular inspire enthusiasm among progressive Chinese. He is in favour of assimilating all that is good in Western culture, but by no means a slavish admirer of our ways. The practical political leadership of such a society as I conceive to be needed would probably demand different gifts from those required in an intellectual leader. It is therefore likely that the two could not be combined in one man, but would need men as different as Lenin and Karl Marx. The aim to be pursued is of importance, not only to China, but to the world. Out of the renaissance spirit now existing in China, it is possible, if foreign nations can be prevented from working havoc, to develop a new civilization better than any that the world has yet known. This is the aim which Young China should set before itself: the preservation of the urbanity and courtesy, the candour and the pacific temper, which are characteristic of the Chinese nation, together with a knowledge of Western science and an application of it to the practical problems of China. Of such practical problems there are two kinds: one due to the internal condition of China, and the other to its international situation. In the former class come education, democracy, the diminution of poverty, hygiene and sanitation, and the prevention of famines. In the latter class come the establishment of a strong government, the development of industrialism, the revision of treaties and the recovery of the Treaty Ports (as to which Japan may serve as a model), and finally, the creation of an army sufficiently strong to defend the country against Japan. Both classes of problems demand Western science. But they do not demand the adoption of the Western philosophy of life. If the Chinese were to adopt the Western philosophy of life, they would, as soon as they had made themselves safe against foreign aggression, embark upon aggression on their own account. They would repeat the campaigns of the Han and Tang dynasties in Central Asia, and perhaps emulate Kublai by the invasion of Japan. They would exploit their material resources with a view to producing a few bloated plutocrats at home and millions dying of hunger abroad. Such are the results which the West achieves by the application of science. If China were led astray by the lure of brutal power, she might repel her enemies outwardly, but would have yielded to them inwardly. It is not unlikely that the great military nations of the modern world will bring about their own destruction by their inability to abstain from war, which will become, with every year that passes, more scientific and more devastating. If China joins in this madness, China will perish like the rest. But if Chinese reformers can have the moderation to stop when they have made China capable of self-defence, and to abstain from the further step of foreign conquest; if, when they have become safe at home, they can turn aside from the materialistic activities imposed by the Powers, and devote their freedom to science and art and the inauguration of a better economic system--then China will have played the part in the world for which she is fitted, and will have given to mankind as a whole new hope in the moment of greatest need. It is this hope that I wish to see inspiring Young China. This hope is realizable; and because it is realizable, China deserves a foremost place in the esteem of every lover of mankind. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 110: An account of a portion of his work will be found in Tyau, op. cit. pp. 40 ff.] APPENDIX While the above pages were going through the Press, some important developments have taken place in China. Wu-Pei-Fu has defeated Chang-tso-lin and made himself master of Peking. Chang has retreated towards Manchuria with a broken army, and proclaimed the independence of Manchuria. This might suit the Japanese very well, but it is hardly to be supposed that the other Powers would acquiesce. It is, therefore, not unlikely that Chang may lose Manchuria also, and cease to be a factor in Chinese politics. For the moment, Wu-Pei-Fu controls the greater part of China, and his intentions become important. The British in China have, for some years, befriended him, and this fact colours all Press telegrams appearing in our newspapers. According to _The Times_, he has pronounced in favour of the reassembling of the old all-China Parliament, with a view to the restoration of constitutional government. This is a measure in which the South could concur, and if he really adheres to this intention he has it in his power to put an end to Chinese anarchy. _The Times_ Peking correspondent, telegraphing on May 30, reports that "Wu-Pei-Fu declares that if the old Parliament will reassemble and work in national interests he will support it up to the limit, and fight any obstructionists." On May 18, the same correspondent telegraphed that "Wu-Pei-Fu is lending his support to the unification movements, and has found common ground for action with Chen Chiung Ming," who is Sun's colleague at Canton and is engaged in civil war with Sun, who is imperialistic and wants to conquer all China for his government, said to be alone constitutional. The programme agreed upon between Wu and Chen Chiung Ming is given in the same telegram as follows: Local self-government shall be established and magistrates shall be elected by the people; District police shall be created under District Boards subject to Central Provincial Boards; Civil governors shall be responsible to the Central Government, not to the Tuchuns; a national army shall be created, controlled and paid by the Central Government; Provincial police and _gendarmerie_, not the Tuchuns or the army, shall be responsible for peace and order in the provinces; the whole nation shall agree to recall the old Parliament and the restoration of the Provisional Constitution of the first year of the Republic; Taxes shall be collected by the Central Government, and only a stipulated sum shall be granted to each province for expenses, the balance to be forwarded to the Central Government as under the Ching dynasty; Afforestation shall be undertaken, industries established, highways built, and other measures taken to keep the people on the land. This is an admirable programme, but it is impossible to know how much of it will ever be carried out. Meanwhile, Sun Yat Sen is still at war with Wu-Pei-Fu. It has been stated in the British Press that there was an alliance between Sun and Chang, but it seems there was little more than a common hostility to Wu. Sun's friends maintain that he is a genuine Constitutionalist, and that Wu is not to be trusted, but Chen Chiung Ming has a better reputation than Sun among reformers. The British in China all praise Wu and hate Sun; the Americans all praise Sun and decry Wu. Sun undoubtedly has a past record of genuine patriotism, and there can be no doubt that the Canton Government has been the best in China. What appears in our newspapers on the subject is certainly designed to give a falsely unfavourable impression of Canton. For example, in _The Times_ of May 15, a telegram appeared from Hong-Kong to the following effect: I learn that the troops of Sun Yat Sen, President of South China, which are stated to be marching north from Canton, are a rabble. Many are without weapons and a large percentage of the uniforms are merely rags. There is no discipline, and gambling and opium-smoking are rife. Nevertheless, on May 30, _The Times_ had to confess that this army had won a brilliant victory, capturing "the most important stronghold in Kiangsi," together with 40 field guns and large quantities of munitions. The situation must remain obscure until more detailed news has arrived by mail. It is to be hoped that the Canton Government, through the victory of Chen Chiung Ming, will come to terms with Wu-Pei-Fu, and will be strong enough to compel him to adhere to the terms. It is to be hoped also that Chang's proclamation of the independence of Manchuria will not be seized upon by Japan as an excuse for a more complete absorption of that country. If Wu-Pei-Fu adheres to the declaration quoted above, there can be no patriotic reason why Canton should not co-operate with him; on the other hand, the military strength of Canton makes it more likely that Wu will find it prudent to adhere to his declaration. There is certainly a better chance than there was before the defeat of Chang for the unification of China and the ending of the Tuchuns' tyranny. But it is as yet no more than a chance, and the future is still problematical. _June_ 21, 1922. INDEX Academy, Imperial, 44 Adams, Will, 94 Afghanistan, 175 Ainu, 117 America, 17, 54, 63, 69, 134, 136, 145 ff., 159 ff and naval policy, 161-2 and trade with Russia, 162-3 and Chinese finance, 163-5, 244 and Japan, 167 ff. Americanism, 221 Ancestor-worship, 39 An Fu Party, 145, 205, 243 Anglo-Japanese Alliance, 120, 123, 133, 137, 149, 175 Annam, 52 Arnold, Julean, 231 Art, 11, 12, 28, 189 Australia, 181 Backhouse, 49 Balfour, 152, 153 Benthamites, 80 Birth-rate-- in China, 73 in Japan, 116 Bismarck, 112, 130 Bland, 49, 77 n, 107 Bolsheviks, 17, 18, 128, 136, 143, 146 ff., 175 ff., 245 Bolshevism, 82 in China, 175, 194, 204 Books, burning of, 24 ff. Boxer rising, 53, 54, 227 indemnity, 54, 217 Brailsford, 166 Buddhism, 27, 31, 48, 190 in Japan, 86 ff., 91, 105, 169 Burma, 52 Bushido, 172 Canada, 181 Canton, 50, 68, 71, 75, 207 Capitalism, 179 Cassel agreement, 69 Chamberlain, Prof. B.H., 103, 105 Changchun, 124 Chang-tso-lin, 68, 71, 77,242, 253 Chao Ki, 40 Chen Chiung Ming, 68, 253-5 Chen, Eugene, 133 n. Cheng, S.G., 55 n., 65, 134 n., 139 n., 232 Chien Lung, Emperor, 49 ff. Chi Li, Mr., 37 China-- early history, 21 S ff. derivation of name, 24 population, 31-4 Year Book, 32 produce, 72 influence on Japan, 86 ff.,104 and the war, 134 ff. Post Offices, 150 Chinese-- character of, 199-213 love of laughter, 188-9, 200 dignity, 202 pacifism, 195, 213 callousness, 209 cowardice, 210 avarice, 211 patience, 206 excitability, 212 Chingkiang, 60 Chinlingchen mine, 234 Chita, 146, 154 Choshu, 99, 101, 102, 106 Chou dynasty, 22 Christianity in Japan, 92 ff. Chuang Tze, 8, 82, 188, 192 Chu Fu Tze, 43 Chu Hsi, 46 Civilization-- alphabetical, 37 Chinese, 187 ff. European, 186 Coal in China, 132 n., 231 ff. Coleman, 77 n., 110, 132 n., 133 n. Colour prejudice, 168, 173 and labour, 181 ff. Confucius, 21, 22, 24, 38, 187, 208 Confucianism, 34, 38 ff., 190 in Japan, 118 Consortium, 14, 163 ff., 179, 244 Cordier, Henri, 24 n., 25, 27 n., 28, 30 n., 31 n., 187 n. Cotton, 76, 235 industry in Osaka, 114 Customs-- Chinese, 55 ff., on exports, 56 internal, 56-7 Dairen, 123 Conference at, 154 ff. Denison, 129 Dewey, Professor, 69, 224 Mrs., 224 Diet, Japanese, 109 ff. Dutch in Japan, 94 ff., 100 Education, 44 ff., 76 ff., 193, 214-225, 247 ff. statistics of, 215 classical, 215-7 European and American, 217-21 modern Chinese, 221 ff. of women, 223-4 Efficiency, creed of, 17 "Eight Legs," 45, 46 Emperor of China 22 ff, 39, 83, 88, 205 "First," 24 ff. Empress Dowager, 52 n. Examination, competitive, 34, 44 ff, 76 "Face," 204 Famines in China, 72, 210 Far Eastern Republic, 140, 154 Federalism in China, 70, 244 Feudalism-- in China, 24, 26 in Japan, 89 ff. Filial Piety, 39 ff., 61 and patriotism, 41 in Japan, 118, 169 Foreign Trade statistics, 236-7 Forestry, 80 Fourteen Points, 53 France, 52, 53, 123 and Shantung, 137-8 and Japan, 157 Fukien, 132 Galileo, 186 Genoa Conference, 146 Genro, the, 91, 106 ff., 128 George III, 49 Germany, 30, 53, 109, 138, 172 property in China during war, 141 ff. Giles, Lionel, 82 n. Giles, Professor, 23, 39, 43 n., 49 n., 187 n. Gladstone, 157, 160 Gleason, 132 n., 134 n. Gobi desert, 31 Gompers, 163 Great Britain-- and China, 52 ff. and Shantung, 137 Great Wall, 24 Greeks, 186 Guam, 150 Han dynasty, 27 Hanyehping Co., 132 n., 232-3 Hart, Sir Robert, 57 Hayashi, 133 n. Hearn, Lafcadio, 99 Heaven (in Chinese religion), 23, 43 Temple of, 23, 24 Hideyoshi, 87, 93, 94 Hirth, 22 n., 23 n., 27 n. Hong Kong, 52, 69, 75, 207 Hsu Shi-chang, President, 44 Hughes, Premier, 181 n. Hughes, Secretary, 152, 153 Hung Wu, Emperor, 45 Huns, 24, 27, 31 Hu Suh, 250 Ichimura, Dr., 121 Ideograms, 34 ff. Immigration, Asiatic, 181 ff. Imperialism. 82 India, 27, 29, 48, 119, 120 Industrialism, 186 in China, 75, 76, 212, 226-39, 245 ff. in Japan, 114 Inouye, 88 Intelligentsia in China, 76 Iron in China, 131, 132 n., 231 ff. Japanese control of, 232 ff. Ishii, 135. _See_ also Lansing-Ishii Agreement. Ito, 88. 109 ff lyeyasu, 91, 94, 95 Japan, 14, 15, 27, 30, 52, 53, 62, 63, 86-175 early history, 86 ff. constitution, 109 ff. war with China, 113, 122, 130 war with Russia, 108, 123, 130 clan loyalty, 118 loyalty to Allies, 136 hegemony in Asia, 120 loans to China in 1918, 143 Socialism in, 114, 170 Jenghis Khan, 28 ff. Jews, 186 Kang Hsi, Emperor, 49 n. Kara Korum, 30 Kato, 133 n. Kiangnan Dock, 232 Kiaochow, 53, 131, 151 Kieff, 29 Koo, Mr. Wellington, 58 n., 164 Korea, 53, 86, 120, 122, 124 Kublai Khan, 29, 30 Kyoto, 96 Kyushu, 92, 94 Lama Religion, 43 Lamont, 165 Lansing, 144 Lansing-Ishii Agreement, 134, 139, 151 Lao-Tze, 43, 82, 187, 194 Legge, 22 n., 39 n., 82 n. Lenin, 180, 250, Lennox, Dr., 73 n. Literati, 25, 26, 38 ff. Li Ung Bing, 26, 45 Li Yuan Hung, President, 140 ff. Li Yuen, 28 n. Lloyd George, 133, 140, 157 Louis XIV., 51 Louis, Saint, 29 Macao, 62 Macartney, 49 Malthus, 73 Manchu dynasty, 30, 31, 43, 64 Manchuria, 53, 68, 120, 123, 127, 130, 146, 154, 177, 178, 207 Manila, 93 Marco Polo, 29 Marcus Aurelius, 27 Marx, 250 Masuda, 93 McLaren, 98, 103 n. Mechanistic Outlook, 81 ff. Merv, 29 Mikado, 87, 99, 106 worship of, 98, 103, 168-9 Militarism, 16, 42, 43 n. Millard, 134 n., 143, 151 n. Minamoto Yoritomo, 90 Mines, 230 ff. Ming dynasty, 30 Missionaries, 196 Roman Catholic, 48, 49 n. in Japan, 92 ff. Mongol dynasty, 28 ff., 43 Mongolia, 29, 43, 120, 147, 154 Morgan, J.P., 157, 165 Morphia, 150 Moscow, 29 Mukden, 130 Murdoch, 28 n., 86 n., 101, 107 n. Nationalism, 16 Nestorianism, 48 Nicolaievsk, 155 Nietzsche, 84, 194 Nishapur, 29 Nobunaga, 94 Northcliffe, Lord, 77 n. Observatory, Peking, 30, 49 Okuma, 120, 122 Open Door, 55, 162, 179 Opium, 52 Panama Tolls, 162 Peking, 30, 34, 52, 72 Legation Quarter, 54 Union Medical College, 73, 219 Government University, 217 n., 222 Girls' High Normal School, 224 Penhsihu mine, 234 Perry, Commodore, 96, 100, 167 Persia, 27, 29, 175 Phonetic writing, 35 Plato, 186 Po Chui, 195 Po Lo, 83 Pooley, 120 n., 121, 124, 128, 133 n. Pope, The, 29, 169 Port Arthur, 54, 123, 130, 150, 175 Portsmouth, Treaty of, 108-9, 125 Portuguese, 92 ff. Progress, 13, 196, 202 Putnam Weale, 32, 33, 65, 143 n., 165, 228 Railways, 226 ff. nationalization of, 228 ff. statistics of, 230 Chinese Eastern, 123, 126, 143, 146, 227 Fa-ku-Men, 124 Hankow-Canton, 227 Peking-Kalgan, 227, 229 Peking-Hankow, 227 Shantung, 151 ff., 227 Siberian, 146, 227 South Manchurian, 124, 125, 126 Tientsin-Pukow, 227 Reid, Rev. Gilbert, 134 n., 139 n. 142 Reinsch, 134 n., 135, 136 Restoration in Japan, 87, 97 8. Revolution of 1911, 30, 65 ff. and Japan, 128 ff. Rockefeller Hospital, 218 Rome, 27, 51 Roosevelt, 108 Rousseau, 42 Russia, 15, 18-20, 29, 53, 108, 119, 127, 146 ff., 175 ff. war with Japan, 108,123, 130 secret treaty with Japan, 136 and Shantung, 138-9 Salt tax, 59, 60 _San Felipe_, 93 Sato, Admiral, 172 Satsuma, 94, 99, 101, 102, 106 Science, 51, 80, 81, 186, 193 Shank, Mr., 69 Shantung, 53, 127, 131 ff., 178 secret treaties concerning, 137 in Versailles Treaty, 144 and Washington Conference, 145, 151 ff. Shaw, Bernard, 160 Sherfesee, 80 Shih Huang Ti, _See_ Emperor, "First" Shi-King, 25 Shinto, 87 ff., 103, 105, 169 Shogun, The, 90, 99 ff. Shu-King, 21, 22 n., 25 Simpson, Lennox. _See_ Putnam Weale Socialism, 64, 181 ff. State, 180, 246 in Japan, 114, 170 in China, 222, 236 Soyeda, 144 n. Spaniards in Japan, 93 Student Movement, 223, 243 Students-- returned, 17, 193, 219 statistics of, 220 n. Summer Palace, 52 Sung dynasty, 30, 45 Sun Yat Sen, 65, 68, 128, 140, 253-6 Supreme Ruler. _See_ Heaven Taiping Rebellion, 32, 56, 65 Tai-tsung, 28 n. Tang dynasty, 28, 44 Taochung iron mine, 234 Taoism, 43, 187 ff. Tartars, 27, 31 Tayeh mines, 231 n., 232-3 Teachers' strike, 206, 225 Tenny, Raymond P., 33 Tibet, 31, 43 Ting, Mr. V.K., 73 n. Tokugawa, 99 Tong, Hollington K., 143 n., 204 n. Trade Unionism, 180-1 in Japan, 114-5 Treaty Ports, 74 Tsing-hua College, 217 Tsing-tau, 131, 151 Tuan Chih-jui, 140 ff. Tuangkuan Shan mines, 233 Tuchuns, 61, 67, 71, 76, 203, 206 Twenty-one Demands, 131 ff., 233, 234 Tyau, M.T.Z., 144 n., 215, 220 n., 223, 226 n., 230, 235 United States. _See_ America. Versailles Treaty, 53, 142, 144,151 Vladivostok, 146, 154 Volga, 18 Voltaire, 221 Waley, 84, 195 War, Great, idealistic aims of, 141 ff. Washington Conference, 16, 55 n., 61, 63, 127, 145, 149 ff., 178 Wei-hai-wei, 54, 149 White men, virtues of, 121 William II., 122 Wilson, President, 140, 142 Women, position of, in China, 223-4 Woosung College, 239 Wu-Pei-Fu, 42, 60, 68, 71, 242, 253-3 Yamagata, Prince, 115 n. Yangtze, 52, 132 Yao and Shun, 21, 22 Yellow River, 21, 187 Y.M.C.A., 82, 83, 222 Young China, 26, 61, 77 ff., 144, 145, 167, 193, 247, 250 Yü, 22 Yuan Shi-k'ai, 65 ff., 129, 135 14492 ---- Notable Women of Modern China BY MARGARET E. BURTON _Notable Women of Modern China_ Illustrated, 12mo, cloth. Net $1.25 The author's earlier work on the general subject of Women's Education in China, indicates her ability to treat with peculiar interest and discernment the characters making up this volume of striking biographies. If these women are types to be followed by a great company of like aspirations the future of a nation is assured. _The Education of Women in China_ Illustrated, 12mo, cloth. Net $1.25 "Thrilling is a strong word, but not too strong to be used in connection with _The Education of Women in China_. To many it will prove a revealing book and doubtless to all, even those well-informed upon the present condition of women. Miss Burton's book will interest all the reading public."--CHRISTIAN ADVOCATE. [Illustration: Dr. Hü King Eng at the Time of Her Graduation from the Medical College] Notable Women of Modern China By MARGARET E. BURTON AUTHOR OF "THE EDUCATION OF WOMEN IN CHINA" NEW YORK CHICAGO TORONTO Fleming H. Revell Company LONDON AND EDINBURGH Copyright, 1912, by FLEMING H. REVELL COMPANY New York: 158 Fifth Avenue Chicago: 125 N. Wabash Ave. Toronto: 25 Richmond St., W. London: 21 Paternoster Square Edinburgh: 100 Princes Street TO MY FRIEND GRACE COPPOCK WHO TAUGHT ME TO KNOW AND LOVE THE WOMEN OF CHINA Preface During a stay of some months in China in the year of 1909, I had an opportunity to see something of the educational work for women, and to meet several of the educated women of that interesting country. I was greatly impressed, both by the excellent work done by the students in the schools, and by the useful, efficient lives of those who had completed their course of study. When I returned to America, and spoke of some of the things which the educated women of China were doing, I found that many people were greatly surprised to learn that Chinese women were capable of such achievements. It occurred to me, therefore, that it might be worth while to put the stories of a few of these women into a form which would make them accessible to the public. It will be noted that the majority of the women of whose work I have written received a part of their education in America. My reason for selecting these women is not because those whose training has been received wholly in China are not doing equally good work, but because it is difficult to gather definite information in regard to the women whose lives have been spent entirely in their native country. The fact that most of the biographies in this book are of women in professional life is due to the same cause. The great aim of the girls' schools in China is, rightly, to furnish such training as shall prepare their students to be worthy wives and mothers, and the large majority of those who attend the schools find their highest subsequent usefulness in the home. But in China, as in other countries, the life of the woman in the home remains, for the most part, unwritten. I have therefore told the stories of the women concerning whose work I have been able to obtain definite information, believing that they fairly represent the educated women of China who, wherever their education has been received, and in whatever sphere it is being used, are ably and bravely playing an important part in the moulding of the great new China. For much of the material for these sketches I am indebted to friends of the women of whom I have written. To all such my hearty thanks are due. For personal reminiscences, letters, and photographs, I am most grateful. M. E. B. Contents DR. HÜ KING ENG I. CHILDHOOD IN A CHRISTIAN HOME 15 II. EDUCATION IN CHINA AND AMERICA 23 III. BEGINNING MEDICAL WORK IN CHINA 39 IV. THE BELOVED PHYSICIAN 44 V. THE FAVOUR OF THE PEOPLE 58 MRS. AHOK I. THE MISTRESS OF A HOME OF WEALTH 73 II. WORK AMONG THE WOMEN OF THE UPPER CLASSES 82 III. A JOURNEY TO ENGLAND 90 IV. PATIENT IN TRIBULATION 101 DR. IDA KAHN I. CHILDHOOD IN THREE COUNTRIES 115 II. AT THE UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 121 III. SEVEN YEARS IN KIUKIANG 126 IV. PIONEER WORK IN NANCHANG 140 DR. MARY STONE I. WITH UNBOUND FEET 161 II. THE DANFORTH MEMORIAL HOSPITAL 169 III. WINNING FRIENDS IN AMERICA 183 IV. A VERSATILE WOMAN 190 YU KULIANG 221 ANNA STONE I. EAGER FOR EDUCATION 233 II. AMONG HER OWN PEOPLE 244 III. THE POWER OF AN ENDLESS LIFE 254 Illustrations Dr. Hü King Eng at the Time of Her Graduation from the Medical College _Frontispiece_ Dr. Hü's Medical Students 41 Dr. Hü's Christmas Party 61 Mrs. Ahok and Her Two Granddaughters 73 Reception Rooms in Chinese Homes of Wealth 83 Dr. Ida Kahn 115 A Nurse in Dr. Kahn's Hospital 138 One of Dr. Kahn's Guests 141 A Village Crowd 141 Dr. Mary Stone 161 Elizabeth Skelton Danforth Memorial Hospital, Kiukiang, China 172 Dr. Stone, Dr. Kahn, and Five of the Hospital Nurses 174 General Ward of the Danforth Memorial Hospital 182 Nurses of the Danforth Memorial Hospital 192 Yu Kuliang 221 Anna Stone 233 The Anna Stone Memorial 257 * * * * * DR. HÜ KING ENG I. CHILDHOOD IN A CHRISTIAN HOME II. EDUCATION IN CHINA AND AMERICA III. BEGINNING MEDICAL WORK IN CHINA IV. THE BELOVED PHYSICIAN V. THE FAVOUR OF THE PEOPLE * * * * * DR. HÜ KING ENG I CHILDHOOD IN A CHRISTIAN HOME Among the earliest converts to Christianity in South China was Hü Yong Mi, the son of a military mandarin of Foochow. He had been a very devout Buddhist, whose struggles after spiritual peace, and whose efforts to obtain it through fasting, sacrifice, earnest study, and the most scrupulous obedience to all the forms of Buddhist worship, remind one strongly of the experiences of Saul of Tarsus. Like Saul too, Hü Yong Mi was, before his conversion, a vigorous and sincere opponent of Christianity. When his older brother became a Christian, Hü Yong Mi felt that his casting away of idols and abolishing of ancestral worship were crimes of such magnitude that the entire family "ought all with one heart to beat the drum and drive him from the house." He tells of finding a copy of the Bible in his father's bookcase one day, and how, in sudden rage, he tore it to pieces and threw the fragments on the floor, and then, not satisfied with destroying the book, wished that he had some sharp implement with which to cut out "the hated name Ya-su, which stared from the mutilated pages." But when, through the efforts of the very brother whom he had persecuted, he too came to recognize the truth of Christianity, he became as devoted and tireless a worker for his Lord as was Paul the apostle, preaching in season and out of season, first as a layman, afterwards as an ordained minister of the Methodist Church. His work often led him to isolated and difficult fields; he was "in journeyings often, in perils of rivers, in perils of robbers, in perils from his countrymen, in perils in the city, in perils in the wilderness." But, alike in toil and persecution, he remained steadfast. He was made a presiding elder at the time of the organization of the Foochow Conference in 1877, and from that time until his death, in 1893, he was, in the words of one of the missionaries of that district, "a pillar of strength in the church in China, because of his piety and wisdom and his literary ability, having, withal, an eloquent tongue which in the ardour of pulpit oratory gave to his fine six-foot physique a princely bearing." A striking testimony to the power and beauty of this Christian man's character is a picture, painted by a Chinese artist, an old man over eighty years of age. This man was not a Christian, but after hearing Mr. Hü's preaching, and watching his consecrated life, he embodied in a painting his conception of the power of the "Cross Doctrine" as he knew it through Hü Yong Mi. The picture, which is five feet long and nearly three wide, and is finely executed in water colours, was presented to Mr. Hü by the artist. At first glance its central figure seems to be a tree, under which is a man reading from a book. Lower down are some rocks. But looking again one sees that the tree is a cross, and that in the rocks are plain semblances of human faces, more or less perfect, all turned toward the cross. The thought which the artist wished to express was that the "Cross Doctrine," as preached and lived by such as Hü Yong Mi, would turn even rocks into human beings. The wife of Hü Yong Mi was brought up in a home of wealth and rank in Foochow. Her aristocratic birth was manifested by the size of her tiny embroidered shoe, which measured exactly three inches. When Hü Yong Mi was asked by the missionaries to become a minister, he was somewhat dismayed to learn that in the Methodist Church the minister's family must frequently move from place to place. In his own words, "The Chinese greatly esteem the place of their birth; if a man goes abroad it is considered a matter of affliction; for a family to move is an almost unheard of calamity." He replied, however, that although he had not known of the existence of the custom, he was entirely willing, for Christ's sake, to undertake the work of a minister in spite of it. The missionaries then asked if his wife would be willing to go with him. He answered that he could not tell until he went home and asked her. But when he had talked the matter over with her, this dainty, high-class lady replied, "It matters not to what place; if you are willing to go, I will go with you." Within a few weeks they left Foochow to work among their first parishioners, a people who might well have caused the hearts of the young pastor and his wife to fail, for Hü Yong Mi says of them: "In front of their houses I saw piles of refuse, and filthy ditches. Within, all was very dirty--pigs, cattle, fowls, sheep, all together in the one house. Not a chair was there to sit on. All went out to work in the fields. They had no leisure to comb hair or wash faces.... None knew how to read the Chinese characters. Some held their books upside down; some mistook a whole column for one character." Mrs. Hü and the children were very ill with malarial fever while in this place, but in spite of all their hardships, a good work was done. Mrs. Hü was as earnest a worker among the women as was her husband among the men, telling the good news to those who had never heard it, and strengthening her fellow-Christians. Many a programme of the Foochow Women's Conference bears the name of Mrs. Hü Yong Mi, for she could give addresses and read papers which were an inspiration to missionaries and Chinese alike. Her friend, Mrs. Sites, has written especially of her influence on the women whose lives she touched: "In the stations where the Methodist itinerancy sent Rev. Hü Yong Mi, this Christian household was something of a curiosity. The neighbouring women often called 'to see' in companies of three to twenty or more, and Mr. Hü expected his wife and children to preach the gospel to them just as faithfully as he did from the pulpit. There are many hundreds of Chinese women to whom this lovely Christian mother and little daughters gave the first knowledge of Christ and heaven." The same friend says of this wife and mother, "In privations oft, and in persecutions beyond the power of pen to narrate, she has become a model woman among her people." In 1865, not long after a period of severe persecution, and while their hearts were saddened by the recent death of their little daughter, Hiong Kwang, another baby girl was born to Mr. and Mrs. Hü, and named Precious Peace, the Chinese for which is King Eng. Born of such parents, and growing up in such an environment, it is perhaps not surprising that unselfishness, steadfastness of purpose, and courage, both physical and moral, should be among the most prominent characteristics of Hü King Eng. One of the clearest memories of her childhood is of lying in bed night after night, listening to the murmur of her father's voice as he talked to someone who was interested in learning of the "Jesus way," and hearing the crash of stones and brickbats, the hurling of which through the doors and windows was too frequent an occurrence to interrupt these quiet talks. Of course little King Eng's feet were bound, as were the feet of every other little girl of good family. But the binding process had scarcely begun when her father became convinced that this universal and ancient custom was a wrong one. He accordingly made the brave decision, unprecedented in that section of the country, that his daughters should have natural feet, and the bandages were taken off. This proceeding was viewed with great disapproval by his small daughter, for while it freed her from physical pain, her unbound feet were the source of constant comment and ridicule, far more galling to the sensitive child than the tight bandages had been. Now, an ardent advocate of natural feet, she often tells of her trials as a pioneer of the movement in Fuhkien province. "That I have the distinction of being the first girl who did not have her feet bound, is due to no effort of mine," she says, "for the neighbour women used to say, 'Rather a nice girl, but those feet!' 'Rather a bright girl, but those feet,' and 'Those feet,' 'Those feet' was all I heard, until I was ashamed to be seen." Finally her mother, who did not wholly share her husband's view of the matter, took advantage of his absence from home, and replaced the bandages. When she would ask, "Can you stand them a little tighter?" the little devotee to the stern mandates of fashion and custom invariably replied, "Yes, mother, a little tighter"; for was she not going to be a lady and not hear "those feet," "those feet" any more! But when her father came home he had a long and serious talk with his wife about foot-binding, and off came the bandages again. Later the little girl went on a visit to a relative, who was greatly horrified at her large feet, and took it upon herself to bind them again, to the child's great delight. It was with an immense sense of her importance that she came hobbling home, supported on each side. Her mother was ill in bed at the time, but greatly to King Eng's disappointment, instead of being pleased, she bade her take the bandages off and burn them, and never replace them. To the child's plea that people were all saying "those feet," "those feet," until she was ashamed to meet any one, Mrs. Hü replied, "Tell them bound-footed girls never enter the emperor's palace." "And that," says Dr. Hü, "put a quietus on 'those feet,' and when I learned that all the world did not have bound feet I became more reconciled." II EDUCATION IN CHINA AND AMERICA When she was old enough, King Eng became a pupil in the Foochow Boarding School for Girls, where she did good work as a student. No musical teaching was given in the school at that time, but King Eng was so eager to learn to play that the wife of one of the missionaries gave her lessons on her own organ. Her ability to play may have been one of the causes which led to the framing of a remarkable and eloquent appeal for the higher education of the Chinese girls, which should include music and English, sent in 1883 by the native pastors of Foochow and vicinity to the General Executive Committee of the Woman's Foreign Missionary Society of the Methodist Episcopal Church, under whose auspices this school was carried on. To the same committee there came at the same time another remarkable request, this one from Dr. Trask, then in charge of the Foochow Woman's Hospital. After leaving boarding school King Eng had been a student in the hospital, and Dr. Trask had become so much impressed with her adaptability to medical work, and her sympathetic spirit toward the suffering, that she longed to have her receive the advantages of a more thorough education than could be given her in Foochow. She accordingly wrote to the Executive Committee of the Woman's Foreign Missionary Society, speaking in the highest terms of Hü King Eng's ability and character, and urging that arrangements be made to bring her to America, to remain ten years if necessary, "that she might go back qualified to lift the womanhood of China to a higher plane, and able to superintend the medical work." She assured the committee that they would find that the results would justify them in doing this, and that none knew King Eng but to love her. Arrangements were soon made, largely through Mrs. Keen, secretary of the Philadelphia branch of the Woman's Foreign Missionary Society, and word was sent to Foochow that Dr. Trask's request had been approved. This word found Hü King Eng ready to accept the opportunity which it offered her. It had not been easy for this young girl, only eighteen years old, to decide to leave her home and her country and take the long journey to a foreign land, whose language she could not speak, and whose customs were utterly strange to her, to remain there long enough to receive the college and medical education which would enable her to do the work planned for her on her return to China. So far as she knew she was the only Chinese young woman who had ever left China to seek an education in another country; and indeed she was the second, the only one who had preceded her being Dr. You Mé King, the adopted daughter of Dr. and Mrs. McCartee, of Ningpo, who had gone to America with them a few years before. King Eng's parents did not oppose her going, but neither did they encourage it. They told her fully of the loneliness she would experience in a foreign country; the dangers and unpleasantness of the long ocean voyage she would have to take; and the unparalleled situation in which she would find herself on her return ten years later, unmarried at twenty-eight. But with a quiet faith and purpose, and a courage nothing short of heroic, King Eng answered, "If the Lord opens the way and the cablegram says 'Come,' I shall surely go; but if otherwise I shall do as best I can and labour at home." Years afterward, when two other girls from the Foochow Boarding School were leaving China for a period of study in America, a farewell meeting was held for them in the school, at which Dr. Hü told how she had reached her decision to go. She said: "I was the first Fuhkien province girl to go to America.... My father told me, 'I cannot decide for you; you must pray to God. If you are to go, God will show you.' Then I felt God's word come to me, 'Fear not, for I will go with you wherever you go.' At that time the school girls were seldom with the missionary ladies and I could not speak any English, therefore I did not know any American politeness; and all my clothes and other daily-need-things were not proper to use in the western country. Although everything could not be according to my will, I trusted God with all my life, so nothing could change my heart." In the spring of 1884, in charge of some missionaries going home on furlough, Hü King Eng left China for America. The journey was a long and rough one, and a steamer near theirs was wrecked. One of the missionaries, wondering how her faith was standing the test of these new and terrifying experiences, asked if she wanted to go back home. But she answered, "No, I do not think of going home at all." She felt that it was right for her to go to America, and although when she met her friends at the journey's end she confessed that sea-sickness and home-sickness had brought the tears many a night, she never faltered in her decision. Upon landing in New York she went at once to Mrs. Keen in Philadelphia, and there met Dr. and Mrs. Sites, of Foochow, whom she had known from childhood, and who were then in Philadelphia attending the General Conference of the Methodist Church. She spent the summer with them, learning to read, write, and speak English, and in the autumn went with them to Delaware, Ohio, and entered Ohio Wesleyan University. Miss Martin, who was then preceptress of Monnett Hall, recalls King Eng's efforts to master English. "She was an apt pupil," she says, "yet she had many struggles with the language." A friend in Cleveland, with whom she spent a few weeks during her vacation, promised her that some day they would go around the square to see the reservoir. King Eng seemed much interested in this proposition and several times asked when they were to go. When they finally went, her friend was somewhat surprised to see that King Eng manifested very little interest in the reservoir; but when they reached home again it was evident that she had been interested, not in the reservoir, but in the proposed method of reaching it. "How can you go 'round' a 'square'?" she asked. When she entered college she set herself the task of learning ten new words a day; but Miss Martin says that she sometimes had to unlearn several of them, owing to the fondness of her fellow students for slang. However, she was persevering, and in time learned to use the language easily. One of the teachers, who had returned a plate to her with an orange on it, still treasures a half sheet of paper which appeared on a returned plate of hers, on which King Eng had written: "You taught me a lesson not long ago, Which I have learned, as I'll try to show. When you would return a plate to its owner, Of something upon it you must be the donor. One orange you put on that plate of mine, Two oranges find on this plate of thine." She was a great favourite with both faculty and students. One of her fellow students shall tell of the impression she made: "Those who were at Monnett Hall at any time from 1884 to 1887 will remember a dainty little foreign lady, a sort of exotic blossom, whose silk-embroidered costumes, constructed in Chinese fashion, made her an object of interest to every girl in college. This was Dr. Hü King Eng, who came to prepare for her life work. Gentle, modest, winning, her heart fixed on a goal far ahead, she was an example to the earnest Christian girl and a rebuke to any who had self-seeking aims." Another, looking back to her college days, and to the college life of Hü King Eng, "or, as she was familiarly and lovingly called, King Eng," writes, "She was so sweet and gracious, so simple in her faith and life, so charitable, that you felt it everywhere. I shall never forget standing in the hall one day with her and another girl, when a young man delivered some books. I asked his name. The young lady gave it, a well known name, and added that he had very little principle, or character. King Eng spoke up at once, and calling the other girl by name said, 'Yes, but his parents are fine people.'" The King's Daughters' Society was organized during King Eng's stay at Ohio Wesleyan, and ten groups, of ten girls each, were formed among the students of Monnett Hall. King Eng, who was the leader of one of these groups, proposed that each girl in it should earn enough money to buy one of the King's Daughters' badges, and that they should be sent to some of the girls in the Foochow school, that they too might organize a society. She was eager that the girls should not only give the badges, but should earn them by their own efforts, that they might thus show the Chinese girls that American students did not consider any kind of work beneath them, but counted it an honour to serve their Master in any way possible. During the April of King Eng's first year at Ohio Wesleyan University, special meetings were held in connection with the Day of Prayer for Colleges, one of them a large chapel service at which the president of the college and the preceptress spoke. The report of this meeting shows that King Eng did not wait until her return to China to begin active efforts to win others to the Christian life. "At the close of an address by Miss Martin, the preceptress, there stepped forward upon the rostrum our little Chinese student, Miss Hü King Eng, who, dressed in her full native costume, stood gracefully before these six hundred young men and women while she witnessed to the saving power of Christ.... The following evening, at our earnest revival service in the chapel of the ladies' boarding hall, there knelt the Chinese girl at the side of her American sister, helping her to find the Saviour; and the smile of gladness on her countenance at the closing of the meeting told the joy in her heart because her friend was converted. The faith of many has been made stronger by hearing the testimony of Miss Hü." The statement of one of her fellow students is impressive: "She had a great influence over the girls, and during our revival seasons she usually led more to Christ than any other girl in the school. One mother, when she came to visit the school after such a meeting during which her own daughter had been converted, exclaimed, 'Little did I think when I was giving money for the work in China, that a Chinese girl would come to this country and be the means of leading my daughter to Christ.'" Miss Martin tells of one student who had long resisted all appeals, but who would listen to King Eng when she would not hear any one else; and who was finally led by her to such a complete consecration that she afterward gave her life to missionary service in Japan. During her vacation periods King Eng often addressed missionary meetings with marked success, winning such testimonies as these: "We are thanking God for that grand missionary meeting. It would have done your heart good to have heard the references to it in our Wednesday night prayer meeting," or, "One gentleman said to me, 'That was the best missionary meeting we ever had in Third Avenue.'" It was probably while doing such work as this that she had the experiences which led her to realize so keenly the blessing of the unbound feet which had caused her so many tribulations as a child, for she says that when she was running for trains in America she always remembered "Those feet," "Those feet," and was glad that she had them. In the summer of 1886 she attended a meeting of the International Missionary Union, and there met Mrs. Baldwin, who had known her as a child in Foochow. Mrs. Baldwin wrote of the impression she made at this time: "Our dear little Chinese girl, Hü King Eng, won all hearts, as usual, by her sweet, gentle, trustful Christian character. To us who have known her from her infancy up, the meeting was of peculiar pleasure; and as she grasped my hand and in low, earnest, glad tones exclaimed in our Foochow dialect, 'Teacheress, all the same as seeing my own house people,' I could heartily respond, 'All the same.'" At the same time she was making rapid progress in her studies. At the annual meeting of the Woman's Foreign Missionary Society in 1886, "the marvellous progress of Hü King Eng was reported ... and tears of gladness filled many eyes as her implicit faith, her sturdy industry, and her untiring devotion were described." She completed her course in Ohio Wesleyan University in four years, and in the autumn of 1888 entered the Woman's Medical College of Philadelphia, doing the regular class work, and making her home with her friend Mrs. Keen. After two years of work there, she was very ill with a fever for many weeks. When her strength began to come back, it was decided that she should stop studying for a time and go to China for the following year, as she was very eager to visit her home, especially as her father was ill. Her lifelong friend, Miss Ruth Sites, was also returning to Foochow at that time. So after securing a passport for Hü King Eng, in order that she might be able to return to America, the two girls made the trip together, spending Christmas in Yokohama, and enjoying a short visit to Tokio. The steamer stopped for a day at Kobe, and there Miss Hü had the pleasure of visiting Dr. You Mé King, then practising medicine under the Southern Methodist Mission. Dr. You was the only Chinese woman who had ever left China for study up to the time of her own going. They had a day at Nagasaki also, where several college mates from Ohio Wesleyan were working; and two days were spent in Shanghai, during which Miss Hü visited Dr. Reifsnyder's splendid hospital. The trip from Shanghai to Foochow was the last part of the long journey, and they were soon in the quiet waters of the Min River. Miss Sites, writing back to America, said that she could never forget King Eng's look as she exclaimed, "The last wave is past. Now we are almost home." A brother and a brother-in-law came several miles down the river in a launch to meet her, and sedan chairs were waiting at the landing to take her to her home, where her parents were eagerly awaiting her. A reception of welcome was given for her and Miss Sites a few days later, which was for her father and mother one of the proudest occasions of their lives. Some of the missionaries had wondered whether so many years of residence in America would not have changed King Eng, and whether some of the luxuries she had enjoyed there might not have become a necessity to her. With this in mind many little comforts unusual in a Chinese home had been put into her room. "But," one of them writes, "this was needless." King Eng was unchanged and all the attention she had received in America had left her unspoiled. This was doubtless largely due to the purity of her purpose in going. In bidding good-bye, a few years later, to some girls who were going to America for the first time, she said: "Some people do not want girls to go to America to study because they think when the girls are educated they will be proud. I think really we have nothing to be proud of. We Chinese girls have such a good opportunity to go to another country to study, not because God loves us better than any other persons, but because He loves _all_ our people in China. Therefore He sends us to learn all the good things first, so that we may help our people. The more favour we receive the more debt we owe the Chinese women and girls. So wherever we go we must think how to benefit our people, and not do as we please, and then how can we be proud?" The only cloud in this happy home-coming, after eight years of absence, was the illness of her father, who was suffering from consumption. But even this cloud was lightened by the help and cheer which King Eng was enabled to bring to him. Miss Sites wrote: "It is an unspeakable comfort to him to have King Eng with him, while she, with skill and wisdom learned in Philadelphia, attends to all his wants as no other Chinese could." Soon after King Eng's return her father was prostrated with a severe attack of grippe, which in his already weakened state, made his condition almost hopeless. Even the missionary doctor who attended him had no expectation that he would recover. "But," reads a letter from Mrs. Sites, "through the knowledge King Eng had acquired of caring for the sick, and her devotion to her father, with work unfaltering, and prayer unceasing, he was brought back to us." For many years Rev. Hü Yong Mi had been planning to build a house, wherein he and his family might live after he was too feeble to preach, and which his family might have if he should be taken from them. At this time he had laid by enough money to carry out his plan, but his weakness was such that he could have done little, had it not been for the energy and vigour of his wide-awake daughter. She helped make the plans for the house, and afterward urged forward the building, so that a few months after her return the family moved out of the parsonage into a comfortable little home, built in Chinese style, but with glass windows and board floors. In addition to the care of her father and the superintendence of the building of the new house, King Eng was kept very busy in the hospital, interpreting for the physicians in the daily clinics, and working among the in-patients. This experience was invaluable to her at this time in giving her a clearer knowledge of the especial preparation needed in her future work. She saw and learned much of the prevalent diseases among the women for whom she was preparing herself to work. She also taught a class of young women medical students, which gave her valuable experience in that line of work. One of the missionaries has written of the impression she made during this stay in Foochow: "She was kept very busy in the hospital and her home, but she was always cheerful and helpful. Her Christian love and natural kindness drew to her the hearts of hundreds of suffering native women, who felt that there was sympathy for them in her every look and touch. Moreover, the affectionate regard in which she had been held by her missionary associates in Foochow has been vastly increased by her unassuming manner, and the meek and quiet spirit in which she mingled with us in work and prayer through the months." The new home was beautifully situated, overlooking the river and receiving constant south breezes, which made it cool and comfortable in summer. It was hoped that in its quiet Mr. Hü might live for a number of years, and it was therefore decided that King Eng should return to America, to re-enter the Woman's Medical College of Philadelphia in the fall of 1892. On the return trip she said to Mrs. Sites, who was with her, "I have learned to trust God fully, else how could I be going away from my sick father whose every move and cough I had learned to hear so quickly through all the hours of the night, and still my heart be at rest?" Mrs. Sites adds, "Personally, her companionship on the voyage was a continual joy to me, notwithstanding my alarming and wearisome struggle while in Montreal to get permission for her to re-enter this alarmingly exclusive country." Hü King Eng re-entered the Medical College in the autumn of 1892, graduating with honour the eighth of May, 1894. She spent the following year in hospital work, being fortunate enough to be chosen as surgeon's assistant in the Philadelphia Polyclinic, which gave her the privilege of attending all the clinics and lectures there. III BEGINNING MEDICAL WORK IN CHINA In 1895 Dr. Hü returned to Foochow. She at once began work in the Foochow Hospital for women and children, being associated with Dr. Lyon, who wrote at the end of the year's work: "Dr. Hü, by her faithfulness and skill, has built up the dispensary until the number of the patients treated far exceeds that of last year. She has also been a great inspiration to our students, not only as teacher, but in right living and in Christian principles." The following year Dr. Lyon returned to America on her furlough, leaving the young physician in entire charge of the hospital work, a responsibility which she discharged so effectively that at the close of the year her co-labourers enthusiastically declared: "Sending Hü King Eng to America for a medical education was providing for one of the greatest blessings that ever came to Foochow. Skilled in her profession, kind and patient, Christlike in spirit, one of their very own, her influence cannot be measured." At about this time Dr. Hü was honoured by being appointed by His Excellency, Li Hung Chang, as one of the two delegates from China to the Women's Congress held in London in 1898. But she was very seriously ill with pneumonia that year, and for weeks it was feared that she could not recover. A letter from Mrs. Lacy, then living in Foochow, reads: "Dr. Hü King Eng has been lying at the gates of death for nearly three weeks. Dr. Lyon said she was beyond all human aid. Most earnest and constant prayers by the native Christians have been offered in her behalf. We are glad to report a decided improvement in her condition although she is by no means out of danger yet. Dr. Hü is a very valuable worker, not only a most successful physician, but a very superior instructor in medicine, and is very greatly beloved by both natives and foreigners, and it does not seem as if she could be spared. We can but believe that God is going to honour the faith of His children and raise her up to do yet greater service for Him." Gradually health and strength came back, and the next year it was reported that Dr. Hü had sufficiently recovered her health to teach one class in the Girls' Boarding School. A trip to the home of a married sister in Amoy, which gave her a sea voyage, and change of air and scene, completed her recovery and in 1899 she was strong enough to take charge of the Woolston Memorial Hospital. [Illustration: Dr. Hü's Medical Students] The Foochow Hospital for women and children is situated on Nan Tai Island, three miles from the walled city of Foochow. The physicians had long felt the need of a similar work within the city walls, and a few years before Dr. Hü's return from America, work had been undertaken in the city. A small building was erected, in which forty in-patients could be accommodated. This little building was named the Woolston Memorial Hospital, and nurses from the Island hospital took turns in working in it, under the supervision of one of the physicians. But until Dr. Hü took charge of the work, in 1899, there had been no resident physician. Some years later, in telling of her appointment to this work, Dr. Hü said: "It is very different from what I had heard of the city people being proud and hard to manage. I am glad God created Lot. If he did not help any one else he surely helped me. At the time I said nothing and went, simply because I did not want to be like Lot. No one knows how I shrank when I was asked to work in the city; for when I thought of the place, the pitiful picture of the Island hospital students would come most conspicuously before me. I can see them even now, wiping away the tears just as hard as they could when their turn came to go into the city; while the other students were like 'laughing Buddhas,' for their turn in the city hospital had expired. I am glad I can speak for myself to-day that in my five years' experience I have never had to shed a tear because the people were obstinate." Nevertheless the first few months were not altogether easy ones. Dr. Hü herself tells the story of the beginnings of the work: "When I first took up my work in the city here, during the first few months what did I meet? People came and said that they wanted a foreign doctor. When our Bible woman told them that I had just returned from a foreign country, and that I knew foreign medicine, what was the immediate reply which I heard? 'No, I don't want a Chinese student, but I want a foreign doctor.' It made my Bible woman indignant, but by this time I usually stepped out and told them just where to go to find the foreign doctors. It surprised my hospital people that instead of feeling hurt I would do what I did." It was only a few months, however, before the city people discovered that this "Chinese student" was a most valuable member of the community. By summer the work of the little hospital was so prosperous that Dr. Hü decided to keep the dispensary open for three mornings a week, even after the intense heat had necessitated the closing of the hospital proper. Some of the patients signified their approval of this decision by renting rooms in the neighbourhood, in order to be able to attend the dispensary on the open days. During this first year of work in the Woolston Hospital Dr. Hü had two medical students in training, who also assisted her in the hospital work, one of them her younger sister, Hü Seuk Eng. She speaks warmly of their work among the patients, and of the patients' appreciation of what was done for them. "Very frequently," she wrote at the close of the year, "I hear the patients say, 'Truly my own parents, brothers, and sisters could never be so good, so patient, and do so carefully for us; especially when we are so filthy and foul in these sore places. Yes, this religion must be better than ours.'" Thus, although the work was begun in fear and trembling, and the young physician had some obstacles to overcome, she treated 2,620 patients during the first year, and was able to report a most encouraging outlook at its close. IV THE BELOVED PHYSICIAN As Dr. Hü's work grew it fell into four main divisions; the dispensary work, the work among the hospital patients, visits to the homes of those too ill to come to her, and the superintendence of the training of medical students. The city hospital has been crowded almost from the very outset. The situation was somewhat relieved in 1904, by the building of a house for Dr. Hü on Black Rock Hill. This enabled her to move out of the hospital and thus enlarged the space available for patients; but the additional space was soon filled and the building was as crowded as before. Dr. Hü is utilizing the building to the best possible advantage. One of her fellow missionaries writes that every department is as well arranged as in any hospital she has ever seen; every nook and corner is clean and tidy, students are happy, helpful, and studious, and patients are cared for both physically and spiritually. The hospital records hold many a story of those who found both physical and spiritual healing during their stay there. One day a woman over fifty, whose husband and son had died while she was very young, came to the hospital for treatment. When she was only twenty-two, crushed by her grief, and feeling, as she said, that there was no more pleasure in this world for her, she made a solemn vow before the idols that she would be a vegetarian for the rest of her life, hoping in this way to obtain reward in the next life. At the time she came to the hospital she had kept this vow sacredly for nearly thirty years, being so scrupulous in her observance of it that she even used her own cooking utensils in the hospital, lest some particle of animal matter should have adhered to the others and thus contaminate her food. She was so unostentatious about it, however, that Dr. Hü did not know she was a vegetarian until she prescribed milk for her. While in the hospital this woman was greatly surprised to hear, in morning prayers every day, that which she could but admit was better than her old belief. Day by day she compared the Christian teaching with her old religion, until finally one morning, after she had been in the hospital about a week, she went to Dr. Hü after the service, and said: "Doctor, your religion is better than mine. I want to be a Christian, but very unfortunately I have made a solemn vow to idols, and now, if I should change my faith, these idols would punish me, my children, and children's children." The doctor assured her that she need not be afraid, since the idols to which she had made her vow were only wood and stone, powerless to harm her. She went off comforted, and a few hours later she created tremendous excitement through the hospital by preparing and eating the first meal of meat she had had for almost thirty years. Some of the patients were much frightened, for the vegetarian vow is considered a most sacred one which, when broken, can never be made again, and they feared that some dire calamity would overtake her. Nothing worse occurred, however, than an attack of indigestion, the natural consequence of too free indulgence in the flesh pots after so many years of abstinence; and the dauntless old lady announced her intention of enjoying many a similar meal in the days to come. Her home was at some distance, and after she left the hospital nothing more was seen of her until three years later, when she appeared one day, bringing with her several patients for treatment. She had gained so much flesh, and looked so well, that she had to tell the doctor who she was. She said that after she went home, and her vegetarian friends saw the dishes of meat on her table and realized that she had broken her sacred vow, they were indignant and alarmed, and would have nothing to do with her. But within the previous year some of them had gradually begun to come to see her again. "I felt badly for their ignorance," she said, "but, oh, I was very glad to have the opportunity to tell them of what you had told me when I was converted." At one time a former patient of the doctor's, who belonged to a prominent family in the city, brought an old man of seventy-one for treatment. The rule of the hospital is that only women and children shall be received as in-patients, so the doctor directed him to go to Dr. Kinnear's hospital. But the old man looked greatly disappointed and begged pitifully: "I am a poor old man and my limb is very painful; _I-seng_ (doctor), do help me and have mercy upon me. Do not look upon me as a man, but a child." The doctor's tender heart finally prevailed and she made an exception of him. When the old man was cured he came back to the hospital regularly, every day, for the morning service. After listening attentively for a few weeks, he said to the doctor, "_I-seng_, I truly know this is a good religion and is just what I want, and I have decided to bow down to this very God." His health did not improve as rapidly as the doctor thought it should; and upon making careful inquiries she learned that it was because the small amount of money which it was possible for him to earn, was not sufficient to provide him with the nourishing food he needed. She at once gave him some money, telling him to buy the sort of food which would build-up his strength, and not to tell any one that he had been given this help. But this was altogether too much to ask of the grateful old man, and "he went out and began to publish it." The family who had sent him to the doctor were much touched by this fresh evidence of her kindness, and thereafter they sent their son with the old man to the morning services each day, saying: "The Christian doctor is so good and kind. She has not only treated this poor man free of charge but has helped him with money. Surely this religion must be good." Often patients come from far away villages to enter the hospital. One young girl from a town many miles up the Min River, who became a happy, eager Christian in the hospital, went home with the hope of coming back to study in the Girls' Boarding School the next year. She was very eager to tell the people of her village, in the meantime, of the glad truths she had learned. "I will be the only Christian in the village," she said. "How I wish Dr. Hü and Lau Sing-sang Moing (the Bible woman) would come and tell my people about the new religion. I will tell them all I know, but I don't know very much." One case is related of an old woman with double cataracts, whose son brought her on a wheelbarrow a distance of several hundred miles to consult Dr. Hü. The doctor performed a successful operation, restoring the woman's sight, and thereby earning the title of "The Miracle Lady." A large work is done every year in the dispensary, where Dr. Hü receives patients each morning. This work has grown from 1,837 cases the first year to 24,091 in 1910, and has made literally thousands of friends for the doctor and her work. When she planned to erect the little building in which she lives on Black Rock Hill many people told her that they were sure the priests, especially those of the Black Rock Hill temple, would strongly object to the erection of a mission building on that site, which was considered a particularly sacred one. But Dr. Hü felt no anxiety in regard to that, for the priests had been coming to the dispensary for treatment for some months previous to the time of beginning the building. "Some have come from Singapore monastery," she wrote, "others from Kushan, still others from those in our own city. Thank God that their illnesses were quickly healed." She tells of one of the Singapore priests who was so grateful to be well again that he came to the hospital one morning, dressed as for some festival occasion, and bringing with him two boxes of cakes and two Chinese scrolls, the Chinese characters of which he had himself written. These he presented to Dr. Hü with his lowest bow, saying, "If I had not come to you and taken your medicine I would have been dead, or at least I would not be able to go back to Singapore." Many priests even came to the morning services and listened attentively to what was said there. A somewhat incidental but very useful work carried on largely in the dispensary, by the Bible women, is a crusade against foot-binding. Dr. Hü's useful life, and the important part her strong, natural feet play in it, is a most effective object-lesson; and the annual reports usually record a goodly number of those who have unbound their feet during the year. The most difficult part of the work is that of visiting the sick in their homes, both because of the great distances that have to be covered, and because in many cases the doctor is not called except as a last resort. One of Dr. Hü's reports reads: "I am very sorry that we do not yet have foreign vehicles, railroads, or street cars. It takes much time to go from one place to another. Fortunately my Chinese people live near together, with their relatives, so when I am invited to go to see one case I often have to prescribe for sixteen or twenty cases before my return." Often when the doctor answers a call she finds that the patient has been ill for a long time, while the relatives have been seeking to obtain help from the Chinese doctor or from idols. She herself shall tell the story of an experience of this kind: "Last week I was called to see a woman very ill with cholera. Her people had had all known doctors, both in and out of the city, and had consulted with and begged many idols to heal her, but the woman had grown worse and worse, until, when she was apparently hopeless, having been unconscious for two days, one of the doctors suggested to try me. I went at once, and found the room crowded with friends and relatives. They could not tell me fast enough what a good and filial woman she was, but that the idols had said certain spirits wanted her, and no amount of offerings could buy her back again. I told them that the woman was _very_ ill, and that I feared it was too late for my medicine to help her. Many voices replied, 'We know, we know, and if she dies we will not blame you.' With a prayer, and three doses of medicine left for the woman to take, we left them." "That afternoon her husband came to report that she was better. I went to see her and to my great surprise she _was_ better. While there a famous idol arrived to drive out the evil spirit. I said, 'Do you want me, or do you want the idols? We cannot work together.' They insisted that I continue to prepare my medicine and said that the idol could wait. He did wait twenty minutes, and I have been told since that no one ever dared to ask an idol to wait before. Before leaving they promised me that the idol should not go near, or do anything outrageous to the woman. This is now the tenth day and the woman seems to have quite recovered." "The woman's husband came yesterday and told me that not only he, but many friends and relatives, were convinced that the idols were false; for one idol would give one cause for the illness of his wife, and another idol would give another cause; while once they did not give the medicine sent by an idol and he (the medium) said later, 'The medicine has done her good.' The husband said, 'We see plainly that my wife was saved by your God, by you, and your medicine.'" While Dr. Hü has done a great deal of work for the poor, her practice is by no means limited to that class, for she is often called to the homes of the official and wealthy classes. One grateful husband, whose wife and baby Dr. Hü had saved, told her that he would not only give money towards her new hospital himself, but would also help her to obtain subscriptions from his friends. "Chinese doctors have learned to use clinical thermometers," he observed, "but the Chinese medicine does not seem to fit the foreign thermometer, for the patients do not seem to get well as with the foreign medicine." The first student to receive a diploma from the Woolston Memorial Hospital was Dr. Hü's sister, Hü Seuk Eng, who graduated in April, 1902. The graduation exercises, held in the Sing Bo Ting Ancestral Hall, which was willingly loaned for the occasion, created a keen interest, and numbers of the city people gathered to witness proceedings so unusual. Many of them said, "This is the first time a Christian service was ever held in a temple." But what was even more wonderful to them was the revelation of the possibilities of Chinese young womanhood which they received. Dr. Hü wrote that after the exercises an official who lived near by announced: "I will buy a girl seven or eight years old and I will have a tutor for her. Then I will send her to the Girls' Boarding School to study, and then she may go to Dr. Hü to study medicine. Then she will go to Sing Bo Ting Ancestral Temple, too, to receive her diploma. Besides, we will all be Christians." Others were heard to exclaim, "Who knew girls could do so much good to the world--more than our boys!" When the exercises were over, greatly to Seuk Eng's surprise, her sedan chair was escorted all the way back to the hospital, to the accompaniment of the popping of hundreds of fire-crackers, set off in her honour. A Chinese feast was prepared for the guests in the hospital, after which another unexpected explosion of congratulatory fire-crackers took place. Thus ended in true Chinese fashion, amid noise and smoke, the first graduation exercises of the Woolston Memorial Hospital. They were by no means the last, however, for this department of work has been steadily carried on ever since Dr. Hü took charge of the hospital. In 1904 she reported: "Our little medical school is getting on nicely. The success of the school is mostly due to our good teacher and the students themselves, who have a great desire to learn. They have had written examinations this year; the highest general average was 98 and the lowest 85. Can any one dare to think, 'What is the use to teach these Chinese people?'" Dr. Hü wrote of the commencement exercises of the class graduating the following year: "Quite a number of the gentry, and the teachers of the government schools for young men, had asked to come to attend the graduating exercises; and of course we were very much pleased to have them. They did seem to enjoy it very much. Some of them have told my friends that they were surprised and delighted to see that their countrywomen could be so brave and do so well. They also wished that their students might have come to see and to listen for themselves. One of the gentry decided that day that his daughter should come to us to study medicine." Up to this time no girl who did not have a diploma from a mission school had been admitted to the medical course of the Woolston Hospital. But in 1906, yielding to the great desire of many other young women to take medical training, Dr. Hü opened the course to any who could pass an examination on certain subjects which she considered essential prerequisites to a medical course. Four of the seven who presented themselves for examination were passed; only one was a Christian girl, two were daughters-in-law of officials, the other a daughter of one of the gentry. An extract from the examination paper of one of them shows the real earnestness of purpose with which the work was undertaken. The first question asked was, "Please give your reasons for coming to study medicine?" "Alas, the women of my country are forgotten in the minds of the intellectual world. How could they think of a subject as important as the education of medicine! The result is that many lives are lost, simply on account of no women physicians for women. Though mission hospitals for women and children have been established for a number of years in the Fuhkien province they are far less than we need. For this reason I have a great desire for a medical education, hoping that I may be able to help, and to save my fellow sisters from suffering. It is for this reason I dare to apply for this instruction." The graduates of the medical course are as yet not great in numbers, but they are doing earnest, efficient work. Some of them have remained in the hospital as assistants or matrons. Of a recent graduating class, one went to the Methodist hospital in Ngu-cheng to assist Dr. Li Bi Cu, the physician in charge; another went to a large village, to be the only physician practising Western medicine; the third to Tientsin, as an assistant in the Imperial Peiyang Woman's Medical College. V THE FAVOUR OF THE PEOPLE As shown by the glimpses of Dr. Hü's work which have been given evangelistic work is carried on in conjunction with the medical work. Christian services are held each morning, and are attended by the dispensary patients, those of the hospital patients who are able to be up, the servants, and usually, also, by a number of visitors. The first year after taking charge of the hospital Dr. Hü was able to report: "Not only some of the in-patients, but also some of our morning dispensary patients, were converted and joined the church on probation. We are rejoicing over the fact that all the hospital servants, all my own servants, and also our teacher, have given their hearts to Christ. They said before a chapel full of patients in one of our morning services, that they would from that day on try to be Christians and to live a good life. So far (six months) they have proved themselves to be in earnest." A few years later she writes: "In our morning prayers I have often looked and seen a chapel full of people. I have carefully looked over the crowd and I could easily recognize those who have just come to us, others who have been here longer. You wonder how I know it? Well, their faces show. Oftentimes our patients listen so attentively that they forget they are in a crowd. Sometimes one, two, three, or even more, speak up with one voice, 'The Jesus doctrine is truly good. What the leader said is nothing but the truth. Idols are false.'" In addition to the morning services Christian work is constantly done by the Bible women who work in connection with the hospital. They hold meetings in the hospital wards, teach the hospital patients to read the Bible, do personal work among those waiting their turn in the dispensary, and visit in the homes. One of the missionaries who is a frequent visitor to the hospital says: "No hour of the week brings more fully the joy of service than the hour I spend in the City Hospital with the poor sick folk there. They are always so glad to hear, and so responsive. No wonder the Master loved to heal; and no wonder the Christian physician finds so many open doors." It is not to be wondered at that those who have been ministered to by this tender, skilful Christian woman, and have watched her happy, busy life poured out in the service of the suffering ones about her, have become convinced that the beautiful doctrine which she teaches and lives is true. Every year the hospital reports contain a record of those who have become Christians during the year as a result of the medical work. Moreover, the seeds sown in the early years of the hospital, some of which seemed to have fallen on rocky ground, were not all in vain. Dr. Hü's sister, reporting the work of 1908, writes: "After careful investigation we found that those seeds were sown deep enough, and with such attention, that even though seven, eight, or nine years have passed they are to-day still germinating, growing, and bearing fruit. After hearing and accepting the gospel, their lives are changed. They become brighter and more straightforward, and have a love for other people." Christmas is a great event in the Woolston Memorial Hospital, not only for the patients and workers, but also for as many of the neighbours as can be accommodated in the chapel. There is never any difficulty with regard to unwilling guests; on the contrary, the neighbours invariably respond with almost disconcerting enthusiasm. The first year that they were invited to the Christmas exercises, red Chinese cards, reading "Admit one only," were distributed to one hundred and twenty families, one to each house, the choice of the member who should use it being left to the family. Careful explanations as to why all could not be invited were made; but in spite of this, during the days preceding Christmas, the doctor was besieged by the non-elect with requests for invitations. [Illustration: Dr. Hü's Christmas Party] The guests were invited for half-past seven Christmas evening, but the great majority of them were on hand at four o'clock waiting for the doors to be opened. When they were opened, and the guests began to pass in, presenting their red tickets, a new predicament arose; for it was discovered that many of these tickets were of their own manufacture, the number of those which were passed in far exceeding the number of those which had been given out. But when the doctor looked over the crowds, and saw how eager they were to get in, and how good-natured they were, she had not the heart to turn them away, so told the gatekeepers to let them in as long as they could find a place in which to stand. And although the chapel was crowded to its utmost seating and standing capacity, even the basement and the yard outside being filled, Dr. Hü said that no better behaved or more quiet crowd could have been desired. They listened attentively to the exercises, which were fully two hours long, and at the close, group by group, they all went up to thank the doctor for the pleasure she had provided for them, and then quietly dispersed. Tea, cakes, and oranges had been provided for the invited guests, but as more than twice the number invited had arrived, it was found necessary to omit that part of the entertainment. However, the doctor sent her servants the following day to distribute the cakes and fruits among those for whom they had been provided. That the guests had enjoyed themselves was evident when the next Christmas drew near, for many either sent to Dr. Hü, or came themselves, to remind her not to forget to invite them to the Christmas entertainment. Nor did a single guest fail to appear on Christmas evening. If a physician's chief reward is the gratitude and appreciation of those among whom he works, Dr. Hü is indeed rewarded for her self-forgetful service of those whom she lovingly terms "my Chinese." Appreciation of the work she is doing is convincingly shown by the way in which the people flock to her, and in their great eagerness to have the hospital kept open the year around. This has proved to be impossible, although every summer Dr. Hü has made an effort to continue the work, being willing to toil even through the intense heat of July and August, and, since the students must be given a vacation, with only half her usual corps of assistants. One summer she wrote with gratitude that the thermometer in her bedroom registered only 93° that day, after two weeks of 99° and even 100°, and added, "It would do you good if you could see how grateful these people are to see us keeping our hospital open; and we are very glad to be able to do something for them in this very trying hot season." But the intense heat of a South China summer and the things that it brings with it, make it impossible to keep the work going continuously in the present crowded quarters. Often it is the dreaded plague which necessitates the closing of the hospital doors. One morning Dr. Hü heard that the neighbour directly across the street from the hospital had been stricken with this fatal disease. She closed the hospital at once, and put up a notice telling the patients why it was necessary to close, and assuring them that she would begin work again as soon as it was safe to do so. The next morning the notice had disappeared, and another one which was put up disappeared as promptly. An explanation of this was afforded Dr. Hü, by a remark which she overheard: "How can we stand having this hospital closed? We took the notice down in hope that the hospital would be opened." But when the plague is prevalent, the closing of the hospital is the only safe course to pursue; for one person, coming into the dispensary suffering from this disease, may do more harm in a few minutes than could be undone in many weeks. A common and gracious way of expressing appreciation in China is the presentation of an honorary tablet, to be set up in one's reception room, on which is written an appreciation of the achievements of the recipient. These are constantly bestowed upon Dr. Hü by those patients who are wealthy enough to express their gratitude in this fashion. A few years ago fire broke out in the middle of the night not far from the hospital. It burned up to the west wall of the hospital and all along the length of the wall, completely destroying all the houses in front of it. Then it was that the Chinese gave expression in very concrete form to their appreciation of their fellow-countrywoman, and the work which she was doing in that hospital. Dr. Hü says that the building might have been reduced to ashes in a moment had it not been for the faithful efforts of those who "were more willing to have their faces scorched and burned than to leave their work undone," and who laboured to such effect that nothing but the roof was seriously damaged. After the danger was over the people poured in to express their sympathy, and offer their congratulations that the damage was no greater, some of them bringing pots of tea and dishes of food. "This may not seem very wonderful to the people in a Christian country," says Dr. Hü, "but if you knew how the people usually are treated at such times you will agree with me when I say 'Wonderful.'" Fire is usually interpreted as an expression of the displeasure of the gods, and it is considered discreet not to interfere. Appreciation of Dr. Hü's work is not limited to any one class of people. One day when she was watching the laying of the foundation of her home on Black Rock Hill, many of the people who lived near were gathered around, and she thought it would be a good opportunity to see how they felt about her coming there. So she asked an old "literary man" standing near her, "Ibah, are you glad to see us building? We will soon be your neighbours." Without any hesitation he replied, while the others signified hearty approval of his remarks: "We are all delighted. It is a hospital, and very different from building a church. _I-seng_ (doctor), you have made many cures in our families. Of course you don't remember us, but even after the transmigration to either dog or hog we will remember you. You may be sure you are welcomed, only we are not good enough to be your neighbours." After the doctor had left, her chair-bearers told her that the people really meant what they said; for they had heard them say similar things when she was not there. Dr. Hü added, "I do feel very sorry that these people are still ignorant that a mission hospital is a part of the church, but they will know some day." Nor has appreciation of the work been limited to words. From the magistrates down, the Chinese have readily subscribed gifts of money to the hospital work. Even the Chinese physicians, who have found Dr. Hü's scientific training so formidable a rival to their practice, have exhibited a most friendly spirit. Dr. Hü says of them: "The Chinese doctors have bravely brought their patients for us to heal. Some of them are well-known doctors in the city here, so their coming to us helps our work a good deal. These doctors are not at all conceited. They talk very openly and frankly before everybody." That Dr. Hü is genuinely loved by her patients, and not valued simply as one from whom benefits are received, was evidenced during her mother's long last illness. During the many months when her mother was so ill, the doctor made the long trip of several miles, from her hospital to her home, almost every night, returning each day for her morning clinics. This, and her care of her mother, added to all her other work, made such heavy days that the patients often said: "Dr. Hü must be very tired. We must save her from working too hard." This, however, is more easily said than done; for Dr. Hü's sympathetic heart makes it very hard for her to spare herself as long as any one needs her help. For nine years after taking charge of the Woolston Memorial Hospital she worked almost unceasingly, with practically no vacations except those caused by the necessity of closing the hospital in the summer, and these she made as brief as possible. But during all this time the work had been steadily increasing, until finally, in 1907, when the number who thronged the hospital and dispensary was greater than ever before, the doctor's health broke down under the strain, and, although with the greatest reluctance, she was forced to stop work. Her fellow-missionaries insisted that she leave the city during the terrific heat of summer, and go to Sharp Peak for some rest. She had been there only two days when she was taken dangerously ill, and for weeks and months the gravest anxiety was felt concerning her. But she received the best of care and nursing, and finally, in March of the following year, she began gradually to recover. Some advised that the hospital be closed. But Dr. Hü's younger sister, Hü Seuk Eng, who had received her medical training in the Woolston Memorial Hospital under Dr. Hü King Eng, and had been associated with her sister in the hospital work for some years, said that to close the hospital would be a great shock to Dr. Hü, and a bitter disappointment to the people, and that she would undertake to keep it open. "The load was indeed very heavy and my heart was truly frightened," she admitted afterward. "Every day I just repeated that comforting verse, 'He leadeth me,' and marched forward." At first the people did not have the confidence in Hü Seuk Eng which they had in Dr. Hü King Eng. Hü Seuk Eng tells of their great eagerness to see her sister: "The faith of many of the patients has been so strong that they thought their illness would at once be cured, or at least lessened, if they could only touch Dr. Hü's garment or hear her voice, or merely look into her face. During these months of sickness many people came wishing to see 'the great Dr. Hü.' They did not want to see me, whom they termed 'the little Dr. Hü.' Some of the leading gentry pleaded with the hospital servants to present their cards to Dr. Hü, and she would be sure to come out to see their sick friends. For it is fully nine years since she was appointed to take charge of this city work, and never once has she been so ill. Indeed, it is the first time she has not been able to respond to pressing calls for medical treatment. So often were heard the words, 'I want the doctor whose hair is dressed on the top of her head and who has graduated from an American college,' that my fellow workers advised the same coiffure in order to avoid trouble; but I told them when the question was asked again just to answer, 'This is Dr. Hü's younger sister, and she will do the best she can.'" As Dr. Hü grew stronger she was able to consult with her sister as to the hospital work; the nurses and students gave the young physician whole-hearted co-operation; and in time of need Dr. Kinnear, of the American Board, whose hospital is not far away, was always ready to advise and help. Thus the hospital work was successfully carried on under the "Great Dr. Hü's sister, Dr. Hü No. 2," until Dr. Hü King Eng was again able to take charge of it. As busy as ever, Dr. Hü is back at her work with renewed strength. "I just 'look up and lend a hand,'" she says, in the words of the motto of The King's Daughters' Society of her college. But hundreds and thousands of the suffering ones of her country rise up to call her blessed for the loving, skilful ministry of that hand which has been lent to their needs untiringly for many years, and which they hope will be their strength and comfort for years to come. That her friends in America recognize the splendid service she is rendering in China, is evidenced by the fact that at its last Commencement her Alma Mater, Ohio Wesleyan University, conferred upon her the honorary degree of Master of Science. * * * * * MRS. AHOK I. THE MISTRESS OF A HOME OF WEALTH II. WORK AMONG THE WOMEN OF THE UPPER CLASSES III. A JOURNEY TO ENGLAND IV. PATIENT IN TRIBULATION * * * * * [Illustration: Mrs. Ahok and Her Two Granddaughters] MRS. AHOK I THE MISTRESS OF A HOME OF WEALTH One of the most prominent men in Foochow during the latter half of the last century was Mr. Ahok, a wealthy Chinese merchant. One who had known him for years speaks of him as "a man of remarkable business integrity and generosity of nature." He was very friendly to the Americans and English living in Foochow, and Dr. Baldwin, of the Methodist Mission, was, during all his stay in China, Mr. Ahok's most trusted friend and adviser. Mrs. Baldwin gives a very attractive picture of this Chinese gentleman: "When any great calamity through fire or flood came to the people, he was quick to respond with the most liberal aid; and I have known him in times of cholera or epidemic sickness to have thousands of packages of medicine put up by our foreign physicians, for him to give to the sick people. In all our acquaintance with him I never knew him to turn a deaf ear to an appeal for help; in a neighbouring city he supported alone a foundling asylum, in which were one hundred little castaway girls to whom he supplied nurses, clothing, etc., and he assured us that no one besides Mr. Baldwin and myself knew of it. He had for some time been accustomed to come to advise and consult Mr. Baldwin on various matters, and when going away would give him a power of attorney to sign for the firm." When Mr. Ahok was married, he urged Dr. and Mrs. Baldwin to be present at the ceremony, and gave them the privilege of bringing foreign friends with them if they so desired. His wife was a member of a family of high rank, the sister of a mandarin, and the possessor of an aristocratic little foot two inches and a half long. Outside of those educated in the mission schools, she was the first Chinese woman that Mrs. Baldwin had met who could read and write. One day not long after the wedding, Dr. Baldwin met Mr. Ahok, and disregarding the Chinese custom which makes it a breach of etiquette to inquire after a man's wife, asked about Mrs. Ahok. Mr. Ahok at once answered with evident pride, "She all the same one mandarin; she reads books all the day." He was very proud of her unusual ability, and the confidence and sympathy which soon existed between him and his wife was much greater than is usual in a non-Christian home in China. Mrs. Ahok shared her husband's warm feeling for his foreign friends. The words of Mrs. Baldwin, who knew her intimately, characterize her well: "She was, from my first meeting with her, ever a friend of me and mine.... She was a woman of strong character, of fine personal appearance, always attired in elegant dress, and so perfect in her observance of the elaborate code of Chinese etiquette that it was ever a marvel to me how she remembered the smallest details of the exacting courtesy, never failing to meet the terse and telling instruction of the standard book on etiquette for girls and women, 'As a guest demand nothing, as a hostess exhaust courtesy....' The better I knew her the more I esteemed her." Mr. Ahok had two beautiful homes in Foochow; one a very fine Chinese house, the other an English residence, elegantly furnished with carpets, pictures, piano, and all other foreign furnishings required for comfort and beauty. In these two homes he and his wife entertained with great hospitality. Mrs. Baldwin says that she has often seen almost the entire foreign community of Foochow, officials, missionaries, and business people, entertained in the Ahoks' home, sometimes in Chinese fashion, sometimes in foreign. It is, of course, contrary to Chinese custom for the mistress of the home to appear before gentlemen outside of her own family. Mrs. Ahok, however, knowing that it was the custom in England and America for the hostess to dispense hospitality to her guests, gradually accustomed herself to appearing as hostess at all gatherings where there were foreign guests; first at small dinners, and later in larger companies. One who was a frequent guest in the home says, "It was a constant surprise to me to see this Chinese lady, so accustomed to seclusion, ever so modestly self-possessed, and in courteous, ladylike bearing, equal to every occasion." But although ready to conform to foreign custom when entertaining foreign guests in her home, it was several years before Mrs. Ahok was willing to attend similar gatherings in other homes. She frequently called at the home of her friend, Mrs. Baldwin, but never when there were strangers there. On one occasion when Mrs. Baldwin was entertaining a few guests at dinner, she invited Mr. Ahok to dine with them. He accepted readily, and Mrs. Baldwin went on to say: "We very much desire that Mrs. Ahok should come with you. We know your customs, but you have known us for a long time. Cannot Mrs. Ahok make an exception and come on this occasion?" He seemed very much troubled and replied: "I would very greatly like to have my wife come, and she would enjoy doing so, and if there were no one here but Mr. Baldwin and you she would come. But other men will be here, and if she came her chair bearers would know it and her name be injured." As has been seen, Mr. Ahok was always very friendly to the missionaries and in sympathy with their work. The Anglo-Chinese College of the Methodist Mission, for example, was made possible by his generous gift. But it was some years before he became a Christian. When the step was finally taken, however, he proved to be a most ardent worker, giving generously to the work of several denominations in various parts of China, holding Christian services in his home, and doing earnest personal work among those with whom he came in contact in the transaction of his business, both in Foochow and on his trips to other cities. Mrs. Ahok was a very devout Buddhist and had no desire at all to learn of Christianity. She was, however, eager to learn English, and consented to learn it through the Bible, since Miss Foster, the English missionary who had been asked to instruct her in English, would consent to give time from her other work only on that condition. "I have often found her with the house full of idols, incense being burned before them," reads a letter from one of her friends. "Our hearts were often discouraged, fearing that this Chinese lady would always love the idols." Even after her husband had become a Christian Mrs. Ahok insisted that she would never forsake the worship of her ancestors and follow the foreign religion. "But," said Mrs. Baldwin, "I felt very sure that a woman of her mind and character would yet follow her husband into the better life. Within a year after, she became a most earnest, loving, working disciple of Christ, ready to deny herself and bear her cross in many ways most trying to a Chinese lady." Both Mrs. Ahok and her husband had intense opposition to meet, for it was not to be expected that members of families of such high rank should forsake the religion of their fathers without encountering bitter protest from their kindred. The opposition of mother and mother-in-law, both of whom lived in the home with them, was especially hard to bear. Mrs. Ahok's mother was intensely hostile to Christianity, and did everything possible to make things so unpleasant for her daughter that she would renounce her new faith. Mr. Ahok's mother was no less opposed at first; but gradually she became more willing to learn about Christianity, and for some time alternated between her idol worship and the Sunday and mid-week services and family prayers which Mr. Ahok held in his home. At length, after having thus compared the two religions for some time, she announced: "You may take my idol away. Hereafter your God shall be my God." From that time on she was a radiant Christian, and it was not long until Mrs. Ahok's mother followed her example. At the time of the death of Mr. Ahok's mother, there occurred an interesting example of the way in which a Chinese can become an earnest Christian without becoming less Chinese thereby. In that part of China the wealthy families, and many of those of the middle classes, begin on the seventh day after a death a series of "meritorious" ceremonies for the repose and general benefit of the soul of the departed. In one form or another the ceremonies are repeated every seventh day thereafter until the forty-ninth day. Buddhist or Taoist priests are hired to conduct the ceremonies. Mr. Ahok, probably partly that he might not antagonize his relatives and friends by a disregard of their funeral customs, partly because of the opportunity for spreading the knowledge of Christianity thus afforded, followed the custom of having such a gathering every seventh day. But instead of non-Christian ceremonies being held, the truths of Christianity were preached. Mrs. Ahok proved to be as active a worker as was her husband. When she had been a Christian only a very short time, the leader for the Friday night meeting held in their home failed to arrive. Evidently her husband was away on one of his business trips, for there was no one else there who could take charge of the service. So Mrs. Ahok said, "I will lead it, though I am not very well instructed in the doctrines of Christianity." In telling of it afterward she said: "I read about the woman who lost the piece of money and took a candle and searched for it; and about the sheep that was lost and found; and then there was singing and prayer; and I spoke to them, and I was able to speak a great deal for them to hear. God helped me and blessed me greatly in the service." Soon after she had become a Christian she wrote a letter to the Woman's Foreign Missionary Society of the Methodist Church, to be read at their annual meeting. In it she says: "The time for your meeting is so near that thoughts of it are constantly in my heart.... We have meetings in our _hong_ (store), and also meetings in our house every Friday evening. The praise for leading us to know the doctrine, and open the meetings, is all due to the sisters who have not minded that the road to China led them so away from their own country, but have come to teach us of Christianity. Although I do not presume to say that my heart has been deeply sown with gospel seed, yet I know that it has been changed into a different heart.... Now I send you this letter of greeting, thanking you for your favours, and praising you for your great virtues. May God bless your fervour and spread abroad the doctrine of Christianity in my country. This is what I always pray." II WORK AMONG THE WOMEN OF THE UPPER CLASSES Interested in every form of Christian service, Mrs. Ahok was especially eager to share the joy of her new-found faith with the women of her own class, the wealthy aristocratic ladies whose secluded lives were so barren and empty, and to whom it was so difficult for a missionary to obtain access. She threw herself with whole-hearted eagerness into the work of the Church of England Zenana Society, whose mission is to these very women, and many are the testimonies to the inestimable value of the work which she did. As one of the missionaries wrote: "She is of immense usefulness in getting the houses open, as she knows the high-class families, and is intensely earnest herself that her fellow-countrywomen should receive the glad news too. Her knowledge of the endless Chinese etiquette and customs, too, is of great service." How difficult it would have been to carry on work of this kind successfully without the help of a Chinese lady of the "four hundred," can be judged from the accounts of the work which the missionaries wrote home from time to time. [Illustration: Reception Rooms in Chinese Homes of Wealth] "We have paid our first visit to some of the rich families in the city. Mrs. Ahok sent a coolie on the day before to ask if they could see us, and they having signified their willingness, we agreed to meet Mrs. Ahok and go with her. We had some dinner at 12 o'clock, as the city is so far away it takes a great deal of time to go, and then started in our sedan chairs to meet Mrs. Ahok. We found her ready, waiting for us, dressed in a most lovely coral pink jacket, beautifully embroidered, and with very pretty ornaments in her hair...." "After an hour and a half's ride through the narrow, crowded streets of the suburbs we reached the city gates; then through more streets even more thronged, till we reached the house. We were carried through the large outer door, then through a small courtyard, and our chairs put down in a row facing the partition which shut off the next portion of the house. There we had to sit some little time, as I fancy the ladies had not quite finished dressing, but at last out came one of the heads of the family and invited us in. We got out of our chairs and in turn made a sort of low bow to the newcomer, shaking our own hands (Chinese fashion) all the time. This over, she escorted us into an inner room.... There was a rug on the floor, a round table, some very high chairs with straight backs, and some mirrors. We sat in state some few minutes and then more ladies came in one after another, and each one we had to salute in the same ceremonious way...." "We had to drink tea when we first went in, and later quite a meal was spread on the round table, cakes, fruits, and tea again. We sat at the table with about three of the principal ladies, and the others looked on. I was a good deal struck with the respectful way the young women treat the older ones, always rising when they enter the room, and remaining standing until they are seated.... We were invited to go and inspect the house, and I was soon quite bewildered at the number of courtyards with rooms all round, which we were led through. I think I was never before in so large a house in China, all one story, but it must cover a great deal of ground. The number of people, too, seemed very great; wives, sons' wives, brothers' wives, children in dozens and scores, servants and slave girls to any number--altogether in that one establishment, one hundred and twenty people." "At last we finished our tour of inspection, and arrived again in the inner court; but alas! more refreshments were waiting, a bowl of soup for each of us, with some white stuff inside.... We got through the greater part of the concoction, wiped our mouths with a cloth wrung out in very hot water presented to us by a slave girl, and began to take our leave, bowed to the ladies of the house, begged them to be seated, informed them that we had given them much trouble, but felt grateful for their kindness, and amid repeated requests to 'walk slowly, slowly,' we reached our chairs, alternately calling our thanks, and requests to them to be seated. It is a great thing, going with Mrs. Ahok, for one has a good opportunity of learning many little customs which please them greatly." "We then proceeded to another house, where we went through much the same etiquette. We were received by a very pleasant old lady and her daughter-in-law, a nice young woman with four dear little children, three of them boys. The old lady is a widow; her husband when living was a mandarin, and her eldest son is now at Peking, preparing to be a mandarin also. We were obliged to drink tea again, and after some time the old lady invited us into her own bedroom, a very much cleaner room than one sees generally, with white matting on the floor and some good furniture. She was very proud of it, but according to Chinese fashion kept exclaiming that it was such a dirty bad room, that she could hardly ask us into it, but we must excuse it, as it was 'an old woman's room.' We had the concertina brought in again and sang several hymns to which they listened very quietly. One of us read a verse and explained it before singing it, and Mrs. Ahok joined heartily, most bravely acknowledging herself to be a Christian, and telling her friends how happy she was. We then went through the house, and about the middle of the establishment we came on a little enclosure where trees were growing, and a pond of water with a rookery behind it looked quite pretty.... When we left they begged us to come again, and Mrs. Ahok is so pleased with the reception we received that she is anxious, if possible, to arrange for us to go again next week." Even more formidable than ceremonious social calls in wealthy Chinese homes, is the thought of entertaining the aristocracy in one's own home. "I want to tell you about our grand feast," one lady writes. "We had been entertained at several houses, and wished to try to get on more friendly terms with some of the rich city ladies. We feared that they would never be willing to come so far, they so seldom leave their houses for anything. However, through our unfailing friend, Mrs. Ahok, we sent invitations asking them to come and dine with us.... Sixteen ladies promised to come. The day before, we had to remind them of the day and hour; but according to Chinese etiquette we only sent our cards, and the messenger explained his errand...." "Well, at last the day arrived, and we were busy all the morning making the house look as bright as we could, and getting chairs put about in the verandas and passages. Mrs. Ahok came first, very kindly, and advised us how best to set the tables, etc. She ordered the feast for us, as the Chinese always do, from a shop. So much is paid for a table and everything is provided. Mrs. Ahok lent us all her own pretty things for the table, lovely little silver cups, ornamented silver spoons, red china tea cups with silver stands, and ivory chopsticks mounted with silver; so we were very grand. We had two tables, ten at each. We were twenty in all, counting ourselves." "At last they began to arrive, and we were kept busy receiving, and conducting them to their seats in the drawing-room. Tea had to be offered at once, and that was hard to manage as none of our men servants might come into the room; so Tuang had to do it all. I do wish you could have peeped in and seen them all sitting about our drawing-room. To us it was a sight that made our hearts dance for joy--and it was a pretty sight too. Some dresses were quite lovely, all the colours of the rainbow, and beautifully embroidered...." "Next on the programme came what the Chinese call '_Tieng sieng_,' fruit and cakes; and during the interval they wandered all over the house examining everything, and we moved about, talking first to one and then to another. Several little things much encouraged us--their friendly, pleasant manner and evident pleasure, and the earnest way in which they pressed us to go again to visit them. One old lady, of a rich mandarin family, said to me in a confidential way, behind her fan: 'Come and see me some day when you have plenty of time, and tell me all about the doctrine, slowly, slowly. I would like to understand about it.'" "At last the feast was announced, and then came the critical point--seating them at table. One table is supposed to be high, the other low, in point of honour, and at each table the seats are all in order (one, two, three, four, etc.), and it is a mortal offence to give a low seat to one who should be placed high. Mrs. Ahok came to our aid again and pointed out each lady according to her rank and Miss ---- escorted her to her place. We ourselves had, of course, to take the lowest places." "Mrs. Ahok then asked a blessing and we began. The principal dish is placed in the centre of the table and the hostess with her own chopsticks helps the guests, all the time urging them to eat, and apologizing for the food, saying she is sorry she has nothing fit for them to eat. Mrs. Ahok did the chief part of these duties for us, and we tried to watch her and do as she did. About two hours we sat at the table, and at last, when we were nearly exhausted, bowls of hot water were brought in, and a cloth wrung out was handed to each person to wash her mouth and hands. The effect on these powdered and painted faces was very funny, but Mrs. Ahok had prepared us for this emergency also, and had sent over her own dressing box--such a beautiful large one--fitted up with everything they could need, powders, paints, and all complete. The ladies were quite charmed and delighted to find such a thing in a foreign house, and adjourned upstairs with great delight to beautify themselves. We heard them telling each other that it was just as if they had been at home...." "At length they said they must go, and we had great leave-taking, bowing and scraping, and thanks, and apologies for having troubled us so much, and assurances on our part that it was all pleasure; and finally off they went, and we sat down to cool ourselves, and drink tea, and chat with Mrs. Ahok. She was very glad and thankful that all went off so well, but quite tired after her exertions, and sat holding her poor little bound feet in her hands, saying they did ache so." III A JOURNEY TO ENGLAND One day when Mrs. Ahok went to call on one of her English friends, Miss Bradshaw, she was startled to find that the physician had ordered her to leave for England on the next steamer, sailing three days later. "I wish you could go with me, Mrs. Ahok," Miss Bradshaw said, when she had told her of the physician's decision. This was a very remarkable suggestion to make to this little Chinese woman, whose life had been such a secluded one that a few years before she would not even accept an invitation to dinner with the Baldwins, since there were to be foreign gentlemen present. Only a short time before, when the Baldwins were returning to America and Mrs. Ahok had gone with them, on her husband's launch, to the steamer anchorage, twelve miles away, they had considered it a great honour, since this Chinese friend had never been so far from home before. But Mrs. Ahok's response was even more remarkable than Miss Bradshaw's proposition; for in three days her little Chinese trunks packed and ticketed, "Dublin, Ireland." Mr. Ahok had heartily consented to his wife's going; and she, unwilling to have her sick friend take the long journey alone, and mindful of the service she might perform for her people in England, by telling of their need and pleading for workers, quickly decided to go. A letter from a friend who was with her the day she sailed shows the spirit with which she took this remarkable step: "I was impressed with two things; her implicit confidence in her missionary friend, and her sweet, innocent trust in the love and care of her Heavenly Father. She was leaving an elegant home and a large household, and in giving last advice to servants and children her voice was clear and joyous, but I noticed that she often furtively wiped the tears off her cheeks. In her good-bye to her dearly loved aged mother, whose grief was inconsolable, she said: 'Don't grieve, don't worry, just pray and God will take care of me and I will come back. Then we will sit here together and I will have so many things to tell you.' Again and again she said to her children, 'Study your lessons diligently and pray night and morning.'" Mrs. Ahok sailed from Foochow the 26th of January, 1890. At Hong Kong she was told, "There are a hundred miseries ahead of you," but she answered unflinchingly, "If there were a thousand more I would go." From Singapore she wrote to her husband: "Yesterday we arrived here at twelve o'clock. Diong Chio (her servant, who accompanied her) wishes very much to go back to Foochow. But I think now I have come so far on the way, I wish very much to obey God's will and go on to England.... Yesterday we drove in a horse carriage to see Mrs. Cooke. We saw Mrs. Ting's relatives in the school.... It is very hot here, like Foochow in the sixth moon. I wish you very much to take care of yourself and take care of the children, and do not let them play too much.... I send _chang angs_ (greetings) to the Christian brothers and sisters, so many I cannot name them all, but greet them all. Please sometimes comfort my mother's heart and cheer her that she may be happy in trusting in God all the time. Write to me in Chinese characters, and I can then read it myself; or sometimes, if more convenient, in English, and Miss Bradshaw will read it to me." A letter from Penang, written two days later, reads: "Leaving Singapore, a Chinese lady and gentleman came on board our boat to come to their home here in Penang. I saw the lady was very sad ... so I talked with them, and found they knew your friend in Singapore. I spoke to them of God and the Christian doctrine, and they were very glad to hear. When we arrived here they invited me to their house to breakfast, which was quite a feast. Their house is very beautiful, four stories high. They afterward took me to call on some friends, and then brought me back to the boat on time." At Colombo she and Miss Bradshaw were met by Miss Bradshaw's sister and brother-in-law, whose home was in that city. Mrs. Ahok wrote from there: "We are staying two days and two nights, until our boat starts for England.... In the evening when it was cool our friends took us to drive, and to call on some Christian people. We saw carriages and horses, so many, running _so_ fast; and the roads and streets are _so_ wide many carriages can go together on them. We passed many black people; nearly all the people are black. We saw many women and girls with their ears full and covered with ear-rings, and some in their noses too, and some _men_ also wear ear-rings. I see the black people, I think how wonderful God's love must be, to give His Son to die for _all the world_, these black people as well as for us. The friends here said they were glad I was going to England to tell the people there about the heathen. They promised all to pray for me, and I want you also to pray that I may fulfil God's will, and do much for God's kingdom in England, and then come back quickly home." "It is very hot here, but the evenings and early mornings are cool. Every one goes out to work, or walk, or drive, from daybreak until the sun is hot, and breakfast at ten o'clock. I want to know, when you write, what Heli is doing; and now I am away from home you will take great care of all the children. Please _chang ang_ all friends and relatives, and Dr. and Mrs. Sites, and take great care of yourself, that when I return I may find all well. Tell me how the boys are, and don't allow Jimmy to climb the trees. Comfort my mother and tell her all I have written." Mrs. Ahok was the second Chinese lady of rank to visit England, the first one being the wife of the Chinese ambassador. She was the first Christian Chinese woman England had ever known, and everywhere excited much interest and won warm friends. _The Christian_ of London gives an account of a meeting held in the Parochial Hall at Clontarf near Dublin, at which the chairman proposed the following resolution: "This meeting having assembled to welcome Miss Bradshaw on her return from China; and having learned the extraordinary friendship, tenderness, and devotedness of her Chinese friend, the Honourable Lady of Diong Ahok, mandarin of Foochow, who had at a few hours' notice decided to break through national customs and leave her home and family, rather than allow Miss Bradshaw to undertake the journey alone; hereby records its unbounded admiration of such Christian sympathy, and brave and generous conduct; and they trust that her own and her husband's desire that her visit may excite fresh Christian workers to go to China, may be abundantly fulfilled." The report of the meeting goes on to say: "This resolution being carried, Miss Bradshaw intimated to Lady Ahok the purport of what had taken place, and asked her to say a few words of acknowledgment. Accordingly, with the greatest simplicity and self-possession she said (each word of her sentences being translated by Miss Bradshaw) that she was very glad to meet them all, and was very thankful to have been brought to England; that her faith in God had enabled her to come." The Tenth Annual meeting of the Church of England Zenana Society was held in Princes Hall, London, during Mrs. Ahok's visit to England, and she was one of the principal speakers. In spite of heavy and incessant rain the audience began to assemble before the doors were open. Numbers stood throughout, and many more failed to gain admission. Standing quietly before the large audience, Mrs. Ahok gave her message so effectively that when she sat down, the chairman, Sir Charles N. Aitchison, exclaimed: "Did you ever hear a more simple, more touching appeal under such circumstances? I never did." Stating the purpose of her visit to England Mrs. Ahok said: "I have come from China--from Foochow--and come to England for what business and what purpose? The road here was _very_ difficult, sitting in a boat for so long! Very tiresome it was, to be on the rough sea, with wind and waves for the first time! My servant Diong Chio and I have come here. We are strangers! We raise our eyes and look on people's faces, but we can see no one we know--no relative, no one like ourselves--all truly strange! I left my little boy, my husband, my mother--all this: for what purpose, do you think? It is only entirely for the sake of Christ's Gospel that I have come." "It is not for the sake of seeing a new place and new people, or any beautiful thing; we have in China quite close to us new places--beautiful places. I have never seen _them_ yet; so why should I come so far to see other places? They may be very good to see, but not for this could I leave my household and people. I cannot speak your words, I do not know any one, and your food is quite different from ours: nothing is at all the same as that to which I am accustomed...." "... It was God's Holy Spirit that led me to come. He wanted me to do what? Not to amuse _myself_, but to ask and invite _you_ to come to China to tell the doctrine of Christ. How could you know the needs of China without hearing them? How could you hear unless I came to tell you? Now you can know, for I say the harvest in China is _very_ great, but the labourers are _so_ few. Now my great desire is that the Gospel of Christ may be known on earth as it is in heaven. It is not yet known in China, and because the great houses have not yet heard the Gospel, all their money is spent on the idols, sacrifices, and burning incense." "In this country _some_ help to spread the Gospel, some go to other countries to tell those who have never heard, but some (a great many) are not helping in any way: though they have all heard themselves, they are living here only to obey their own wills, for their own pleasure in this world! How pitiable! We all know the Gospel of Christ; let us then not follow the heathen (who have never heard) in caring for the things of this world. The Bible says, 'If a man receives all the riches of this world, and loses his own soul' (and the souls of many others), 'what can it profit him?'..." "I am only here for a very little, then I must go back to Foochow, where there are so many large houses full of ladies; the workers are so very few now. At this time only one _ku-niong_ is there to visit all the great city houses. She is not enough to visit so many; and it is said that in these mandarin houses their ears have never yet heard the doctrine.... Now I pray God to cause, whether _ku-niongs_ (unmarried ladies) or _sing-sang-niongs_ (married ladies), _quickly_ to go and enter these houses with the Gospel. Now I ask you, raise up hot hearts in yourselves and quickly help us." "First. Will you come back to China with me?" "Second. If _you_ cannot, will you cause others to come, by sending them and doing what you can to help them to come?" Mrs. Ahok had planned for a six months' visit in England, but word came that her husband was ill, and she left in July, after a stay of a little less than four months, during which she had addressed large audiences in approximately one hundred meetings in England and Ireland. The impression she had made there may be gathered from a paragraph which appeared in _India's Women and China's Daughters_, after she had left: "Those who saw Mrs. Ahok's earnest face, and listened to some of the most simple and heart-stirring words ever heard on an English platform, will recall the impression her plea for her countrywomen then made.... If God should open the way for Mrs. Ahok again to visit England, she will be welcomed as one who brought home the reality of missions to many a conscience in England, and revived the flagging spirits to zeal for the Lord of Hosts!" Mrs. Ahok went home by way of Canada, accompanied by Miss Mead, one of the new workers for whom she had been pleading. She did not realize how seriously ill her husband was, for he had written cheerfully: "Tell Mrs. Ahok that I have been a little ill for some weeks and that now I am staying at the Ato house. I find it very restful staying quietly at the old home.... Tell Mrs. Ahok, please, not to worry at all about me." On saying good-bye to friends in England Mrs. Ahok told them that she hoped to come again, and that the next time it would be with her husband. She was thus spared the keen anxiety throughout the long journey which she must have suffered, had she realized her husband's condition. She wrote back to Miss Bradshaw from Montreal, telling of her safe arrival and expressing her gratitude that although she and her maid had both suffered severely from sea-sickness, they had been well taken care of by "a woman who was a worshipper of God." At Vancouver she had to wait some days for her steamer, and she wrote from there on July 26: "All well, all peace. From the time I left England a month has passed away. I keep thinking constantly of the meetings in England which we had together. Now we are in this place waiting for the ship and therefore we had this very good opportunity for work. I have been invited by the minister of the church here to speak at meetings. I have done so six times. Because this is a new place, and there are men and women who do not at all believe the Gospel, but who like to hear about Chinese ways and customs, therefore they all greatly wish me to go to these meetings. I think this is also God's leading for us, that we could not proceed on our journey, but must spend this time here.... To-day is Saturday; this afternoon at half-past three we are to have another meeting; to-morrow we go on board ship to return to China.... When you have an opportunity, give my greetings to all my Christian friends." After Mrs. Ahok was back in China, she had a letter from the minister of the Methodist church in Vancouver telling her that three new missionary societies had been formed as a result of her few days' stay. He added, "Your stay here has been an inspiration to us; the fortnight has been one of blessing to us all." IV PATIENT IN TRIBULATION The long anticipated home-coming was a very sad one. During the hot summer months Mr. Ahok had grown steadily weaker, and he died almost three months before his wife reached Foochow. It was a great comfort to those who had been instrumental in arranging for Mrs. Ahok's trip to England to remember how fully her husband had approved of the plan. Miss Bradshaw said: "I shall never forget the bright way in which Mr. Ahok faced all the dangers and difficulties of the journey on which he was sending Mrs. Ahok. As he said good-bye at the anchorage, he said he did it gladly, for the sake of getting more workers for China." Not even when sick and suffering did he regret having let his wife go, although he missed her greatly. He wrote Miss Bradshaw, during his illness, "I realize how great God's grace is, in allowing Mrs. Ahok to visit England, and I am so thankful to all the Christian friends who have helped her and been kind to her." Mrs. Ahok's brother, her nephew, and Dr. Sites, who had long been a friend of hers and of Mr. Ahok's, met her with a houseboat at the steamer anchorage; and during the twelve-mile ride up the river, the sad news was told. The shock almost stunned Mrs. Ahok at first, but with realization came heart-rending grief. Miss Mead, the young missionary who had come from England with her, wrote soon after their arrival: "Yesterday afternoon I went with three of the ladies to see her. The expression on her face was altered and according to Chinese custom she was very shabbily dressed. Her jewels were taken off. She keeps saying, 'If I could only see him once more and tell him all I have done in England!'" Added to her grief for her husband, Mrs. Ahok had to bear the taunts and reproaches of her non-Christian relatives, who told her that all this trouble had come as a just punishment of the gods, because she had forsaken the religion of her ancestors, and violated the customs of her country in leaving it for so many months to visit a foreign land. Not only this, but taking advantage of her refusal to perform certain rites of non-Christian worship which are a part of the legal ceremony connected with the inheritance of property, they seized Mr. Ahok's estate, and the dainty little woman who had always been accustomed to every comfort, and even luxury, was left with little but the house in which she lived. Moreover a fresh sorrow followed close upon the first one, as her mother lived only a short time after her return. But in spite of these heavy burdens, the rare courage which had so often been evidenced before, soon began to reassert itself. Miss Mead was soon able to write: "Mrs. Ahok spoke a little at the Bible-women's meeting on Tuesday, and for the first time came here afterward and had a cup of tea, and saw my room. She is brighter, and I am glad to tell you that she was able to say that the peace of God was still hers. Jimmy Ahok (her little son) was present at Miss Davis' wedding." Nor was Mrs. Ahok too absorbed in her grief to remember her friend in her happiness, for little Jimmy carried with him a beautiful bunch of flowers for the bride. As soon as the news of Mr. Ahok's death reached England, a letter of sympathy signed by nearly five hundred of Mrs. Ahok's friends in England was sent to her. Its closing paragraph must have brought her comfort in the knowledge that her journey had not been made in vain: "We bless God for your coming to England. We have learned to know and love you. Your words are not forgotten. The seed God enabled you to sow is already bearing some fruit, and will, we believe, bring forth much more. One sister has gone with you; we send this by the hands of three more. We know others who were led by your words to offer themselves for Christ's work in China. Two of them are now being trained for the mission field. This will cheer your heart." To this, Mrs. Ahok replied: "I thank you all very much for your sympathy, and for sending such good words to comfort me. I rejoiced greatly to hear your words. When I was in England I was a great trouble to you, and I must thank you for all your kindness to me then...." "After leaving England I reached Foochow at the end of the seventh moon, and then heard that my beloved husband had left this world and been called home by God to His kingdom in heaven. At that time I was very sad and distressed, and my distress was the greater because I had no one to carry on our business. Being anxious about money matters, therefore, these many days, I have failed to reply to your letter and to send you my salutations, and thank you all for your great love." "Now because I cannot carry on trade myself, therefore I have determined to close our business and pay all debts; and the British consul has kindly acted for me in this matter. My hope is that God will enable me to sell this house in which I am living, and then I shall have a competency. It is because I fear that I shall not have enough to feed, clothe, and educate my children that I wish to sell this house. As soon as I have done this I think I shall be able, with the missionary ladies, to visit the houses of the gentry, and have worship with the Chinese ladies, and exhort them all to embrace Christianity. Thus I shall be doing the Lord's work. I trust you will all pray for me, and trust that in some future time an opportunity may be given me of again visiting England and America to work for the Lord. This is the true desire of my heart." "At this time I seem to have no heart to write, but I send this letter to you to express my thanks. Another day I may write again. My two little children send their greeting, and I add my own. After my return home an additional trouble came upon me because my mother was called home to God. But so far as she is concerned death must be reckoned happiness. She with my husband, earlier than myself, are enjoying the eternal bliss of heaven. I will thank you to give my salutations to all the sisters and ministers whom I know." Mrs. Ahok soon began again the work among the upper class women which had been her great joy, heartily co-operating with both American and English missionaries in their efforts for these women. Miss Ruth Sites, of the American Methodist Mission, was very eager to do something for the young girls of this class, and Mrs. Ahok gladly lent her influence, with such effect that Miss Sites was enabled to start a small school. Here a good education was given to the daughters of the official class, and Christianity was so taught and lived that by the end of the second year all but two of the pupils were Christians. Miss Sites wrote also of the help that Mrs. Ahok gave in taking her to call in the homes which it would otherwise have been impossible for her to reach. The Church of England Mission had for some years maintained a school for the daughters of the Chinese Christians in Foochow; but a few years after Mrs. Ahok's return from England they began to feel the urgent need of another school, where girls from non-Christian families could be educated. When Mrs. Ahok's advice was asked, she heartily approved of the plan and advised that it be attempted, offering to rent her home to the Mission for a school building, and promising also to help in the teaching. Moreover she was invaluable in interesting her non-Christian friends in the school, and it rapidly grew from four to forty-five, with such prospects of future prosperity that the house next door to Mrs. Ahok's was also rented, and a new dormitory and dining-room were built. Girls brought up in non-Christian homes are of course very different from the daughters of Christian parents, and Mrs. Ahok warned the missionaries at the outset that they would be very difficult to manage, and herself drew up the school rules. Her services were of the greatest value, both in this school and in the School for High Class Girls established by the Church of England Zenana Society a few years later, of which she was made the matron. "She makes the girls love her, and her influence over them is good," wrote one of the teachers. "A fortnight ago some money was stolen out of a drawer. I was very sad about it, and the girls were urged to confess, but until yesterday no one spoke. Yesterday Amy told Mrs. Ahok that she had taken it and asked her to tell me." Again she wrote: "Mrs. Ahok makes a very good matron of the school, and an excellent hostess to the many visitors who come to see the school. Whenever an opening is given Mrs. Ahok and I return the call, and usually get good opportunities of delivering the message." Testimony is also borne to Mrs. Ahok's effective work among the mothers of the pupils of the school. One of her great joys is a weekly meeting in that wing of the Church Missionary Society's hospital which was erected in memory of her husband, and set aside for the use of women patients. Throughout her life of whole-hearted service for the women and girls of her country, Mrs. Ahok has been a most devoted mother to her adopted son, Charlie, and her own child, who was always known as Jimmy. The latter inherited his mother's quick mind, and made such a good record at the college which his father's generous gift had founded many years before, that after his graduation he was asked to return as one of the faculty. The beauty of his life was the crowning tribute to his mother. At a meeting held in Foochow, an American, who had recently come there as an insurance agent, told how much impressed he had been by a young Chinese to whom he had been talking, and added that if the Christian schools turned out young men like that, he thought the work was indeed worth while. The young man was Jimmy Ahok. In the summer of 1904 the young man's wife was very ill, and through the hot summer weeks he cared for her night and day with such devotion that his own health gave out. It was some time before he would admit that he was ill; but he was finally forced to succumb to a severe attack of pneumonia, which ended his life within a very few days. His only anxiety seemed to be that he had not done enough work for his non-Christian neighbours. "I have not tried enough to influence the neighbours," he told his mother. "When I get well I will have a service for them and teach them to worship God." His death was a great blow to his mother, but her work has again been her solace. One of her friends wrote to England, at the time of her son's death, that the thought that her friends in England would be praying for her was one of the greatest sources of comfort to Mrs. Ahok. In the midst of her busy life in China she has never forgotten England nor her friends there. Some years after her return to China, she sent her greetings to her English friends by one of the returning missionaries, and bade her ask them: "Have you done, and are you doing, all you resolved to do for my sisters in China? So many missionaries have been called home, there can be no lack of _knowledge_ now as to the needs of the heathen. With so many to witness to them, how great is the increase of _responsibility_ to Christians at home." She wrote to the women of the Church of England Zenana Society: "You rejoiced to help many ladies to come to Foochow to act as light-bearers and induce those who were sitting in darkness to cast away the false and embrace the true, and to put away all the wicked and evil customs. The work which these ladies are doing is of great value and has helped many. They have preached the gospel in all the region; they have tended the sick in the Mission hospitals; they have opened schools for women and girls in several places, and in my own house. In my own house there are now thirty-nine scholars, some of whom have unbound their feet; and some have been baptized. I myself every week teach in this school, and I also go to the hospital and talk to the sick people. I trust that this seed so widely sown will presently bear fruit, some thirty, some sixty, some a hundred fold. You will remember that when I was in England I told you of the state of things in China; and I hope you will not forget my words but will do your utmost to help China, that God's promised reward may hereafter be yours." Mrs. Ahok is daily giving herself, in whole-hearted service, to her countrywomen. A fellow-worker has recently written of her: "She is winning her way into the hearts of the people in the Manchu settlement. Always bright and cheerful, and ready to tell the Story, she is welcomed wherever she goes. When I think of her past life of ease as the daughter, and later the wife, of an official, I marvel at her spirit of consecration. Quietly she goes from house to house in search of those who are willing to listen. Miles she has walked over the hot stone pavements. 'If my people will only believe in Christ, I shall be well repaid,' she says." A true Christian woman, whose courage has flinched at no sacrifice, who has borne the loss of husband, mother, son, and property, and the reproaches of non-Christian relatives, with a peace and a faith unshakeable and convincing, Mrs. Ahok is accomplishing much by what she does, doubtless even more by what she is. * * * * * DR. IDA KAHN I. CHILDHOOD IN THREE COUNTRIES II. AT THE UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN III. SEVEN YEARS IN KIUKIANG IV. PIONEER WORK IN NANCHANG * * * * * [Illustration: Dr. Ida Kahn] DR. IDA KAHN I CHILDHOOD IN THREE COUNTRIES By the time little Ida Kahn first opened her eyes in Kiukiang, China, little girls had become a drug on the market in her family. Her parents had long been eager for a son, but each of the five babies who had come was a daughter, and now this sixth one was a little girl, too. According to Chinese custom, they called in the old blind fortune-teller to declare her fate and give advice concerning her future. His verdict was discouraging for he told them that she must be killed or given away to another family, since as long as she remained in the home the long-desired son would never come to them. The parents were not willing to end the little life, so they determined to engage the baby to a little boy in a neighbouring family, and give her to the family of her betrothed to bring up. But when they called the fortune-teller again to ask his judgment on the proposed betrothal, he declared that the little girl had been born under the dog star, the boy under the cat star, and therefore the betrothal was not to be thought of. The family's perplexity as to what to do with this superfluous little daughter became known to the neighbours, and one of them, who was teaching Chinese to Miss Howe and Miss Hoag of the Methodist Mission, told them about it. That very afternoon they took their sedan chairs and went and got the baby. Thus, when only two months old, Ida was adopted by Miss Howe, whom she always calls "my mother," and of whom she says, "There is no one like her in the world." The same year that little Ida was born, Miss Howe and Miss Hoag had succeeded in starting a school for girls in Kiukiang, the first girls' school in that part of China. In this school, as soon as she was old enough, Ida began to study. When she was nine years old Miss Howe went to America and took the little girl with her. They were in San Francisco at this time, and there Ida attended a mission school for the Chinese girls of the city. As most of the other pupils belonged to Cantonese families, and spoke a Chinese dialect very different from that of Kiukiang, she did not learn very much at school; but her stay in America, at the age when it is so easy for children to acquire languages, helped her very much in learning English. On her way back to China Miss Howe stayed in Japan for several months, and there again Ida attended school. On returning to China, Miss Howe was asked to work in a newly opened station of the Methodist Mission at Chung King, a city of western China, located on the Yangtse River many miles above Kiukiang, and many days' journey into the interior. During their stay there, Ida continued her studies, tutored by Miss Howe and Miss Wheeler, of the same mission. The stay in Chung King lasted only two years, for in 1886 the mission compound was completely destroyed by a mob, and the missionaries had to flee for their lives. For two weeks Ida, with some other Chinese girls, was in hiding in the home of a friendly carpenter, while the missionaries were hidden in the governor's yamen. At the end of that time they all succeeded in making their escape from the city, and the little girl, who had already had so many more experiences in her short life than the average Chinese woman has in threescore years and ten, had the new adventure of a trip of several days through the gorges of the Yangtse River. The river is always dangerous at this point because of the swift rapids, but was so unusually so at that season, when the summer floods were beginning, that only extraordinary pressure would have induced any one to venture on it. The trip to the coast was made in safety, however, and after another stay of a few months in Japan, Miss Howe and her charge went back to Kiukiang, and Ida again entered the school there. Miss Howe was desirous that the people in America who were interested in the Kiukiang school should be kept informed of its progress; but with her many duties it was difficult for her to find time for frequent letters, so she sometimes asked Ida to write for her. Extracts from one of these letters, written when Ida was fifteen, and sent with no revision at all, show something of this little Chinese girl's acquaintance with English: "DEAR MRS. ----:" "We have at present twenty-four scholars and four babies. We are not many in numbers, but we hope that we may not prove the works of missionaries in vain. The rules of this school are different from others, since only girls of Christian families are allowed to study. Girls of non-Christian families are allowed to study if they are willing to pay their board. They also furnish their own clothes. For these reasons our school contains girls from many places since Christian girls are few.... In Kiukiang only one Christian family have their girls at this school. The pastor of the church over the river sends his eldest daughter. She has been my companion from babyhood, and we were only separated when she went to Chin Kiang and I to Chung King. She and her sisters never had their feet bound. She is the first girl in Kiukiang who never bound her feet. Her name is Mary Stone. She and I study together both in English and Chinese." "Her mother came a few weeks ago and stayed with us one week. One day Mary and I went with her to visit the homes of missionaries; when we came back Mrs. Stone suggested that we should go and see her uncle. Mary and I hesitated a little; for we were not used to visiting Chinese homes, especially after New Year when people are very ceremonious. When we arrived at the home we found that they had a New Year's party there, although it was the second month. The reason was this; at the time of the New Year Chinese ladies do not step outside their houses till they are invited to a party, and as invitations do not come until nearly the end of the first month it is common to continue to the second month." "Mrs. Stone's friends were very glad to see her, for they had not met for a long time. The party consisted of three elderly ladies, besides the hostess, and three young girls besides the young daughter of the house. They were dressed principally in bright blue, green, and red, and were painted to the extreme. The young girls hardly tasted their food, but looked us over from head to foot, especially our feet. The room was hot, and presently one of the girls tittered to another and said, 'Your face is streaked,' meaning that some of her paint was off and showed dark lines; whereupon all the girls declared that they were going to wash their faces. After a while one of the girls came back and said, 'My face is clean now, is it not?' Mrs. Stone told us that they saw we had no paint on and were ashamed of theirs. The girls' only talk was about their jewellry, clothes, and other gossip. Mary and I were very much disappointed, for we hoped to learn some Chinese manners. Mrs. Stone advised me not to wear spectacles, for I attracted many remarks. I told her I was only too glad to draw attention from our feet." "We always remember the friends in America who for His sake sent missionaries to help us. Yours affectionately," "IDA KAHN." II AT THE UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN When Miss Howe went to America on furlough in 1892, she took with her five young Chinese people, three boys and two girls; the latter, Ida Kahn and her friend, Mary Stone. Growing up in China, under singularly sheltered and happy conditions, Ida had been greatly impressed with the misery of many of her countrywomen, and early formed the purpose of becoming a physician and giving her life to the alleviation of their sufferings. Mary Stone had the same desire, and Miss Howe, coveting for them a more thorough medical education than was then available in China, took them to Ann Arbor to enter the medical school of the University of Michigan. Both girls passed the entrance examinations successfully, even to the Latin requirements; in fact their papers were among the best of all those handed in. The four years in Ann Arbor were very busy ones. In addition to their college work, they did their own housekeeping in a little suite of rooms in the home of Mrs. Frost. She says that they excelled many American girls at housekeeping, having regular days for house-cleaning, and always keeping their reception room in good order to receive their girl friends, of whom they had many. Occasionally they even entertained their friends at a little Chinese feast. Mrs. Frost recalls that the only flaw in Ida's housekeeping was that when the girls stopped in her room, as they often did for a little visit on their way home from college, Ida would pick up a book or magazine and become so absorbed in it that she would forget all about the domestic duties awaiting her. But in spite of college and housekeeping duties, they were not too busy to take part in the Christian work of the church which they attended. Mrs. Frost pays them the following tribute: "They were lovely Christian characters, ready to respond and assist in any Christian work where their services were solicited. While they were in Ann Arbor they assisted me in my Sunday afternoon Mission Band work with the small children of our church, singing, or offering prayer, or telling interesting stories to the little ones. On different occasions they, with the Chinese boys that came with Miss Howe at the same time, assisted me in the public entertainments given to help swell the funds of the Mission Band and raise enough to support an orphan, or for other missionary work. They were very efficient, consecrated Christians, very lovable and loving, highly respected by every one with whom they came in contact. I have very pleasant memories of our little Chinese doctors, and they have a very warm place in my heart and affections." Both the girls won many friends among both students and faculty. Ida was elected to the secretaryship of her class in her Junior year. Their record for scholarship was so enviable that the assertion was often made, "They must either be remarkably clever, or they must have applied themselves with unusual devotion." They led their class in their Junior year, and in their Senior year were surpassed by only one student. Dr. Breakey, specialist in skin troubles, on whose staff they worked during their Senior year, speaks warmly of their earnestness and devotion to their work. Another professor said at the time of their graduation, "They will be a credit to the University of Michigan. The society which provided for their course will never regret having done so." As their study at the University drew to a close, the young physicians received many evidences of the appreciation that was felt for the work they had done. Before commencement a reception was given them in the Methodist church of Ann Arbor, at which each of them received a case of valuable surgical instruments. Many other gifts were also showered upon them,--from medical cases, cameras, clocks, and bedquilts, to books and dainty handkerchiefs. In order not to attract attention they had adopted American dress during their stay in Ann Arbor; but their graduation dresses were sent from China, made in Chinese style, of beautiful Chinese silk, with slippers of the same material,--Ida's blue, Mary's delicate pink. Seven hundred and forty-five students received their diplomas at that commencement, but to none was accorded the universal and prolonged applause which broke forth as the two young Chinese women stepped on the platform to take their diplomas from President Angell's hands. Even the medical faculty applauded heartily, the only time that the staff joined in the demonstrations of the audience. One who was in the audience says, "Their bearing and dignity made us very proud of them." President Angell was much interested in them and said to their friends, "Their future career will be watched with every expectation of eminent success." The two months succeeding their graduation were spent in Chicago in hospital work, and in the autumn they sailed for China. While they were in America an old gentleman said to Ida, "I am glad you are going back to your country as a physician. Your people need physicians more than they need missionaries." The Chinese reverence for old age was too great to permit Ida to contradict him, but turning to her friends she said quietly, "Time is short--eternity is long." So it was not only as a physician, but as a regularly appointed medical missionary that she returned to China. III SEVEN YEARS IN KIUKIANG Quite a little anxiety was felt concerning the reception which the young physicians would receive from the Chinese on their return to Kiukiang. A foreign-trained Chinese woman physician had never been seen or heard of in that section of China, and, scarcely, in all China, since Dr. Hü King Eng, of Foochow, was the only other in the Empire at that time. The doctors' own friends had long been asking when they were coming back, and when at last the time arrived they had their plans all laid for welcoming them. The missionaries had some doubts as to the propriety of a public ovation to two young women, but the Chinese were so eager for it that they at last consented, and from the moment the young doctors left the steamer until they arrived at the gate of the mission compound, they were saluted with an almost continuous fusillade of fire-crackers. Of course the noise attracted curious crowds, and by the time they reached the Bund they were surrounded by a host of their townspeople who were eager to get a glimpse of the "women doctors." Some of them were heard to say, "Why, these girls are receiving more honour than was shown to our commandant when he arrived!" As the company slowly proceeded up the Bund, the missionaries were besieged with eager questions: "Are they Chinese women?" "Is it true they have been studying for four years in a foreign land?" "Can they heal the sick?" "Will they live in Kiukiang?" When all these questions were answered in the affirmative there was a vigorous nodding of heads, and "_Hao! Hao! Hao!_" (Good, good!) was heard on every side. It seemed remarkable that in so dense a crowd the universal expression of face and voice indicated only favourable interest. Shortly before the doctors arrived one of the missionaries wrote, "We are expecting 'our doctors' back this fall, and after they have several months of hospital practice in other mission hospitals in China, we hope to have a place ready for them to begin work." The doctors had expected, too, a little time for resting, and visiting with the friends whom they had not seen for so many years. Moreover it was thought that some time would have to elapse before they could gain the confidence of the people sufficiently to begin practice. But on the third day after their arrival four patients appeared and asked for treatment; on the following day the same four returned and six newcomers arrived; and so it went on, until dispensary quarters had to be hurriedly rented and regular work begun. They had been back only about a month when they were sent for one evening to visit a woman who was in a very serious condition. On arriving at the house they found there the best known native doctor in the city, richly dressed in satin and silk, and accompanied by four chair-bearers. He had told the woman's family that he could do nothing for her, and after welcoming the young women physicians very pleasantly, he took his leave, advising the family to put the patient into their hands, saying, "They have crossed mountains and seas to study about these matters." The family wanted the doctors to guarantee that the woman would live, but they, of course, refused to do this, and after some discussion turned to go. But at that the older members of the family fell on their knees, and begged them to stay and do just whatever they thought best. Their treatment was so successful that three days later the grateful family invited them to a feast, after which they were wound about with red scarfs by the old grandmother, and presented with gifts. The entire family then escorted them home amid the explosion of many fire-crackers. The _China Medical Missionary Journal_ of December, 1896, in commenting upon the work of these young women, says: "They have not, up to the present time, had to endure the pain of losing a patient, although they have had several very serious cases. When that does come, as of course it must, there will doubtless be some reaction, and present faith may be changed to distrust for a time. But the most hopeful had not dreamed of their commencing work without some opposition, and that they actually sought, before making any efforts to secure patients, has been a great surprise to all. Their early success is doubtless due largely to the fact that they are back among their own people as true Chinese, and while they have gained much in culture and intellect, love and sympathy for their race have ever been present; while the ruling motive in all their efforts has been how best to prepare themselves to help their countrywomen. The native women do not stand at a distance to admire them, but familiarly take their hands and feel their clothing; and while acknowledging their superiority do not hesitate to invite them as guests to their humble homes." Nor was the reputation of the young physicians limited to Kiukiang. At about the time of their return, the young emperor, Kwang-hsi, had issued edicts to the viceroys of the various provinces, ordering them to search out and send to Peking, young men versed in modern affairs, who could act as advisers to him. Several of these young men held a meeting in Nanking before proceeding to Peking. Two of them had heard of the young doctors just returned from America, and, on their way to Nanking, stopped at Kiukiang for the purpose of calling on them. The doctors, however, felt it wise to adopt a conservative attitude in regard to receiving calls from young men, lest their influence with the women with whom they were to work should be weakened, did they violate Chinese custom in this matter. Miss Howe therefore received the guests in their stead, answered their questions, gave them such information as they desired, and presented them with the diploma of one of the doctors. They displayed the diploma at the meeting at Nanking, where it created much interest. The son of Governor Tang of Hupeh, who was at the meeting, spoke for two hours on the desirability of educating women, and suppressing the custom of foot-binding. Then and there a society was organized in which these men pledged themselves to marry their sons only to natural-footed women, and their daughters only into families whose girls were allowed to grow up with natural feet. At about this time, also, Chang Chih Tung, one of the most eminent and public spirited viceroys of his time, sent a representative to wait upon Miss Howe, with the request that she and the young physicians accept positions in a school which he wished to establish in Shanghai. His aim was to develop a University for women which would train women teachers, and he wished also to have a medical department in connection with it. Foot-binding concubinage, and slavery were dealt with directly in the prospectus; Sunday was to be observed as a holiday; and liberty of conscience in the matter of religion was to be allowed. While no religious books might be taught in the school, no objections were raised to religious work being done privately. When this request was brought to the Women's Conference of the Methodist Mission they passed a resolution expressing their sympathy with the proposed plan, and advising the acceptance of the positions by Miss Howe and one of the doctors, "if in the process of the development of the plans they feel it best to do so." Although as the plans developed Miss Howe and the doctors finally decided that they could be more useful in Kiukiang, the offer shows the interest felt in the work of the young physicians, even in the highest official circles. At the close of the first year, Dr. Kahn reported: "With the exception of a month spent at the Nanking Memorial Hospital we have kept up our work steadily ever since our return to Kiukiang. At present we have regular dispensary work, and our Bible woman spends her time faithfully teaching the women. As she is quite an elderly woman, has been very well trained and educated, and above all is an earnest Christian, we are sure that her influence will not be small on those with whom she is brought in contact. Then again, she is a good chaperon to our girls who are preparing to be nurses. There are three girls who have been in the girls' school from five to six years, and now choose to take up nursing as their life work. They assist in the dispensary, help make up the drugs, attend to the hospital patients, and recite two lessons to us every day. Later on we hope to have them assist in our operations and go out with us when we need them." "At present we have six patients in the hospital, and although the number may seem small, yet our hospital has been opened scarcely two months, and it is so tiny that it appears quite full. The hospital is merely a Chinese dwelling, heightened and improved by floors and windows." "During the year two or three interesting trips have been made by us into the country. The first one was made by Miss Stanton and myself to the capital of the province, to attend the wife of an official. We brought her home with us, and while here undergoing treatment she studied the Bible every day and enjoyed it very much. Later, when she returned home, she recovered completely, and now two of her sons are in our mission school. Her husband gave one hundred dollars for the dispensary and two merit boards or tablets to us, and he said he would help us in raising money for the hospital...." "One thing which pleases us very much is that those whom we have treated outside, when they get well almost invariably come and call on us, and even go with us to church." The following year she wrote: "The time has come again for us to give our yearly report and we are very glad to be able to say that the work has advanced in every direction. The year has been a very unhealthy one and fevers have simply flourished, so that our nurses have been kept very busy caring for patients often in a critical condition. During the year we were enabled to make four visits into the country. Miss Stanton has been more free to do evangelistic work and take long trips than previously, and it has been a privilege for one of us doctors to accompany her on the journeys. By taking turns, one of us could always attend to the regular work. People are awakening everywhere, and crowds flock to us to hear the truth and receive medical treatment. Sometimes we dispense medicine to one or two hundred people a day. Our stock of medicine usually gives out, and many people have had to be turned away for lack of drugs. Everywhere they begged us to come and visit them again. At one place a party of women came at night to the boat where Miss Stanton and I were staying, inviting us to go ashore and organize a church. They told us: 'Men can hear preaching sometimes on the street; but we women never have an opportunity to hear anything except when you ladies come to teach us.'" During that year, the second of their practice, the young physicians were able to report 90 patients treated in the hospital, 134 in homes, 3,973 in the dispensary, and 1,249 during country trips, making a total of 5,446. Their third year was also a very prosperous one, not only in their work among the poor, but also in the number of calls which they received from the class of people who were able to give them ample compensation for their services. This money was always turned into the mission treasury by the young physicians, who also, for four years, gave their services to the Woman's Missionary Society without salary, in return for the four years of training which they had received at Ann Arbor. An interesting glimpse of the impression they made upon their fellow-workers is given by a letter from one of the missionaries written at this time: "None who know our beloved doctors, Mary Stone and Ida Kahn, can do otherwise than thank God for raising up such efficient and faithful workers. It is difficult to think of any desirable quality which these two ladies do not possess. To this their growing work gives witness." Dr. Kahn was honoured in the latter part of the year by being appointed as the representative of the women of China to the World's Congress held in London, June, 1899. The hearts of the doctors were gladdened during this year by the prospect of a hospital building in which to carry on their work. Early in 1900 Dr. Kahn wrote happily to Dr. Danforth, whose gifts had made the building possible: "Work on the building is going on merrily, and the results are pleasing so far.... As to our work at present, we can truly say that never before has it seemed so encouraging. This being the Chinese New Year month we have usually had scarcely any patients, and at least for a number of days no patients at all; but this year we had no day without patients, and often had thirty, forty, and even over fifty patients a day, which is certainly unprecedented. You cannot imagine how strong a prejudice the average Chinaman has against doing work of any kind too soon after New Year's. Not only is it the only holiday of any duration they have during the year, but it is ill luck to work too early." "While standing at the gate on the second day, watching the patients straggling in, I saw one of them brought on a stretcher. It was a pretty little girl who had been badly burned by the upsetting of a foot stove under her wadded garments. As they came up an old woman who carried one corner of the bamboo bed called out, 'Doctor, have you opened your accounts yet?' meaning have you begun work yet. I answered, 'Why, our accounts have never been closed, so we did not need to reopen them!' 'Yes,' she said, 'I know, and I wish you many congratulations for the New Year, and may you have much custom during the year.' Think of what that implies! Then she went on volubly describing what a time they had in getting people to carry the bed, for no money could induce them to come, and finally she and a few boy cousins had to bring her. A few days ago her people came and fired lots of crackers, as well as hung up long strips of red cloth outside our gate, in order to show people that we have accomplished a cure for them and they wish to express their gratitude in public." A few months later the Elizabeth Skelton Danforth Memorial Hospital was completed; but just as they were about to occupy the new building the Boxer uprising assumed such serious proportions that all work had to be dropped, and the women were forced to leave the city. The doctors accompanied the other missionaries to Japan, and remained there for a few months; then came back to China and spent a few weeks in Shanghai, until the country had quieted down sufficiently to make it safe to return to the interior. The weeks in Shanghai were not idle ones, for they found plenty of patients to treat during their stay there. There were many missionaries from various parts of China gathered in Shanghai at this time, and the women improved the opportunity thus afforded by the presence of so many workers for a conference on the various phases of women's work. Dr. Kahn was asked to give an address on Girl Slavery at this conference, and made a great impression by her powerful plea for the abolition of this wicked practice. Her appeal had added force because she was a Chinese woman herself, and this evil custom had come close to her life. "She was my best friend in school," she said of one victim, "and her mind was as beautiful as her person. We were baptized together and she confessed to me that she would like to devote her life to Christian work, adding so sadly that she must try first to help her opium-smoking father. Where were gone her longings and aspirations when she was sold by him to be the concubine of a man sixty years of age! Surely on this eve of China's regeneration, we, the more favoured ones, must plead with all our might that all these unnatural customs shall be swept away with the last relics of our country's barbarism." [Illustration: A Nurse in Dr. Kahn's Hospital] The doctors were soon able to recommence work in Kiukiang, and with their fine new hospital they worked under far more favourable conditions than heretofore. A letter from Dr. Kahn tells of their enjoyment of the new building: "It is now a pleasure to see the little crowds of women and children sitting comfortably in the easy seats of the dispensary waiting room, and to notice how they enjoy the talks of the Bible woman. In former years they were always huddled together in a dark room, or else were scattered here and there in our front yard, and the Bible woman had great difficulty to get them to listen quietly. The new drug room is a constant delight. The operating room, too, is our pride, because it is so light. The confidence which people had in our work before last year's troubles broke out, appears to revive again." The following summer, Miss Robinson, of Chinkiang, visited the doctors in their new quarters. A letter written from their home reads: "We find them as skilful in housekeeping as in hospital-keeping, and excelling in the happy art of making their guests at home. Such all-round women are a priceless boon to their native sisters. I want to have our graduates attend the coming annual meeting in Kiukiang, improving this opportunity of bringing them in contact with the doctors, who have long since become the ideals of our school girls.... Referring to the fear some native Christians have shown of sending their girls to a school having manual labour in its curriculum, Dr. Ida exclaimed hotly, 'This fear of work is the bane of China.' Here are two doctors of exalted privileges, educated abroad, honoured alike by native and foreigner, and yet putting their hand to cooking and housework of every kind, as the need may be, without a thought of being degraded thereby; a glorious object-lesson to accompany the teachings of the mission schools." IV PIONEER WORK IN NANCHANG In the first year of the young physicians' practice in China, a launch had been sent to Kiukiang by one of the high officials of Nanchang, the capital of Kiangsi province, with the request that one of the physicians should return to Nanchang in it and treat his wife, who was very ill. Dr. Kahn went, and brought the woman back to Kiukiang with her. After a few weeks under the doctors' care she returned to Nanchang completely recovered, and gave such glowing accounts of the benefit she had received that many of the wealthy ladies of the city followed her example and went to the Kiukiang hospital for treatment. At that time no American missionary work was being done in Nanchang; but the successful treatment of the wife of the official is said to have "opened the gates to Protestant missionaries." The Methodist Mission soon established a station there, and the work grew rapidly in spite of the fact that Nanchang was not an altogether easy place in which to work. As it was in the interior and off the highway of travel, little was known of foreigners. Moreover, there was a rowdyish element of the population which was very hostile to them and everything connected with them, as Dr. Kahn had good cause to know. Soon after the work in Nanchang had been begun by their mission, she and Miss Stanton made a trip there, the latter to do evangelistic work, Dr. Kahn for medical work. Dr. Kahn shall tell the story of their experiences: [Illustration: A Village Crowd] [Illustration: One of Dr. Kahn's Guests] "One afternoon, Miss Stanton and myself went to call on some ladies of the Plymouth Brethren Mission, the only other Christian mission besides our own in the city. The day being warm Miss Stanton had the rain cover of her sedan chair removed. Unfortunately it was a hired chair and there were no side curtains, neither was there an upper curtain in front. When we had gotten fairly started boys began to follow us, and by the time we had reached our destination quite a crowd was with us, and rushed into the compound ahead of us. Once in, we planned to cover the chair; and also waited till dark for our return, hoping that by that time the crowd would have dispersed." "However, when we got ready to start, there was a large crowd still clustered around the court and door. They allowed Miss Stanton to get into her chair first and start off, but when I followed, then the fun began. The coolies would take a step or two, then the chair would be pulled almost down. Yelling at them was of no avail. Finally a stone was thrown and one of the windows broken, so I thought it was time to walk. The crowd called out, 'A foreigner! a foreigner!' I was almost ready to cry with vexation, and could not help telling the people that they were cowards and barbarians. One or two of the bystanders now began to take my part, and administered a blow or two to those who seemed to be too obstreperous, telling me at the same time not to be afraid. I started to enter the largest residence near me, but the gatekeeper slammed the door in my face so I went on ahead. One of my volunteer helpers said, 'There is the residence of the official Yang, where you can find shelter.' So he led me into a house where a couple of women were sitting in the great room. Rather abruptly I told them that I was pursued by a crowd, and asked if I could find shelter there until I could send word to my people. My guides also explained that the people took me to be a foreigner. To my surprise the ladies welcomed me cordially, and ordered the doors to be shut on the crowd. Now all my friends will be ashamed to know that I could not repress my tears, but after a good cry I felt relieved. The people in the house urged me not to be afraid. I told them I was not afraid; I was disgusted that my people could be so mean. My hostess related several instances where ladies coming home alone in their chairs had been pulled about, and deplored the fact that there were so many rowdies everywhere." "Very soon the church members heard of my trouble and came to escort me home. As we wended our way homeward fresh members joined us till we formed quite a procession with lights flashing everywhere. Indignation was felt by all, so some of the party went back to demand the arrest of the ringleaders. How thankful I was to get back safely to our mission compound. Miss Stanton's chair coolies had assured her that I was following behind, and she thought everything was secure. The church members were at prayer meeting and did not notice my non-arrival. The delay I think must have been providential, for had the members rushed there and found a crowd, I fear more trouble must have resulted." "Very soon the husband of a wealthy patient came and offered many apologies for the bad conduct of the people. How do you suppose he found out about the matter? He was returning home from a feast, and seeing so many Methodist lanterns (please do not smile, for the lanterns have 'Methodist Church' written on one side, and 'Gospel Hall' on the other) asked what it meant, and learned of the trouble.... Certainly the devious ways of my own countrymen never struck me so forcibly before. How much we do need the truth to shine in upon us and change us completely." Yet it was to this city that the Christian physician's heart went out in such compassion that, for its sake, she was not only willing, but glad to leave her home in Kiukiang, the prosperous work which she had been doing in fellowship with her lifelong friend, Dr. Stone, and the beautiful new hospital to which she had long looked forward with so much eagerness. "This old city of Nanchang with about three hundred thousand inhabitants, and surrounded by a thickly settled country, has not a single educated physician," one of her letters reads. "Do you know what that means? The people realize their need and asked us to go and live among them. One of the church members offered to give us, free of charge, a piece of land situated in a fine part of the city, for either a hospital or a school lot. The pastor said he could raise $1,000 among the people if we would only begin medical work there. Do you think we ought to refuse that offer, which is a wonderful one, because the church has only just been established there? 'And when they came to Jesus they besought Him instantly, saying that he was worthy for whom He should do this.'" The people of Nanchang, both Christian and non-Christian, pleaded so eagerly for medical work, and promised to do so much toward its support, that the missionaries agreed with Dr. Kahn in feeling that a door to great opportunity was open before her, which it would be a serious mistake not to enter. Accordingly, early in 1903, she responded to what Dr. Stone termed "the Macedonian call," and began work in Nanchang. The Woman's Foreign Missionary Society did not feel able to assume any responsibility for the financial support of the medical work in the new field, beyond that of the doctor's salary. But Dr. Kahn firmly believed that missionary work should be just as nearly self-supporting as possible; and since many of the urgent invitations from Nanchang had come from homes of wealth, she was very willing to attempt to carry on medical work there on a self-supporting basis. In an article on the subject of self-supporting medical missionary work, written for the _China Medical Missionary Journal_, she gave some of her reasons for believing in self-support, and her theories as to how it might be carried out. "To the many of us, no doubt, the thought naturally arises that we have enough problems to deal with in our work without having to take up the irksome question of self-support. Yet at the present time, when every strenuous effort is being made to evangelize the world in this generation, any plan which can help forward such a movement at once assumes an aspect of vital importance in our eyes. Let it not be presumed that self-support is to be recommended as possible to every medical missionary. On the contrary, I fear, only by those fortunate enough to be located in large cities could the effort be attempted with any hope of success. Yet in a measure the question concerns every one of us, because in its different phases self-support is sure to be pressed upon all of us with more or less force. Personally, my work was undertaken in Nanchang partly from faith in the principle, partly because there were no funds available to institute medical work on any other basis. My faith in the principle is founded upon the belief that anything of value is more appreciated when something has been asked in exchange for its worth, from those perfectly able to effect the exchange.... The ordinary people who seek help from the missionary will retain a higher measure of self-respect, and also suspect less the motives of the benefactor. The rich will appreciate more highly the services received, besides having the added glow of satisfaction in helping forward a worthy charity...." "There should be no ironclad rules, however; each case must be counted on its own merits. Generally speaking, it might be well for the physician in charge to state plainly that the very poor are to be treated free of charge and have medicines, and occasionally food supplies, gratis. Those a little better off may help a little in paying for the medicines. The next step above that is to pay partly for the treatment as well; while the highest grade is to pay in proportion to the amount of help received. All this means a good deal of thought on the part of the physician and assistant, but gradually it will become routine work and so demand less labour." "Is self-supporting work a missionary work? Assuredly yes; for is not the money thus gained used in giving relief to the poor?... And if all money received goes again into the work, to increase its efficiency, why may it not be counted missionary? Part of it is given as thank-offering by those who are not Christian, and all is given for value received from Christian effort. Our Lord healed diseases without money and without price. If we ask, 'What would Jesus do?' under our existing circumstances, the suggestion comes to my mind that it would be something different in form, but not in principle, from what He did in a different land, under far different circumstances, nineteen hundred and more years ago. Someone says we are to follow Jesus, not to copy Him; and the principal thing, it seems to me, would be always to abide in the Spirit of the Christ, by whatever method we feel constrained to render our little service." Although the new step was taken so bravely, it was not an easy one. Some idea of the courage it required is shown by the doctor's report of her first year in Nanchang; "The very thought of making a report causes many poignant memories to rush upon us. With what hesitancy and timidity did we begin our work in the new field! Knowing our own limitations, it was not with a light heart that we began the new year. Yet," she was able to add, "as we toiled on, we could but acknowledge that we were wonderfully led along 'The Pathway of Faith.'" Enough money was contributed by the Nanchang people to enable Dr. Kahn to rent a house in the centre of the city, in which dispensary work could be carried on, and in which she lived. They also supplied her with a small stock of drugs with which to begin work, and she treated something over two thousand patients during the first eight months. The number seemed small after the work to which she had been accustomed in Kiukiang; but she was becoming known in the city, and in addition to her patients several of the women of the city had called on her in a purely social way, many of them educated women of the official class. Dr. Kahn says of them: "As the wives and daughters of expectant officials they are representative of the better class of the whole country, for they are assembled from every province. It is pleasing to note that dignity and modesty are often combined with real accomplishment among them. It is amongst these that there is a marked eagerness to learn something better. They talk about their country incessantly, and deplore with real sincerity her present condition, of which many of them have a fairly good knowledge. To these we tell over and over again that the only hope of China's regeneration is in her becoming a Christian nation, and that only the love of Christ can bring out the best qualities of any people...." As to the financial side of the work, Dr. Kahn reported: "The outlook is most promising. During the eight months I have received over $700 from the work, and as much more has been subscribed." During the succeeding two years the work developed steadily. The number of patients treated at the close of 1905 was almost three times the number reported in 1903, and Dr. Kahn wrote, "We have tried to check the number of patients, simply because we did not feel financially able to treat so many." The rent which she had been obliged to pay for her building in the city had been a heavy burden financially. Great was her delight therefore to be able to report, at the end of this year, a new $2,000 building for dispensary purposes, the money for which had been secured partly from fees, partly from subscriptions. "With the incubus of a heavy rent off our shoulders we may be able to relieve more patients, as we would wish," she wrote. The dispensary building was not the sole cause for rejoicing that year; for in addition to it a fine, centrally located piece of land, worth $3,600, was given for a hospital site. "All the assistance received has been from the gentry and not the officials, and therefore it really represents the people and we feel much encouraged by the fact," reads Dr. Kahn's report. The gentry wanted to make over the deeds of the property to the doctor. This, however, she would not permit, but insisted that they be made in the name of the Woman's Foreign Missionary Society of the Methodist Church, assuring the donors that the work would then be on a permanent basis, as it could not be if the deeds were made out in her name. It would not have been just cause for discouragement had the work dropped off the next year; for a dispute between some French Catholic priests and the Nanchang magistrates led to such serious disturbances and bloodshed that the missionaries were obliged to flee for their lives. Dr. Kahn refused to leave her work until the last possible moment, and returned just as soon as it was at all safe to do so. At the end of the year she was able to report that although it had been necessary to close the dispensary for three months, fully as many patients had been treated in the nine months as in the twelve months of the year previous. Another gift had also been received from the gentry, a piece of land near the hospital site, on which a home for the physician was already in process of building. During 1907 the work continued to grow steadily in scope and favour. Dr. Kahn's annual report for that year shows something of its development: "My practice has increased steadily among the foreigners and Chinese, until now we have patients come to us from all the large interior cities, even to the borders of Fuhkien. You would be surprised to know how many foreigners I treat in this out-of-the-way place. During the year we have treated over eight thousand patients. The evangelistic work among them has been better undertaken than ever before, and I am sure we shall see results in the near future. Several inquirers have been accepted, and seven women have been taken in as probationers." Although the demands of her work in Nanchang are constant and absorbing, Dr. Kahn has never become provincial in her interest; while working with whole-hearted devotion in her own corner, she still keeps the needs of the entire field in mind. At the fifth triennial meeting of the Educational Association of China, held in Shanghai in the spring of 1905, she gave an address on "Medical Education," in which she said in part: "Turn the mind for a moment to the contemplation of China's four hundred millions, with the view of inaugurating effectual modern medical practice in their midst. How many physicians are there to minister to this vast mass of humanity? Barely two hundred! Such a ratio makes the clientele of each physician about two million. What would the English-speaking world think if there were only one physician available for the cities of New York and Brooklyn! Yet the people of these cities would not be so badly off, because of the steam and electrical connections at their command." "We as missionary physicians recognize our own inadequacy and the imperative demand for native schools. How can we undertake to help spread medical education in China with the limited means at our command? Shall we simply take unto ourselves a few students as assistants, and after training them for a few years turn them out as doctors? By all means, no! Take us as we are generally situated, one or two workers in charge of a large hospital or dispensary, is not the stress of our professional work almost as much as we can bear? Then there are the people to whom we ought to give the bread of life as diligently as we minister to their bodily needs. Add to this the urgent need of keeping up a little study. Where comes the time and strength to teach the students as they should be taught? Certainly to the average missionary such work as the turning out of full-fledged doctors ought to be debarred. It seems to me that what can and ought to be done is to single out promising students who possess good Christian characters as well as physical and mental abilities, and send them to large centres such as Peking, Canton, Shanghai, and Hankow, where they might take a thorough course in medicine and surgery. In these large cities the case is altered; for hospitals and physicians are comparatively numerous, and much could be done in a union effort. I am glad one or two such schools have been inaugurated." "As stiff a course as possible ought to be arranged and if it is thought best the whole thing might be outlined by the China Medical Missionary Association. For entrance requirements there should be presented a solid amount of Chinese and English, with some Latin and perhaps one other modern language. That may seem a great deal to ask at present, but our higher schools of learning ought soon to be able to supply such a demand, as well as the necessary training in mathematics, physics, chemistry, etc. In other words the student must be equipped in the very best manner for his lifework." "During the present generation at least, if not longer, the women of China will continue to seek medical advice from women physicians, and to meet the demand we must confront and solve another problem. Co-education is impracticable just at this juncture. We must have either an annex to the men's college, or a separate one entirely. Whichever plan is adopted it matters not, barring the 'lest we forget' that it is just as important to establish medical schools for women as for men." "In the golden future when schools abound we shall have to think of state examinations; but at that time we shall expect to be ready to greet the blaze of day in this wonderful country of ours, when she has wakened from the long sleep we often hear about, and taken her place among the nations of the world, and God and man shall see 'that it is good.'" At the close of 1907 Dr. Kahn had been back in China for twelve years, years of arduous, almost unremitting labour; and her fellow missionaries felt that before the work on the new hospital building began she ought to have a vacation. Certainly she had earned it. Not only had she worked faithfully for seven years in Kiukiang, but she had, within the five succeeding years, established medical work in a large city, where she was the first and only physician trained in Western sciences. Assisted only by two nurses whom she herself had trained, she had kept her dispensary running the year around, all day and every day. Moreover, she had kept the work practically self-supporting, in spite of the fact that she had refused to economize by using inferior medicines, or bottles of rough glass which could not be thoroughly cleansed. She had insisted that her drugs be of the purest, and dispensed in clean, carefully labelled bottles, and had often furnished besides the food needed to build up strength. In addition to all this, she so commended herself and her work to the people of the city that in 1906 she was enabled to hand over to the Woman's Foreign Missionary Society, a dispensary building and two fine building lots, to be used for a hospital and physician's home. She was finally persuaded to go to America for a period of change and rest. "Rest" for Dr. Kahn evidently means a change of work; for she went at once to Northwestern University to take the literary course which she felt would fit her for broader usefulness among her countrywomen. Eager to get back to China she did three years' work in two, studying in the summer quarter at the University of Chicago, when Northwestern closed its doors for the vacation. In addition to her University studies, she undertook, for the sake of her loved country, a work which is peculiarly hard for her, and almost every Sunday found her at some church, telling of the present unprecedented opportunities in China. The question may perhaps be raised as to whether days could be crowded so full and yet work be done thoroughly. But Prof. J. Scott Clark of Northwestern University said of her, at this time: "Dr. Kahn is one of the most accurate and effective students in a class of eighty-four members, most of them sophomores, although the class includes many seniors. The subject is the study of the style and diction of prominent prose authors, with some theme work. Last year Miss Kahn attained a very high rank in the study of the principles of good English style during the first semester, and in that of synonyms during the second semester. In the latter difficult subject she ranked among the very best students in a class of over three hundred members. She is very accurate, very earnest, and very quick to catch an idea. In fact she is nothing less than an inspiration to her classmates." In the spring of 1910 Dr. Kahn was a delegate to the Conference of the World's Young Women's Christian Association held in Berlin, and from there went to London for six months of study in the School of Tropical Diseases. She had planned to return to Northwestern University to complete the work interrupted by her trip to Europe, and to receive her degree. Her work had been of so unusually high a standard, however, that she was permitted to finish her course by correspondence, and was granted her degree in January, 1911. She completed her course in the School of Tropical Diseases with high honour, and in February, 1911, she reached Nanchang, where one of her fellow-workers declares, "she is magnificent from the officials' houses to the mud huts." The new hospital was still in process of building, but the doctor began work at once in her old dispensary, and the news of her return soon spread. In a short time she was having an average of sixty patients a day, and several operations were booked some time before the hospital could be opened. It was ready for use in the autumn and in October Dr. Kahn wrote: "The work has gone on well, and patients have come to us even from distant cities clear on the other side of Poyang Lake. The new building is such a comfort. It looks nice and is really so well adapted for the work. I would be the happiest person possible if I did not have to worry about drug bills, etc.... It is impossible to drag any more money out of the poor people. Our rich patients are very small in number when compared with the poor. Yesterday I had to refuse medicines to several people, though my heart ached at having to do so. You see I had no idea that the work would develop so fast, and things have risen in prices very much the last few years." At the time that this letter was written the Revolution was in progress, and Nanchang, with all the rest of Central China, was in a turmoil. Because of the disturbed conditions most of the missionaries left the city, but Dr. Kahn refused to leave her work. With the help of her nurses she kept the hospital open, giving a refuge to many sufferers from famine and flood, and caring for the wounded soldiers. None of the forty beds was ever empty, and many had to be turned away. The close of the Revolution did not, however, bring a cessation of work for the doctor. She already needs larger hospital accommodation, three times as much as she now has, one of her friends writes. But Dr. Kahn delights in all the opportunities for work that are crowding upon her; for she says, "When I think what my life might have been, and what, through God's grace, it is, I think there is nothing that God has given me that I would not gladly use in His service." * * * * * DR. MARY STONE I. WITH UNBOUND FEET II. THE DANFORTH MEMORIAL HOSPITAL III. WINNING FRIENDS IN AMERICA IV. A VERSATILE WOMAN * * * * * [Illustration: [Handwritten] Yours in His service Mary Stone] DR. MARY STONE I WITH UNBOUND FEET On the "first day of the third moon" of the year 1873, a young Chinese father knelt by the side of his wife and, with her, reverently consecrated to the service of the Divine Father the little daughter who had that day been given them. They named her "Maiyü,"--"Beautiful Gem"--and together agreed that this perfect gift should never be marred by the binding of the little feet. It was unheard of! Even the servant women of Kiukiang would have been ashamed to venture outside the door with unbound feet, and the very beggar women hobbled about on stumps of three and four inches in length. No little girl who was not a slave had ever been known to grow up with natural feet before, in all Central or West China. That the descendant of one of the proudest and most aristocratic families of China, whose genealogical records run back without a break for a period of two thousand years, little Shih Maiyü, should be the first to thus violate the century-old customs of her ancestors, was almost unbelievable. Even the missionaries could not credit it, not even Miss Howe, whose interest in the family was peculiarly keen, since Maiyü's mother was the first fruits of her work for Chinese women, and had ever since been working with her. To be sure Mrs. Shih had said to her, "If the Lord gives me a little daughter I shall not bind her feet." But Miss Howe had made so many efforts to induce the women and girls with whom she had worked to take off the crippling bandages, without having been successful in a single instance, that she did not build her hopes on this. One day, when calling in the home and seeing little Maiyü, then five years old, playing about the room, she remarked, "My dear Mrs. Shih, you will not make a good job of it unless you begin at once to bind little Maiyü's feet." But Mrs. Shih never faltered in the purpose which she and her husband had formed at the little girl's birth, and promptly answered, "Did I not tell you I should not bind her feet?" The first years of Maiyü's life were unusually happy ones. Her father was a pastor in the Methodist church, and had charge of the "Converting to Holiness" chapel in Kiukiang; her mother was successfully conducting a day school for girls. From her mother Maiyü received much of her earliest instruction and before she was eight years old she had studied several of the Chinese classics and memorized the Gospel of Matthew and the catechism in Chinese so thoroughly that she has never forgotten them. But as she approached the age when custom required that her feet should be bound, the little girl discovered that the way of the pioneer is not an easy one. The unbound feet were a constant source of comment and ridicule, not only by older people, but by other children as well. She was stopped on her way to school one day by an older girl, who taunted her with her "big feet" and refused to let her pass unless she would kneel down and render obeisance to her own bandaged stumps. The small descendant of the proud house of Shih absolutely refused to submit to such humiliation; but it was only after her mother's assistance had been invoked that she was allowed to proceed on her way. Relatives and friends protested vigorously against such apparent indifference to their daughter's future on the part of her parents. "You will never be able to get a mother-in-law for her," they declared. Mr. and Mrs. Shih felt, no doubt, that this was true; for who could have then prophesied that the time would so soon come in conservative old China when young men would not only be willing to marry girls with natural feet, but would decidedly prefer them! Maiyü's father and mother never reconsidered their decision that their daughter should grow to womanhood with natural feet; but they did try to devise some plan by which her life might be a useful and happy one, even though she might never enjoy the blessing of a mother-in-law. They were very much impressed with the service which Dr. Kate Bushnell was rendering the suffering women and children of Kiukiang, and when Maiyü was eight years old her father took her to Dr. Bushnell and announced, "Here is my little girl. I want you to make a doctor of her." This was almost as startling as the unbound feet! A Chinese woman physician was unknown and undreamed of. But this young father's faith in the possibilities of Chinese womanhood was not to be discouraged. The necessity of general education, preliminary to medical training, was explained, and Maiyü was put in charge of Miss Howe, then at the head of the Girls' Boarding School of the Methodist Mission. In this school she spent most of the next ten years of her life, studying in both Chinese and English, and fitting herself under Miss Howe's direction for her medical course. In 1892, Maiyü and her friend, Ida Kahn, accompanied Miss Howe to America, there to receive the medical education for which they had long been preparing. If America held much that was new and interesting to them, it was no less true that they were something new and very interesting to America. "What makes these girls look so different from the other Chinese women who come here?" the Government official who examined their passports asked Miss Howe. "All the difference between a heathen and a Christian," was her prompt response. That there were Chinese girls who could successfully pass the entrance examinations to the medical department of the University of Michigan, in arithmetic, algebra, rhetoric, general and United States history, physics, and Latin, was a revelation to the people of America, and their college career was watched with the greatest interest. While in Ann Arbor, Maiyü took pity on the professors who found it so difficult to pronounce her Chinese name, and decided to use the English translation of it, Mary Stone, during her stay in America. Accordingly one morning when the professor started to call on her, she announced, "I have decided to change my name, professor." The burst of laughter with which the class greeted this simple statement was most bewildering to her; but after she had seen the joke she often declared that she was "one of the products of Christianity, an old maid," for, as she pointed out, an unmarried woman is practically unknown among non-Christians. During her medical course Mary became more strongly impressed than ever before with the evils of foot-binding. Her mother's feet had, of course, been bound in childhood, and although Mrs. Stone had never bound the feet of any of her daughters, she had not unbandaged her own. For she said that if she also had unbound feet people would say: "Oh, yes, she must be from some out-of-the-way place where the women do not bind their feet, and so she does not know how to bind the feet of her daughters. That accounts for such gross neglect." On the other hand, she reasoned that if she herself had the aristocratic "golden lily" feet, it would be evident that her failure to bind her daughters' feet was due to principle. But while Mary was pursuing her medical studies she became convinced that the time had come when her mother ought to register a further protest against the harmful custom, by unbandaging her own feet, and wrote urging her to do so. Mrs. Stone readily agreed to this. Moreover, at the annual meeting of the Central China Mission in 1894, when a large mass-meeting was held for the discussion of foot-binding, she ascended the platform and in a clear voice, which made every word distinctly heard to the remotest corner of the large chapel hall, told why she had never before unbound her feet, and why she was now about to do so. Her husband was so in sympathy with her decision that later in the meeting he added a few words of approval of the course she had taken. The last shoes worn before the unbinding, and the first after it, were sent to Ann Arbor to the daughter who had so long been a living exponent of the doctrine of natural feet. After four years at the University of Michigan, during which she and her friend, Dr. Ida Kahn, had won the respect and friendship of both faculty and students by their thorough work, Dr. Stone went to Chicago for the summer, in order to attend the clinical work in the hospitals there. It was at this time that she met Dr. I. N. Danforth of that city, who was ever afterward her staunch friend. He was about to leave for Europe, but found time before his departure to introduce Dr. Stone to many of the Chicago physicians and hospitals. He says: "She won the hearts of all with her charming ways, and got everything she wanted. When I took her to clinics she would often not be able to see at first, being such a little woman; but the first thing I knew she would be right down by the operating table. The doctors would always notice her, and seeing that she couldn't see would open up and let her down to the front." After what Dr. Danforth considered a thorough clinical training, including visits to practically all the good hospitals in Chicago, Dr. Stone sailed for China with Dr. Kahn, reaching there in the autumn of 1896. II THE DANFORTH MEMORIAL HOSPITAL On their return to China, Dr. Stone and Dr. Kahn received a most enthusiastic welcome from the Chinese. It had been expected that it would be necessary for them to spend the first few months in overcoming prejudices and gradually building up confidence. But on the contrary, patients appeared the third day after their arrival, and kept coming in increasing numbers, until in December it became necessary to rent dispensary quarters and rebuild a Chinese house to serve as a hospital. Dr. Stone reported in July, 1897, that since October of the preceding year, she and Dr. Kahn had treated 2,352 dispensary patients, made 343 visits, and had thirteen patients in their little hospital, besides spending a month in Nanking visiting the hospitals there. The following year the little hospital was presented with what was probably its first, though by no means its last, "merit board." One of Dr. Stone's letters gives an account of this event: "Two days ago we had quite an occasion. A child had been sick for a long time, and the best Chinese physicians pronounced him incurable. Then it was that they gave us a chance. He is recovering and the parents, wanting to show their gratitude, gave us a 'merit board,' thinking in this way they would 'spread our fame.' Accordingly a day was selected to present the board to us, and we prepared tea and cakes for those who would come. On the day appointed at 2 P.M., we heard a lot of fire-crackers, rockets, and guns, and a band playing the flute and bugle at the same time. The 'merit board,' consisting of a black board with four big carved and gilded characters in the centre, and with red cloth over it, was carried into our guest hall by four men, and set on the centre table. The characters complimented us by a comparison with two noted women of ancient times, who were great scholars. I acknowledged the honour with a low Chinese bow, and a tall, elderly gentleman returned me a bow, without a word being spoken by either of us. Then I withdrew, and he took tea with two of our gentlemen teachers. The company stayed to see the board put up on our wall." As the fame of the young physicians grew and their practice steadily increased, they found themselves greatly hampered by lack of a proper building in which to carry on their work. In 1898 Dr. Stone wrote back to America: "Our tiny hospital is crammed full. An observer might think that we carried home but a slight idea of hygiene. Our hospital measures on the outside 28 by 21 at Chinese feet (our foot is one inch longer than yours) and we have been compelled to crowd in twenty-one sleepers. The building being so small and not protected from the heat of the sun by any trees or awnings, by evenings it is fairly an oven, which is certainly not a very desirable place for sick people. We are looking forward all the time for signs or signals from the women of America to build our new hospital, but not a letter comes to bring us this kind of message. Still we are thankful for the hope of building some time." This hope was realized almost at once, largely through the generosity of the friend Dr. Stone had made in Chicago, Dr. I. N. Danforth, who felt that no more fitting memorial could be erected to his wife than a hospital for Chinese women and children. Dr. Stone and Dr. Kahn drew their own plans and sent them to Chicago, where they were perfected in every detail by an architect of that city, and sent back to Kiukiang with the necessary specifications and instructions. These plans were carried out to the letter and in 1900 an airy, grey brick building, finished with white granite and limestone, plentifully supplied with comfortable verandas, and bearing over its pillared entrance the name, "Elizabeth Skelton Danforth Memorial Hospital," was ready for occupancy. But on the very day that the furniture was moved in, the American consul advised all foreign women and children to leave Kiukiang immediately. The other missionaries were so unwilling to leave the young doctors to face the possible dangers from the Boxers alone, that they finally prevailed upon them to go to Japan with them. The hospital escaped any injury, however, and in her report for 1900, Dr. Stone said: "Our new hospital is a comfort and constant inspiration to us in our work. We were indeed grateful, after half a year's enforced exile, to come home and find it intact and ready for use.... During six months there have been 3,679 dispensary patients, 59 in-patients, and 414 visits." [Illustration: Elizabeth Skelton Danforth Memorial Hospital, Kiukiang, China] The hospital was formally opened on the seventh of December, 1901, during the annual meeting of the Central China Methodist Mission, held that year at Kiukiang. The _North China Daily Herald_ gives the following account of this interesting occasion: THE OPENING OF A MODEL HOSPITAL IN KIUKIANG "On Saturday afternoon the 7th instant, some foreign residents of Kiukiang, the members of the Methodist Central China Mission, and many native friends gathered together at the formal opening of the Elizabeth Skelton Danforth Memorial Hospital, of which two ladies, Drs. Stone and Kahn, are the physicians in charge. There were a number of Chinese ladies, whose rich costumes showed the official rank and wealth of husbands and fathers. The Chen-tai, prefect, assistant prefect and magistrate added their official dignity to the occasion. These were noticeably appreciative of the first hymn, 'God save the Emperor.'" "Bishop Moore presided, formally opening the hospital; Mr. Clennell, H.B.M., Consul for Kiukiang, gave a very good address, to which Dr. Stuart, American Vice-consul of Nanking, made fitting response. Then followed short, pithy speeches by Drs. Beebee and Hart. The two heroines of the occasion kept modestly in the background, refusing to be introduced, much to the disappointment of the audience. The officials insisted that coming forward would be in entire harmony with etiquette and propriety, but the Chinese young ladies remained firm and were represented by their wise teacher, Miss Howe, who has planned with them and for them since their childhood. After refreshments guests were at liberty to saunter across verandas and through the various wards, the room for foreign patients, the convalescents' room, solarium, dark room, offices, reception room, etc., of this admirably planned hospital. The operating room with its skylight, its operating table of glass and enamel; the adjoining sterilizing room, containing apparatus for distilling, sterilizing, etc., are especially interesting to Chinese visitors. The drug rooms are well stocked and furnished with modern appliances, instruments, a fine microscope, battery, etc., and there is the nucleus of an excellent library. Everywhere one finds evidence of wise forethought and careful expenditure." [Illustration: Dr. Stone, Dr. Kahn, and Five of the Hospital Nurses] "The Chinese have a high regard for the skill and ability of these gifted young physicians. One sees this appreciation, not only in the commendatory tablets hanging in the entrance hall, but in their equally gracious and more serviceable gifts, which together with fees amounted this year to about $2,500. The doctors have had within the last twelve months, 7,854 patients and have made 531 out-visits. Their services have been requested by different official families of Kiukiang and Nan-chang, the capital of Kiangsi. Patients come to them from different provinces. The young physicians fearlessly make journeys far out in the surrounding country, crossing the mountains perhaps, but always in perfect safety, as they meet only with respect and courtesy. Sometimes after a successful visit their chairs will be draped with a red cloth and the physicians will be carried home in triumph through an admiring crowd, and accompanied all the way by fire-crackers. They hear only pleasant and complimentary remarks from passersby. 'We are afraid of foreigners, but you can understand our nature'--so the simple-minded country folk sometimes tell them." Dr. Stone, describing the opening of the hospital to Dr. Danforth, wrote, "The Chinese were very much impressed with your way of commemorating your wife." Dr. Kahn added that one of the highest officials, who was being shown through the building, signified his approval by emphatically declaring, "It would make any one well merely to stay in such a pleasant place." As a matter of fact, work had been carried on in the new building for some time before the formal opening. It had been ready for occupancy none too soon, for in the summer of 1901, the Yangtse River overflowed its banks, working great havoc among the crops and homes of the people living near it. Dr. Stone wrote Dr. Danforth: "Tens of thousands have been rendered homeless and destitute. Some of them are literally starved to death. The sick and hungry flock to our gates, and for several months we have had over a thousand visits each month to our dispensary." Some idea of the part which the hospital played in relieving the sufferings of the flood refugees is given by an article in _Woman's Work in the Far East_, written by Dr. Stone at about this time: "Perhaps friends would like to know how we dispensed the clothes and quilts so kindly sent us. During the winter months very many needy refugees came to our dispensary daily for treatment. Of course we did not have enough clothes to distribute indiscriminately, but only for those who were the most helpless and miserable. We received them by hundreds, and not only had we to give out medicine, but rice, as well as clothing." "One morning when it was raining outside, an old woman came into our dispensary all exhausted, carrying a child on her back, and another buttoned in front within her clothes. The older one was a boy three years old and the tiny baby in her bosom was only three months old. They proved to be her grandchildren, and the old woman said: 'Never in our lives have we gone out to beg before, and for the last three days we have not had a morsel to eat. Before the floods we were considered well-to-do people, and my son is forty years old and a literary man; so he is too ashamed to beg, but tries to help the family by gathering sticks for the fire. His wife is sick in bed with typhoid fever and now the baby has no one to nurse it, and the boy is sick, and I have to take care of them all and beg for a living.' The woman had on only a lined garment, so we gave her one of those wadded gowns that were sent us, and a tin of milk for the baby, and also sent a little rice to make gruel for the sick woman at home." This was only one of many cases of need which the hospital sought to alleviate. A few days after Christmas of this year Dr. Stone wrote to a friend in America: "What a busy time we had getting ready to celebrate the joyful event! We gave a good square meal to the refugees, and let them take home what they could not finish here. It made me feel happy to see them so pleased, and gave us an opportunity to tell them of the greatest Gift to mankind. Although we were so rushed that we did not even sit together to eat our regular meals, yet we felt it was the happiest Christmas we have ever had." In addition to the refugees larger numbers of regular patients than ever before were coming to the doctors for treatment. The new hospital had hardly been opened before Miss Howe wrote, "Patients who are able to bear their own expenses are being sent away, because the present accommodations are already overtaxed." Just at this time, when the doctors' growing reputation, and the increased facilities which the new buildings afforded, were greatly enlarging both opportunity and responsibility, the question of Dr. Kahn's going to Nanchang to open medical work there arose. It is not surprising that at first Dr. Stone wondered how she could spare her friend and fellow-worker, now that the work was greater than ever before, and every indication pointed to large growth in the future. But when she became convinced that the opportunity at Nanchang was too great to be neglected, and that only Dr. Kahn could meet it, she bade her God-speed and cheerfully accepted the added burden thus laid upon her. Left alone with the entire work in Kiukiang, Dr. Stone's hands were full indeed, as the answer which she gave to a request for a synopsis of her day's work shows: "We breakfast at half-past seven and then I go to the chapel in the hospital and conduct prayers for the inmates and patients able to attend. After prayers I make a general inspection of the hospital, and then I teach my class of nurses. I take young native girls in their teens and give them a thorough course of training such as they would get in America. I translate the English books into Chinese for them, and sometimes put the Chinese books into English too. Then I go to the dispensary and am busy there for hours.... In the afternoons I make calls, generally on women of rank who need my assistance and have been unable to get to the hospital. I return home only when here seems no further work for me that day." So far from decreasing in number after the medical force had been lessened by half, the stream of patients became larger than ever. A few weeks after Dr. Kahn had gone, Dr. Stone said, in a letter to Dr. Danforth: "For a long time I have been wanting to write to you, but have been so pressed with work that I had to let my correspondence suffer. Now I find that I must write to you to let you know how crowded we are already, at this season when we generally have a scarcity of patients, as it is Chinese New Year. Now that our work is better known we seem to draw a better class of people. I don't mean very rich people, but the well-to-do, thrifty class, who earn their way by labour. Just now I have to accommodate seven private patients who are paying their own way, with only two private rooms at my disposal. So what do you think I do? I had to put one in our linen room, one in the sewing room, one in a bathroom, and finally, as a last resort, we had to put one in the nurses' dining-room.... We generally have to put patients on the floor in summer, but I am afraid we will not have enough room to accommodate more even on the floor." Dr. Stone's dispensary patients soon averaged a thousand a month, and as the people's confidence grew, her surgical work also became much heavier. In 1906 she reported: "In looking over the record for the year we realize that we have advanced decidedly in gaining confidence with the people. _Tai-tais_ (ladies of rank) who formerly refused operations, returned to us for help." Often her work kept her busy far into the night and she not infrequently fell asleep from sheer exhaustion as she was carried home, in her sedan chair, from some difficult case in the country. Yet her work was well done. The tribute of a fellow-missionary was well deserved: "Dr. Stone is a tower of strength in herself and with her trained assistants carries the large work here nobly. She has been eminently successful in surgical cases and is having more and more to do in this line." Another, working in a different station, wrote, "It was my happy fortune to be the guest of another ideal Chinese woman, Dr. Mary Stone, at Kiukiang. I saw her in her model hospital, where every little wheel of the complicated machinery was adjusted to perfect nicety." As the work grew, it became evident that larger accommodations would soon be imperative, and Dr. Stone succeeded in securing some additional land. The first addition was a lot which she had long desired to enclose within the hospital grounds. For some time she was unable to do this because of a road which ran between, but in 1905 the road was moved to the other side of the lot, at her petition, and the land was included within the hospital compound. "Most of the neighbours have been patients and are friendly," one of her letters reports. "When the magistrate came to see about moving the road to the other side of the lot only one man objected. He was soon pacified by the magistrate's remark that 'the hospital here is for the public good, and when it is in our power to do it a service, we should gladly do it.'" Another piece of land was purchased during the same year, by money raised entirely from the Chinese. The next addition greatly delighted Dr. Stone's heart. Adjoining the hospital was a temple known as "The White Horse Temple." This was so close to the hospital that it made one of the wards on that side damp and dark, and, moreover, the noisy crowds of people who thronged it, and the beating of the temple gongs, made it a most undesirable neighbour for a hospital. Immediately after the annual meeting at which Dr. Stone had been enabled to report the purchase of the other lots, a cablegram came from America with the good news that $1,000 had been secured for the purchase of the temple and the lot on which it stood. Purchasing a temple is quite sure not to be an easy task, but in spite of many hindrances Dr. Stone succeeded in securing the lot and in making what she gleefully termed "a real Methodist conversion" of the temple into an isolation ward. In 1896 Dr. Stone had landed in China and with Dr. Kahn begun medical work in a small, rented Chinese building. In 1906 she found herself in sole charge of a large, finely equipped hospital for women and children, with a practice which was increasing so rapidly as to make constant additions to the hospital property necessary. [Illustration: General Ward of the Danforth Memorial Hospital] III WINNING FRIENDS IN AMERICA In 1907, after eleven years of almost unceasing labour, during four of which she had carried the growing work at Kiukiang entirely alone, except for the help of the nurses whom she herself had trained, Dr. Stone reluctantly laid down her beloved work for a few months. During the winter of 1906 she had a severe attack of illness which she herself diagnosed as appendicitis, and for which she directed treatment which brought her relief. But renewed attacks finally convinced her and her friends that she must submit to an operation if her life was to be saved. It was decided that she should go to an American hospital, for as a fellow physician located at another station of the mission wrote, "We all have a very high regard for her and her work, and wanted her to get the best that could be had." Moreover, it was a good opportunity to get her "away from China for a much-needed change and rest." Accordingly Dr. Stone, accompanied by her friend, Miss Hughes of the Kiukiang mission, sailed from Shanghai, February 9. President Roosevelt, who was acquainted with her work and knew of her serious condition, had a telegram sent to the Commissioner of Immigration at San Francisco, giving instructions that the Chinese physician be admitted with no delay or nerve strain. She was therefore passed at once, with all consideration and all possible help. From San Francisco Dr. Stone went straight to the Wesleyan Hospital in Chicago, that she might be under Dr. Danforth's care. The operation was entirely successful, and early in April, less than a month after reaching America, she was sufficiently recovered to take the trip to Miss Hughes' home in New Jersey, where she was to rest for a few weeks. Complete rest, however, was an impossibility to Dr. Stone, even during her convalescence, so long as there was any service she could render. Two weeks after her arrival Miss Hughes wrote Dr. Danforth that "our little doctor" was accompanying her to several of the meetings which she was addressing, and was "making friends right and left for her work." Boxes of instruments, pillows, and spreads for the hospital beds, a baby organ for the hospital, the support of a nurse, and other useful things were being promised by these new friends. "Her smiling face, with no word from her even, is a wonderful revelation to people who judge the Chinese by the putty-faced laundrymen, the only specimen of China they have ever seen," said Miss Hughes. Dr. Stone spent the month of May in New York, attending lectures and clinics in the hospitals there. As she was starting for Chicago at the end of May, she wrote Dr. Danforth: "Do you think I shall be able to see much clinic in two weeks? That is the only time allotted me, and my only hope is that you will be the 'master of the situation,' and help me to spend every minute to the best advantage.... I have attended as much clinic as I possibly could this month, but it is awfully hard to get around in New York. Do you suppose I would be able to go directly to Wesley Hospital Monday, and do you think Dr. J---- would have the time and the interest to show me the inside methods of the hospital? He wrote me a most kind letter and invited me to do so.... Two weeks will mean a lot if I can be right in the inside track of things. I want some time on the eye and ear work, besides a few clinics on dermatology. I know two weeks will not be enough for the much I want to see and know, but since it is the only time I am to have, I know you will help me to make the most of it." Thus did the indefatigable little doctor take the "much-needed rest" of which her friends in China had written. That she did make the most of her two weeks is testified to by Mrs. Danforth, who visited many of the hospitals with her, and who says: "In visiting the hospitals she never missed a thing. She saw everything--nothing escaped her notice, not even the laundries. She was always keenly alert for every idea that would improve her hospital." On her way back to the East, Dr. Stone stopped at Ann Arbor, for she was eager to revisit her "dear old campus," and the faculty under whom she had taken her medical work. "We had a lovely time in Ann Arbor," she said in writing to a friend. "Dr. Breakey, in whose home we stayed, arranged a meeting, or reception, where I saw most of my old professors. Then in the parsonage we met all the ladies of our church. Next day I had a meeting in the church." The next few months were filled with almost incessant labour, chiefly speaking and making friends for her work. The cordial responses which she met everywhere never became an old story to Dr. Stone and her letters are full of enthusiastic accounts of them. "Here at Silver Bay, a society wants to support a missionary and we hope to find the missionary to-night. The first was yesterday's work and the second we hope to gain to-day." Again, "Last night on the car we met a gentleman whom I know through my sister Anna, and after a few minutes' talk he wants to give me his camera, 5x7, for hospital work. Isn't that splendid?" Or, "This morning we went into a flower-seed store and what do you suppose the proprietor did but to give us the seeds, a big list of all kinds we wanted, and then offered to add a few more varieties. We are having lots of fun here." Dr. Stone met with no less enthusiasm in public meetings than in her contact with individuals. One of her hostesses tells of her remarkable success in arousing genuine interest in her work: "She spoke at churches very often while she was with us, and not once did she fail to get what she asked for. She did not ask for things in general but for definite things,--pillows for the beds, lamps for the gateway, etc. She is irresistible." The same friend tells of the glee with which Dr. Stone, whose English is perfect, delighted to learn modern slang phrases. After practising them in the bosom of the family she would sometimes innocently introduce them into her addresses, invariably bringing down the house thereby. At one meeting, after telling a most remarkable story, she remarked, "You may think this is a whopper, but it is true!" Reports of the meetings at which she spoke contain such items as this: "The pastor of St. James Church offered to duplicate all money given in the collection when Miss Hughes and Dr. Stone spoke. Six hundred and eighty-two dollars was the result. A gentleman present offered one hundred dollars for a speech from Dr. Stone in his church. The speech was made and one hundred and eighty-two dollars put in the treasury." Other items read: "At the district meeting a new auxiliary came into being in ---- Church. No one could resist Dr. Mary Stone's persuasive tones as she went up and down the aisles asking, 'Won't you join?' She told the people how much she needed a pump in Kiukiang and forthwith the pump materialized." The _New York Herald_ gave a long and enthusiastic report of her work, ending with the words: "'Am I not fortunate? And I am so grateful to be able to help a little!' is the modest way she sums up a work of magnitude sufficient to keep a corps of medical men busily employed." Everywhere this little Chinese woman made friends. The words of one of her hostesses are emphatic: "She was in our home for a month, and she is one of the most attractive women of any race I have ever met. She is so charming that she wins her way everywhere." "She is so gracious and cordial," said another. "She came into our family just as a member of it. I was not very well at the time and she gave me massage every night. Her whole life and her whole interest is in doing for others. And the wonderful thing about her is her ability to do so much." "No missionary that we have is more greatly loved," is the verdict of another. Dr. Stone greatly enjoyed her stay in America. "Dr. Danforth called my appendix 'that blamed thing,'" she said. "I call it that blessed thing, because it brought me to this country and people have been so kind to me." But she was eager to return to Kiukiang, and early in September was on her way back to China, rejoicing in renewed health and new friends for her work, and in the many gifts which were going to make that work more efficient. IV A VERSATILE WOMAN Chief among the gifts which Dr. Stone received for her work while in America, was the entire sum of money needed to build another wing to the hospital. The need of this wing had been felt for years, for the hospital had become crowded as soon as it was opened. Dr. Stone's ingenuity had been taxed to the utmost to enlarge the capacity of the original buildings, by putting patients into rooms designed for far different purposes, and even partitioning off sections of the halls for them. Still many whom she longed to take in had to be turned away. Many times it had seemed as if the much-needed addition were almost a reality. But the money would not be quite sufficient; or the contractors could not be secured; or prices of building material would rise and the cost would prove to be double that originally estimated; it seemed as if the wing were too elusive ever to materialize. On her return to Kiukiang work on the new wing was commenced, and it was finished the following autumn. This addition practically doubled the hospital work, and Miss Hughes wrote that Dr. Stone was in "the seventh or seventeenth heaven over it all." At the same time that the new wing was being built, a little bungalow was erected in the hills behind the city, where children with fevers could be sent to escape the intense heat of the summer months in Kiukiang. "The Rawling Bungalow is finished and the children are all up there for the summer," Dr. Stone wrote in 1908. "I know you will be delighted at this annex to the hospital. Of course it is only a bungalow ... but it is a blessed relief to have this place to which to send the sick little ones and those who otherwise would be left to suffer here all summer." As soon as the masons had finished their work on the new wing of the hospital they began on another new building just beside it; a home for the doctor and Miss Hughes, also a gift from friends in America. That, too, was completed by the end of 1908, and during Chinese New Year, a time when the hospital work was less pressing, Dr. Stone and Miss Hughes took a trip to Shanghai to buy furniture for it. It is easy for one who saw the doctor then to imagine the keenness with which she noticed every detail in the American hospitals, for while visiting in the homes of friends in Shanghai nothing escaped her quick eye. Miss Hughes' attention was constantly called to things that pleased the doctor's taste by her often reiterated, "Look here! We must have this in our home." "Miss Hughes and I shall try to make our home so homey," she wrote to a friend, "and we shall open it for everybody, the everyday, common folks as well as the _Tai-tais_." The next addition to the hospital property was a home for the nurses, money for which had been pledged during Dr. Stone's stay in America. As soon as the funds were sent out building was commenced, and in March, 1909, the nurses moved into their new home. The accommodations of the hospital were thus enlarged still further, and moreover the nurses had a far more restful environment in which to spend the hours when they were off duty. [Illustration: Nurses of the Danforth Memorial Hospital] One who met Dr. Stone in America spoke of the great impression made upon her by the doctor's ability to do many things. The demands upon the physician in entire charge of the large Danforth Memorial Hospital are indeed many and varied, but Dr. Stone has proved equal to them all. She is a good general practitioner. Probably the best proof of this is the number of patients who throng the hospital gates. In 1908 she reported, "Last month we saw over 1,700 people in the hospital and dispensary, and in April we saw over 1,800." A year later she wrote, "Taking the statistics for last month I found we treated 2,743 in the month of April." Her successful treatment of the most difficult diseases is all the more remarkable to one who knows the tendency of many Chinese not to consult a physician until the patient is at the point of death. Their utter lack of knowledge of the simplest rules for the care of the sick, and the dreadful surroundings in which so many of them live, produce, in those who are brought to the doctor after long weeks of suffering, conditions which are almost too terrible to describe. The words of a fellow-missionary throw light on the difficult character of Dr. Stone's work: "Talk of missionary work! People at home don't know the meaning of the word! Here is this plucky little woman in the midst of this awful heat--I dare not go outside of a shaded room until after the sun is down at night--treating anywhere from twenty to fifty patients in the dispensary every day, and her charity ward filled with the most trying, difficult, repulsive cases of suffering humanity. Missionary work? Why you don't even _find_ such cases as she has every day, in the hospitals of America. How the people live as long as they do--how these poor little suffering children survive until they get to the state they are in when brought to the hospital, is more than I can understand." Dr. Edward C. Perkins, who visited Dr. Stone for several days, lays similar emphasis on the serious condition in which the doctor finds those who apply to her for treatment. "The cases which came to the dispensary were sorely in need of help. This was, I think, the invariable rule. Such cases they were as do not often come to the observance of physicians in this country, and some familiarity with the dispensaries of four of the large hospitals in New York City, has almost failed to show such need as the little doctor sees continually." No physician in China can be a specialist. One of Dr. Stone's letters shows the variety of diseases which she is called upon to treat. "Women come to us almost dead; paralyzed, blind, and helpless.... We have in the isolation wards, measles; and in the contagious rooms, locked up, leprosy; an insane woman locked up in her room; typhoid, tuberculosis, paralyzed women and children, ulcer cases such as you would never dream of, surgical cases of all kinds, and internal cases too numerous to mention." A letter from a Kiukiang missionary tells of one woman who came to the hospital with "not a square inch of good flesh on her entire body." Fingers and toes were so diseased as to be dropping off, and the poor woman's suffering was unspeakable. Dr. Stone put her in isolation, and taking every precaution with gloves and antiseptics, herself washed and dressed the repulsive sores, in spite of the sufferer's protests, "Oh, doctor, don't touch me. I am too filthy for your pure hands to touch." This she did every day, until, her sores completely healed, the woman was discharged from the hospital a few weeks later. Hon. Charles M. Dow of Jamestown, N.Y., who was taking a trip around the world, met Bishop Lewis on a Yangtse-kiang steamer, and was invited by him to stop off at Kiukiang to make the acquaintance of a remarkable surgeon of that city. Great was Mr. Dow's astonishment when the surgeon appeared and proved to be "a small and very attractive native Chinese woman." Dr. Stone is so small that she has to stand on a stool to reach her operating table; but Dr. Danforth's testimony is that she is performing the largest operations known to surgery, and that no Chicago surgeon is doing work superior to hers. Moreover she has no fellow physicians to assist her in her surgical work. The most delicate operations, for which an American surgeon would call in the assistance of brother physicians, internes, and the most expert of graduate nurses, are performed by Dr. Stone entirely unaided except for the faithful nurses whom she has herself trained. Only at rare intervals does she receive a visit from a fellow physician such as Dr. Perkins of New York, who, in an interesting account of his stay at Kiukiang, tells of performing his first major operation "in her operating room and under her direction." At first the people were afraid to submit to operations, but the doctor's marked success with those who permitted her to operate soon overcame their fear. The results of her skilful use of the knife have been most marvellous to them. That a young woman of over twenty, who could not be betrothed because of a hare lip reaching into the nose, with a projection of the maxillary bone between the clefts, could be successfully operated on and transformed into a marriageable maiden, seemed nothing short of miraculous. Nor was it less wonderful to them that an old woman could, by an operation, be relieved of an abdominal tumor from which she had suffered for sixteen years, and which, when removed, weighed fifty-two pounds. "The people appreciate surgery more and more," reads one of Dr. Stone's recent letters. "A lot of the tuberculosis patients who have seen the quick results from operations want me to operate on their lungs." Another large department of Dr. Stone's work has been the training of her nurses. This has been an absolute necessity, for, as Dr. Stone said: "When I found I had to run a hospital with accommodations for 100 beds, and an out-patient department with sometimes 120 patients a day, I at once found I had to multiply myself by training workers. These workers I selected from various Christian schools with good recommendations as to qualifications. I do not dare to take into training any one who has failed as a teacher or in any line of work, because nursing is an art still in its embryo. To succeed in this profession one must not only know how to read and write, but also know arithmetic and some English." The course of study which Dr. Stone gives her nurses is about the same as that prescribed by the regular training schools, or hospitals, in America. To do this she has had to translate several English text-books into Chinese for the use of her students. The reliable and efficient nurses who have completed the course and are now her trusted assistants in all her work, have amply repaid her for all the time and labour she has expended upon this part of her work. In an article on "Hospital Economics" she speaks of the efficient service of these nurses: "I am blessed with five consecrated young women," she says, "who have completed a course of nursing and studies with me, and I have divided the work into different departments, holding them responsible for the work and for the younger nurses under them. For instance, one of the graduates is the matron, who looks after all the housekeeping and the accounts, watching for the best market time for buying each article in connection with the diet, the best foodstuff for the money expended, and looks after each and all of the servants so that they do their work properly. Another graduate nurse looks after the dispensary, the filling of prescriptions, the weighing and compounding of medicines, and superintends the sale of drugs in that department. Another one has charge of all in-patients upstairs, and another downstairs, including private cases, with junior nurses under her. These look after the special diet, and the carrying out of orders in all the wards and the charting of records. (This is done in English.) Still another nurse has charge of the operating room, with all of the sterilization necessary for all major and minor operations, the distillation of water, and the responsibility of going out to cases with the doctor. In this way it is arranged that in case of all operations the one doctor has her assistants in the operating room, and yet does not interfere with the regular working of the hospital." "Dr. Stone is multiplying herself many-fold by her splendid training of nurses in the Kiukiang hospital," is the verdict of Mrs. Bashford, wife of the Methodist Missionary Bishop of China. She has watched Dr. Stone's work with keen and intelligent interest, and her opinion seems to be justified by the results. When after weeks of unusual strain Dr. Stone was persuaded to take a short vacation in the mountains back of Kiukiang, her corps of fourteen nurses, five of them graduates, kept up the work of the hospital, and treated about eighty patients a day in the dispensary. Twice, in answer to telegrams, Dr. Stone returned to Kiukiang, only to find each time that everything had been done to her entire satisfaction. "Were it not for the efficient help I have from my nurses, I should not be able to manage this work at all," she says. Doubtless one great reason for Dr. Stone's success in raising up efficient workers is her confidence in them, and her sympathetic attitude toward them. "I believe many a valued worker is lost to her profession through lack of sympathy and encouragement when needed," she once said. "Surely the Lord values the workers as well as His work, and we who want our work to prosper cannot afford to ignore the interests of those upon whom we depend so largely for success." The nurses in turn have a pride in the hospital as great as the doctor's own, and are as devoted to it. "The nurses are fine in standing up for our standard of cleanliness," Dr. Stone wrote to a fellow-physician. "For instance, when this patient came (a very poor woman) the nurses got hold of her, bathed her, and put her in our clean, white clothes and tucked her away in one of these clean white beds in no time.... She begged to keep the bandages on her bound feet. 'No,' the nurses said, 'such dirty bandages in our clean bed! No!'" Writing to Dr. Danforth of her first graduating class, Dr. Stone said: "You may ask if they are going to run away and earn large sums for themselves. No, they are going to stay and help me in the hospital work, or earn money for the hospital. You see, I assign each one to a department of work, and she is the head-nurse of that department. Then by turn I send them out to do private nursing, and the sums they earn are turned into the hospital for caring for the poor who cannot help themselves. Mrs. Wong is nursing Mrs. B---- of our own mission at Nanking, and when she comes back Miss Chang will be sent to Wuhu to nurse a lady of another mission. Dr. Barrie, of Kuling, has written to me to engage several for the new hospital at Kuling for foreigners during this summer season. I told him I could accommodate him because I have three other classes in training.... The spirit has been most beautiful among the nurses. Many of them take their afternoon 'off duty' to do evangelistic work in the homes of patients." The well-trained corps of nurses is one of the most convincing testimonies to that of which the whole hospital is a proof--the administrative ability of the physician in charge. No detail of a well-managed hospital, from the record files and wheel stretchers to the hand-power washing machine, is neglected. Nevertheless the hospital is conducted with true economy. Dr. Stone defines economy as "the art which avoids all waste and extravagance and applies money to the best advantage. It is not economy to buy cheap furniture that has to be replaced all the time. It is poor economy to buy cheap food and let patients suffer for lack of nourishment.... It is poor economy to use cheap drugs and drug your patient's life out. It is poor economy to use wooden beds and have to patronize Standard Oil to keep them clean. It is also poor economy not to use sheets and thin quilts, instead of the heavy comfortables the Chinese have, just in order to save the heavy washing and disinfection. It is poor economy to have cheap servants who can do nothing. With trained workers to look after instruments, instead of having to depend on servants, I find instruments last longer." As a result, the universal testimony of those who visit the hospital is, "Dr. Stone has one of the finest hospitals we have ever seen." From the outset the doctor's ideal has been to make the medical work as largely self-supporting as possible. Of course many of those most in need of medical aid could pay nothing for it, nor for their medicines, nor even, if they were in-patients, for their food. Others, however, could pay something, and still others were able to pay in full. Soon after work in the Danforth Hospital was begun, Dr. Stone wrote: "Our ordinary charge for food is sixty cash a day or two dollars per month. For private rooms they pay ten to twenty dollars, according to the kind of room they have. Occasionally we meet some generous Chinese who give freely and thus help a great deal our poor patients, some of whom cannot even pay for their rice. For instance, one man has paid three hundred dollars this year for his wife, who is still here for treatment, and will probably give more when she is through. Another man has given one hundred and forty dollars for his wife's treatment. Last quarter we received over four hundred dollars, and this quarter over five hundred dollars here. We are getting to have more of the well-to-do patients." A letter written in 1905 tells of ways in which the Chinese assist the hospital financially: "It has been my privilege to minister unto many of this poor class of people with the fees I receive from the rich. So often I find in the morning I earn a good fee, and in the evening I spend it on a very poor case. Lately I have been sending a subscription book around. I first sent it to the highest official here, and it was immediately returned with fifty dollars. It encouraged me very much, for I know the work is approved of by the officials and the common people, and they are both helping all they can." Once she reported that at a time when the financial outlook was unusually discouraging, an unknown non-Christian Chinese sent a messenger several hundred _li_ with a gift of money to relieve the situation. Patients who cannot afford to pay anything, but who can use their hands, are given sewing to do, and in this way make some contribution toward the expenses of the work. The nurses, too, who have received training from the hospital, either give their services or the money which they receive from private cases. Thus, in various ways, many of the running expenses are met on the field, but as so much work is done for the poor, the physician's salary and the larger part of the equipment have come from friends in America. Even in the interior of China, and in the midst of the most active of lives, Dr. Stone has never ceased to be a student. Early in her work she wrote to a friend in America who was also a physician, "We feel that in order to keep up in our profession we need occasionally some of the latest works, especially since medical science is one of the most progressive of all." Subsequent letters are full of commissions such as, "I need an English and Latin dictionary very much in the work. Will you buy one--a good one--for me?" "Will you kindly buy Hyde's work on 'Venereal Diseases,' not on Skin, for I have that." Or "I should like very much to have a work on Hygiene. You know the Chinese have such primitive ideas on that subject, and if I can get a good standard book I can pick out and translate for the benefit of the people. Then if there is still anything left, I would like a small book on bandaging and massage, for I want to train new nurses. Occasionally, when you see something new and well-tested, such as articles you think will help my work, especially anything on tuberculosis, cholera, hydrophobia, etc., etc., just remember the back number in China, won't you?" With keen recognition of the inestimable value which her scientific study and training have been to her in her work, Dr. Stone has never failed to remember the great Source of motive and power, and has ever been eager to share with her patients the joy and peace of the Christian religion. Every morning she conducts a service in the hospital chapel for the employees of the hospital, and such of the patients as are able to attend. At the same time the nurses are holding a similar service in the ward upstairs. While the dispensary patients are waiting their turn in the examining room, one or more Bible women utilize the time by telling them the truths of Christianity. Dr. Stone's own mother has done such work for years, morning after morning, among her daughter's dispensary patients. One of the other missionaries at Kiukiang tells of going through the hospital one evening, as the nurses were getting the patients settled for the night. She noticed a low murmur which she did not at first understand, until she saw that at every bed someone was in prayer. Here a mother was kneeling by the side of her little suffering son; there another mother of high rank was praying that the life of the baby by whose crib she knelt might be spared to her. In one corner a woman had crept out of bed and was kneeling with her face to the floor; in other places those who were too sick to leave their beds were softly praying in them. The nurses are all Christian women, able to minister to the spiritual as well as the physical. Dr. Perkins says of them: "The nurses, too, are strongly evangelistic in their thought and effort, and even to one who could not understand the language, the atmosphere of Christian harmony and the remarkable lack of friction in a place so busy and so constantly full of problems, was very noticeable." One night Dr. Stone went into the room of a patient who had been greatly dreading a serious operation which she was to undergo the next day, to be greeted with a radiant face and the words, "Oh, doctor, I'm not afraid now of the operation. I've been talking to your God." Earlier in the evening one of the youngest of the nurses had found her crying bitterly and the old woman had told her: "I'm so afraid of the operation. You see the other woman you told me of was a Christian and of course your God helped her. I've never worshipped your God. I never knew of Him before and He may not help me." "Why, you needn't cry over that!" the little nurse assured her. "Our God doesn't blame you when no one had told you about Him. Now that you know, if you love Him and pray to Him, He will help you." Then she knelt down beside her and taught her how to pray to Him. After the operation was over and the patient, fully recovered, was going back to her village, she said to the doctor, "I am the first one in our village to hear of Jesus. Won't you come _soon_ to my people and tell them." Dr. Stone's letters and reports are full of accounts of the way in which, from the beginning, the work of the hospital has brought the knowledge of the Great Physician to those whose bodies had been so tenderly cared for by His followers that their hearts were very open. Whole families, sometimes almost entire communities, have become Christian as a result of the medical work. An interesting instance of the way in which the hospital's influence is spread by its patients is the case of a little girl, eight years old, who unbound her feet while in the hospital, and became so ardent an advocate of natural feet that after she had returned to the village in which she lived, she and her father succeeded in persuading three hundred families to pledge that their daughters should have natural feet. It is quite impossible to separate Dr. Stone's definitely religious work from her medical work; for while Sunday afternoons and the chapel hour in the morning are set aside by her for purely evangelistic work, her Christian faith permeates all that she does. In the first years of her practice she did some itinerating work, but now that the work is so large and she is the only physician in charge, she has had to give that up. The nurses, however, still carry it on. "You see, while I am practically tied to the place," writes the doctor, "it gives so much happiness to be able to send out workers like these and to spread our influence. As the nurses say, they will be able to send a lot of patients back to the hospital. You see the more work we have the merrier we are." Every time an evangelistic worker goes out on the district, one of the nurses accompanies her, and with ointments, simple medicines, bandages, vaccine, etc., treats several hundred patients in the country beyond the reach of physicians. At one time in the bitter cold weather of winter a message came from a distant village where smallpox was raging, asking that a nurse be sent to treat the sick people and vaccinate those who had not yet taken the disease. One woman in that village had once been at the hospital, and it was through her that the call came. One of the nurses at once volunteered to go, and with a Bible woman and a reliable man-servant she took the trip down the river, in a little sampan, to the smitten village. During four days she treated over one hundred patients not only in the village, but also in the region round about; for she and the Bible woman walked thirty _li_ every day to sufferers in the country. While the nurse worked, the Bible woman preached, and in this way hundreds of people heard of Christianity for the first time. As Dr. Stone says, "The cry now is not for open doors, for we have free entrance into the homes of the rich and poor. What we need now is an efficient force of trained evangelistic workers to ... follow up the seed thus sown broadcast on such receptive soil." This need the Training School for Bible Women is helping to meet. Mrs. Stephen Baldwin writing to Dr. Danforth said, "The Lord honoured your investment by placing in it one of the most wonderful doctors in all this world." But Dr. Stone is not only a physician, but an all-round woman. "She is equal to any sudden call to speak," said one who heard her often when she was in America. A report of the Missionary Conference at Kuling, China, states that "Dr. Stone's paper on 'Hospital Economics' was the finest feature of an attractive conference." At the request of this conference she prepared a leaflet on the diet suited to Chinese schoolgirls, and a few years ago wrote a very useful book on the subject: "Until the Doctor Comes." "I observed her in her home," writes a missionary who stopped at Kiukiang for a few days _en route_ to Peking, "a housewifely woman, thoughtful of every detail that might ensure a guest's comfort. In a single month recently she treated 1,995 women and children, yet she is not too busy to be a gracious hostess. Chinese ladies delight to visit her, and such is the influence of this modest woman that the Hsien's wife has unbound her feet." It may well be questioned, great as are Dr. Stone's achievements, which is of more value, the actual work she is doing, or the inspiration which her efficient, self-sacrificing Christian life is bringing to the awakened womanhood of the new China. The words of Miss Howe regarding Dr. Stone and Dr. Kahn indicate their influence: "They seem to be an inspiration to the girls and women of all classes. When our schoolgirls learn of anything 'the doctors' did when they were pupils, they seem to think they have found solid ground on which to set their feet." A letter from another fellow-worker stated that Dr. Stone was to give the address at the graduation exercises of the class of 1909 of the Nanking Normal School for Women at which the viceroy and "other notables of China" were to be present. Dr. Stone was greatly touched when the daughter-in-law of a viceroy once said to her that she would gladly give up all her servants, her beautiful clothes, her jewels, even her position, if she could lead a useful life like hers, instead of making one of the many puppets in the long court ceremonies, with nothing to think of except her appearance, and nothing to do but kill time. It is a great joy to the doctor to have a part in bringing about a realization of the achievements of which Chinese women are capable, and she has been willing to make any sacrifice necessary to do this. Soon after Dr. Kahn's transfer to Nanchang had left her with almost double work, Dr. Danforth wrote that he had found a nurse in one of the Chicago hospitals who was willing to go to China, and asked Dr. Stone what she would think of having her come to the Danforth Hospital. Dr. Stone replied that while she would take her if Dr. Danforth wished, she would really rather not, on the whole. Personally, she said, she would have been very glad to have her come, but she was eager that her work should accomplish two things which it could accomplish only if it were purely Chinese: first, that it should convince the Chinese women themselves that they are able to do things of which they have never dreamed; and, second, that it should show the people of other nations that the only reason why Chinese women have for centuries lived such narrow lives is that they have not had opportunity to develop their native powers. She feared that if an American nurse came to the hospital it would look as if the purely Chinese work had failed, and that it had been necessary to call in help from America. Accordingly, although Dr. Stone has sometimes been forced to admit that her work has been so heavy as to tax both heart and strength to the utmost, she has carried it all these years with no help, except from the nurses she has trained. She has counted no task too hard, no labour too constant, if she may thereby benefit her countrywomen physically, intellectually, or spiritually. "She does not spare herself," one of her friends writes, "she seems unable to do so, and is too tender-hearted to turn the suffering away for her own need." The past year has brought peculiar burdens to the doctor. She carried on her regular hospital work as usual, until the disturbances caused by the Revolution came so near that all the women and children in the schools and hospital were ordered into the foreign concession. This order came at night, and by two o'clock the next morning not a patient was left in the hospital. Dr. Stone turned over the hospital to the revolutionary leaders, and each day she and her trained nurses cared for the injured soldiers sheltered in it. The leaders of the Revolution urged her to wear the white badge which was their emblem, but she told them that while her sympathies were with them, as a Red Cross physician she must remain neutral, that she might be able to render assistance to the wounded on both sides. Her explanation was courteously accepted, and an armed guard was furnished to escort her to and from the hospital each morning and evening. When the Manchu governor of Nanchang was captured he was taken to Kiukiang, where, in chagrin at his imprisonment, he attempted suicide. Deserted by his servants and soldiers, he would have died alone and uncared for had it not been for Dr. Stone, for no one else dared to go near him. Dr. Stone and two of her nurses cared for him until the death which they could not prevent, but which they made far easier than it would otherwise have been. It was this same governor who, but a few months before, had refused Dr. Stone the rights of Chinese citizenship because, in purchasing land for a men's hospital at Kiukiang, she was buying property for foreigners. When the leaders of the revolutionary party learned that their prisoner had committed suicide they were greatly disturbed. None of them dared to carry the news to General Ma, lest, in accordance with an old Oriental custom, he should punish the bearer of ill tidings. In their perplexity they went to Dr. Stone and asked her to take the news to the general. Accordingly the little doctor, accompanied only by one of her nurses, went to the general's headquarters to break the news to him. It is significant, not only of the universal respect accorded the doctor, but also of the new position accorded woman in China, that these women, who ventured unattended into a soldiers' camp, were received with every courtesy. General Ma asked the doctor many questions about her work, and at the close of their interview exclaimed, "When things are settled once more, I intend to find support for such a work; the Chinese ought to help it." Because of the disturbances caused by the Revolution, many students in the Kiukiang schools returned to their homes. The family of one young woman insisted that she make use of this enforced vacation to become married to the young Chinese to whom she had long been engaged. The marriage was unwelcome to her, for she was a Christian and the man was not, but as she was the only Christian in her family she received no sympathy from them, and the wedding was set for Christmas day. The parents, however, yielded to their daughter's earnest desire for a Christian ceremony, and her brother was dispatched to Kiukiang to seek Dr. Stone, who had been eminently successful in all kinds of operations and might surely be relied upon to tie a satisfactory marriage knot. Dr. Stone accordingly left all her Christmas engagements, and accompanied by a Chinese pastor and one of her nurses, set out, through a heavy snow storm, for the girl's home. When the wedding guests were all assembled, Dr. Stone said that she would like to say a few words before the ceremony took place, and for an hour and a half she told her hearers of the Christian good tidings. The result was that when the wedding was over the mother and father of the bride brought their idols to her, and allowed their daughter to apply the match to them, for both had determined to become Christians. The father said that he wished other people to hear the good things Dr. Stone had told them, and would give the land for a Christian school. The bridegroom volunteered to do the carpenter work which would be necessary before a school could be opened, and now the young wife is teaching a group of children who have entered this new Christian school, and in the new home husband and wife daily unite in morning prayers. After the Revolution was practically over, but conditions were still so unsettled as to make it unwise to reopen the hospital, Dr. Stone and several of her nurses made a trip to a number of towns in the region around Kiukiang. In a recent letter Dr. Stone tells of being given a piece of land by the influential people in one of these towns, with the earnest entreaty that she leave a nurse there to carry on a permanent medical work. She could make them no definite promise, but is hoping that friends in America will make it financially possible to support a nurse and dispensary where they are so greatly needed. Truly the Chinese women are blessed in having so perfect an embodiment of the ideal woman of the great new China in this unassuming physician, whom a friend who has known her from babyhood declares to have the most perfect Christian character of any one she knows. After his visit in Kiukiang, Dr. Perkins exclaimed: "Such a wonderful woman as Dr. Mary Stone is! I do not know of any good quality she does not possess"; and one who has had an intimate acquaintance with the college women of America says: "What a marvel Dr. Stone is! To me she is unexcelled in charm, in singleness of purpose, and all-round efficiency, by any other woman I have ever known." * * * * * YU KULIANG * * * * * [Illustration: Yu Kuliang] YU KULIANG The same year that little Mary Stone first saw the light, on almost the same day, in another part of the same city, another little girl was born, a member of the same proud old family whose line runs back so many years into Chinese antiquity. Unlike Mary Stone, she was not born into a Christian home, but it was a home where the parents truly loved each other, and one in which she might have spent a very happy childhood, had not the young father died while she was still a baby. The mother, broken-hearted over her husband's death, decided to become a Taoist nun and devote the remainder of her life to the search for truth. With her baby she shut herself up in a little hut outside of the city, seeing no one, and giving her whole time to the care of the child and her efforts to find truth. The members of her family, which is one of the wealthiest and most aristocratic in Kiukiang, were greatly pleased with what they considered an eminently virtuous resolve for a young widow to make, and applied to the Emperor for his approval of the course she had decided to follow. This being heartily given, they built a very comfortable home for her on the outskirts of Kiukiang. The building was christened Purity Hall, and over its gateway were placed large placards announcing the imperial sanction of the life which the young widow had chosen for herself and her child. Here the little girl grew to womanhood, knowing no companionship except that of her mother and her teachers. Her mother employed the best possible Chinese teachers for her, and she early learned to read the books of the three religions of China, that she might join her mother in her pursuit of truth. She seldom left the house, and no one but her teachers ever entered it, but day after day she pored over the books on Taoism, Buddhism, and Confucianism until she had read them all. She, too, became a Taoist nun, but continued in the worship and study of Buddhism and Confucianism also, determined to find the _true_ religion. She even surpassed her mother in the ardour of her search for truth, for she spent twelve entire years, in periods of three years each, in one room of the house, living in the most absolute seclusion, not seeing her mother, speaking to no one, and hearing no voice, for three years at a time. After such a vigil she came out into the rest of the house for a year, then went back for another three years of solitude. In one corner of this room were the shrine and the altar before which Yu Kuliang knelt hour after hour during the years of her long vigil, and the idols, large and small, of wood and stone, which were her only companions. She always kept three sticks of incense burning before the shrine, one for each religion, that she might be sure not to make a mistake. In the ardour of her devotion she even made offerings of pieces of her own flesh to the idols. Her whole body, even her face, was covered with the ugly round scars caused by this self-mutilation. When Yu Kuliang was a woman of thirty-two she learned that the Stones were her cousins, and of her own accord went to call on them. Thereafter the doors of "Purity Hall," so long fast closed to all, were thrown open to the Stone family. Yu Kuliang and her cousin Dr. Mary Stone, born at almost the same time, living, and having always lived, lives as totally different as two lives could be, became fast friends. To Dr. Stone, Yu Kuliang frankly confessed that an entire life spent in seeking truth had not brought her success. She was very willing to listen to all that Dr. Stone had to tell her of the truth which she had found, and finally even succeeded in summoning up sufficient courage to attend the Sunday morning church service. Her years of seclusion had made her so timid, and so afraid of mingling among people, however, that the first time she came to the church she disguised herself in the garb of a Chinese man. Dr. Stone gave her a Bible and she began the study of it at once, with the same earnestness and determination to find truth that she had shown in her study of the books of the Chinese religion. After she had once gained courage to attend the church service she came frequently, no longer in man's clothes, nor in the coarse, grey cotton costume of the Taoist nun, which she discarded soon after knowing Dr. Stone, but in the ordinary dress of the Chinese woman. She became a frequent visitor to the hospital, too, where she loved to follow Dr. Stone from ward to ward, or to sit beside her in the dispensary as she cared for the suffering women and children who flocked there daily. Finally Dr. Stone invited her to come to her for a week's visit, hardly daring to hope that she would do so; for she had never, since entering "Purity Hall" as a baby, spent a night outside of it. But she consented, and gladly drank in all that Dr. Stone and the doctor's mother told her of the truth which she had so long sought. One day soon after she had gone home, when Dr. Stone was calling on her and her mother, the mother drew Dr. Stone aside and said, "Since my daughter came back from your house she hasn't been upstairs to see the idols once." After years of ceaseless devotion to them, Yu Kuliang had forsaken her idols, and was turning toward the living God. Soon afterward, when it was necessary for Dr. Stone to go to America for an operation, and for Miss Hughes, who was in charge of the Bible Woman's Training School, to accompany her, Yu Kuliang came and asked that she might enter the school when Miss Hughes returned from America. But when Dr. Stone and Miss Hughes returned to China, they found Yu Kuliang suffering from tuberculosis. The long years of self-inflicted imprisonment had left her with no vitality to resist, and the disease was making rapid progress. Soon after the doctor's return, Yu Kuliang's mother went away for a visit of some days. One afternoon during her absence, when Dr. Stone and Miss Hughes were calling on Yu Kuliang, she told them that she was studying the Bible, and trying to pray, and added: "I never go near the idols any more. They are all upstairs in my old cell." Dr. Stone at once said: "If you no longer believe in the idols, get rid of them. Give them to us." Yu Kuliang assented immediately, saying, "Take them if you want to," and went upstairs with Dr. Stone to get them. They brought down a Buddha and a goddess of mercy, which, after a few moments of further talk and prayer, Dr. Stone and Miss Hughes took away with them, Yu Kuliang watching them without a murmur. The next day Dr. Stone and her mother went to see Yu Kuliang again, and with her consent and approval chopped to pieces a huge wooden idol, which was too large to carry away. When they were wondering what they should do with the stump of the body, Yu Kuliang exclaimed, "Throw the horrid thing into the ditch!" Thus passed out of her life the idols to which she had prayed for hours at a time, before which she had burned numberless sticks of incense, beside which she had lived and slept, and which she had made her most constant companions all the years of her life. The old temple bell, which had for years been used to call the gods from sleep, was given to Dr. Stone on the same day. But when Yu Kuliang's mother returned she was furiously angry--not at the daughter to whom she was devoted, but at those who had turned her away from her idols. Dr. Stone took the old woman's hands in hers and pleaded with her: "You know your daughter does not believe in idols, you know the misery of her life, you know how she longs for peace; and as long as you harbour the idols in your home, Jesus cannot come into her heart and dwell there." The old woman at once broke out, in the tones of one taking the part of an injured friend, "But if your God is such a mighty one, and has the tens of thousands of followers you tell us He has, why should He be jealous of our poor little idols and those who worship them?" Dr. Stone did not interrupt the tirade which was now poured forth, but picked up a piece of wood and a pebble from the floor, and when the old woman waited for her to answer, quietly replied to the pebble and bit of wood in her hand. Finally the woman said, "Why don't you answer me? You have come to see me, and perhaps I have been rude, but you are my relative and I want to be friends with you." Still Dr. Stone did not answer, but went on talking to the stone and wood, until the old woman lost patience and exclaimed, "What nonsense is this!" Then Dr. Stone put her arm around her and answered, "If you think it is nonsense for me to talk to the stone and wood in your house, instead of giving you attention, how do you think the Heavenly Father feels,--the one who created you, the one who is your Father--when you satisfy yourself with images of wood and stone instead of giving that love and devotion to Him?" Before Dr. Stone left the young women knelt in prayer, but the mother would not join them. Later, with her mother's consent, Yu Kuliang went to the hospital, and there spent four of the ten last days of her life, in the companionship of her cousin. Dr. Stone gave her every minute that could be spared from her hospital duties, telling her of the glad new life which she was soon to enter, and praying with her. Many times Yu Kuliang tried to leave the bed to kneel with Dr. Stone, but the doctor explained to her that her prayers were just as acceptable where she was, and that she was too weak to kneel. "Those four days in the hospital with cousin were the happiest in my life," she told her mother when she returned to her home. When she knew that she could not get well she insisted, weak as she was, upon being dressed and having her photograph taken, for all the photographs which she had had before were in the dress of the Taoist nun, and she wanted to have one taken after she had become a Christian. Just before her death she said to her mother, "Mother, there is nothing in this life of ours, nothing! We were all wrong. I'm so glad it is over and now I am not at all afraid, for I am going to that beautiful place." And then, her lifelong quest at length crowned with success, she went to behold the face of Him who is the Truth. * * * * * ANNA STONE I. EAGER FOR EDUCATION II. AMONG HER OWN PEOPLE III. THE POWER OF AN ENDLESS LIFE * * * * * [Illustration: Anna Stone] ANNA STONE I EAGER FOR EDUCATION "God knew where to send girls; He knew who would be good to them," Mrs. Stone assured the neighbours who had come to condole with her on the birth of a second daughter, and to remind her that "ten queenly daughters are not worth as much as one son with a limp." Years before, when the baby's father, one of the literati, had lost all his property in the Tai Ping Rebellion, he had adopted the profession of teaching Chinese to the missionaries, as the only dignified means by which one of his rank and learning could earn a living. While he taught them Chinese characters, they taught him about Christianity, and it was not long before he was in charge of a Christian chapel in Kiukiang. So when this little daughter was born, she was given the good old Bible name of Anna, and great plans were laid for her future. While she was still a tiny baby her mother carried her to the missionary in charge of the girls' boarding school, one of those to whom her father had taught the Chinese language years before, and said to her, "As soon as this baby is old enough, I want you to take her and train her for Christian work." If she was to fulfil her mother's ambition for her Anna must of course receive an education, although a girl who could read or write even the simplest sentence was then almost unknown in China. But Mrs. Stone knew well that the more education Anna had, the more efficient a worker she would be. She herself had never been taught at all, and after she had become a Christian and was eager to tell other women of the good news which she had learned, she had found herself sadly hampered because she could not read the Bible. It was not so difficult when her husband was at home to read it for her; but while he was away on his preaching tours, she had lost many opportunities of teaching Christianity to the women who came to see her, because of her inability to read the Book which told of the great new truth she had learned. So, busy as she was with her babies and her household cares, she determined to learn to read, and asked her husband to teach her. Pastor Stone, however, had still something to learn. He did not believe that it was possible for the feminine mind, especially that of a woman grown, to learn the difficult Chinese characters; and he told his wife that, in his opinion, it was not worth while for her to attempt it. If Mother Stone was discouraged she did not show it. Every night after the rest of the family were asleep she set a candle beside her bed and studied characters diligently. Whenever Pastor Stone woke up for a moment, or turned over in bed, he would receive a gentle nudge and Mother Stone would delightedly exclaim, "Oh, father, won't you please tell me what this character is?" He soon decided to teach her in orthodox fashion, and she proved to be such an apt pupil that it was not long before she was in charge of a little day school for girls. Anna received much of her early education from her mother, and for a time she and her older sister Mary went to school with their brother. Girls at school were decidedly a novelty, and the visiting mandarin opened his eyes in amazement. "Can _girls_ learn anything?" he demanded of the teacher, who was forced to admit that they learned as fast as the boys, and sometimes a little faster. When a little older, Anna became a member of the Kiukiang Boarding School for girls, where she proved to be a diligent and quick pupil. During this time her sister Mary went to America to take her medical course, and down in her heart Anna cherished a secret hope that when she had completed her high school work she, too, might go to that wonderful Christian country from which her missionary teachers had come and in which her sister was receiving the training which would fit her for such large service among her countrywomen. She said very little about this hope to any one, but she and her friend I-lien Tang, who was also eager to go to America, determined to pray about it, and to study so faithfully that if the way should ever open for them to go, they would be ready. Accordingly they completed the high school course in Chinese, and studied English and Latin in addition. In 1898 Bishop Joyce, of the Methodist Church, and his wife took a trip to the Orient to visit the mission stations. While in Kiukiang they became so much interested in the two girls, Anna Stone and I-lien Tang, that they offered to take them back to America with them. The autumn of 1898 therefore found Anna in America, the country of her dreams, and a student in Hamline University. She entered into her college work with much enthusiasm and made excellent progress in it. She was not strong, however, and was so far from well at the end of the year that it seemed best for her to relinquish her plan of following in her sister's footsteps by taking a medical course. She therefore planned to fit herself for some other form of service which would involve less physical strain, and left Hamline, after having been there only one year. But she left behind her many warm friends among the students, some of whom had become Christians as a result of the consistent and beautiful Christian life of this young Chinese girl. The next autumn Anna entered Folts Mission Institute, where arrangements were made for her to take the two years' Bible course in three years, in the hope that she might thus regain her health. Her teachers testify that she was a brilliant student, and that her English was so perfect that one who heard her, without seeing her, would never have known that she was a foreigner. When one of them once asked her how it was that she had such a correct pronunciation, she said that when she was in Kiukiang Boarding School she used to watch the lips of the missionaries when they were speaking English, in order to see just how the words were formed. Her use of words, too, was almost as accurate as her enunciation of them, although occasionally the intricacies of the English language proved somewhat mystifying. For example, when she was at her doctor's office one day he asked if he had given her any medicine when she was there before. "No, doctor, you gave me a proscription," she answered. The doctor's smile showed her that she had made a mistake, and as soon as they were outside she asked the teacher who was with her what she ought to have said. "_Pre_scription, _pre_scription," she repeated. "I must remember that. What was it we had in church last Sunday? Was that a prescription or a proscription?" "That was a subscription," the teacher told her. "Oh, yes, a subscription. But what did you call the writing on the stones in the graveyard? Was that a prescription or a subscription?" "That was an inscription," was the answer, and perhaps it is small wonder that Anna exclaimed in despair, "Oh, this terrible English! Can I ever get it!" On the whole, however, she was very much at home with the English language. One morning as she was going down to breakfast some one asked, "How is our little China girl this morning?" "Neither cracked nor broken!" was her instant response. During all her stay in America she was in great demand as a speaker, and did as much of this work as her health permitted, always giving her message in English, and everywhere winning friends for herself and her loved people. "Those who have watched her as she held the attention of large audiences with the simple story of her own people, will not soon forget the modest, unassuming girl who touched their lives for a brief hour," says one who heard her often. When she entered Folts Institute it was thought that it would be a good thing for her to take vocal lessons to strengthen her throat and lungs. This training was given simply for the sake of her health, and with no expectation that she would ever sing in public, but it soon became evident that she had musical ability of no small degree. Her voice was very sweet, and had such a power to capture the hearts of her hearers that she was given the title of the "Sweet Singer," and was in great demand for meetings large and small. The whole energy of her life was so given to her Master that this newly discovered gift was at once consecrated wholly to His service. "You may think me narrow," she said earnestly, when her teacher proposed that she should study some nature songs, "but I feel that I must be the girl of one song." And into the one song, the Christian hymn, she put her whole soul, as any who heard her sing, "I love to tell the story," "Faith of our fathers," or the one that she perhaps sang most often, "Saved by Grace," will testify. "I can hear her still as she sang 'Saved by Grace' to the large audience of the General Executive in 1902," wrote one, several years later. "She put such fulness of meaning and power into this simple song. It was a part of her own experience." Another said, "I heard her sing 'I love to tell the story' to an audience of over five hundred college girls at the student conference of the Young Women's Christian Association at Silver Bay, and the effect was wonderful." It had been the thought of the principal of Folts Institute that the cost of Anna's musical education should be defrayed by gifts from friends who were interested in her and her work. But after one spring vacation, when Anna had been addressing several meetings and had been given quite a little money, she went to the principal's office and turned over the entire amount which she had received. "But this is twice as much as your lessons for the year will cost, Anna," the principal told her, and started to hand back half of it. But Anna would not take it, and insisted that it be used to pay for the piano lessons of another Chinese student at the Institute. "I don't want ---- to get into debt," she said. While studying at Folts Institute Anna's first great sorrow came to her in the death of her father. They had always been comrades, and she had often accompanied him on his preaching tours into the country. It was on one of these tours, made during the time of the Boxer uprising, that Pastor Stone received the injuries at the hands of a mob which were probably the cause of his death. The news was a great blow to Anna, but she bore it quietly and bravely, and when a few days later it was her turn to lead the students' prayer meeting, she chose "Heaven" for her topic. "Before I came to your country, I used to think it was heaven," she said; "but now I am so glad it isn't, for then they might try to keep father out, and now I know he is inside." She completed her course at Folts Institute in 1902, and as she seemed in good health, entered Central Wesleyan College for further training. But her zeal for her work always led her to overestimate her own strength, and her patience in suffering and desire not to cause any one any trouble, made it hard for others to know the true state of her health. One of her teachers at Folts says that Anna would often be ill for days before any one would have any knowledge of it, so uncomplaining was she. This teacher tells how at one time, when Anna finally had to give up, the tears rolled down the cheeks of the girl who bore pain so bravely that it was unsuspected even by those who were watching her carefully, at the thought that the friend to whom she gave both the century-old reverence of the Chinese for a teacher and the warm love of her grateful heart, should have to minister to her needs. It was found, after she had been at the Central Wesleyan College for a few months, that courageous as she was, her strength was not sufficient to enable her to go on with her studies. She spent the rest of the year in Minneapolis in the home of her good friends, Bishop and Mrs. Joyce. She was never content to be idle, and after a few months of rest she gave several addresses in the churches of Minnesota and North Dakota, awakening interest in the cause she represented wherever she went. She so won the hearts of the young people that when she went back to China it was as the representative of the young women who formed the Standard Bearer Society of the Minneapolis branch of the Woman's Foreign Missionary Society. In the summer of 1903 a specialist pronounced her to be suffering from tuberculosis, and the next winter was spent in southern California in the hope that in that favourable climate she might be cured. Even here her eagerness to serve her people led her to do as much speaking as her physician would permit. But she was anxious to get to the work for which these years of preparation had been spent, and with hopeful and eager expectation she sailed for China on the S.S. _Siberia_, June 11, 1904. II AMONG HER OWN PEOPLE On her return to her own country, Anna began her work with great enthusiasm. The spirit with which she entered into it is shown in her report of the first year's work: "After six years of special preparation, for which I feel greatly indebted to my Master, it is a happy privilege to do what may be in my power to show Him my gratitude. The blessings I received from the hands of those who gave cheerfully for His sake, I will endeavour to pass on to others. During those years of absorption in study there were times when I was anxious for others to share with me the joy which comes from the Christian faith, but the real opportunity did not appear until last July when I returned to my home land. With gladness and thanksgiving I entered into the work already well and carefully organized by my senior missionaries." The evangelistic work for women, of which she was put in charge, offered a large and varied field for service. "The success which my sister has had in her profession gives me easy access to many classes of our people," she reported soon after her return. Among the hospital and dispensary patients she found one of her greatest opportunities. She was not only able to reach those who came for treatment, but through them she had access to their homes, and spent a large part of her time in visiting among them and in entertaining guests in her own home. "Many know of the hospital and of the lady physician, and come to see the work, and daily we cordially welcome such guests into our home," a letter reads. "There are times when I walk with my sister on the street, and the ladies call the doctor in. Thus I gain access to friendly homes." She was untiring in her efforts to fit herself to make use of every opportunity which presented itself, never regarding her preparation for service as completed, but always eager to learn any new thing which would help her. A letter written soon after beginning her work tells of one of the means by which she sought to increase her usefulness: "I think it is imperative for me to study something more of the Chinese classics. The little knowledge I have, God has helped me to use for His glory, and a knowledge of the classical sayings will enable me at least to approach the educated classes on a common ground, and to induce them to see that which they know not, from that which they do know." During her first year of work she had four Bible women associated with her who went out with her daily, conducting meetings for women in the two chapels which were under her direction, visiting in the homes, or talking to patients in the dispensary waiting room. One of her early letters reads: "I felt that these Bible women needed special hours for prayer and Bible study, in order to give out the Bread of Life to others. So arrangements were made to have at least two hours of study every Monday morning, and we have prayer together before planning to carry out the Lord's will in the week's work." In addition to this work she was given oversight of the two day schools for girls in Kiukiang. Of them she reported: "The teachers are trying to do their best, but many times I have wished that we could secure better educated women and have our day school standard advanced. The girls who can afford to go to school don't care to study the old Chinese books which these women are prepared to teach, so the better classes are not being touched by the Christian teachers. Those who have nothing special for the girls to do let them go to while away the time; then when tea picking time comes they leave the school. All can see that such work cannot be of any great value." Conditions of this sort were discouraging indeed, but she met the situation with characteristic courage, and added to her other duties the task of teaching a little music and English in these schools. The introduction of these subjects proved to be very successful in reviving the pupils' flagging interest. "The girls are more interested just now," a letter says, "because they have once a week a lesson in singing; formerly it was given on Saturday in our home, but experience soon taught me that this was an impossibility on account of the continuous callers and disturbances. I go now to each school once a week and teach them there. They also have a lesson in English during the week. It seems so strange to me that all people, old and young, male and female, are seeking a knowledge of English." She was quick to see, however, that the only permanently successful solution of the day school problem was in well-trained teachers. Her great desire was for "the day when day school teachers should be better qualified for their work, that they might draw pupils to school by their own knowledge." In the meantime she did all she could to add to the efficiency of the teachers she had. One of her letters tells of her efforts to help one of her discouraged assistants: "One of the teachers is very anxious and feels that she cannot teach the school. She spoke to me several times of her inability to keep the pupils' attention because of her own lack of knowledge. As we have no trained teachers to take her place I cannot spare her. Though she has not a good head she has a good Christian heart, so for the good of the school I have to keep her and give her a few lessons each week. It is doing her good and helping her to teach better." Again she reported the following year, "A special effort was made to throw away the old, parrot-like way of learning. As the teachers needed instruction as well as the pupils, sometimes, the text-books were taken away. The teachers were required to tell a story every day; and with the story a verse of the Scriptures, meant for a peg on which to hang the tale, was committed to memory by the girls. The teacher would write six easy characters each afternoon on the blackboard for the girls to copy before going home. Thus the girls learned how to listen, to memorize, and to write. Since the number of girls increases perceptibly when we have a little English I use it as a bait. By Miss Merrill's consent, help was secured from the boarding-school in teaching half an hour of English every day in the two city schools." In December of 1904, at the annual meeting of the Central China Methodist Mission, Miss Stone was given the entire charge of the Bible Women's Training School. A letter to a friend shows the keen delight with which she entered upon this new work: "I am enjoying the work very much," she wrote. "It seems so strange to me that these women are like my old friends. They are free and at home with me, and I can say already that I love them.... I wish you could be here just to look at them and see how willing they are to be taught." It was her desire to live in the school that she might share the life of the women outside of class hours, but after a few days' trial this proved too wearing, and the doctor insisted upon her giving it up, greatly to her own disappointment and that of the women. She was very eager that these women, all of whom were from families of small means, and were supported by scholarships while at the school, should do something towards meeting at least a part of their expenses. A few months after she had taken charge of the work she joyfully wrote Mrs. Joyce: "An industrial department is actually started, and we have found it helpful to a great many. We are not attempting fancy things, but we strive to make useful articles and things that we use ourselves, or for sale. So far we have made only babies' shoes, which we sold to foreigners living at Kuling, and some hemstitched handkerchiefs, and some plain knitting. Each one of them is given fifty cash a month for spending money, and it will leave a good balance for the school. They work from three to five P.M., so their studies are not neglected thereby. This work means also a livelihood to a poor old lady.... She was in the hospital for over three years, living on the charity money the doctor earned. I felt that she could be more useful and happy by teaching sewing, since she is a beautiful needle worker, so the school boards her and gets her teaching for the women. I have been quite happy in this work, because I feel the women are learning self-respect and to look upon manual labour as something honourable. I have a chance to tell them about the American ideas, how American people despise begging but would work with pride in any position, for an honest living." In the growth of the women she found her greatest joy. "The women are learning," she said in the same letter, "and I feel that God is making them zealous for the souls of others. I watch anxiously for improvements in their characters and two or three of them give me secret pleasure by their signs of unselfishness and spiritual growth." Another letter to Mrs. Joyce tells of the way in which the members of the Training School were given practical work in connection with their studies: "Every day I call upon the farther advanced pupils to work. Two go out with the girls to teach in the two day schools of the city, the other two take charge of the industrial work. So every afternoon they have two hours of work to do. On Sunday I send them to the two chapels in the morning and I go with the first two one week and with the other two the next week. On every Tuesday I send out all women except three, at three o'clock, to invite our neighbours to our class-meeting. The three who stay at home are to entertain those who come. Every Tuesday we get from twenty to forty outsiders to listen to the gospel. Yesterday afternoon several pupils told the guests how they learned to know the loving Father." One of her former teachers at Folts Institute, who visited her at this time, wrote that she knew not which to admire more, "the whole-souled devotion of the teacher, or that of the women students." Miss Stone's health did not permit her to do as much itinerant work as she desired, but in the summer of 1905, during the vacation of the Bible Women's Training School, she made a trip of some weeks, visiting every station in the district. Itinerating in China is a process worthy of its name, as all bedding, food, and housekeeping materials must be carried along. But Anna was feeling well, and the very day after the work of the Training School closed she and her mother set out. At every city she reported that they "had a very good opportunity to work among the women," or that "many women showed a great interest in listening." Her father had been the first Christian preacher at one place which they visited, and had worked there for many years; another city was that in which the Stone's old family homestead was located, so she and her mother were sure of a welcome. "We had hardly any time to ourselves," she wrote. "So many people came to see us, and mistook me for my sister. Mother welcomed all callers and talked with them most of the time. Among these there were people from the opposite village who came over to destroy our house in 1900. I think they are quite ashamed of the act now." Busy as she was, meeting and talking to the people who everywhere came to greet her and her mother, Anna's mind was not so wholly occupied with the present that she was oblivious to the future. On her return she made several valuable suggestions for the development of the work in the various places, such as that the chapel in one city be moved to a more central location, that a vacant piece of property belonging to the mission would be an excellent site for a day school for girls, etc. "There ought to be a school in Whang Mai as a centre for women to work in," her report reads. "There are many women in that city who are friendly to the church.... When my parents were there there were quite a few women as members of the church, but now they don't come to church, because there is no woman to talk to them." She summed up the impressions of her trip in the words, "The trip opened my eyes to the fact that the harvest is 'truly plenteous' and the labourers are sadly few." At the same time her faith added, "But I am so glad to know that my Master is before us who are few in number." III THE POWER OF AN ENDLESS LIFE It is not surprising that with all her interests Anna Stone longed to live and make use of the unusual opportunities which she had received. "If God is willing I hope to work many years yet for Him," she wrote Mrs. Joyce after she had been back in China a few months; and at the end of her second year's work she said: "There are many things for which I am very thankful in the past year, but perhaps the greatest was the joy in knowing that my Heavenly Father has really allowed me a share of work.... I don't remember that there were many days of work neglected because of ill health." It was indeed remarkable that she was able to do as much as she did. One who saw her in her work writes of the untiring enthusiasm and activity with which she gave herself to it: "Her work was her very life. She talked to me of her plans for the woman's school, and of her great desire to see a revival here in the schools. I am sure you know of her work last summer when the missionaries were all away--how, feeling that it was a mistake that the native Christians should be without the helps of divine worship and the weekly prayer meeting, she, with her sister's help, opened the church and held services all through the hot summer, _doing the preaching herself_ and thus holding the people together. I never met any one at home or here whose whole soul was more on fire with a burning desire to win souls than was Anna Stone's, and I have met a large number of prominent workers in my work at home. She undoubtedly realized that her time was very short and she must work all the time while she had strength. Her work was not only in the school ... but she was at work in the day schools and boarding schools, in the church, in the league, in the visitation, in the hospital--everywhere where her life was able to touch others; and one felt the influence of the Holy Spirit whenever in merest conversation with the girl. That happy smile and merry laugh that so won the hearts of the people at home were bestowed upon every one here, and I do not wonder she was able to reach hearts where others failed." Her enthusiasm for her work doubtless made it hard not only for her to measure her own strength, but also for others to estimate it. But toward the close of the summer of 1905 it became evident to all, even to herself, that she had been overtaxing herself and must lighten her work. "Sister makes me take beef juice, milk, and bread and butter," she said in a letter to Mrs. Joyce. "Everybody tells me I am thin, but I am doing my best to get fat. Every afternoon I devote all the time to get well. I sleep after dinner, then go out riding for fresh air, so you see your little girl does live high and extravagantly." During this summer she received news of the serious illness of her friend and foster-father, Bishop Joyce. This was a great source of anxiety and sorrow to her. "How I wish I had means to go right to his dear presence to tell him how I revere and love him for what he has done for me, and for what he is to the world," she wrote his wife. "I envy I-lien's privilege of being there. It must be a great comfort to be able to put one's heart-full of love and sympathy into little services that he may need at this time." The death of this true friend was a great grief to her, both on her own account and because of the sorrow it brought to the family which she so loved. "I loved Bishop as I did my own father," she said in a letter to Mrs. Joyce. "Now I rejoice for both of them because they have heard the Master's 'Well done, good and faithful servant.'" Then she added, "I will ask him to ask the Master to let me work a little longer on earth. Of course if he sees the reason why I shouldn't he will not do it." [Illustration: The Anna Stone Memorial] For a time it seemed as if her desire were to be granted, for when autumn came she was able to open the Women's School at the usual time, and to teach in it each morning. By keeping the afternoons free for rest she gained so much that she could write: "I feel very grateful for my health. I am up every day for my work. It is a busy life, but a very happy one." Dr. Stone had decided in the autumn that unless Anna gained a great deal within the next few weeks she would send her to the mountains for the winter, in the hope that the dry air would help her. But, as she said, "Anna hates to hear us talk about it because she does not want to leave her pet work." And Anna soon seemed so much stronger that the doctor did not insist on her going. Anna wrote happily of the Christmas exercises in the school. "The women for the first time attempted to have a public programme for the happy season. They had a dialogue, three new songs, and acted out shepherds in the night watch and Herod in his trouble. Then they had a tree on which were little fancy trinkets which the women made for their friends. They had a joyous time because they worked for it." She carried the work until the Chinese New Year vacation, which began about the middle of January, and then dismissed the school for the vacation period, full of hopes and plans for the new term, for which she felt that the month's rest would prepare her. Special services were held in the church during the New Year vacation and Anna saved her strength that she might sing at the evening meetings. She herself led the closing service. One who was there says, "The native church will not quickly forget her clear and beautiful testimonies." But her strength was not equal even to these tasks. Early in February she had a severe hemorrhage from her lungs, from which it seemed as if she could not rally. She felt this herself and said to Dr. Stone, with a brave smile, "Sister, I am going. This is in answer to prayer, for I do not want to linger on and endanger all of your lives." This attack was followed by pleurisy, and for ten days of severe suffering her life hung by a very slender thread. A fellow-worker wrote at this time: "She is bright and happy, although fully expecting to go. She has been so enthusiastic in her work, and always so cheerful, that she has often gone beyond her strength. I think that she has been failing more than we who daily watch her have realized. We feel that we cannot let her go, but it is not for us to say. Since she would rather go to God than stay and not be able to carry on her work, we can only pray 'The will of God be done.'" Once more, however, she showed the elasticity which had made it so hard for her friends to realize the true state of her health, and for a few weeks seemed to improve. As life returned she began to hope that she might again be able to take up her work, and for a time the eagerness to work was so strong that she dreaded the thought of death. As the days passed and strength did not come, she was troubled to understand why, when the need was so great and the workers so few, she who so longed to work, should not be permitted to do so. She said to Dr. Stone one day: "Sister, I have just prepared myself to work, so much has been spent on me that I want to live at least fifteen years to pass on some of my blessings to others. I am so young, and our home life has been just beautiful. I am not anxious to give it up so soon. I have great hopes of the Training School. I love the women. I want to take a whole class through a course of training and then leave them with my work. I want to see them well established in their work, and a new school building put up well worthy of the name. Above all I want to see our native church thoroughly roused by the Holy Spirit, and a self-supporting church started." One of the missionaries wrote afterward: "I wish you might have known what a comfort Dr. Stone was to her through all those dark hours, carrying her own burden constantly in her heart and yet bravely helping Anna to bear hers. And Anna on her side was just as brave, for she suffered intense pain through her illness, but constantly fought down every expression of it." Anna's lifelong love for the will of God was so strong that she could not fail to love it to the end, and the struggle was soon succeeded by complete victory and peace. Her sister wrote Mrs. Joyce after she had gone: "She did not know why, when so much had been done for her and she was so willing to do any service unto the Lord, she should not be spared, and given a healthy body for the work that seemed to be so much in need of workers. But she said she was willing to go if it was the Lord's will, and she wanted people to know that she loved to obey God mare than she desired her own life.... She said she was perfectly willing to go, only she had wanted to work a little longer." Her brief struggle passed, her thought was all for others. She often spoke of the women for whom she had been working, and begged her sister to look after them and keep them from going back to the old ways; and in delirium she pleaded with one and another of them. She sent messages of love to those who were not with her, some of them being on the other side of the ocean, and sought to lighten the grief of those around her who so longed to keep her with them. "Do not grieve for me," she comforted her sister. "Think of me as you used to think of me when I was in America, only I shall be in a more beautiful place." Three days before her death she gave explicit directions about her funeral, wishing that everything in the Chinese funeral rites which savoured at all of non-Christian religions might be eliminated, that in her death, as in her life, she might witness clearly and unmistakably to her loyalty to Christ. When the last call finally came, on the sixteenth of March, it found her ready and glad to respond. She told her sister that she had heard the beautiful music and seen the great light and wanted to go. "That evening," reads a letter from one of her co-workers, "we missionaries all gathered in the reception hall of their little house, together with her relatives and more intimate friends. It was one of the most touching scenes I have ever witnessed, for we were all drawn together by the bond of grief over the loss of one we loved." Although, in accordance with Anna's wishes, her funeral was conducted with the utmost simplicity, the funeral procession caused universal comment. One of the missionaries describes the scene: "As the procession of almost forty chairs passed down the street all stopped to watch it pass, and despite the unrest due to the recent riots at Nanchang, we heard nothing but kindly remarks. The fact that foreigners were following one of their own people to the grave, paying the Chinese girl the honour they would have shown to a great man among themselves, seemed to impress the Chinese in a peculiar way." Another writes: "During the day the neighbours, Christian and non-Christian alike, came to pay their respects.... A very large company of people attended the funeral, including a number of missionaries of other denominations. There was a procession of forty sedan chairs to the Christian cemetery, which is about two miles beyond the East Gate. For the half mile from the home to the city gate both sides of the street were lined with people, who stood quietly and respectfully while we passed. The absence of the numerous heathen symbols, and of any cover for the casket save the floral tributes, was observed; and the fact that even the foreigners had their chairs draped with white, 'just like us Chinese,' was also noted. An English gentleman from the foreign concession, who was to pay a call on the captain of one of the war vessels the next morning, said, 'I shall tell him that I have witnessed a procession to-day which will do more to bring peace and harmony between the Chinese and foreigners than all the war vessels will do.'" Measured by years, Anna Stone's life was short. Measured by the time which she was enabled to give to her work after her return to China, her service was brief. Almost all her life had been given to preparation for service, and it may seem as if she had hardly begun her life work when she was bidden to lay it down for the richer service of another life. But if to be is more than to do, and if Anna Stone's life be measured by what it was, rather than by achievements which could be recorded, we must count her years of service to have been many. Through all the years of preparation for her work she was, in fact, serving in the truest sense, through what she was. Bishop Joyce often said that her presence in the home was a benediction. One who had close contact with her work pays the following tribute: "Hers was a rare character. So simple, unaffected, and tender and yet withal so strong. Like the blameless knight of old, 'her strength was as the strength of ten because her heart was pure.' Gifted with a winsome personality, and a voice of great sweetness, she literally sang her way into the hearts of all who heard her, while the illumination of her life 'hid with Christ in God' particularly impressed those who saw in her a product of the missionary enterprise of our church. All who came within the influence of her radiant presence were the better for it." Her life was an inspiration to people in Christian America. She once said while here: "Since coming to America the greatest wonder to me has been how any one can live in this country and yet not be a Christian. If I had not given myself to God it would be the first thing I would do. But thank God He has _me_ off His mind. I am His child and I will love and serve Him all my days." One woman who heard her sing asked, "Why do you let her go back? We need her right here to help us. I never felt so near Christ as when I heard this Chinese girl sing, 'And I shall see Him face to face,' for the light of her vision shone from her eyes. I knew that she saw what she was singing about." Another wrote, when the news of her death came, "Of Anna Stone it can truthfully be said, 'None knew her but to love her.'... Wherever she mingled with people she drew them not only to herself, but to Christ. Eternity alone will reveal the many souls won to a Christian life through her influence." At the annual meeting of the Woman's Foreign Missionary Society, held a few months after Anna Stone's death, the following resolution was unanimously adopted: "Resolved: That in memory of our dear Chinese girl, Anna Stone, we recall to your thought these words, applied to her by one who knew her well: 'And half we deemed she needed not The changing of her sphere To give to heaven a shining one Who walked an angel here.'" Her life was a blessing to people in her own great country. Her sister wrote: "I am so thankful that she returned and spent about two years working for our own people. When I saw how much she was loved by the women and girls here I knew her short time with us had not been spent in vain." A letter from another Kiukiang worker says: "We felt when Miss Stone was taken from the Women's School that indeed its light and glory had departed. Her influence and life among the women will never be forgotten. Her gentleness, sweetness of spirit, and unselfishness, won a place in our hearts, and made us feel that we had caught a glimpse of the Master. Among her fellow-workers and her own people, she was universally beloved." Miss Hughes, who was later appointed to take up the work which Anna had laid down, wrote in a letter to Mrs. Joyce: "I don't think any one will ever be able to tell you what a vacancy there is in Kiukiang since that little girl was taken from us. I was not in China any length of time before I, personally, realized something of the influence of her life. Her spirit of beautiful, consecrated young womanhood that so impressed every one at home seemed intensified when I saw her in the fall upon my arrival." Miss Hughes went on to tell of an incident which revealed what was doubtless one of the great sources of the power of the life that was so short in years. She says: "I think nothing that I have heard of Anna Stone's life speaks more clearly of the depth of real self-abnegation,--perfect obliteration of self, in fact--and the secret of her power in winning souls where others failed to win, than this story I am now to tell you. Several years ago, before Anna returned home from America, an old woman about sixty-four years of age, was engaged to do sewing for Dr. Stone from time to time. The woman was a widow with one son, who was an opium fiend in every sense of the word. He was unable to work, and deprived his mother of all the comforts, and often of the necessities of life, that he might buy opium." "One day the old woman was taken ill, and while ill, her son carried off the only clothes the old mother had (she slept with her clothes spread on top of the bed-clothes as you know is the custom in China), and sold them for the miserable drug. The mother appealed to Dr. Stone, who took her, in her helpless, sick condition, into the hospital. As she grew well, she stayed on, doing such sewing as she could for her board, and in the hospital she heard for the first time of the 'Jesus doctrine.' Her hungry heart opened to the truth and she wanted to learn to read the Bible." "One day, however, she came to the doctor and asked her if she thought if they prayed to God, He would save her son from his dreadful life. The doctor talked with her and found that the old woman was full of faith that it could be done. So they prayed about it, and a little while after, Dr. Stone gave the old woman money to take her son to the hospital for men in the city here and have the habit broken off. But the mother, instead of giving the man into the care of the authorities, and paying for his treatment herself, gave the money to the man, and he used it all in opium, being in a worse condition than ever." "Some time later, due to the lack of funds, the hospital had to be closed for some time, but when it was reopened, the old mother pleaded that the son should be taken on as a coolie to work for his keep, and thus be out of temptation's way. He had been supplied again with money and put into the hospital, from which he came out apparently cured, but fell again. The plan for him to come to the hospital seemed to the doctor a rather dangerous one, for the man was a positive good-for-nothing. But in the meantime Anna had returned from America, and was, with her sister, willing to try him; for it seemed his last chance, and the mother had begged so hard for him. So he came to the hospital--a poor wretch, indeed, weak as a little child from the awful life he had lived." "All opium was out of his reach here, and in a few days the absence of it showed by dreadful swelling of the limbs. He could not carry the smallest weight without great exertion, and the case seemed almost hopeless. But he gradually was broken from the use of the drug and was able to work about the place. Anna was using a sedan chair for her itinerating work, but she was so light that the coolies jolted her a great deal and hurt her; so she got her 'ricksha, and chose this poor wretch of a fellow, as her personal body-servant. When she went out on her evangelistic work, she had her mother with her, as you know, and this coolie went along drawing the 'ricksha. He became very devoted to her, and very carefully cared for her. When she had her meals with her mother, she had this coolie eat with her, lest he go off and get hold of opium. He is a very weak, easily led fellow, as you will have judged, and Anna felt his one safety was in keeping with them all the time. Little by little, the fellow straightened up and became stronger and able to do a respectable amount of work." "Meantime Anna was teaching him, as she had opportunity, about Christ. Finally last New Year's Eve, at the watch-night service led by Anna herself, among those who openly took their stand for Christ, was this poor fellow. As far as we know he has led a straight life ever since. He is still working about the hospital and there is no sign of the old dissipation. When Anna left us a few weeks ago, the man's grief was great, and it was this old 'body-guard' who sat up all night the one night after the coffin was sealed and remained in the house. The old mother at sixty-seven years of age has learned to read the Bible and is a very earnest Christian." "I wish I could tell you how it impressed me as Dr. Stone told of the efforts of Anna to win that poor wretch of a fellow to Christ. There wasn't a thing attractive about him, in fact, just the opposite; but she saw that there was a soul there to save, and with no apparent thought of herself, no shrinking from a man of his type, she, with the true spirit of the Lord she so closely followed, bent every effort to save him from the thing that had cursed his own and his mother's life. I think I have never heard anything more beautiful than this story of Anna, who with all the delicacy of her nature, her pure, sweet womanhood, her love of the refined that always marked her, and her keen sensitiveness to the niceties of life, laid all, as a sacrifice to her Lord, in the background, and had at the same board with herself and her mother, that miserable man, thus helping him to fight the enemy of his soul and body." Her Master's work was indeed everything, and self was nothing to Anna Stone. She once said in a letter to Mrs. Joyce, "It has been a grief to my heart not to have seen more people who have means to support themselves come out to work for China. I am hoping to find some means by which to support myself without getting pay from the society, to let others know that I am not working for money, but for the love of God which is in my heart." The influence of this young Chinese girl is but another witness to "the power of an endless life." She lives to-day in those whom she has inspired, and who seek to be as true as she. * * * * * PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 1675 ---- None 15125 ---- The Awakening of China By W. A. P. MARTIN, D.D., LL.D Formerly President of the Chinese Imperial University Author of "A Cycle of Cathay," "The Siege in Peking," "The Lore of Cathay," etc. [Page v] PREFACE China is the theatre of the greatest movement now taking place on the face of the globe. In comparison with it, the agitation in Russia shrinks to insignificance; for it is not political, but social. Its object is not a changed dynasty, nor a revolution in the form of government; but, with higher aim and deeper motive, it promises nothing short of the complete renovation of the oldest, most populous, and most conservative of empires. Is there a people in either hemisphere that can afford to look on with indifference? When, some thirty years ago, Japan adopted the outward forms of Western civilisation, her action was regarded by many as a stage trick--a sort of travesty employed for a temporary purpose. But what do they think now, when they see cabinets and chambers of commerce compelled to reckon with the British of the North Pacific? The awakening of Japan's huge neighbour promises to yield results equally startling and on a vastly extended scale. Political agitation, whether periodic like the tides or unforeseen like the hurricane, is in general superficial and temporary; but the social movement in China has its origin in subterranean forces such as raise continents from the bosom of the deep. To explain those forces is the object of the present work. It is the fascination of this grand spectacle that has [Page vi] brought me back to China, after a short visit to my native land--and to this capital, after a sojourn of some years in the central provinces. Had the people continued to be as inert and immobile as they appeared to be half a century ago, I might have been tempted to despair of their future. But when I see them, as they are to-day, united in a firm resolve to break with the past, and to seek new life by adopting the essentials of Western civilisation, I feel that my hopes as to their future are more than half realised; and I rejoice to help their cause with voice and pen. Their patriotism may indeed be tinged with hostility to foreigners; but will it not gain in breadth with growing intelligence, and will they not come to perceive that their interests are inseparable from those of the great family into which they are seeking admission? Every day adds its testimony to the depth and genuineness of the movement in the direction of reform. Yesterday the autumn manoeuvres of the grand army came to a close. They have shown that by the aid of her railways China is able to assemble a body of trained troops numbering 100,000 men. Not content with this formidable land force, the Government has ordered the construction of the nucleus of a navy, to consist of eight armoured cruisers and two battleships. Five of these and three naval stations are to be equipped with the wireless telegraph. Not less significant than this rehabilitation of army and navy is the fact that a few days ago a number of students, who had completed their studies at foreign universities, were admitted to the third degree (or [Page vii] D. C. L.) in the scale of literary honours, which means appointment to some important post in the active mandarinate. If the booming of cannon at the grand review proclaimed that the age of bows and arrows is past, does not this other fact announce that, in the field of education, rhyming and caligraphy have given place to science and languages? Henceforth thousands of ambitious youth will flock to the universities of Japan, and growing multitudes will seek knowledge at its fountain-head beyond the seas. Still more surprising are the steps taken toward the intellectual emancipation of woman in China. One of the leading ministers of education assured me the other day that he was pushing the establishment of schools for girls. The shaded hemisphere of Chinese life will thus be brought into the sunshine, and in years to come the education of Chinese youth will begin at the mother's knee. The daily deliberations of the Council of State prove that the reform proposals of the High Commission are not to be consigned to the limbo of abortions. Tuan Fang, one of the leaders, has just been appointed to the viceroyalty of Nanking, with _carte blanche_ to carry out his progressive ideas; and the metropolitan viceroy, Yuan, on taking leave of the Empress Dowager before proceeding to the manoeuvres, besought her not to listen to reactionary counsels such as those which had produced the disasters of 1900. In view of these facts, what wonder that Chinese newspapers are discussing the question of a national religion? The fires of the old altars are well-nigh extinct; and, among those who have come forward to [Page vii] advocate the adoption of Christianity as the only faith that meets the wants of an enlightened people, one of the most prominent is a priest of Buddha. May we not look forward with confidence to a time when China shall be found in the brotherhood of Christian nations? W. A. P. M. _Peking, October 30, 1906._ [Page ix] INTRODUCTION How varied are the geological formations of different countries, and what countless ages do they represent! Scarcely less diversified are the human beings that occupy the surface of the globe, and not much shorter the period of their evolution. To trace the stages of their growth and decay, to explain the vicissitudes through which they have passed, is the office of a philosophic historian. If the life history of a silkworm, whose threefold existence is rounded off in a few months, is replete with interest, how much more interesting is that of societies of men emerging from barbarism and expanding through thousands of years. Next in interest to the history of our own branch of the human family is that of the yellow race confronting us on the opposite shore of the Pacific; even more fascinating, it may be, owing to the strangeness of manners and environment, as well as from the contrast or coincidence of experience and sentiment. So different from ours (the author writes as an American) are many phases of their social life that one is tempted to suspect that the same law, which placed their feet opposite to ours, of necessity turned their heads the other way. To pursue this study is not to delve in a necropolis like Nineveh or Babylon; for China is not, like western Asia, the grave of dead empires, but the home of a people [Page x] endowed with inexhaustible vitality. Her present greatness and her future prospects alike challenge admiration. If the inhabitants of other worlds could look down on us, as we look up at the moon, there are only five empires on the globe of sufficient extent to make a figure on their map: one of these is China. With more than three times the population of Russia, and an almost equal area, in natural advantages she is without a rival, if one excepts the United States. Imagination revels in picturing her future, when she shall have adopted Christian civilisation, and when steam and electricity shall have knit together all the members of her gigantic frame. It was by the absorption of small states that the Chinese people grew to greatness. The present work will trace their history as they emerge, like a rivulet, from the highlands of central Asia and, increasing in volume, flow, like a stately river, toward the eastern ocean. Revolutions many and startling are to be recorded: some, like that in the epoch of the Great Wall, which stamped the impress of unity upon the entire people; others, like the Manchu conquest of 1644, by which, in whole or in part, they were brought under the sway of a foreign dynasty. Finally, contemporary history will be treated at some length, as its importance demands; and the transformation now going on in the Empire will be faithfully depicted in its relations to Western influences in the fields of religion, commerce and arms. As no people can be understood or properly studied apart from their environment, a bird's-eye view of the country is given. [Page xi] CONTENTS PREFACE INTRODUCTION PART I THE EMPIRE IN OUTLINE I. China Proper II. A Journey Through the Provinces--Kwangtung and Kwangsi III. Fukien IV. Chéhkiang V. Kiangsu VI. Shantung VII. Chihli VIII. Honan IX. The River Provinces--Hupeh, Hunan, Anhwei, Kiangsi X. Provinces of the Upper Yang-tse--Szechuen, Kweichau, Yunnan XI. Northwestern Provinces--Shansi, Shensi, Kansuh XII. Outlying Territories--Manchuria, Mongolia, Turkestan, Tibet [Page xii] PART II HISTORY IN OUTLINE, FROM THE EARLIEST TIMES TO THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY XIII. Origin of the Chinese XIV. The Mythical Period XV. The Three Dynasties XVI. House of Chou XVII. The Sages of China XVIII. The Warring States XIX. House of Ts'in XX. House of Han XXI. The Three Kingdoms XXII. The Tang Dynasty XXIII. The Sung Dynasty XXIV. The Yuen Dynasty XXV. The Ming Dynasty XXVI. The Ta-Ts'ing Dynasty PART III CHINA IN TRANSFORMATION XXVII. The Opening of China, a Drama in Five Acts--God in History--Prologue ACT 1--The Opium War (Note on the Tai-ping Rebellion) ACT 2--The "Arrow" War ACT 3--War with France ACT 4--War with Japan ACT 5--The Boxer War [Page xiii] XXVIII. The Russo-Japanese War XXIX. Reform in China XXX. Viceroy Chang XXXI. Anti-foreign Agitation XXII. The Manchus, the Normans of China APPENDIX I. The Agency of Missionaries in the Diffusion of Secular Knowledge in China II. Unmentioned Reforms III. A New Opium War INDEX [Page 1] PART I THE EMPIRE IN OUTLINE [Page 3] THE AWAKENING OF CHINA CHAPTER I CHINA PROPER _Five Grand Divisions--Climate--Area and Population--The Eighteen Provinces_ The empire consists of five grand divisions: China Proper, Manchuria, Mongolia, Turkestan, and Tibet. In treating of this huge conglomerate it will be most convenient to begin with the portion that gives name and character to the whole. Of China Proper it may be affirmed that the sun shines nowhere on an equal area which combines so many of the conditions requisite for the support of an opulent and prosperous people. Lying between 18° and 49° north latitude, her climate is alike exempt from the fierce heat of the torrid zone and the killing cold of the frigid regions. There is not one of her provinces in which wheat, rice, and cotton, the three staples of food and clothing, may not be cultivated with more or less success; but in the southern half wheat gives place to rice, while in the north cotton yields to silk and hemp. In the south cotton is king and rice is queen of the fields. Traversed in every direction by mountain ranges of moderate elevation whose sides are cultivated in [Page 4] terraces to such a height as to present the appearance of hanging gardens, China possesses fertile valleys in fair proportion, together with vast plains that compare in extent with those of our American prairie states. Furrowed by great rivers whose innumerable affluents supply means of irrigation and transport, her barren tracts are few and small. A coast-line of three thousand miles indented with gulfs, bays, and inlets affords countless harbours for shipping, so that few countries can compare with her in facilities for ocean commerce. As to her boundaries, on the east six of her eighteen provinces bathe their feet in the waters of the Pacific; on the south she clasps hands with Indo-China and with British Burma; and on the west the foothills of the Himalayas form a bulwark more secure than the wall that marks her boundary on the north. Greatest of the works of man, the Great Wall serves at present no other purpose than that of a mere geographical expression. Built to protect the fertile fields of the "Flowery Land" from the incursions of northern nomads, it may have been useful for some generations; but it can hardly be pronounced an unqualified success, since China in whole or in part has passed more than half of the twenty-two subsequent centuries under the domination of Tartars. With an area of about 1,500,000 square miles, or one-half that of Europe, China has a busy population of about four hundred millions; yet, so far from being exhausted, there can be no doubt that with improved methods in agriculture, manufactures, mining, and transportation, she might very [Page 5] easily sustain double the present number of her thrifty children. Within this favoured domain the products of nature and of human industry vie with each other in extent and variety. A bare enumeration would read like a page of a gazetteer and possibly make no more impression than a column of figures. To form an estimate of the marvellous fecundity of the country and to realise its picturesqueness, one ought to visit the provinces in succession and spend a year in the exploration of each. If one is precluded from such leisurely observation, undoubtedly the next best thing is to see them through the eyes of those who have travelled in and have made a special study of those regions. To more than half of the provinces I can offer myself as a guide. I spent ten years at Ningpo, and one year at Shanghai, both on the southern seacoast. At the northern capital I spent forty years; and I have recently passed three years at Wuchang on the banks of the Yang-tse Kiang, a special coign of vantage for the study of central China. While residing in the above-mentioned foci it was my privilege to visit six other provinces (some of them more than once), thus gaining a personal acquaintance with ten out of the eighteen and being enabled to gather valuable information at first hand. A glance at the subjoined table (from the report of the China Inland Mission for 1905) will exhibit the magnitude of the field of investigation before us. The average province corresponds in extent to the average state of the American Union; and the whole exceeds [Page 6] that portion of the United States which lies east of the Mississippi. CHINA PROPER --------------------------------------------- PROVINCES | AREA | POPULATION | SQ. MILES | -------------------|-----------|------------- Kwangtung (Canton) | 99,970 | 31,865,000 Kwangsi | 77,200 | 5,142,000 Fukien | 46,320 | 22,876,000 Chéhkiang | 36,670 | 11,580,000 Kiangsu | 38,600 | 13,980,000 Shantung | 55,970 | 38,248,000 Chihli | 115,800 | 20,937,000 Shansi | 81,830 | 12,200,000 Shensi | 75,270 | 8,450,000 Kansuh | 125,450 | 10,385,000 Honan | 67,940 | 35,316,000 Hupeh | 71,410 | 35,280,000 Hunan | 83,380 | 22,170,000 Nganhwei(Anhwei) | 54,810 | 23,670,000 Yünnan | 146,680 | 12,325,000 Szechuen | 218,480 | 68,725,000 Kiangsi | 69,480 | 26,532,000 Kweichau | 67,160 | 7,650,000 -------------------|-----------|------------- Totals | 1,532,420 | 407,331,000 [Page 7] CHAPTER II A JOURNEY THROUGH THE PROVINCES--KWANGTUNG AND KWANGSI _Hong Kong--A Trip to Canton--Macao--Scenes on Pearl River--Canton Christian College--Passion for Gambling--A Typical City--A Chief Source of Emigration_ Let us take an imaginary journey through the provinces and begin at Hong Kong, where, in 1850, I began my actual experience of life in China. From the deck of the good ship _Lantao_, which had brought me from Boston around the Cape in one hundred and thirty-four days, I gazed with admiration on the Gibraltar of the Orient. Before me was a land-locked harbour in which all the navies of the world might ride in safety. Around me rose a noble chain of hills, their slopes adorned with fine residences, their valleys a chessboard of busy streets, with here and there a British battery perched on a commanding rock. Under Chinese rule Hong Kong had been an insignificant fishing village, in fact a nest of pirates. In 1841 the island was ceded by China to Great Britain, and the cession was confirmed by the treaty of Nanking in August, 1842. The transformation effected in less than a decade had been magical; yet that was only the bloom [Page 8] of babyhood, compared with the rich maturity of the, present day. A daily steamer then sufficed for its trade with Canton; a weekly packet connected it with Shanghai; and the bulk of its merchandise was still carried in sailing ships or Chinese junks. How astounding the progress that has marked the last half-century! The streets that meandered, as it were, among the valleys, or fringed the water's edge, now girdle the hills like rows of seats in a huge amphitheatre; a railway lifts the passenger to the mountain top; and other railways whirl him from hill to hill along the dizzy height. I Trade, too, has multiplied twenty fold. In a commercial report for the year ending June, 1905, it is stated that in amount of tonnage Hong Kong has become the banner port of the world. Though politically Hong Kong is not China, more than 212,000 of its busy population (about 221,000) are Chinese; and it is preëminently the gate of China. By a wise and liberal policy the British Government has made it the chief emporium of the Eastern seas. We now take a trip to Canton and cross a bay studded with islands. These are clothed with copious verdure, but, like all others on the China coast, lack the crowning beauty of trees. In passing we get a glimpse of Macao, a pretty town under the flag of the Portuguese, the pioneers of Eastern trade. The oldest foreign settlement in China, it dates from 1544--not quite a half-century after the discovery of the route to India, an achievement whose fourth centenary was celebrated in 1898. If it could be ascertained on what [Page 9] day some adventurous argonaut pushed the quest of the Golden Fleece to Farther India, as China was then designated, that exploit might with equal appropriateness be commemorated also. The city of Macao stands a monument of Lusitanian enterprise. Beautifully situated on a projecting spur of an island, it is a favourite summer resort of foreign residents in the metropolis. It has a population of about 70,000, mostly Chinese, and contains two tombs that make it sacred in my eyes; namely, that of Camöens, author of "The Lusiad" and poet of Gama's voyage, and that of Robert Morrison, the pioneer of Protestant missions, the centennial of whose arrival had in 1907 a brilliant celebration. Entering the Pearl River, a fine stream 500 miles in length, whose affluents spread like a fan over two provinces, we come to the viceregal capital, as Canton deserves to be called, though the viceroy actually resides in another city. The river is alive with steamboats, large and small, mostly under the British flag; but native craft of the old style have not yet been put to flight. Propelled by sail or oar, the latter creep along the shore; and at Pagoda Anchorage near the city they form a floating town in which families are born and die without ever having a home on _terra firma_. Big-footed women are seen earning an honest living by plying the oar, or swinging on the scull-beam with babies strapped on their backs. One may notice also the so-called "flower-boats," embellished like the palaces of water fairies. Moored in one locality, they are a well-known resort of the vicious. In the fields are [Page 10] the tillers of the soil wading barefoot and bareheaded in mud and water, holding plough or harrow drawn by an amphibious creature called a carabao or water-buffalo, burying by hand in the mire the roots of young rice plants, or applying as a fertiliser the ordure and garbage of the city. Such unpoetic toils never could have inspired the georgic muse of Vergil or Thomson. The most picturesque structure that strikes the eye as one approaches the city is a Christian college--showing how times have changed. In 1850 the foreign quarter was in a suburb near one of the gates. There I dined with Sir John Bowring at the British Consulate, having a letter of introduction from his American cousin, Miss Maylin, a gifted lady of Philadelphia. There, too, I lodged with Dr. Happer, who by the tireless exertions of many years succeeded in laying the foundations of that same Christian college. For him it is a monument more lasting than brass; for China it is only one of many lighthouses now rising at commanding points on the seacoast and in the interior. In passing the Fati, a recreation-ground near the city, a view is obtained of the amusements of the rich and the profligate. We see a multitude seated around a cockpit intent on a cock-fight; but the cocks are quails, not barnyard fowls. Here, too, is a smaller and more exclusive circle stooping over a pair of crickets engaged in deadly combat. Insects of other sorts or pugnacious birds are sometimes substituted; and it might be supposed that the people must be warlike in their disposition, to enjoy such spectacles. The fact is, they are fond of fighting by proxy. What attracts them [Page 11] most, however, is the chance of winning or losing a wager. A more intellectual entertainment to be seen in many places is the solving of historical enigmas. Some ancient celebrity is represented by an animal in a rhyming couplet; and the man who detects the hero under this disguise wins a considerable sum. Such is the native passion for gambling that bets are even made on the result of the metropolitan examinations, particularly on the province to which will fall the honour of the first prize, that of the scholar-laureateship. Officials in all parts and benevolent societies take advantage of this passion for gambling in opening lotteries to raise funds for worthy objects--a policy which is unwise if not immoral. It should not be forgotten, however, that our own forefathers sometimes had recourse to lotteries to build churches. The foreign settlement now stands on Shamien, a pretty islet in the river, in splendid contrast with the squalor of the native streets. The city wall is not conspicuous, if indeed it is visible beyond the houses of a crowded suburb. Yet one may be sure that it is there; for every large town must have a wall for protection, and the whole empire counts no fewer than 1,553 walled cities. What an index to the insecurity resulting from an ill-regulated police! The Chinese are surprised to hear that in all the United States there is nothing which they would call a city, because the American cities are destitute of walls. Canton with its suburbs contains over two million people; it is therefore the most populous city in the empire. In general the houses are low, dark, and [Page 12] dirty, and the streets are for the most part too narrow for anything broader than a sedan or a "rickshaw" (jinriksha). Yet in city and suburbs the eye is dazzled by the richness of the shops, especially of those dealing in silks and embroideries. In strong contrast with this luxurious profusion may be seen crowds of beggars displaying their loathsome sores at the doors of the rich in order to extort thereby a penny from those who might not be disposed to give from motives of charity. The narrow streets are thronged with coolies in quality of beasts of burden, having their loads suspended from each end of an elastic pole balanced on the shoulder, or carrying their betters in sedan chairs, two bearers for a commoner, four for a "swell," and six or eight for a magnate. High officials borne in these luxurious vehicles are accompanied by lictors on horse or foot. Bridegrooms and brides are allowed to pose for the nonce as grandees; and the bridal chair, whose drapery blends the rainbow and the butterfly, is heralded by a band of music, the blowing of horns, and the clashing of cymbals. The block and jam thus occasioned are such as no people except the patient Chinese would tolerate. They bow to custom and smile at inconvenience. Of horse-cars or carriages there are none except in new streets. Rickshaws and wheelbarrows push their way in the narrowest alleys, and compete with sedans for a share of the passenger traffic. In those blue hills that hang like clouds on the verge of the horizon and bear the poetical name of White Cloud, there are gardens that combine in rich variety the fruits of both the torrid and the temperate zones. Tea and silk are grown in many other [Page 13] parts of China; but here they are produced of a superior quality. Enterprising and intelligent, the people of this province have overflowed into the islands of the Pacific from Singapore to Honolulu. Touching at Java in 1850, I found refreshments at the shop of a Canton man who showed a manifest superiority to the natives of the island. Is it not to be regretted that the Chinese are excluded from the Philippines? Would not the future of that archipelago be brighter if the shiftless native were replaced by the thrifty Chinaman? It was in Canton that American trade suffered most from the boycott of 1905, because there the ill-treatment of Chinese in America was most deeply felt, the Chinese in California being almost exclusively from the province of Canton. The viceroy of Canton has also the province of Kwangsi under his jurisdiction. Mountainous and thinly peopled, it is regarded by its associate as a burden, being in an almost chronic state of rebellion and requiring large armies to keep its turbulent inhabitants in order. [Page 14] CHAPTER III PROVINCE OF FUKIEN _Amoy--Bold Navigators--Foochow--Mountain of Kushan--The Bridge of Ten Thousand Years_ Following the coast to the north some three hundred miles we come to Amoy, the first important seaport in the adjacent province of Fukien. The aspect of the country has undergone a change. Hills attain the altitude of mountains, and the alluvial plains, so conspicuous about Canton, become contracted to narrow valleys. The people, too, are changed in speech and feature. Taller, coarser in physiognomy, with high cheek-bones and harsh voices, their dialect is totally unintelligible to people of the neighbouring province. As an example of the diversity of dialects in China, may be cited the Chinese word for man. In some parts of Fukien it is _long_; in Canton, _yan_ or _yin_; at Ningpo, _ning_; and at Peking, _jin_. One is left in doubt whether the people or the mountains which they inhabit were the most prominent factors in determining the dividing line that separates them from their neighbours on the south and west. In enterprise and energy they rival the Cantonese. They are bold navigators; the grand island of Formosa, now ceded to Japan, was colonised by them; and by [Page 15] them also the savage aborigines were driven over to the east coast. A peculiar sort of black tea is grown on these mountains, and, along with grass cloth, forms a staple in the trade of Amoy. The harbour is not wanting in beauty; and a view from one of the hill-tops, from which hundreds of villages are visible, is highly picturesque. Of the town of Amoy with its 200,000 people there is not much to be said except that several missions, British and American, which opened stations there soon after the first war with Great Britain, have met with encouraging success. At Swatow, a district in Canton Province beyond the boundary, the American Baptists have a flourishing mission. Entering the Formosan Channel we proceed to the mouth of the Min, a fine river which leads up to Foochow (Fuchau), some thirty miles inland. We do not stop to explore the Island of Formosa because, having been ceded to Japan, it no longer forms a part of the Chinese Empire. From the river the whole province is sometimes described as "the country of Min"; but its official name is Fukien. This name does not signify "happily established," as stated in most books, but is compounded of the names of its two chief cities by taking the first syllable of each, somewhat as the pioneer settlers of Arkansas formed the name of the boundary town of Texarkana. The names of some other provinces of China are formed in the same way; e.g. Kiangsu, Kansuh, and that of the viceregal district of Yünkwei. Kushan, a mountain on the bank of the river, is famed for its scenery; and, as with mountains everywhere else in China, it has been made the seat of a [Page 16] Buddhist monastery, with some scores of monks passing their time not in contemplation, but in idleness. The city of Foochow is imposing with its fine wall of stone, and a long stone bridge called Wansuik'iao "the bridge of ten thousand years." It has a population of about 650,000. To add to its importance it has a garrison or colony of Manchus who from the date of the conquest in 1644 have lived apart from the Chinese and have not diminished in numbers. The American Board and the Methodist Episcopal Board have large and prosperous missions at this great centre, and from this base they have ramified through the surrounding mountains, mostly following the tributaries of the Min up to their sources. In 1850 I was entertained at Foochow by the Rev. Dr. C. C. Baldwin, who, I am glad to say, still lives after the lapse of fifty-five years; but he is no longer in the mission field. [Page 17] CHAPTER IV PROVINCE OF CHÉHKIANG _Chusan Archipelago--Putu and Pirates--Queer Fishers and Queer Boats--Ningpo--A Literary Triumph--Search for a Soul--Chinese Psychology--Hangchow--The Great Bore_ Chéhkiang, the next province to the north, and the smallest of the eighteen, is a portion of the highlands mentioned in the last chapter. It is about as large as Indiana, while some of the provinces have four or five times that area. There is no apparent reason why it should have a distinct provincial government save that its waters flow to the north, or perhaps because the principality of Yuih (1100 B.C.) had such a boundary, or, again, perhaps because the language of the people is akin to that of the Great Plain in which its chief river finds an outlet. How often does a conqueror sever regions which form a natural unit, merely to provide a principality for some favourite! Lying off its coast is the Chusan archipelago, in which two islands are worthy of notice. The largest, which gives the archipelago its name, is about half the length of Long Island, N. Y., and is so called from a fancied resemblance to a junk, it having a high promontory at either end. It contains eighteen valleys--a division not connected with the eighteen provinces, but [Page 18] perpetuated in a popular rhyme which reflects severely on the morals of its inhabitants. Shielded by the sea, and near enough to the land to strike with ease at any point of the neighbouring coast, the British forces found here a secure camping-ground in their first war. To the eastward lies the sacred Isle of Putu, the Iona of the China coast. With a noble landscape, and so little land as to offer no temptation to the worldly, it was inevitable that the Buddhists should fix on it as a natural cloister. For many centuries it has been famous for its monasteries, some of which are built of timbers taken from imperial palaces. Formerly the missionaries from neighbouring seaports found at Putu refuge from the summer heat, but it is now abandoned, since it afforded no shelter from the petty piracy at all times so rife in these waters. In 1855 Mr. (afterward Bishop) Russell and myself were captured by pirates while on our way to Putu. The most gentlemanly freebooters I ever heard of, they invited us to share their breakfast on the deck of our own junk; but they took possession of all our provisions and our junk too, sending us to our destination in a small boat, and promising to pay us a friendly visit on the island. One of them, who had taken my friend's watch, came to the owner to ask him how to wind it. The Rev. Walter Lowrie, founder of the Presbyterian Mission at Ningpo, was not so fortunate. Attacked by pirates nearly on the same spot, he was thrown into the sea and drowned. Passing these islands we come to the Ningpo River, with Chinhai, a small city, at its mouth, and Ningpo, [Page 19] a great emporium, some twelve miles inland. This curious arrangement, so different from what one would expect, confronts one in China with the regularity of a natural law: Canton, Shanghai, Foochow, and Tientsin, all conform to it. The small city stands at the anchorage for heavy shipping; but the great city, renouncing this advantage, is located some distance inland, to be safe from sea-robbers and foreign foes. As we ascend the river we are struck with more than one peculiar mode of taking fish. We see a number of cormorants perched on the sides of a boat. Now and then a bird dives into the water and comes up with a fish in its beak. If the fish be a small one, the bird swallows it as a reward for its services; but a fish of considerable size is hindered in its descent by a ring around the bird's neck and becomes the booty of the fisherman. The birds appear to be well-trained; and their sharp eyes penetrate the depths of the water. Another novelty in fishing is a contrivance by which fish are made to catch themselves--not by running into a net or by swallowing a hook, but by leaping over a white board and falling into a boat. More strange than all are men who, like the cormorants, dive into the water and emerge with fish--sometimes with one in either hand. These fishermen when in the water always have their feet on the ground and grope along the shore. The first time I saw this method in practice I ran to the brink of the river to save, as I thought, the life of a poor man. He no sooner raised his head out of the water, however, than down it went again; and I was laughed at for my want of discernment by a crowd of people who shouted _Ko-ng, Ko-ng_, "he's catching fish." [Page 20] The natives have a peculiar mode of propelling a boat. Sitting in the stern the boatman holds the helm with one hand, while with the other he grasps a long pipe which he smokes at leisure. Without mast or sail, he makes speed against wind or current by making use of his feet to drive the oar. He thus gains the advantage of weight and of his strong sartorial muscles. These little craft are the swiftest boats on the river. At the forks of the river, in a broad plain dotted with villages, rise the stone walls of Ningpo, six miles in circuit, enclosing a network of streets better built than those of the majority of Chinese cities. The foreign settlement is on the north bank of the main stream; but a few missionaries live within the walls, and there I passed the first years of my life in China. Above the walls, conspicuous at a distance, appears the pinnacle of a lofty pagoda, a structure like most of those bearing the name, with eight corners and nine stories. Originally designed for the mere purposes of look-outs, these airy edifices have degenerated into appliances of superstition to attract good influences and to ward off evil. Not only has this section of the province a dialect of its own, of the mandarin type, but its people possess a finer physique than those of the south. Taller, with eyes less angular and faces of faultless symmetry, they are a handsome people, famed alike for literary talent and for commercial enterprise. During my residence there the whole city was once thrown into excitement by the news that one of her sons had won the first prize in prose and verse in competition, before the emperor, with the assembled scholars of the empire--an [Page 21] an honour comparable to that of poet laureate or of a victor in the Olympic games. When that distinction falls to a city, it is believed that, in order to equalise matters, the event is sure to be followed by three years of dearth. In this instance, the highest mandarins escorted the wife of the literary athlete to the top of the wall, where she scattered a few handfuls of rice to avert the impending famine. My house was attached to a new church which was surmounted by a bell-tower. In a place where nothing of the sort had previously existed, that accessory attracted many visitors even before the bell was in position to invite them. One day a weeping mother, attended by an anxious retinue, presented herself and asked permission to climb the tower, which request of course was not refused. Uncovering a bundle, she said: "This is my boy's clothing. Yesterday he was up in the tower and, taking fright at the height of the building, his little soul forsook his body and he had to go home without it. He is now delirious with fever. We think the soul is hovering about in this huge edifice and that it will recognise these clothes and, taking possession of them, will return home with us." When a bird escapes from its cage the Chinese sometimes hang the cage on the branch of a tree and the bird returns to its house again. They believe they can capture a fugitive soul in the same way. Sometimes, too, a man may be seen standing on a housetop at night waving a lantern and chanting in dismal tones an invitation to some wandering spirit to return to its abode. Whether in the case just mentioned the poor [Page 22] woman's hopes were fulfilled and whether the _animula vagula blandula_ returned from its wanderings I never learned, but I mention the incident as exhibiting another picturesque superstition. Chinese psychology recognises three souls, viz., the animal, the spiritual, and the intellectual. The absence of one of the three does not, therefore, involve immediate death, as does the departure of the soul in our dual system. But I tarry too long at my old home. We have practically an empire still before us, and will, therefore, steer west for Hangchow. In the thirteenth century this was the residence of an imperial court; and the provincial capital still retains many signs of imperial magnificence. The West Lake with its pavilions and its lilies, a pleasance fit for an emperor; the vast circuit of the city's walls enclosing hill and vale; and its commanding site on the bank of a great river at the head of a broad bay--all combine to invest it with dignity. Well do I recall the day in 1855 when white men first trod its streets. They were the Rev. Henry Rankin and myself. Though not permitted by treaty to penetrate even the rind of the "melon," as the Chinese call their empire, to a distance farther than admitted of our returning to sleep at home, we nevertheless broke bounds and set out for the old capital of the Sungs. On the way we made a halt at the city of Shaohing; and as we were preaching to a numerous and respectful audience in the public square, a well-dressed man pressed through the crowd and invited us to do him the honour of taking tea at his house. His mansion exhibited every [Page 23] evidence of affluence; and he, a scholar by profession, aspiring to the honours of the mandarinate, explained, as he ordered for us an ample repast, that he would have felt ashamed if scholars from the West had been allowed to pass through his city without anyone offering them hospitality. What courtesy! Could Hebrew or Arab hospitality surpass it? Two things for which the city of Shaohing is widely celebrated are (1) a sort of rice wine used throughout the Empire as being indispensable at mandarin feasts, and (2) clever lawyers who are deemed indispensable as legal advisers to mandarins. They are the "Philadelphia lawyers" of China. As we entered Hangchow the boys shouted _Wo tsei lai liao_, "the Japanese are coming "--never having seen a European, and having heard their fathers speak of the Japanese as sea-robbers, a terror to the Chinese coast. Up to this date, Japan had no treaty with China, and it had never carried on any sort of regular commerce with or acknowledged the superiority of China. Before many years had passed, these youths became accustomed to Western garb and features; and I never heard that any foreigner suffered insult or injury at their hands. In 1860 the Rev. J. L. Nevius, one of my colleagues, took possession of the place in the name of Christ. He was soon followed by Bishop Burden, of the English Church Mission, whose apostolic successor, Bishop Moule, now makes it the seat of his immense diocese. Another claim to distinction not to be overlooked is that its river is a trap for whales. Seven or eight years ago a cetaceous monster was stranded near the [Page 24] river's mouth. The Rev. Dr. Judson, president of the Hangchow Mission College, went to see it and sent me an account of his observations. He estimated the length of the whale at 100 feet; the tail had been removed by the natives. To explain the incident it is necessary to say that, the bay being funnel-shaped, the tides rise to an extraordinary height. Twice a month, at the full and the change of the moon, the attractions of sun and moon combine, and the water rushes in with a roar like that of a tidal wave. The bore of Hangchow is not surpassed by that of the Hooghly or of the Bay of Fundy. Vessels are wrecked by it; and even the monsters of the deep are unable to contend with the fury of its irresistible advance. [Page 25] CHAPTER V PROVINCE OF KIANGSU _Nanking--Shanghai--The Yang-tse Kiang--The Yellow River_ Bordering on the sea, traversed by the Grand Canal and the Yang-tse Kiang, the chief river of the Empire, rich in agriculture, fisheries, and commerce, Kiangsu is the undisputed queen of the eighteen provinces. In 1905 it was represented to the throne as too heavy a burden for one set of officers. The northern section was therefore detached and erected into a separate province; but before the new government was organised the Empress Dowager yielded to remonstrances and rescinded her hasty decree--showing how reluctant she is to contravene the wishes of her people. What China requires above all things is the ballot box, by which the people may make their wishes known. The name of the province is derived from its two chief cities, Suchow and Nanking. Suchow, the Paris of the Far East, is coupled with Hangchow in a popular rhyme, which represents the two as paragon cities: _"Shang yu t'ien t'ang hia yu Su-Hang."_ "Su and Hang, so rich and fair, May well with Paradise compare." [Page 26] The local dialect is so soft and musical that strolling players from Suchow are much sought for in the adjacent provinces. A well-known couplet says: "I'd rather hear men wrangle in Suchow's dulcet tones Than hear that mountain jargon, composed of sighs and groans." Farther inland, near the banks of the "Great River," stands Nanking, the old capital of the Ming dynasty. The Manchus, unwilling to call it a _king_, _i.e._ seat of empire, changed its name to Kiangning; but the old title survives in spite of official jealousy. As it will figure prominently in our history we shall not pause there at present, but proceed to Shanghai, a place which more than any other controls the destinies of the State. Formerly an insignificant town of the third order (provincial capitals and prefectural towns ranking respectively first and second), some sapient Englishman with an eye to commerce perceived the advantage of the site; and in the dictation of the terms of peace in 1842 it was made one of the five ports. It has come to overshadow Canton; and more than all the other ports it displays to the Chinese the marvels of Western skill, knowledge, and enterprise. On a broad estuary near the mouth of the main artery that penetrates the heart of China, it has become a leading emporium of the world's commerce. The native city still hides its squalor behind low walls of brick, but outside the North Gate lies a tract of land known as the "Foreign Concessions." There a beautiful city styled the "model settlement" has sprung up like a gorgeous pond-lily from the muddy, [Page 27] paddy-fields. Having spent a year there, I regard it with a sort of affection as one of my Oriental homes. Shanghai presents a spectacle rare amongst the seaports of the world. Its broad streets, well kept and soon to be provided with electric trolleys, extend for miles along the banks of two rivers, lined with opulent business houses and luxurious mansions, most of the latter being surrounded by gardens and embowered in groves of flowering trees. Nor do these magazines and dwelling-houses stand merely for taste and opulence. Within the bounds of the Concessions is the reign of law--not, as elsewhere in China, the arbitrary will of a magistrate, but the offspring of freedom and justice. Foreigners live everywhere under the protection of their own national flags: and within the Concessions. Chinese accused of crimes are tried by a mixed court which serves as an object-lesson in justice and humanity. Had one time to peep into a native _yamên_, one might see bundles of bamboos, large and small, prepared for the bastinado; one might see, also, thumb-screws, wooden boots, wooden collars, and other instruments of torture, some of them intended to make mince-meat of the human body. The use of these has now been forbidden.[*] [Footnote *: In another city a farmer having extorted a sum of money from a tailor living within the Concession, the latter appealed to the British consul for Justice. The consul, an inexperienced young man, observing that the case concerned only the Chinese, referred it to the city magistrate, who instantly ordered the tailor to receive a hundred blows for having applied to a foreign court.] In Shanghai there are schools of all grades, some under the foreign municipal government, others under missionary societies. St. John's College (U. S. [Page 28] Episcopal) and the Anglo-Chinese College (American M. E.) bear the palm in the line of education so long borne by the Roman Catholics of Siccawei. Added to these, newspapers foreign and native--the latter exercising a freedom of opinion impossible beyond the limits of this city of refuge--the Society for the Diffusion of Christian Knowledge and other translation bureaux, foreign and native, turning out books by the thousand with the aid of steam presses, form a combination of forces to which China is no longer insensible. Resuming our imaginary voyage we proceed northward, and in the space of an hour find ourselves at the mouth of the Yang-tse Kiang, or Ta Kiang, the "Great River," as the Chinese call it. The width of its embouchure suggests an Asiatic rival of the Amazon and La Plata. We now see why this part of the ocean is sometimes described as the Yellow Sea. A river whose volume, it is said, equals that of two hundred and forty-four such rivulets as Father Thames, pours into it its muddy waters, making new islands and advancing the shore far into the domain of Neptune. Notice on the left those long rows of trees that appear to spring from the bosom of the river. They are the life-belt of the Island of Tsungming which six centuries ago rose like the fabled Delos from the surface of the turbid waters. Accepted as the river's tribute to the Dragon Throne, it now forms a district of the province with a population of over half a million. About the same time, a large tract of land was carried into the sea by the Hwang Ho, the "Yellow River," which gave rise to the popular proverb, "If we lose in Tungking we gain in Tsungming." [Page 29] The former river comes with its mouth full of pearls; the latter yawns to engulf the adjacent land. At present, however, the Yellow River is dry and thirsty, the unruly stream, the opposite of Horace's _uxorius amnis_, having about forty years ago forsaken its old bed and rushed away to the Gulf of Pechili (Peh-chihli). This produced as much consternation as the Mississippi would occasion if it should plough its way across the state that bears its name and enter the Gulf of Mexico at Mobile Bay. The same phenomenon has occurred at long intervals in times past. The wilful stream has oscillated with something like periodical regularity from side to side of the Shantung promontory, and sometimes it has flowed with a divided current, converting that territory into an island. Now, however, the river seems to have settled itself in its new channel, entering the gulf at Yang Chia Kow--a place which foreign sailors describe as "Yankee cow"--and making a portentous alteration in the geography of the globe. [Page 30] CHAPTER VI PROVINCE OF SHANTUNG _Kiao-Chao--Visit to Confucius's Tomb--Expedition to the Jews of K'ai-fung-fu--The Grand Canal--Chefoo_ In Shantung the people appear to be much more robust than their neighbours to the south. Wheat and millet rather than rice are their staple food. In their orchards apples, pears and peaches take the place of oranges. At Kiao-chao (Kiau-Chau) the Germans, who occupied that port in 1897, have built a beautiful town opposite the Island of Tsingtao, presenting a fine model for imitation, which, however, the Chinese are not in haste to copy. They have constructed also a railway from the sea to Tsinan-fu, very nearly bisecting the province. Weihien is destined to become a railroad centre; and several missionary societies are erecting colleges there to teach the people truths that Confucius never knew. More than half a century ago, when a missionary distributed Christian books in that region, the people brought them back saying, "We have the works of our Sage, and they are sufficient for us." Will not the new arts and sciences of the West convince them that their Sage was not omniscient? In 1866 I earned the honours of a _hadji_ by visiting the tomb of Confucius--a magnificent mausoleum surrounded by his descendants of the seventieth generation, [Page 31] one of whom in quality of high priest to China's greatest teacher enjoys the rank of a hereditary duke. On that occasion, I had come up from a visit to the Jews in Honan. Having profited by a winter vacation to make an expedition to K'ai-fung-fu, I had the intention of pushing on athwart the province to Hankow. The interior, however, as I learned to my intense disappointment, was convulsed with rebellion. No cart driver was willing to venture his neck, his steed, and his vehicle by going in that direction. I accordingly steered for the Mecca of Shantung, and, having paid my respects to the memory of China's greatest sage, struck the Grand Canal and proceeded to Shanghai. From K'ai-fung-fu I had come by land slowly, painfully, and not without danger. From Tsi-ning I drifted down with luxurious ease in a well-appointed house-boat, meditating poetic terms in which to describe the contrast. The canal deserves the name of "grand" as the wall on the north deserves the name of "great." Memorials of ancient times, they both still stand unrivalled by anything the Western world has to show, if one except the Siberian Railway. The Great Wan is an effete relic no longer of use; and it appears to be satire on human foresight that the Grand Canal should have been built by the very people whom the Great Wall was intended to exclude from China. The canal is as useful to-day as it was six centuries ago, and remains the chief glory of the Mongol dynasty. Kublai having set up his throne in the north, and completed the conquest of the eighteen provinces, ordered the construction of this magnificent waterway, [Page 32] which extends 800 miles from Peking to Hangchow and connects with other waterways which put the northern capital in roundabout communication with provinces of the extreme south. His object was to tap the rice-fields of Central China and obtain a food supply which could not be interfered with by those daring sea-robbers, the redoubtable Japanese, who had destroyed his fleets and rendered abortive his attempt at conquest. Of the Great Wall, it may be said that the oppression inseparable from its construction hastened the overthrow of the house of its builder. The same is probably true of the Grand Canal. The myriads of unpaid labourers who were drafted by _corvée_ from among the Chinese people subsequently enlisted, they or their children, under the revolutionary banner which expelled the oppressive Mongols. Another port in this province which we cannot pass without an admiring glance, is Chefoo (Chifu). On a fine hill rising from the sea wave the flags of several nations; in the harbour is a cluster of islands; and above the settlement another noble hill rears its head crowned with a temple and groves of trees. On its sides and near the seashore are the residences of missionaries. There I have more than once found a refuge from the summer heat, under the hospitable roof of Mrs. Nevius, the widow of my friend Dr. J. L. Nevius, who, after opening a mission in Hangchow, became one of the pioneers of Shantung. In Chefoo he planted not only a church, but a fruit garden. To the Chinese eye this garden was a striking symbol of what his gospel proposed to effect for the people. [Page 33] CHAPTER VII PROVINCE OF CHIHLI _Taku--Tientsin--Peking--The Summer Palace--Patachu--Temples of Heaven, Earth, and Agriculture--Foreign Quarter--The Forbidden City--King-Han Railway--Paoting-fu_ Crossing the gulf we reach Taku, at the mouth of the Peiho, and, passing the dismantled forts, ascend the river to Tientsin. In 1858 I spent two months at Taku and Tientsin in connection with the tedious negotiations of that year. At the latter place I became familiar with the dusty road to the treaty temple; and at the former witnessed the capture of the forts by the combined squadrons of Great Britain and France. The next year on the same ground I saw the allied forces repulsed with heavy loss--a defeat avenged by the capture of Peking in 1860. In the Boxer War the relief force met with formidable opposition at Tientsin. The place has, however, risen with new splendour from its half-ruined condition, and now poses as the principal residence of the most powerful of the viceroys. Connected by the river with the seaboard, by the Grand Canal with several provinces to the south, and by rail with Peking, Hankow and Manchuria, Tientsin commands the chief lines of [Page 34] communication in northern China. In point of trade it ranks as the third in importance of the treaty ports. Three hours by rail bring us to the gates of Peking, the northern capital. Formerly it took another hour to get within the city. Superstition or suspicion kept the railway station at a distance; now, however, it is at the Great Central Gate. Unlike Nanking, Peking has nothing picturesque or commanding in its location. On the west and north, at a distance of ten to twenty miles, ranges of blue hills form a feature in the landscape. Within these limits the eye rests on nothing but flat fields, interspersed with clumps of trees overshadowing some family cemetery or the grave of some grandee. Between the city and the hills are the Yuen Ming Yuen, the Emperor's summer palace, burnt in 1860 and still an unsightly ruin, and the Eho Yuen, the summer residence of the Empress Dowager. Enclosing two or three pretty hills and near to a lofty range, the latter occupies a site of rare beauty. It also possesses mountain water in rich abundance. No fewer than twenty-four springs gush from the base of one of its hills, feeding a pretty lake and numberless canals. Partly destroyed in 1860, this palace was for many years as silent as the halls of Palmyra. I have often wandered through its neglected grounds. Now, every prominent rock is crowned with pagoda or pavilion. There are, however, some things which the slave of the lamp is unable to produce even at the command of an empress--there are no venerable oaks or tall pines to lend their majesty to the scene. Patachu, in the adjacent hills, used to be a favourite [Page 35] summer resort for the legations and other foreigners before the seaside became accessible by rail. Its name, signifying the "eight great places," denotes that number of Buddhist temples, built one above another in a winding gorge on the hillside. In the highest, called Pearl Grotto, 1,200 feet above the sea, I have found repose for many a summer. I am there now (June, 1906), and there I expect to write the closing chapters of this work. These temples are at my feet; the great city is in full view. To that shrine the emperors sometimes made excursions to obtain a distant prospect of the world. One of them, Kien Lung, somewhat noted as a poet, has left, inscribed on a rock, a few lines commemorative of his visit: "Why have I scaled this dizzy height? Why sought this mountain den? I tread as on enchanted ground, Unlike the abode of men. "Beneath my feet my realm I see As in a map unrolled, Above my head a canopy Adorned with clouds of gold." The capital consists of two parts: the Tartar city, a square of four miles; and the Chinese city, measuring five miles by three. They are separated by imposing walls with lofty towers, the outer wall being twenty-one miles in circuit. At present the subject people are permitted to mingle freely with their conquerors; but most of the business is done in the Chinese city. Resembling other Chinese towns in its unsavoury condition, this section contains two imperial temples of great sanctity. One of these, the Temple of Heaven, [Page 36] has a circular altar of fine white marble with an azure dome in its centre in imitation of the celestial vault. Here the Emperor announces his accession, prays for rain, and offers an ox as a burnt sacrifice at the winter solstice--addressing himself to Shang-ti, the supreme ruler, "by whom kings reign and princes decree justice." The Temple of Agriculture, which stands at a short distance from that just mentioned, was erected in honour of the first man who cultivated the earth. In Chinese, he has no name, his title, Shin-nung signifying the "divine husbandman"--a masculine Ceres. Might we not call the place the Temple of Cain? There the Emperor does honour to husbandry by ploughing a few furrows at the vernal equinox. His example no doubt tends to encourage and comfort his toiling subjects. Another temple associated with these is that of Mother Earth, the personified consort of Heaven; but it is not in this locality. The eternal fitness of things requires that it should be outside of the walls and on the north. It has a square altar, because the earth is supposed to have "four corners." "Heaven is round and Earth square," is the first line of a school reader for boys. The Tartar city is laid out with perfect regularity, and its streets and alleys are all of convenient width. Passing from the Chinese city through the Great Central Gate we enter Legation Street, so called because most of the legations are situated on or near it. Architecturally they make no show, being of one story, or at most two stories, in height and hidden [Page 37] behind high walls. So high and strong are the walls of the British Legation that in the Boxer War of 1900 it served the whole community for a fortress, wherein we sustained a siege of eight weeks. A marble obelisk near the Legation gate commemorates the siege, and a marble gateway on a neighbouring street marks the spot where Baron Ketteler was shot. Since that war a foreign quarter has been marked out, the approaches to which have been partially fortified. The streets are now greatly improved; ruined buildings have been repaired; and the general appearance of the old city has been altered for the better. Two more walled enclosures have to be passed before we arrive at the palace. One of them forms a protected barrack or camping-ground for the palace guards and other officials attendant on the court. The other is a sacred precinct shielded from vulgar eyes and intrusive feet, and bears the name "Forbidden City." In the year following the flight of the court these palaces were guarded by foreign troops, and were thrown open to foreign visitors. Marble bridges, balustrades, and stairways bewilder a stranger. Dragons, phoenixes and other imaginary monsters carved on doorways and pillars warn him that he is treading on sacred ground. The ground, though paved with granite, is far from clean; and the costly carvings within remind one of the saying of an Oriental monarch, "The spider taketh hold with her hands and is in kings' houses." None of the buildings has more than one story, but the throne-rooms and great halls are so lofty as to suggest the dome of a cathedral. The roofs are all covered with tiles of a [Page 38] yellow hue, a colour which even princes are not permitted to use. Separated from the palace by a moat and a wall is Prospect Hill, a charming elevation which serves as an imperial garden. On the fall of the city in 1643 the last of the Mings hanged himself there--after having stabbed his daughter, like another Virginius, as a last proof of paternal affection. From the gate of the Forbidden City to the palace officials high and low must go on foot, unless His Majesty by special favour confers the privilege of riding on horseback, a distinction which is always announced in the _Gazette_ by the statement that His Majesty has "given a horse" to So-and-So. No trolleys are to be seen in the streets, and four-wheeled carriages are rare and recent. Carts, camels, wheel-barrows, and the ubiquitous rickshaw are the means of transport and locomotion. The canals are open sewers never used for boats. Not lacking in barbaric splendour, as regards the convenience of living this famous capital will not compare with a country village of the Western world. On the same parallel as Philadelphia, but dryer, hotter, and colder, the climate is so superb that the city, though lacking a system of sanitation, has a remarkably low death-rate. In 1859 I first entered its gates. In 1863 I came here to reside. More than any other place on earth it has been to me a home; and here I am not unlikely to close my pilgrimage. On my first visit, I made use of Byron's lines on Lisbon to express my impressions of Peking. Though there are now some signs of improvement in the city [Page 39] the quotation can hardly be considered as inapplicable at the present time. Here it is for the convenience of the next traveller: "...Whoso entereth within this town, That, sheening far, celestial seems to be, Disconsolate will wander up and down, 'Mid many things unsightly to strange ee: For hut and palace show like filthily: The dingy denizens are rear'd in dirt; Ne personage of high or mean degree Doth care for cleanness of surtout or shirt..." (_Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto the First_, st. xvii.) Returning to the station we face about for the south and take tickets for Paoting-fu. We are on the first grand trunk railway of this empire. It might indeed be described as a vertebral column from which iron roads will ere long be extended laterally on either side, like ribs, to support and bind together the huge frame. Undertaken about twelve years ago it has only recently been completed as far as Hankow, about six hundred miles. The last spike in the bridge across the Yellow River was driven in August, 1905, and since that time through trains have been running from the capital to the banks of the Yang-tse Kiang. This portion has been constructed by a Belgian syndicate, and their task has been admirably performed. I wish I could say as much of the other half (from Hankow to Canton), the contract for which was given to an American company. After a preliminary survey this company did no work, but, under pretext of waiting for tranquil times, watched the fluctuations of the share market. The whole enterprise was eventually [Page 40] taken over by a native company opposed to foreign ownership--at an advance of 300 per cent. It was a clever deal; but the Americans sacrificed the credit and the influence of their country, and a grand opportunity was lost through cupidity and want of patriotism. This iron highway is destined in the near future to exert a mighty influence on people and government. It will bring the provinces together and make them feel their unity. It will also insure that communication between the north and the south shall not be interrupted as it might be were it dependent on sea or canal. These advantages must have been so patent as to overcome an inbred hostility to development. Instead of being a danger, these railways are bound to become a source of incalculable strength. Paoting-fu was the scene of a sad tragedy in 1900, and when avenging troops appeared on the scene, and saw the charred bones of missionaries among the ashes of their dwellings, they were bent on destroying the whole city, but a missionary who served as guide begged them to spare the place. So grateful were the inhabitants for his kindly intervention that they bestowed on the mission a large plot of ground--showing that, however easily wrought up, they were not altogether destitute of the better feelings of humanity. Continuing our journey through half a dozen considerable cities, at one of which, Shunteh-fu, an American mission has recently been opened, we reach the borders of the province of Honan. [Page 41] CHAPTER VIII PROVINCE OF HONAN _A Great Bridge--K'ai-fung-fu--Yellow Jews_ Passing the border city of Weihwei-fu, we find ourselves arrested by the Hwang Ho--not that we experience any difficulty in reaching the other bank; but we wish to indulge our curiosity in inspecting the means of transit. It is a bridge, and such a bridge as has no parallel on earth. Five miles in length, it is longer than any other bridge built for the passage of a river. It is not, however, as has been said, the longest bridge in the world; the elevated railway of New York is a bridge of much greater length. So are some of the bridges that carry railways across swamp-lands on the Pacific Coast. Bridges of that sort, however, are of comparatively easy construction. They have no rebellious stream or treacherous quicksands to contend with. Cæsar's bridge over the Rhine was an achievement worthy to be recorded among the victories of his Gallic wars; but it was a child's plaything in comparison with the bridge over the Yellow River. Cæsar's bridge rested on sesquipedalian beams of solid timber. The Belgian bridge is supported on tubular piles of steel of sesquipedalian diameter driven by steam or screwed down into the sand to a depth of fifty feet. There have been other bridges near this very spot [Page 42] with which it might be compared. One of them was called Ta-liang, the "Great Bridge," and gave name to a city. Another was Pien-liang, "The Bridge of Pien," one of the names of the present city of K'ai-fung-fu. That bridge has long since disappeared; but the name adheres to the city. What an unstable foundation on which to erect a seat of empire! Yet the capital has been located in this vicinity more than once or twice within the last twenty-five centuries. The first occasion was during the dynasty of Chou (1100 B. c.), when the king, to be more central, or perhaps dreading the incursions of the Tartars, forsook his capital in Shensi and followed the stream down almost to the sea, braving the quicksands and the floods rather than face those terrible foes. Again, in the Sung period, it was the seat of government for a century and a half. The safest refuge for a fugitive court which, once established there, has no reason to fear attack by sea or river, it is somewhat strange that in 1900 the Empress Dowager did not direct her steps toward K'ai-fung-fu, instead of escaping to Si-ngan. Being, however, herself a Tartar, she might have been expected to act in a way contrary to precedents set by Chinese dynasties. Obviously, she chose the latter as a place of refuge because it lay near the borders of Tartary. It is noteworthy that a loyal governor of Honan at that very time prepared a palace for her accommodation in K'ai-fung-fu, and when the court was invited to return to Peking, he implored her not to risk herself in the northern capital. Honan is a province rich in agricultural, and probably [Page 43] in mineral, resources, but it has no outlet in the way of trade. What a boon this railway is destined to be, as a channel of communication with neighbouring provinces! I crossed the Yellow River in 1866, but there was then no bridge of any kind. Two-thirds of a mile in width, with a furious current, the management of the ferry-boat was no easy task. On that occasion an object which presented stronger attractions than this wonderful bridge had drawn me to K'ai-fung-fu--a colony of Jews, a fragment of the Lost Tribes of Israel. As mentioned in a previous chapter, I had come by land over the very track now followed by the railroad, but under conditions in strong contrast with the luxuries of a railway carriage--"Alone, unfriended, solitary, slow," I had made my way painfully, shifting from horse to cart, and sometimes compelled by the narrowness of a path to descend to a wheelbarrow. How I longed for the advent of the iron horse. Now I have with me a jovial company; and we may enjoy the mental stimulus of an uninterrupted session of the Oriental Society, while making more distance in an hour than I then made in a day. Of the condition of the Jews of K'ai-fung-fu, as I found them, I have given a detailed account elsewhere.[*] Suffice it to say here that the so-called colony consisted of about four hundred persons, belonging to seven families or clans. Undermined by a flood of the Yellow River, their synagogue had become ruinous, and, being unable to repair it, they had disposed of its timbers to relieve the pressure of their dire poverty. [Page 44] Nothing remained but the vacant space, marked by a single stone recording the varying fortunes of these forlorn Israelites. It avers that their remoter ancestors arrived in China by way of India in the Han dynasty, before the Christian era, and that the founders of this particular colony found their way to K'ai-fung-fu in the T'ang dynasty about 800 A. D. It also gives an outline of their Holy Faith, showing that, in all their wanderings, they had not forsaken the God of their fathers. They still possessed some rolls of the Law, written in Hebrew, on sheepskins, but they no longer had a rabbi to expound them. They had forgotten the sacred tongue, and some of them had wandered into the fold of Mohammed, whose creed resembled their own. Some too had embraced the religion of Buddha. [Footnote *: See "Cycle of Cathay." Revell & Co., New York.] My report was listened to with much interest by the rich Jews of Shanghai, but not one of them put his hand in his pocket to rebuild the ruined synagogue; and without that for a rallying-place the colony must ere long fade away, and be absorbed in the surrounding heathenism, or be led to embrace Christianity. I now learn that the Jews of Shanghai have manifested enough interest to bring a few of their youth to that port for instruction in the Hebrew language. Also that some of these K'ai-fung-fu Jews are frequent attendants in Christian chapels, which have now been opened in that city. To my view, the resuscitation of that ancient colony would be as much of a miracle as the return from captivity in the days of Cyrus. [Page 45] CHAPTER IX THE RIVER PROVINCES _Hupeh--Hankow--Hanyang Iron Works--A Centre of Missionary Activity--Hunan--Kiangsi--Anhwei--Native Province of Li Hung Chang_ By the term "river provinces" are to be understood those provinces of central and western China which are made accessible to intercourse and trade by means of the Yang-tse Kiang. Pursuing our journey, in twelve hours by rail we reach the frontier of Hupeh. At that point we see above us a fortification perched on the side of a lofty hill which stands beyond the line. At a height more than double that of this crenelated wall is a summer resort of foreigners from Hankow and other parts of the interior. I visited this place in 1905. In Chinese, the plateau on which it stands is called, from a projecting rock, the "Rooster's Crest"; shortened into the more expressive name, the "Roost," it is suggestive of the repose of summer. It presents a magnificent prospect, extending over a broad belt of both provinces. Six hours more and we arrive in Hankow, which is one of three cities built at the junction of the Han and the Yang-tse, the Tripolis of China, a tripod of empire, the hub of the universe, as the Chinese fondly regard it. The other two cities are Wuchang, the capital [Page 46] of the viceroyalty, and Hanyang, on the opposite bank of the river. In Hankow one beholds a Shanghai on a smaller scale, and in the other two cities the eye is struck by indications of the change which is coming over the externals of Chinese life. At Hanyang, which is reached by a bridge, may be seen an extensive and well-appointed system of iron-works, daily turning out large quantities of steel rails for the continuation of the railway. It also produces large quantities of iron ordnance for the contingencies of war. This is the pet enterprise of the enlightened Viceroy Chang Chi-tung; but on the other side of the Yang-tse we have cheering evidence that he has not confined his reforms to transportation and the army. There, on the south bank, you may see the long walls and tall chimneys of numerous manufacturing establishments--cotton-mills, silk filatures, rope-walks, glass-works, tile-works, powder-works--all designed to introduce the arts of the West, and to wage an industrial war with the powers of Christendom. There, too, in a pretty house overlooking the Great River, I spent three years as aid to the viceroy in educational work. In the heart of China, it was a watch-tower from which I could look up and down the river and study the condition of these inland provinces. This great centre was early preëmpted by the pioneers of missionary enterprise. Here Griffith John set up the banner of the cross forty years ago and by indefatigable and not unfruitful labours earned for himself the name of "the Apostle of Central China." [Page 47] In addition he has founded a college for the training of native preachers. The year 1905 was the jubilee of his arrival in the empire. Here, too, came David Hill, a saintly man combining the characters of St. Paul and of John Howard, as one of the pioneers of the churches of Great Britain. These leaders have been followed by a host who, if less distinguished, have perhaps accomplished more for the advancement of the Kingdom of Christ. Without the coöperation of such agencies all reformatory movements like those initiated by the viceroy must fall short of elevating the people to the level of Christian civilisation. The London Mission, the English Wesleyans, and the American Episcopalians, all have flourishing stations at Wuchang. The Boone school, under the auspices of the last-named society, is an admirable institution, and takes rank with the best colleges in China. At Hankow the China Inland Mission is represented by a superintendent and a home for missionaries in transit. At that home the Rev. J. Hudson Taylor, the founder of that great society, whom I call the Loyola of Protestant missions, spent a few days in 1906; and there Dr. John and I sat with him for a group of the "Three Senior Missionaries" in China. The river provinces may be divided into lower and upper, the dividing-line being at Ichang near the gorges of the Yang-tse. Hupeh and Hunan, Kiangsi and Anhwei occupy the lower reach; Szechuen, Kweichau, and Yünnan, the upper one. The first two form one viceregal district, with a population exceeding that of any European country excepting Russia. [Page 48] Hupeh signifies "north of the lake"; Hunan, "south of the lake"--the great lake of Tungting lying between the two. Hupeh has been open to trade and residence for over forty years; but the sister province was long hermetically sealed against the footprints of the white man. Twenty or even ten years ago to venture within its limits would have cost a European his life. Its capital, Changsha, was the seat of an anti-foreign propaganda from which issued masses of foul literature; but the lawless hostility of the people has been held in check by the judicious firmness of the present viceroy, and that city is now the seat of numerous mission bodies which are vying with each other in their efforts to diffuse light and knowledge. It is also open to commerce as a port of trade. One of the greatest distinctions of the province is its production of brave men, one of the bravest of whom was the first Marquis Tseng who, at the head of a patriotic force from his native province, recaptured the city of Nanking and put an end to the chaotic government of the Taiping rebels--a service which has ever since been recognised by the Chinese Government in conferring the viceroyalty of Nanking on a native of Hunan. Lying to the south of the river, is the province of Kiangsi, containing the Poyang Lake, next in size to the Tungting. Above its entrance at Kiukiang rises a lone mountain which bears the name of Kuling. Beautifully situated, and commanding a wide view of lake and river, its sides are dotted with pretty cottages, erected as summer resorts for people from all the inland ports. Here may be seen the flags of many [Page 49] nations, and here the hard-worked missionary finds rest and recreation, without idleness; for he finds clubs for the discussion of politics and philosophy, and libraries which more than supply the absence of his own. Just opposite the entrance to the lake stands the "Little Orphan," a vine-clad rock 200 feet in height, with a small temple on the top. It looks like a fragment torn from the mountain-side and planted in the bosom of the stream. Fancy fails to picture the convulsion of which the "Little Orphan" is the monument. Farther down is the province of Anhwei which takes its name from its chief two cities, Anking and Weichou. In general resembling Kiangsi, it has two flourishing ports on the river, Anking, the capital, and Wuhu. Of the people nothing noteworthy is to be observed, save that they are unusually turbulent, and their lawless spirit has not been curbed by any strong hand like that of the viceroy at Wuchang.[*] The province is distinguished for its production of great men, of whom Li Hung Chang was one. [Footnote *: This was written before the Nanchang riot of March, 1906.] [Page 50] CHAPTER X PROVINCES OF THE UPPER YANG-TSE _A Perilous Passage--Szechuen--Kweichau, the Poorest Province in China--Yünnan--Tribes of Aborigines_ Thus far our voyage of exploration, like one of Cook's tours, has been personally conducted. From this point, however, I must depend upon the experience of others: the guide himself must seek a guide to conduct him through the remaining portions of the empire. We enter the Upper Yang-tse by a long and tortuous passage through which the "Great River" rushes with a force and a roar like the cataracts of the Rhine, only on a vastly greater scale. In some bygone age volcanic forces tore asunder a mountain range, and the waters of the great stream furrowed out a channel; but the obstructing rocks, so far from being worn away, remain as permanent obstacles to steam navigation and are a cause of frequent shipwrecks. Yet, undeterred by dangers that eclipse Scylla and Charybdis, the laborious Chinese have for centuries past carried on an immense traffic through this perilous passage. In making the ascent their junks are drawn against the current by teams of coolies, tens or hundreds of the latter being harnessed to the tow-lines of one boat and driven like a bullock train in South Africa. Slow [Page 51] and difficult is the ascent, but swift and perilous the downward passage. No doubt engineering may succeed in removing some of the obstacles and in minifying the dangers of this passage. Steam, too, may supply another mode of traction to take the place of these teams of men. A still revolution is in prospect, namely a ship canal or railway. The latter, perhaps, might be made to lift the junks bodily out of the water and transport them beyond the rapids. Two cities, however, would suffer somewhat by this change in the mode of navigation, namely, Ichang at the foot and Chungking at the head of the rapids. The latter is the chief river port of Szechuen, a province having four times the average area. The great province of Szechuen, if it only had the advantages of a seacoast, would take the lead in importance. As it is, it is deemed sufficiently important, like Chihli, to have a viceroy of its own. The name signifies the "four rivers," and the province has as many ranges of mountains. One of them, the Omeshan, is celebrated for its beauty and majesty. The mountains give the province a great variety of climate, and the rivers supply means of transportation and irrigation. Its people, too, are more uniform in language and character than those of most other regions. Their language partakes of the Northern mandarin. Near the end of the Ming dynasty the whole population is said to have been destroyed in the fratricidal wars of that sanguinary period. The population accordingly is comparatively sparse, and the cities are said to present a new and prosperous aspect. Above Szechuen [Page 52] lie the two provinces of Kweichau and Yünnan, forming one viceroyalty under the name of Yünkwei. Kweichau has the reputation of being the poorest province in China, with a very sparse population, nearly one-half of whom are aborigines, called _shans_, _lolos_, and _miaotzes_. Yünnan (signifying not "cloudy south," but "south of the cloudy mountains") is next in area to Szechuen. Its resources are as yet undeveloped, and it certainly has a great future. Its climate, if it may be said to have one, is reputed to be unhealthful, and among its hills are many deep gorges which the Chinese say are full of _chang chi_, "poisonous gases" which are fatal to men and animals--like the Grotto del Cane in Italy. But these gorges and cliffs abound in better things also. They are rich in unexploited coal measures and they contain also many mines of the purest copper ore. The river that washes its borders here bears the name of Kinsha, the river of "golden sands." Some of its rivers have the curious peculiarity of flowing the reverse way, that is, to the west and south instead of toward the eastern sea. The Chinese accordingly call the province "Tiensheng" the country of the "converse streams." Within the borders of Yünnan there are said to be more than a hundred tribes of aborigines all more or less akin to those of Kweichau and Burma, but each under its own separate chief. Some of them are fine-looking, vigorous people; but the Chinese describe them as living in a state of utter savagery. Missionaries, however, have recently begun work for them; and we may hope that, as for the Karens of [Page 53] Burma, a better day will soon dawn on the Yünnan aborigines. The French, having colonies on the border, are naturally desirous of exploiting the provinces of this southern belt, and China is intensely suspicious of encroachment from that quarter. [Page 54] CHAPTER XI NORTHWESTERN PROVINCES _Shansi--Shensi--Earliest Known Home of the Chinese--Kansuh_ Of the three northwestern provinces, the richest is Shansi. More favoured in climate and soil than the other members of the group, its population is more dense. Divided from Chihli by a range of hills, its whole surface is hilly, but not mountainous. The highlands give variety to its temperature--condensing the moisture and supplying water for irrigation. The valleys are extremely fertile, and of them it may be said in the words of Job, "As for the earth, out of it cometh bread: and underneath it is turned up as it were fire." Not only do the fields yield fine crops of wheat and millet, but there are extensive coal measures of excellent quality. Iron ore also is found in great abundance. Mining enterprises have accordingly been carried on from ancient times, and they have now, with the advent of steam, acquired a fresh impetus. It follows, of course, that the province is prolific of bankers. Shansi bankers monopolise the business of finance in all the adjacent provinces. Next on the west comes the province of Shensi, from _shen_, a "strait or pass" (not _shan_ a "hill"), and _si_, "west." [Page 55] Here was the earliest home of the Chinese race of which there is any record. On the Yellow River, which here forms the boundary of two provinces, stands the city of Si-ngan where the Chou dynasty set up its throne in the twelfth century B. C. Since that date many dynasties have made it the seat of empire. Their palaces have disappeared; but most of them have left monumental inscriptions from which a connected history might be extracted. To us the most interesting monument is a stone, erected about 800 A. D. to commemorate the introduction of Christianity by some Nestorian missionaries from western Asia. The province of Kansuh is comparatively barren. Its boundaries extend far out into regions peopled by Mongol tribes; and the neighbourhood of great deserts gives it an arid climate unfavourable to agriculture. Many of its inhabitants are immigrants from Central Asia and profess the Mohammedan faith. It is almost surrounded by the Yellow River, like a picture set in a gilded frame, reminding one of that river of paradise which "encompasseth the whole land of Havilah where there is gold." Whether there is gold in Kansuh we have yet to learn; but no doubt some grains of the precious metal might be picked up amongst its shifting sands. [Page 56] CHAPTER XII OUTLYING TERRITORIES _Manchuria--Mongolia--Turkestan--Tibet, the Roof of the World--Journey of Huc and Gabet._ Beyond the eastern extremity of the Great Wall, bounded on the west by Mongolia, on the north by the Amur, on the east by the Russian seaboard, and on the south by Korea and the Gulf of Pechili, lies the home of the Manchus--the race now dominant in the Chinese Empire. China claims it, just as Great Britain claimed Normandy, because her conquerors came from that region; and now that two of her neighbours have exhausted themselves in fighting for it, she will take good care that neither of them shall filch the jewel from her crown. That remarkable achievement, the conquest of China by a few thousand semi-civilised Tartars, is treated in the second part of this work. Manchuria consists of three regions now denominated provinces, Shengking, Kairin, and Helungkiang. They are all under one governor-general whose seat is at Mukden, a city sacred in the eyes of every Manchu, because there are the tombs of the fathers of the dynasty. The native population of Manchuria having been drafted off to garrison and colonise the conquered [Page 57] country, their deserted districts were thrown open to Chinese settlers. The population of the three provinces is mainly Chinese, and, assimilated in government to those of China, they are reckoned as completing the number of twenty-one. Opulent in grain-fields, forests, and minerals, with every facility for commerce, no part of the empire has a brighter future. So thinly peopled is its northern portion that it continues to be a vast hunting-ground which supplies the Chinese market with sables and tiger-skins besides other peltries. The tiger-skins are particularly valuable as having longer and richer fur than those of Bengal. Of the Manchus as a people, I shall speak later on.[*] Those remaining in their original habitat are extremely rude and ignorant; yet even these hitherto neglected regions are now coming under the enlightening influence of a system of government schools. [Footnote *: Part II. page 140 and 142; part III, pages 267-280] Mongolia, the largest division of Tartary, if not of the Empire, is scarcely better known than the mountain regions of Tibet, a large portion of its area being covered with deserts as uninviting and as seldom visited as the African Sahara. One route, however, has been well trodden by Russian travellers, namely, that lying between Kiachta and Peking. In the reign of Kanghi the Russians were granted the privilege of establishing an ecclesiastical mission to minister to a Cossack garrison which the Emperor had captured at Albazin trespassing on his grounds. Like another Nebuchadnezzar, he transplanted them to the soil of China. He also permitted the Russians [Page 58] to bring tribute to the "Son of Heaven" once in ten years. That implied a right to trade, so that the Russians, like other envoys, in Chinese phrase "came lean and went away fat." But they were not allowed to leave the beaten track: they were merchants, not travellers. Not till the removal of the taboo within the last half-century have these outlying dependencies been explored by men like Richthofen and Sven Hedin. Formerly the makers of maps garnished those unknown regions "With caravans for want of towns." Sooth to say, there are no towns, except Urga, a shrine for pilgrimage, the residence of a living Buddha, and Kiachta and Kalgan, terminal points of the caravan route already referred to. Kiachta is a double town--one-half of it on each side of the Russo-Chinese boundary--presenting in striking contrast the magnificence of a Russian city and the poverty and filth of a Tartar encampment. The whole country is called in Chinese "the land of grass." Its inhabitants have sheepfolds and cattle ranches, but neither fields nor houses, unless tents and temporary huts may be so designated. To this day, nomadic in their habits, they migrate from place to place with their flocks and herds as the exigencies of water and pasturage may require. Lines of demarcation exist for large tracts belonging to a tribe, but no minor divisions such as individual holdings. The members of a clan all enjoy their grazing range in common, and hold themselves ready to fight for the rights of their chieftain. Bloody feuds lasting for generations, such as would rival those of [Page 59] the Scottish clans, are not of infrequent occurrence. Their Manchu overlord treats these tribal conflicts with sublime indifference, as he does the village wars in China. The Mongolian chiefs, or "princes" as they are called, are forty-eight in number. The "forty-eight princes" is a phrase as familiar to the Chinese ear as the "eighteen provinces" is to ours. Like the Manchus they are arranged in groups under eight banners. Some of them took part in the conquest, but the Manchus are too suspicious to permit them to do garrison duty in the Middle Kingdom, lest the memories of Kublai Khan and his glory should be awakened. They are, however, held liable to military service. Seng Ko Lin Sin ("Sam Collinson" as the British dubbed him), a Lama prince, headed the northern armies against the Tai-ping rebels and afterwards suffered defeat at the hands of the British and French before the gates of Peking. In the winter the Mongol princes come with their clansmen to revel in the delights of Cambalu, the city of the great Khan, as they have continued to call Peking ever since the days of Kublai, whose magnificence has been celebrated by Marco Polo. Their camping-ground is the Mongolian Square which is crowded with tabernacles built of bamboo and covered with felt. In a sort of bazaar may be seen pyramids of butter and cheese, two commodities that are abominations to the Chinese of the south, but are much appreciated by Chinese in Peking as well as by the Manchus. One may see also mountains of venison perfectly fresh; the frozen carcasses of "yellow sheep" [Page 60] (really not sheep, but antelopes); then come wild boars in profusion, along with badgers, hares, and troops of live dogs--the latter only needing to be wild to make them edible. This will give some faint idea of Mongolia's contribution to the luxuries of the metropolis. Devout Buddhist as he is, the average Mongol deems abstinence from animal food a degree of sanctity unattainable by him. Mongols of the common classes are clad in dirty sheepskins. Their gentry and priesthood dress themselves in the spoils of wolf or fox--more costly but not more clean. Furs, felt, and woollen fabrics of the coarsest texture may also be noticed. Raiment of camel's hair, strapped with a leathern girdle after the manner of John the Baptist, may be seen any day, and the wearers are not regarded as objects of commiseration. Their camel, too, is wonderfully adapted to its habitat. Provided with two humps, it carries a natural saddle; and, clothed in long wool, yellow, brown or black, it looks in winter a lordly beast. Its fleece is never shorn, but is shed in summer. At that season the poor naked animal is the most pitiable of creatures. In the absence of railways and carriage roads, it fills the place of the ship of the desert and performs the heaviest tasks, such as the transporting of coals and salt. Most docile of slaves, at a word from its master it kneels down and quietly accepts its burden. At Peking there is a lamasary where four hundred Mongol monks are maintained in idleness at the expense of the Emperor. Their manners are those of highwaymen. They have been known to lay rough [Page 61] hands on visitors in order to extort a charitable dole; and, if rumour may be trusted, their morals are far from exemplary. My knowledge of the Mongols is derived chiefly from what I have seen of them in Peking. I have also had a glimpse of their country at Kalgan, beyond the Great Wall. A few lines from a caravan song by the Rev. Mark Williams give a picture of a long journey by those slow coaches: "Inching along, we are inching along, At the pace of a snail, we are inching along, Our horses are hardy, our camels are strong, We all shall reach Urga by inching along. "The things that are common, all men will despise; But these in the desert we most highly prize. For water is worth more than huge bags of gold And argols than diamonds of value untold." --_A Flight for Life_, Pilgrim Press, Boston. Politically Turkestan is not Mongolia, but Tamerlane, though born there, was a Mongol. His descendants were the Moguls of India. At different epochs peoples called Turks and Huns have wandered over the Mongolian plateau, and Mongols have swept over Turkestan. To draw a line of demarcation is neither easy nor important. In the Turkestan of to-day the majority of the people follow the prophet of Mecca. Russia has absorbed most of the khanates, and has tried more than once to encroach on portions belonging to China. In one instance she was foiled and compelled to disgorge by the courage of Viceroy Chang, a story which I reserve for the sequel. The coveted region was Ili, and Russia's pretext for crossing the [Page 62] boundary was the chronic state of warfare in which the inhabitants existed. Tibet is the land of the Grand Lama. Is it merely tributary or is it a portion of the Chinese Empire? This is a question that has been warmly agitated during the last two years--brought to the front by Colonel Younghusband's expedition and by a treaty made in Lhasa. Instead of laying their complaints before the court of Peking, the Indian Government chose to settle matters on the spot, ignoring the authority of China. Naturally China has been provoked to instruct her resident at Lhasa to maintain her rights. A presumptive claim might be based on the fact, that the Grand Lama took refuge at Urga, where he remained until the Empress Dowager ordered him to return to his abandoned post. China has always had a representative at his court; but his function would appear to be that of a political spy rather than an overseer, governor, or even adviser. Chinese influence in Tibet is nearly _nil_. For China to assert authority by interference and to make herself responsible for Tibet's shortcomings would be a questionable policy, against which two wars ought to be a sufficient warning. She was involved with France by her interference in Tongking and with Japan by interference in Korea. Too much intermeddling in Tibet might easily embroil her with Great Britain. In one sense the Buddhist pope may justly claim to be the highest of earthly potentates. No other sits on a throne at an equal elevation above the level of the sea. Like Melchizedeck, he is without father or mother--each occupant of the throne being a fresh [Page 63] incarnation of Buddha. The signs of Buddhaship are known only to the initiated; but they are supposed to consist in the recognition of places, persons, and apparel. These lamas never die of old age. While in other parts of the Empire polygamy prevails for those who can afford it, in Tibet polyandry crops up. Which is the more offensive to good morals we need not decide; but is it not evident that Confucianism shows its weakness on one side as Buddhism does on the other? A people that tolerates either or both hardly deserves to be regarded as civilised. The Chinese call Tibet the "roof of the world," and most of it is as barren as the roof of a house. Still the roof, though producing nothing, collects water to irrigate a garden. Tibet is the mother of great rivers, and she feeds them from her eternal snows. On her highlands is a lake or cluster of lakes which the Chinese describe as _Sing Su Hai_, the "sea of stars." From this the Yellow River takes its rise and perhaps the Yang-tse Kiang. A Chinese legend says that Chang Chien poled a raft up to the source of the Yellow River and found himself in the Milky Way, _Tienho_, the "River of Heaven." Fifty years ago two intrepid French missionaries, Huc and Gabet, made their way to Lhasa, but they were not allowed to remain there. The Chinese residents made them prisoners, under pretext of giving them protection, and sent them to the seacoast through the heart of the empire. They were thus enabled to see the vast interior at a time when it was barred alike to traveller and missionary. Of this adventurous [Page 64] journey Huc's published "Travels" is the immortal monument. We have thus gone over China and glanced at most of her outlying dependencies. The further exploration of Tibet we may postpone until she has made good her claims to dominion in that mountain region. The vastness of the Chinese Empire and the immensity of its population awaken in the mind a multitude of questions to which nothing but history can give an adequate reply. We come therefore to the oracle whose responses may perhaps be less dubious than those of Delphi. [Page 65] PART II HISTORY IN OUTLINE FROM THE EARLIEST TIMES TO THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY [Page 67] CHAPTER XIII ORIGIN OF THE CHINESE _Parent Stock a Migratory People--They Invade China from the Northwest and Colonise the Banks of the Yellow River and of the Han--Their Conflicts with the Aborigines--Native Tribes Absorbed by Conquerors_ That the parent stock in which the Chinese nation had its origin was a small migratory people, like the tribes of Israel, and that they entered the land of promise from the northwest is tolerably certain; but to trace their previous wanderings back to Shinar, India, or Persia would be a waste of time, as the necessary data are lacking. Even within their appointed domain the accounts of their early history are too obscure to be accepted as to any extent reliable. They appear to have begun their career of conquest by colonising the banks of the Yellow River and those of the Han. By slow stages they moved eastward to the central plain and southward to the Yang-tse Kiang. At that early epoch, between 3000 and 2000 B. C., they found the country already occupied by various wild tribes whom they considered as savages. In their early traditions they describe these tribes respectively by four words: those of the south are called _Man_ (a word with the silk radical); those on the east, _Yi_ (with [Page 68] the bow radical); those on the north, _Tih_ (represented by a dog and fire); and those on the west, _Jung_ ("war-like, fierce," the symbol for their ideograph being a spear). Each of these names points to something distinctive. Some of these tribes were, perhaps, spinners of silk; some, hunters; and all of them, formidable enemies. The earliest book of history opens with conflicts with aborigines. There can be no question that the slow progress made by the invaders in following the course of those streams on which the most ancient capitals of the Chinese were subsequently located was owing to the necessity of fighting their way. Shun, the second sovereign of whose reign there is record (2200 B. c.), is said to have waged war with San Miao, three tribes of _miaotze_ or aborigines, a term still applied to the independent tribes of the southwest. Beaten in the field, or at least suffering a temporary check, he betook himself to the rites of religion, making offerings and praying to Shang-ti, the supreme ruler. "After forty days," it is stated, "the natives submitted." In the absence of any explanation it may be concluded that during the suspension of hostilities negotiations were proceeding which resulted not in the destruction of the natives, but in their incorporation with their more civilised neighbours. This first recorded amalgamation of the kind was doubtless an instance of a process of growth that continued for many centuries, resulting in the absorption of all the native tribes on the north of the Yang-tse and of most of those on the south. The expanding state was eventually composed of a vast body of natives who submitted [Page 69] to their civilised conquerors, much as the people of Mexico and Peru consented to be ruled by a handful of Spaniards.[*] [Footnote *: To this day, the bulk of the people in those countries show but small traces of Spanish blood. Juarez, the famous dictator, was a pure Indian.] As late as the Christian era any authentic account of permanent conquests in China to the south of the "Great River" is still wanting, though warlike expeditions in that direction were not infrequent. The people of the northern provinces called themselves _Han-jin_, "men of Han" or "sons of Han," while those of the south styled themselves _T'ang-jin_, "men of T'ang." Does not this indicate that, while the former were moulded into unity by the great dynasty which took its name from the river Han (206 B. c.), the latter did not become Chinese until the brilliant period of the T'angs, nearly a thousand years later? Further confirmation need not be adduced to show that the empire of the Far East contemporary with, and superior in civilisation to, ancient Rome, embraced less than the eighteen provinces of China Proper. Of the nine districts into which it was divided by Ta-yü, 2100 B. C. not one was south of the "Great River." [Page 70] CHAPTER XIV THE MYTHICAL PERIOD _Account of Creation--P'an-ku, the Ancient Founder--The Three Sovereigns--The Five Rulers, the Beginnings of Human Civilisation--The Golden Age--Yau, the Unselfish Monarch--Shun, the Paragon of Domestic Virtues--Story of Ta-yü--Rise of Hereditary Monarchy_ Unlike the Greeks and Hindoos, the Chinese are deficient in the sort of imagination that breeds a poetical mythology. They are not, however, wanting in that pride of race which is prone to lay claim to the past as well as to the future. They have accordingly constructed, not a mythology, but a fictitious history which begins with the creation of the world. How men and animals were made they do not say; but they assert that heaven and earth were united in a state of chaos until a divine man, whom they call P'an-ku, the "ancient founder," rent them asunder. Pictures show him wielding his sledge-hammer and disengaging sun and moon from overlying hills--a grotesque conception in strong contrast with the simple and sublime statement, "God said, 'Let there be light' and there was light." P'an-ku was followed by a divine being named Nü-wa, in regard to whom it [Page 71] is doubtful whether to speak in the feminine or in the masculine gender. Designated queen more frequently than king, it is said of her that, a portion of the sky having fallen down (probably owing to the defective work of her predecessor), she rebuilt it with precious stones of many colours. _Lien shih pu tien_, "to patch the sky with precious stones," is a set phrase by which the Chinese indicate that which is fabulous and absurd. Instead of filling the long interval between the creation of the world and the birth of history with gods and fairies, the Chinese cover that period by three sovereigns whom they call after their favourite triad, heaven, earth, and man, giving them the respective titles Tién-hwang, Ti-hwang, and Jin-hwang. Each of these reigned eighteen thousand years; but what they reigned over is not apparent. At all events they seem to have contributed little to the comfort of their people; for at the close of that long period the wretched inhabitants of the empire--the only country then known to exist on earth--had no houses, no clothes, no laws, and no letters. Now come five personages who, in accordance with Chinese historical propriety, are likewise invested with imperial dignity and are called Wu-ti, "the five rulers." Collectively they represent the first appearance of the useful arts, the rude beginnings of human civilisation. One of these rulers, noticing that birds constructed nests, taught his people to build huts, from which he is called the "nest builder." Another was the Prometheus of his day and obtained fire, not, however, by stealing it from the sun, but by [Page 72] honestly working for it with two pieces of wood which he rubbed together. The third of these rulers, named Fuhi, appears to have been the teacher of his people in the art of rearing domestic animals; in other words, the initiator of pastoral life, and possibly the originator of sacrificial offerings. The fourth in order introduced husbandry. As has been stated in a previous chapter (see page 36), he has no name except Shin-nung, "divine husbandman"; and under that title he continues to be worshipped at the present day as the Ceres of China. The Emperor every spring repairs to his temple to plough a few furrows by way of encouragement to his people. The last of the five personages is called the "yellow ruler," whether from the colour of his robes, or as ruler of the yellow race, is left in doubt. He is credited with the invention of letters and the cycle of sixty years, the foundation of Chinese chronology (2700 B. C.). Unlike the long twilight which precedes the dawn in high latitudes, the semi-mythical age was brief, covering no more than two reigns, those of Yao and Shun. Confucius regarded these as included in the "five rulers." To make room for them, he omits the first two; and he seldom refers to the others, but appears to accept them as real personages. He is no critic; but he has shown good sense in drawing the line no further back. He has made the epoch of these last a golden age (2356-2206) which is not the creation of a poet, but the conception of a philosopher who wished to have an open space on which to build up his political theories. He found, moreover, in these primitive times some features by which he was [Page 73] greatly fascinated. The simplicity and freedom which appeared to prevail in those far-off days were to him very attractive. It is related that Yao, the type of an unselfish monarch, while on a tour of inspection in the disguise of a peasant, heard an old man singing this song to the notes of his guitar: "I plough my ground and eat my own bread, I dig my well and drink my own water: What use have I for king or court?" Yao returned to his palace, rejoicing that the state of his country was such that his people were able to forget him. Another feature which the Chinese hold up in bold relief is the fact that in those days the occupancy of the throne was not hereditary. Yao is said to have reigned a hundred years. When he was growing old he saw with grief that his son showed no signs of being a worthy successor. Setting him aside, therefore, he asked his ministers to recommend someone as his heir. They all agreed in nominating Shun. "What are his merits?" asked the King. "Filial piety and fraternal kindness," they replied. "By these virtues he has wrought a reform in a family noted for perverseness." The King desiring to know the facts, they related the following story: "Shun's father is an ill-natured, blind man. He has a cruel stepmother and a selfish, petulant younger brother. This boy, the pet of his parents, treated Shun with insolence; and the father and mother joined in persecuting the elder son. Shun, without showing resentment, cried aloud to Heaven and obtained [Page 74] patience to bear their harshness. By duty and affection he has won the hearts of all three." "Bring him before me," said the King; "I have yet another trial by which to test his virtues." Yao made him his son-in-law, giving him his two daughters at once. He wished to see whether the good son and brother would also be a good husband and father--an example for his people in all their domestic relations. Shun accepted the test with becoming resignation and comported himself to the satisfaction of the old king, who raised him to the throne. After a reign of fifty years, partly as Yao's associate, Shun followed the example of his father-in-law. Passing by his own son, he left the throne to Ta-yü or Yü, a man who had been subjected to trials far more serious than that of having to live in the same house with a pair of pretty princesses. A question discussed in the school of Mencius, many centuries later, may be cited here for the light it throws on the use made by Chinese schoolmen of the examples of this period. "Suppose," said one of his students, "that Shun's father had killed a man, would Shun, being king, have allowed him to be condemned?" "No," replied the master; "he would have renounced the throne and, taking his father on his shoulders, he would have fled away to the seaside, rejoicing in the consciousness of having performed the duty of a filial son." Shun continues to be cited as the paragon of domestic virtues, occupying the first place in a list of twenty-four who are noted for filial piety. The trial by which the virtues of Ta-yü were proved [Page 75] was an extraordinary feat of engineering--nothing less than the subduing of the waters of a deluge. "The waters," said the King, "embosom the high hills and insolently menace heaven itself. Who will find us a man to take them in hand and keep them in place?" His ministers recommended one Kun. Kun failed to accomplish the task, and Shun, who in this case hardly serves for the model of a just ruler, put him to death. Then the task was imposed on Ta-yü, the son of the man who had been executed. After nine years of incredible hardships he brought the work to a successful termination. During this time he extended his care to the rivers of more than one province, dredging, ditching, and diking. Three times he passed his own door and, though he heard the cries of his infant son, he did not once enter his house. The son of a criminal who had suffered death, a throne was the meed of his diligence and ability. A temple in Hanyang, at the confluence of two rivers, commemorates Ta-yü's exploit, which certainly throws the labours of Hercules completely into the shade. On the opposite side of the river stands a pillar, inscribed in antique hieroglyphics, which professes to record this great achievement. It is a copy of one which stands on Mount Hang; and the characters, in the tadpole style, are so ancient that doubts as to their actual meaning exist among scholars of the present day. Each letter is accordingly accompanied by its equivalent in modern Chinese. The stone purports to have been erected by Ta-yü himself--good ground for suspicion--but it has been [Page 76] proved to be a fabrication of a later age, though still very ancient.[*] [Footnote *: Dr. Hänisch of Berlin has taken great pains to expose the imposture.] In the two preceding reigns the sovereign had always consulted the public good rather than family interest--a form of monarchy which the Chinese call elective, but which has never been followed, save that the Emperor exercises the right of choice among his sons irrespective of primogeniture. The man who bears the odium of having departed from the unselfish policy of Yao and Shun is this same Ta-yü. He left the throne to his son and, as the Chinese say, "made of the empire a family estate." This narrative comes from the _Shu-King_ or "Book of History," the most venerated of the Five Classics edited by Confucius; but the reader will readily perceive that it is no more historical than the stories of Codrus or Numa Pompilius. In the reign of Yao we have an account of astronomical observations made with a view to fixing the length of the year. The King tells one man to go to the east and another to the west, to observe the culmination and transit of certain stars. As a result he says they will find that the year consists of 366 days, a close approximation for that epoch. The absurdity of this style, which attributes omniscience to the prince and leaves to his agents nothing but the task of verification, should not be allowed to detract from the credit due to their observations. The result arrived at was about the same as that reached by the Babylonians at the same date (2356 B. c.) Other rulers who are credited with great inventions [Page 77] probably made them in the same way. Whether under Fuhi or Hwang-ti, Ts'ang-kié is recognised as the Cadmus of China, the author of its written characters; and Tanao, a minister of Hwang-ti, is admitted to be the author of the cycle of sixty. Both of those emperors may be imagined as calling up their ministers and saying to one, "Go and invent the art of writing," and to the other, "Work out a system of chronology." In the same way, the inception of the culture of the silkworm and the discovery of the magnetic needle are attributed to the predecessors of Yao, probably on the principle that treasure-trove was the property of the King and that if no claimant for the honour could be found it must be attributed to some ancient monarch. The production of silk, as woman's work, they profess to assign to the consort of one of those worthies--a thing improbable if not impossible, her place of residence being in the north of China. Their picture-writing tells a different tale. Their word for a southern barbarian, compounded of "silk" and "worm," points to the south as the source of that useful industry, much as our word "silk," derived from _sericum_, points to China as its origin. [Page 78] CHAPTER XV THE THREE DYNASTIES _The House of Hia--Ta-yu's Consideration for His Subjects--Kié's Excesses--The House of Shang--Shang-tang, the Founder, Offers Himself as a Sacrificial Victim, and Brings Rain--Chou-sin Sets Fire to His Own Palace and Perishes in the Flames--The House of Chou_ The Hia, Shang and Chou dynasties together extend over the twenty-two centuries preceding the Christian Era. The first occupies 440 years; the second, 644; and the last, in the midst of turmoil and anarchy, drags out a miserable existence of 874 years. They are grouped together as the San Tai or San Wang, "the Three Houses of Kings," because that title was employed by the founder of each. Some of their successors were called _Ti_; but _Hwang-ti_, the term for "emperor" now in use, was never employed until it was assumed by the builder of the Great Wall on the overthrow of the feudal states and the consolidation of the empire, 240 B. C. THE HOUSE OF HIA, 2205-1766 B. C. (17 kings, 2 usurpers) Unlike most founders of royal houses, who come to the throne through a deluge of blood, Ta-yü, as has been shown in the last chapter, climbed to that eminence [Page 79] through a deluge of water. Like Noah, the hero of an earlier deluge, he seems to have indulged, for once at least, too freely in the use of wine. A chapter in the "Book of History," entitled "A Warning Against Wine," informs us that one Yiti having made wine presented it to his prince. Ta-yü was delighted with it, but discontinued its use, saying that in time to come kings would lose their thrones through a fondness for the beverage. In China "wine" is a common name for all intoxicating drinks. That referred to in this passage was doubtless a distillation from rice or millet. In the discharge of his public duties Ta-yü showed himself no less diligent than in contending with the waters. He hung at his door a bell which the poorest of his subjects might ring and thus obtain immediate attention. It is said that when taking a bath, if he heard the bell he sometimes rushed out without adjusting his raiment and that while partaking of a meal, if the bell rang he did not allow himself time to swallow his rice. Prior to laying down his toilsome dignity Ta-yü caused to be cast nine brazen tripods, each bearing an outline map or a description of one of the provinces of the empire. In later ages these were deemed preeminently the patent of imperial power. On one occasion a feudal prince asked the question, "How heavy are these tripods?" A minister of state, suspecting an intention to remove them and usurp the power, replied in a long speech, proving the divine commission of his master, and asked in conclusion, "Why then should you inquire the weight of these tripods?" [Page 80] Of the subsequent reigns nothing worth repetition is recorded except the fall of the dynasty. This, however, is due more to the meagreness of the language of that day than to the insignificance of the seventeen kings. Is it not probable that they were occupied in making good their claim to the nine provinces emblazoned on the tripods? Kié, the last king, is said to have fallen under the fascination of a beautiful woman and to have spent his time in undignified carousals. He built a mountain of flesh and filled a tank with wine, and to amuse her he caused 3,000 of his courtiers to go on all fours and drink from the tank like so many cows. THE SHANG DYNASTY, 1766-1122 B. C. (28 kings) The founder of this dynasty was Shang-tang, or Cheng-tang, who to great valour added the virtues of humanity and justice. Pitying the oppressions of the people, he came to them as a deliverer; and the frivolous tyrant was compelled to retire into obscurity. A more remarkable exhibition of public spirit was the offering of himself as a victim to propitiate the wrath of Heaven. In a prolonged famine, his prayers having failed to bring rain, the soothsayers said that a human victim was required. "It shall be myself," he replied; and, stripping off his regal robes, he laid himself on the altar. A copious shower was the response to this act of devotion. The successor of Shang-tang was his grandson T'ai-kia, who was under the tutelage of a wise minister [Page 81] named I-yin. Observing the indolence and pleasure-loving disposition of the young man, the minister sent him into retirement for three years that he might acquire habits of sobriety and diligence. The circumstance that makes this incident worth recording is that the minister, instead of retaining the power in his own family, restored the throne to its rightful occupant. Another king of this house, by name P'an-keng, has no claim to distinction other than that of having moved his capital five times. As we are not told that he was pursued by vindictive enemies, we are left to the conjecture that he was escaping from disastrous floods, or, perhaps under the influence of a silly superstition, was in quest of some luckier site. Things went from bad to worse, and finally Chou-sin surpassed in evil excesses the man who had brought ruin upon the House of Hia. The House of Shang of course suffered the same fate. An ambitious but kind-hearted prince came forward to succour the people, and was welcomed by them as a deliverer. The tyrant, seeing that all was lost, arrayed himself in festal robes, set fire to his own palace, and, like another Sardanapalus, perished in the flames. He and Kié make a couple who are held up to everlasting execration as a warning to tyrannical princes. Like his remote predecessor, Chou-sin is reputed to have been led into his evil courses by a wicked woman, named Ta-ki. One suspects that neither one nor the other stood in need of such prompting. According to history, bad kings are generally worse than bad queens. In China, however, a woman is considered out of place [Page 82] when she lays her hand on the helm of state. Hence the tendency to blacken the names of those famous court beauties. If Mencius may be believed, the tyrants themselves were not quite so profligate as the story makes them. He says, "Dirty water has a tendency to accumulate in the lowest sinks"; and he warns the princes of his time not to put themselves in a position in which future ages will continue to heap opprobrium on their memory. Of the wise founders of this dynasty it is said that they "made religion the basis of education," as did the Romans, who prided themselves on devotion to their gods. In both cases natural religion degenerated into gross superstition. In the number of their gods the Chinese have exceeded the Romans; and they refer the worship of many of them to the Shang dynasty. The following dynasty, that of Chou (35 sovereigns, 1122-249 B. C.) merits a separate chapter. [Page 83] CHAPTER XVI HOUSE OF CHOU _Wen-wang, the founder--Rise and Progress of Culture--Communistic Land Tenure--Origin of the term "Middle Kingdom"--Duke Chou and Cheng wang, "The Completer"--A Royal Traveller--Li and Yu, two bad kings_ The merciful conqueror who at this time rescued the people from oppression was Wu-wang, the martial king. He found, it is said, the people "hanging with their heads downward" and set them on their feet. On the eve of the decisive battle he harangued his troops, appealing to the Deity as the arbiter, and expressing confidence in the result. "The tyrant," he said, "has ten myriads of soldiers, and I have but one myriad. His soldiers, however, have ten myriads of hearts, while my army has but one heart." When the battle had been fought and won he turned his war-horses out to pasture and ordained that they should be forever free from yoke and saddle. Could he have been less humane in the treatment of his new subjects? The credit of his victory he gave to ten wise counsellors, one of whom was his mother. History, however, ascribes it in a large degree to his father, Wen-wang, [Page 84] who was then dead, but who had prepared the way for his son's triumph. Wen-wang, the Beauclerc of the Chous, is one of the most notable figures in the ancient history of China. A vassal prince, by wise management rather than by military prowess he succeeded in enlarging his dominions so that he became possessor of two-thirds of the empire. He is applauded for his wisdom in still paying homage to his feeble chief. The latter, however, must have regarded him with no little suspicion, as Wen-wang was thrown into prison, and only regained his liberty at the cost of a heavy ransom. Wen-wang apparently anticipated a mortal struggle; for it is related that, seeing an old man fishing, he detected in him an able general who had fled the service of the tyrant. "You," said he, "are the very man I have been looking for"; and, taking him up into his chariot, as Jehu did Jonadab, he rejoiced in the assurance of coming victory. The fisherman was Kiang Tai Kung, the ancestor of the royal House of Ts'i in Shantung. Though eighty-one years of age he took command of the cavalry and presided in the councils of his new master. Fitting it was that the Beauclerc, Wen-wang should be the real founder of the new dynasty; for now for the first time those pictured symbols become living blossoms from which the fruits of learning and philosophy are to be gathered. The rise and progress of a generous culture is the chief characteristic of the House of Chou. Besides encouraging letters Wen-wang contributed much to the new literature. He is known as a commentator in the _Yih-King_, "Book of Changes," [Page 85] pronounced by Confucius the profoundest of the ancient classics--a book which he never understood. In theory there was under this and the preceding dynasty no private ownership of land. The arable ground was laid out in plots of nine squares, thus: ----------- | | | | | | | | |---|---|---| | | | | | | | | |---|---|---| | | | | | | | | ----------- Eight of these were assigned to the people to cultivate for themselves; and the middle square was reserved for the government and tilled by the joint labour of all. The simple-hearted souls of that day are said to have prayed that the rains might first descend on the public field and then visit their private grounds. In later years this communistic scheme was found not to work perfectly, owing, it is said, to the decay of public virtue. A statesman, named Shangyang, converted the tenure of land into fee simple--a natural evolution which was, however, regarded as quite too revolutionary and earned for him the execrations of the populace. The charming simplicity of the above little diagram would seem to have suggested the arrangement of fiefs in the state, in which the irregular feudality of former times became moulded into a symmetrical system. The sovereign state was in the centre; and those of the feudal barons were ranged on the four sides in successive rows. The central portion was designated _Chung Kwoh_, "Middle Kingdom," a title which has come to be applied to the whole empire, implying, of course, that all the nations of the earth are its vassals. Laid out with the order of a camp and ruled with martial vigour, the new state prospered for a few reigns. [Page 86] At length, however, smitten with a disease of the heart the members no longer obeyed the behests of the head. Decay and anarchy are written on the last pages of the history of the House of Chou. The martial king died young, leaving his infant heir under the regency of his brother, the Duke of Chou. The latter, who inherited the tastes and talents of Wen-wang, was avowedly the character which the great Sage took for his pattern. With fidelity and ability he completed the pacification of the state. The credit of that achievement inured to his ward, who received the title of _Cheng-wang_, "The Completer." Accused of scheming to usurp the throne, the Duke resigned his powers and withdrew from the court. The young prince, opening a golden casket, found in it a prayer of his uncle, made and sealed up during a serious illness of the King, imploring Heaven to accept his life as a ransom for his royal ward. This touching proof of devotion dispelled all doubt; and the faithful duke was recalled to the side of the now full-grown monarch. Even during the minority of his nephew the Duke never entered his presence in other than full court costume. On one occasion the youthful king, playing with a younger brother, handed him a palm leaf saying, "This shall be your patent of nobility. I make you duke of such and such a place." The regent remonstrated, whereupon the King excused himself by saying, "I was only in sport." The Duke replied, "A king has no right to indulge in such sports," and insisted that the younger lad receive the investiture and [Page 87] emoluments. He was also, it is said, so careful of the sacred person that he never left on it the mark of his rod. When the little king deserved chastisement, the guardian always called up his own son, Pechin, and thrashed him soundly. One pities the poor fellow who was the innocent substitute more than one admires the scrupulous and severe regent. The Chinese have a proverb which runs, "Whip an ass and let a horse see it." What shall be said of the successors of Cheng-wang? To account for the meagre chronicles of previous dynasties one may invoke the poverty of a language not yet sufficiently mature for the requirements of history; but for the seeming insignificance of the long line of Chous, who lived in the early bloom, if not the rich fruitage, of the classic period, no such apology is admissible. Some there were, doubtless, who failed to achieve distinction because they had no foreign foe to oppose, no internal rebellion to suppress. Others, again, were so hampered by system that they had nothing better to do than to receive the homage of vassals. So wearied was one among them, Mu-wang, the fifth in succession, with those monotonous ceremonies that he betook himself to foreign travel as a relief from ennui, or perhaps impelled by an innate love of adventure. He delighted in horses; and, yoking eight fine steeds to his chariot, he set off to see the world. A book full of fables professes to record the narrative of his travels. He had, it says, a magic whip which possessed the property of compressing the surface of the earth into a small space. To-day Chinese envoys, with steam and [Page 88] electricity at command, are frequently heard to exclaim: "Now at last we have got the swift steeds and the magic whip of Mu-wang." Two other kings, Li and Yu, are pointed at with the finger of scorn as examples of what a king ought not to be. The latter set aside his queen and her son in favour of a concubine and her son; and so offended was high heaven by this unkingly conduct that the sun hid his face in a total eclipse. This happened 775 B. C.; and it furnishes the starting-point for a reliable chronology. For her amusement the king caused the signal-fires to be lighted. She laughed heartily to see the great barons rush to the rescue and find it was a false alarm; but she did not smile when, not long after this, the capital was attacked by a real foe, the father of her injured rival. The signal-fires were again lighted; but the barons, having once been deceived by the cry of "Wolf," took care not to expose themselves again to derision. The other king has not been lifted into the fierce light that beats upon a throne by anything so tragic as a burning palace; but his name is coupled with that of the former as a synonym of all that is weak and contemptible. The story of the House of Chou is not to be disposed of in a few paragraphs, like the accounts of the preceding dynasties, because it was preëminently the formative period of ancient China; the age of her greatest sages, and the birthday of poetry and philosophy. I shall therefore devote a chapter to the sages and another to the reign of anarchy before closing the Book of Chou. [Page 89] CHAPTER XVII THE SAGES OF CHINA _Confucius--Describes Himself as Editor, not Author--"Model Teacher of All Ages"--Mencius--More Eloquent than his Great Master--Lao-tse, the Founder of Taoism_ I shall not introduce the reader to all who justly bear the august title of sage; for China has had more and wiser sages than any other ancient country. Some of them may be referred to in the sequel; but this chapter I shall devote chiefly to the two who by universal consent have no equals in the history of the Empire--Confucius and Mencius. These great men owe much of their fame to the learned Jesuits who first brought them on the stage, clad in the Roman toga, and made them citizens of the world by giving them the euphonious names by which they are popularly known. Stripped of their disguise they appear respectively as K'ung Fu-tse and Meng-tse. Exchanging the _ore rotunda_ of Rome for the sibillation of China, they never could have been naturalised as they are now. CONFUCIUS Born in the year 549 B. C., Confucius was contemporaneous with Isaiah and Socrates. Of a respectable but not opulent family he had to struggle for his [Page 90] education--a fact which in after years he was so far from concealing that he ascribed to it much of his success in life. To one who asked him, "How comes it that you are able to do so many things," he replied, "I was born poor and had to learn." His schoolmasters are unknown; and it might be asked of him, as it was of a greater than Confucius, "How knoweth this man letters, having never learned?" Of his self-education, which continued through life, he gives the following concise account: "At fifteen I entered on a life of study; at thirty I took my stand as a scholar; at forty my opinions were fixed; at fifty I knew how to judge and select; at sixty I never relapsed into a known fault; at seventy I could follow my inclinations without going wrong." Note how each stage marks an advance towards moral excellence. Mark also that this passage gives an outline of self-discipline. It says nothing of his books or of his work as a statesman and a reformer. He is said to have had, first and last, three thousand disciples. Those longest under instruction numbered twelve. They studied, not with lectures and textbooks, as in modern schools, but by following his footsteps and taking the impress of his character, much as Peter and John followed the steps and studied the life of Christ. Some of them followed Confucius when, bent on effecting a political as well as an ethical reform, he travelled from court to court among the petty principalities. They have placed it on record that once, when exposed to great peril, he comforted them by saying, "If Heaven has made me the depositary of these teachings, what can my enemies do against [Page 91] me?" Nobly conscious of a more than human mission, so pure were his teachings that, though he taught morals, not religion, he might fairly, with Socrates, be allowed to claim a sort of inspiration. The one God, of whom he knew little, he called Heaven, and he always spoke of Heaven with the profoundest reverence. When neglected or misunderstood he consoled himself by saying, "Heaven knows me." During a serious illness a disciple inquired if he should pray for him, meaning the making of offerings at some temple. Confucius answered, "I have long prayed," or "I have long been in the habit of praying." In letters he described himself as an "editor, not an author," meaning that he had revised the works of the ancients, but had published nothing of his own. Out of their poetry he culled three hundred odes and declared that "purity of thought" might be stamped on the whole collection. Into a confused mass of traditional ceremonies be brought something like order, making the Chinese (if a trifle too ceremonious) the politest people on earth. Out of their myths and chronicles he extracted a trustworthy history, and by his treatment of vice he made princes tremble, lest their heads should be exposed on the gibbet of history. He gave much time to editing the music of the ancients, but his work in that line has perished. This, however, cannot be regarded as a very great loss, in view of the rude condition in which Chinese music is still found. However deficient his knowledge of the art, his passion for music was extraordinary. After hearing a fine performance "he was unable for [Page 92] three months to enjoy his food." A fifth task was the editing of the _Yih-King_,[*] the book of divination compiled by Wen-wang. How thoroughly he believed in it is apparent from his saying, "Should it please Heaven to grant me five or ten years to study this book, I would not be in danger of falling into great errors." He meant that he would then be able to shape his conduct by the calculation of chances. [Footnote *: This and the preceding are the Five Classics, which, like the five books of Moses, lie at the root of a nation's religion and learning.] Great as were his labours in laying the foundation of literary culture, the impression made by his personal intercourse and by his collected sayings has been ten-fold more influential. They form the substance of the Four Books which, from a similar numerical coincidence, the Chinese are fond of comparing with our Four Gospels. Confucius certainly gives the Golden Rule as the essence of his teaching. True, he puts it in a negative form, "Do not unto others what you would not have them do to you"; but he also says, "My doctrine is comprehended in two words, _chung_ and _shu_." The former denotes fidelity; the latter signifies putting oneself in the place of another, but it falls short of that active charity which has changed the face of the world. It were easy to point out Confucius' limitations and mistakes; yet on the whole his merits were such that his people can hardly be blamed for the exaggerated honours which they show to his memory. They style him the "model teacher of all ages," but they do not invoke him as a tutelary deity, nor do they represent [Page 93] him by an image. Excessively honorific, their worship of Confucius is not idolatry. MENCIUS A hundred years later Mencius was born, and received his doctrine through the grandson of the Sage. More eloquent than his great master, more bold in rebuking the vices of princes, he was less original. One specimen of his teaching must suffice. One of the princes asking him, "How do you know that I have it in me to become a good ruler?" he replied, "I am told that, seeing the extreme terror of an ox that was being led to the altar, you released it and commanded a sheep to be offered in its stead. The ox was before your eyes and you pitied it; the sheep was not before your eyes and you had no pity on it. Now with such a heart if you would only think of your people, so as to bring them before your eyes, you might become the best of rulers." Mencius lost his father in his infancy, but his mother showed rare good sense in the bringing up of her only child. Living near a butcher, she noticed that the boy mimicked the cries of the pigs. She then removed to the gate of a cemetery; but, noticing that the child changed his tune and mocked the wailing of mourners, she struck her tent and took up her abode near a high school. There she observed with joy that he learned the manners and acquired the tastes of a student. Perceiving, however, that he was in danger of becoming lazy and dilatory, she cut the warp of her web and said, "My son, this is what you are doing with the web of life." [Page 94] The tomb of each of these sages is in the keeping of one of his descendants, who enjoys the emoluments of a hereditary noble. Mencius himself says of the master whom he never saw, "Since men were born on earth there has been no man like Confucius." LAO-TSE I cannot close this chapter without a word or two on Lao-tse, the founder of Taoism. He bore the family name of _Li_, "plum-tree," either from the fact that his cottage was in a garden or possibly because, like the Academics, he placed his school in a grove of plum-trees. The name by which he is now known signifies "old master," probably because he was older than Confucius. The latter is said to have paid him a visit to inquire about rites and ceremonies; but Lao-tse, with his love of solitude and abstract speculation, seems not to have exerted much influence on the mind of the rising philosopher. In allusion to him, Confucius said, "Away from men there is no philosophy--no _tao_." Less honoured by the official class, Lao-tse's influence with the masses of China has been scarcely less than that of his younger rival. Like the other two sages he, too, has to-day a representative, who enjoys an official status as high priest of the Taoist sect. Chang Tien-shi dwells in a stately palace on the summit of the Tiger and Dragon Mountain, in Kiangsi, as the head of one of the three religions. But, alas! the sublime teachings of the founder of Taoism have degenerated into a contemptible mixture of jugglery and witchcraft. [Page 95] Not till five centuries later did Buddhism enter China and complete the triad of religions--a triad strangely inharmonious; indeed one can scarcely conceive of three creeds more radically antagonistic. [Page 96] CHAPTER XVIII THE WARRING STATES _Five Dictators--Diplomacy and Strategy--A Brave Envoy--Heroes Reconciled--Ts'in Extinguishes the House of Chou_ In the first half of the Chou dynasty the machinery moved with such regularity that Confucius could think of no form of government more admirable, saying, "The policy of the future may be foretold for a hundred generations--it will be to follow the House of Chou." The latter half was a period of misrule and anarchy. Ambitions and jealousies led to petty wars. The King being too feeble to repress them, these petty wars grew into vast combinations like the leagues of modern Europe. Five of the states acquired at different times such a preponderance that their rulers are styled _Wu Pa_, the "five dictators." One of these, Duke Hwan of western Shantung, is famous for having nine times convoked the States-General. The dictator always presided at such meetings and he was recognised as the real sovereign--as were the mayors of the palace in France in the Merovingian epoch, or the shoguns in Japan during the long period in which the Mikado was called the "spiritual emperor." The legitimate sovereign still sat on his throne [Page 97] in the central state; but he complained that his only function was to offer sacrifices. The Chinese dictatorship was not hereditary, or the world might have witnessed an exact parallel to the duplicate sovereignty in Japan, where one held the power and the other retained the title for seven hundred years. In China the shifting of power from hand to hand made those four centuries an age of diplomacy. Whenever some great baron was suspected of aspiring to the leadership, combinations were formed to curb his ambitions; embassies sped from court to court; and armies were marshalled in the field. Envoys became noted for courage and cunning, and generals acquired fame by their skill in handling large bodies of soldiers. Diplomacy became an art, and war a science. An international code to control the intercourse of states began to take shape; but the diplomat was not embarrassed by a multiplicity of rules. In negotiations individual character counted for more than it does at the present day; nor must it be supposed that in the absence of our modern artillery there was no room for generalship. On the contrary, as battles were not decided by the weight of metal, there was more demand for strategy. All this was going on in Greece at this very epoch: and, as Plutarch indulges in parallels, we might point to compeers of Themistocles and Epaminondas. The cause which in the two countries led to this state of things was the existence of a family of states with a common language and similar institutions; but in the Asiatic empire the theatre was vastly more extensive, [Page 98] and the operations in politics and war on a grander scale. To the honour of the Chinese it must be admitted that they showed themselves more civilised than the Greeks. The Persian invasion was provoked by the murder of ambassadors by the Athenians. Of such an act there is no recorded instance among the warring states of China. It was reserved for our own day to witness in Peking that exhibition of Tartar ferocity. The following two typical incidents from the voluminous chronicles of those times may be appropriately presented here: A BRAVE ENVOY The Prince of Ts'in, a semi-barbarous state in the northwest, answering to Macedonia in Greece, had offered to give fifteen cities for a kohinoor, a jewel belonging to the Prince of Chao (not Chou). Lin Sian Ju was sent to deliver the jewel and to complete the transaction. The conditions not being complied with, he boldly put the jewel into his bosom and returned to his own state. That he was allowed to do so--does it not speak as much for the morality of Ts'in as for the courage of Lin? The latter is the accepted type of a brave and faithful envoy. HEROES RECONCILED Jealous of his fame, Lien P'o, a general of Chao, announced that he would kill Lin at sight. The latter took pains to avoid a meeting. Lien P'o, taxing him with cowardice, sent him a challenge, to which Lin responded, "You and I are the pillars of our [Page 99] state. If either falls, our country is lost. This is why I have shunned an encounter." So impressed was the general with the spirit of this reply that he took a rod in his hand and presented himself at the door of his rival, not to thrash the latter, but to beg that he himself might be castigated. Forgetting their feud the two joined hands to build up their native state much as Aristides and Themistocles buried their enmity in view of the war with Persia. As the Athenian orators thundered against Macedon so the statesmen of China formed leagues and counterplots for and against the rising power of the northwest. The type of patient, shrewd diplomacy is Su Ts'in who, at the cost of incredible hardships in journeying from court to court, succeeded in bringing six of the leading states into line to bar the southward movement of their common foe. His machinations were all in vain, however; for not only was his ultimate success thwarted by the counterplots of Chang Yee, an equally able diplomatist, but his reputation, like that of Parnell in our own times, was ruined by his own passions. The rising power of Ts'in, like a glacier, was advancing by slow degrees to universal sway. In the next generation it absorbed all the feudal states. Chau-siang subjugated Tung-chou-Kiun, the last monarch of the Chou dynasty, and the House of Chou was exterminated by Chwang-siang, who, however, enjoyed the supreme power for only three years (249-246 B. C). [Page 100] CHAPTER XIX THE HOUSE OF TS'IN, 246-206 B. C. (2 Emperors) _Ts'in Shi-hwang-ti, "Emperor First"--The Great Wall--The Centralised Monarchy--The title Hwang-ti--Origin of the name China--Burning of the Books--Expedition to Japan--Revolution Places the House of Han on the Throne_ "Viewed in the light of philosophy," says Schiller, "Cain killed Abel because Abel's sheep trespassed on Cain's cornfield." From that day to this farmers and shepherds have not been able to live together in peace. A monument of that eternal conflict is the Great Wall of China. Like the Roman Wall in North Britain, to compare great things with small, its object was not to keep out the Tartars but to reënforce the vigilance of the military pickets. That end it seems to have accomplished for a long time. It was, the Chinese say, the destruction of one generation and the salvation of many. We shall soon see how it came to be a mere geographical expression. For our present purpose it may also be regarded as a chronological landmark, dividing ancient from mediæval China. With the House of Chou the old feudal divisions disappeared forever. The whole country was brought [Page 101] under the direct sway of one emperor who, for the first time in the history of the people, had built up a dominion worthy of that august title. This was the achievement of Yin Cheng, the Prince of Ts'in. He thereupon assumed the new style of Hwang-ti. Hwangs and Tis were no novelty; but the combination made it a new coinage and justified the additional appellation of "the First," or Shi-hwang-ti. Four imperishable monuments perpetuate his memory: the Great Wall, the centralised monarchy, the title _Hwang-ti_, and the name of China itself--the last derived from a principality which under him expanded to embrace the empire. Where is there another conqueror in the annals of the world who has such solid claims to everlasting renown? Alexander overthrew many nations; but he set up nothing permanent. Julius Cæsar instituted the Roman Empire; but its duration was ephemeral in comparison with that of the empire founded by Shi-hwang-ti, the builder of the Wall. Though Shi-hwang-ti completed it, the wall was not the work of his reign alone. Similarly the triumphs of his arms and arts were due in large measure to his predecessors, who for centuries had aspired to universal sway. Conscious of inferiority in culture, they welcomed the aid and rewarded the services of men of talent from every quarter. Some came as penniless adventurers from rival or hostile states and were raised to the highest honours. Six great chancellors stand conspicuous as having introduced law and order into a rude society, and paved the way for final success. Every one of these was a "foreigner." The princes whom they served [Page 102] deserve no small praise for having the good sense to appreciate them and the courage to follow their advice. Of some of these it might be said, as Voltaire remarked of Peter the Great, "They civilised their people, but themselves were savages." The world forgets how much the great czar was indebted for education and guidance to Le Fort, a Genevese soldier of fortune. Pondering that history one is able to gauge the merits of those foreign chancellors, perhaps also to understand what foreigners have done for the rulers of China in our day. Shi-hwang-ti was the real founder of the Chinese Empire. He is one of the heroes of history; yet no man in the long list of dynasties is so abused and misrepresented by Chinese writers. They make him a bastard, a debauchee, and a fool. To this day he is the object of undying hatred to every one who can hold a pen. Why? it may be asked. Simply because he burned the books and persecuted the disciples of Confucius. Those two things, well-nigh incredible to us, are to the Chinese utterly incomprehensible. Li-Sze, a native of Yen, was his chancellor, a genius more daring and far-sighted than any of the other five. The welding together of the feudal states into a compact unity was his darling scheme, as it was that of his master. "Never," he said, "can you be sure that those warring states will not reappear, so long as the books of Confucius are studied in the schools; for in them feudalism is consecrated as a divine institution." "Then let them be burned," said the tyrant. The adherents of the Sage were ejected from the [Page 103] schools, and their teachings proscribed. This harsh treatment and the search for their books naturally gave rise to counterplots. "Put them to death," said the tyrant; and they went to the block, not like Christian marytrs for religious convictions, but like the Girondists of France for political principles. Their followers offer the silly explanation that the books were destroyed that the world might never know that there had been other dynasties, and the scholars slaughtered or buried alive to prevent the reproduction of the books. The First Hwang-ti did not confine his ambition to China. He sent a fleet to Japan; and those isles of the Orient came to view for the first time in the history of the world. The fleet carried, it is said, a crew of three thousand lads and lasses. It never returned; but the traditions of Japan affirm that it arrived, and the islanders ascribe their initiation into Chinese literature to their invasion by that festive company--a company not unlike that with which Bacchus was represented as making the conquest of India. Their further acquaintance with China and its sages was obtained through Korea, which was long a middle point of communication between the two countries. It was, in fact, from the Shantung promontory, near to Korea, that this flotilla of videttes was dispatched. What was the real object of that strange expedition? Chinese authors assert that it was sent in search of the "elixir of life," but do they not distort everything in the history of the First Hwang-ti? The great monarch was, in fact, a devout believer in the fables of Taoism, among which were stories of the Islands of [Page 104] the Blest, and of a fountain of immortality, such as eighteen centuries later stimulated the researches of Ponce de Leon. The study of alchemy was in full blast among the Chinese at that time. It probably sprang from Taoism; but, in my opinion, the ambitious potentate, sighing for other worlds to conquer, sent that jolly troop as the vanguard of an army. In spite, however, of elixirs of life and fountains of youth, death put an end to his conquests when he had enjoyed the full glories of imperial power for only twelve years. His son reigned two years; and the first of the imperial dynasties came to an end--overturned by a revolution which placed the House of Han on the vacant throne. [Page 105] CHAPTER XX THE HOUSE OF HAN, 206--B. C.--220 A. D. (24 Emperors, 2 Usurpers) _Liu-pang Founds Illustrious Dynasty--Restoration of the Books--A Female Reign--The Three Religions--Revival of Letters--Sze-ma Ts'ien, the Herodotus of China--Conquests of the Hans_ The burning of the books and the slaughter of the scholars had filled the public mind with horror. The oppressions occasioned by the building of the Great Wall had excited a widespread discontent; and Liu-pang, a rough soldier of Central China, took advantage of this state of things to dispossess the feeble heir of the tyrant. He founded a dynasty which is reckoned among the most illustrious in the annals of the Empire. It takes the name of Han from the river on the banks of which it rose to power. When Liu-pang was securely seated on the throne one of his ministers proposed that he should open schools and encourage learning. "Learning," exclaimed the Emperor, "I have none of it myself, nor do I feel the need of it. I got the empire on horseback." "But can you govern the empire on horseback? That is the question," replied the minister. To conciliate the favour of the learned, the Emperor not only rescinded the persecuting edicts, but caused search to be made for [Page 106] the lost books, and instituted sacrificial rites in honour of the Sage. Old men were still living who had committed those books to memory in boyhood. One such, Fu-seng by name, was noted for his erudition; and from his capacious memory a large portion of the sacred canon was reproduced, being written from his dictation. The copies thus obtained were of course not free from error. Happily a somewhat completer copy, engraved on bamboo tablets, was discovered in the wall of a house belonging to the Confucian family. Yet down to the present day the Chinese classics bear traces of the tyrant's fire. Portions are wanting and the lacunæ are always ascribed to the "fires of Ts'in." The first chapter of the Great Study closes with the pregnant words, "The source of knowledge is in the study of things." Not a syllable is added on that prolific text. A note informs the reader that there was a chapter on the subject, but that it has been lost. Chinese scholars, when taxed with the barrenness of later ages in every branch of science, are wont to make the naïve reply, "Yes, and no wonder--how could it be otherwise when the Sage's chapter on that subject has been lost?" After the second reign, that of Hwei-ti, we have the first instance in Chinese history of a woman seizing the reins of government. The Empress Lu made herself supreme, and such were her talents that she held the Empire in absolute subjection for eight years. Like Jezebel she "destroyed all the seed royal," and filled the various offices with her kindred and favourites. At her death they were butchered without [Page 107] mercy, and a male heir to the throne was proclaimed. His posthumous title _Wen-ti_, meaning the "learned" or "patron of letters," marks the progress made by the revival of learning. One might imagine that these literary emperors would have been satisfied with the recovery of the Confucian classics; but no, a rumour reached them that "there are sages in the West." The West was India. An embassy was sent, 66 A. D., by Ming-ti to import books and bonzes. The triad of religions was thus completed. Totally diverse in spirit and essence, the three religions could hardly be expected to harmonise or combine. Confucianism exalts letters, and lays stress on ethics to the neglect of the spiritual world. Taoism inculcates physical discipline; but in practice it has become the mother of degrading superstition--dealing in magic and necromancy. Buddhism saps the foundations of the family and enjoins celibacy as the road to virtue. Metempsychosis is its leading doctrine, and to "think on nothing" its mental discipline. It forbids a flesh diet and deprecates scholarship. Through imperial patronage it acquired a footing in China, but it was long before it felt at home there. As late as the eighth century Han Yu, the greatest writer of the age, ridiculed the relics of Buddha and called on his people to "burn their books, close their temples, and make laity of their monks." Yet Buddhism seems to have met a want. It has fostered a sympathy for animal life, and served as a protest against the Sadducean tenets of the lettered class. It long ago became so rooted in the minds of [Page 108] the illiterate, who form nine-tenths of the population, that China may be truly described as the leading Buddhist country of the globe.[*] [Footnote *: THE APOTHEOSIS OF MERCY A LEGEND OF KUANYIN PUSA--IN NORTHERN BUDDHISM Two images adorn this mountain shrine, Not marble chiselled out by Grecian art, But carved from wood with Oriental skill. In days of yore adored by pilgrim throngs, They languish now without a worshipper. High up a winding flight of stony steps See Gautama upon his lotus throne! More near the gate, her lovely face downcast, Sits Mercy's Goddess, pity in her eye, To greet the weary climbers and to hear Their many-coloured tales of woe and want. The Buddha, in sublime repose, sees not His prostrate worshippers; and they to him No prayer address, save hymns of grateful praise.[1] 'Twas he who for a blinded world sought out The secret of escape from misery; The splendour of a royal court resigned, He found in poverty a higher realm! Yet greater far the victory, when he broke The chain of Fate and spurned the wheel of change. To suffering humanity he says, "Tread in my steps: You, too, may find release." [Footnote 1: Such as _Om mani padmi hum_ ("O the jewel in the lotus")] Like him, the Pusa was of princely birth, But not like him did she forsake a throne, Nor yet like him did she consent to see Nirvana's pearly gates behind her close. A field for charity her regal state. Her path with ever-blooming flowers she strewed, Her sympathy to joy a relish gave, To sorrows manifold it brought relief, Forgetting self she lived for others' weal Till higher than Meru her merit rose.[2] [Footnote 2: Mt. Meru, the Indian Olympus.] At length a Voice celestial smote her ear. "Nirvana's portal to thee open stands, The crown of Buddhaship is thine by right. No wave of care that shore can ever reach, No cry of pain again thine ear assail; But fixed in solitary bliss thou'lt see The circling ages rolling at thy feet!" "Shall I then have no tidings of mankind? Such heaven a throne of glittering ice would be. That changeless bliss to others thou may'st give. Happiest am I th' unhappy to upraise. Oh for a thousand hands[3] the task to ply! To succour and relieve be mine," she said, "Bought though it be by share of suffering. Turn then the wheel,[4] and back to earth again." [Footnote 3: She is often so represented, as the symbol of present Providence.] [Footnote 4: _Lunhui_, the wheel of destiny, within which birth and death succeed without end or interval.] From out the blue came down the Voice once more: "Thy great refusal wins a higher prize; A kingdom new thy charity hath gained.[5] And there shalt thou, the Queen of Mercy, reign, Aloof from pain or weakness of thine own, With quickened sense to hear and power to save." [Footnote 5: She escapes the wheel, but remains on the border of Nirvana, where, as her name signifies, she "hears the prayers of men."] Fair image thou! Almost I worship thee, Frail shadow of a Christ that hears and feels! W. A. P. M. PEARL GROTTO, NEAR PEKING, August 8, 1906.] Buddhist monasteries are to be seen on every hand. They are often subsidised by the state; and even at the tomb of Confucius a temple was erected called the "Hall of the Three Religions." In it the image of [Page 109] Buddha is said to have occupied the seat of honour, but prior to the date of my visit it had been demolished. Each of these religions has a hierarchy: that of Confucius with a lineal descendant of the Sage at its head; that of Lao-tse with Chang Tien-shi, the arch-magician, as its high priest; and, higher than all, that of Buddha with the Grand Lama of Tibet. Under the house of Han a beginning was made in the institution of civil service examinations--a system which has continued to dominate the Chinese intellect down to our time; but it was not fully developed until the dynasty of T'ang. Belles-lettres made a marked advance. The poetry of the period is more finished [Page 110] than that of the Chous. Prose composition, too, is vigorous and lucid. The muse of history claims the place of honour. Sze-ma Ts'ien, the Herodotus of China, was born in this period. A glory to his country, the treatment Sze-ma Ts'ien received at the hands of his people exposes their barbarism. He had recommended Li Ling as a suitable commander to lead an expedition against the Mongols. Li Ling surrendered to the enemy, and Sze-ma Ts'ien, as his sponsor, was liable to suffer death in his stead. Being allowed an alternative, he chose to submit to the disgrace of emasculation, in order that he might live to complete his monumental work--a memorial better than sons and daughters. A pathetic letter of the unfortunate general, who never dared to return to China, is preserved amongst the choice specimens of prose composition. Not content with the Great Wall for their northern limit nor with the "Great River" for their southern boundary, the Hans attempted to advance their frontiers in both directions. In the north they added the province of Kansuh, and in the other direction they extended their operations as far south as the borders of Annam; but they did not make good the possession of the whole of the conquered territory. Szechuen and Hunan were, however, added to their domain. The latter seems to have served as a penal colony rather than an integral portion of the Empire. A poem by Kiayi, an exiled statesman (200 B. c.), is dated from Changsha, its capital.[*] [Footnote *: See "Chinese Legends and Other Poems," by W. A. P. Martin.] In the south the savage tribes by which the Chinese [Page 111] were opposed made a deep impression on the character of the people, but left no record in history. Not so with the powerful foe encountered in the north. Under the title of Shanyu, he was a forerunner of the Grand Khan of Tartary--claiming equality with the emperors of China and exchanging embassies on equal terms. His people, known as the Hiunghu, are supposed to have been ancestors of the Huns. [Page 112] CHAPTER XXI THE THREE KINGDOMS, THE NAN-PEH CHAO, AND THE SUI DYNASTY, 214-618 A. D. _The States of Wei, Wu, and Shuh--A Popular Historical Romance--Chu-koh Liang, an Inventive Genius--The "three P's," Pen, Paper, Printing--The Sui Dynasty_ After four centuries of undisputed sway, the sceptre is seen ready to fall from the nerveless hands of feeble monarchs. Eunuchs usurp authority, and the hydra of rebellion raises its many heads. Minor aspirants are easily extinguished; but three of them survive a conflict of twenty years, and lay the foundation of short-lived dynasties. The noble structure erected by the Ts'ins and consolidated by the Hans began to crumble at the beginning of its fifth century of existence. In 221 A. D. its fragments were removed to three cities, each of which claimed to be the seat of empire. The state of Wei was founded by Tsao Tsao, with its capital at Lo-yang, the seat of the Hans. He had the further advantage, as mayor of the palace, of holding in his power the feeble emperor Hwan-ti, the last of the house of Han. The state of Wu, embracing the provinces of Kiangsu, Kiangsi, and Chehkiang, was established by Siun Kien, a man of distinguished ability [Page 113] who secured his full share of the patrimony. The third state was founded by Liu Pi, a scion of the imperial house whose capital was at Chingtu-fu in Szechuen. The historian is here confronted by a problem like that of settling the apostolic succession of the three popes, and he has decided in favour of the last, whom he designates the "Later Han," mainly on the ground of blood relationship. Authority for this is found in the dynastic history; but reference may also be made to a romance which deals with the wars of those three states. Composed by Lo Kwan-chung and annotated by Kin Sheng Tan, it is the most popular historical novel in the whole range of Chinese literature. Taking the place of a national epic, its heroes are not of one type or all on one side, but its favourites are found among the adherents of Liu Pi. It opens with a scene in which Liu, Kwan, and Chang, like the three Tells on Grütli, meet in a peach-garden and take vows of brotherhood--drinking of a loving-cup tinged with the blood of each and swearing fidelity to their common cause. Of the three brothers the first, Liu Pi, after a long struggle, succeeds in founding a state in western China. The second, Kwan Yü, is the beau-ideal of patriotic courage. In 1594 he was canonised as the god of war. The gifted author has, therefore, the distinction, beyond that of any epic poet of the West, of having created for his countrymen their most popular deity. Chang-fi, the youngest of the three brothers, is the inseparable henchman of the Chinese Mars. He wields a spear eighteen feet in length with a dash and impetuosity which no enemy is able to withstand. [Page 114] Other characters are equally fixed in the public mind. Tsao Tsao, the chief antagonist of Liu Pi, is not merely a usurper: he is a curious compound of genius, fraud, and cruelty. Another conspicuous actor is Lü Pu, an archer able to split a reed at a hundred paces, and a horseman who performs prodigies on the field of battle. He begins his career by shooting his adopted father, like Brutus perhaps, not because he loved Tung Choh less, but China more. All these and others too numerous to mention may be seen any day on the boards of the theatre, an institution which, in China at least, serves as a school for the illiterate.[*] [Footnote *: The stage is usually a platform on the open street where an actor may be seen changing his rôle with his costume, now wearing the mask of one and then of another of the contending chieftains, and changing his voice, always in a falsetto key, to produce something like variety.] Liu Pi succeeds, after a struggle of twenty years, in establishing himself in the province of Szechuen; but he enjoys undisturbed dominion in his limited realm for three years only, and then transmits his crown to a youthful son whom he commends to the care of a faithful minister. The youth when an infant has been rescued from a burning palace by the brave Chang-fi, who, wrapping the sleeping child in his cloak and mounting a fleet charger, cut his way through the enemy. On reaching a distant point the child was still asleep. The witty annotator adds the remark, "He continued to sleep for thirty years." The minister to whom the boy had been confided, Chu-koh Liang, is the most versatile and inventive genius of Chinese antiquity. As the founder of the house of Chou discovered in an old fisherman a [Page 115] counsellor of state who paved his way to the throne, so Liu Pi found this man in a humble cottage where he was hiding himself in the garb of a peasant, _San Ku Mao Lu_, say the Chinese. He "three times visited that thatched hovel" before he succeeded in persuading its occupant to commit himself to his uncertain fortunes. From that moment Chu-koh Liang served him as eyes and ears, teeth and claws, with a skill and fidelity which have won the applause of all succeeding ages. Among other things, he did for Liu Pi what Archimedes did for Dionysius. He constructed military engines that appeared so wonderful that, as tradition has it "he made horses and oxen out of wood." Entrusted by his dying master with the education of the young prince, he has left two papers full of wise counsels which afford no little help in drawing the line between fact and fiction. Unquestionably Chu-koh Liang was the first man of his age in intellect and in such arts and sciences as were known to his times. Yet no one invention can be pointed to as having been certainly derived from Chu-koh Liang. The author of the above-mentioned romance, who lived as late as the end of the thirteenth century, constantly speaks of his use of gunpowder either to terrify the enemy or to serve for signals; but it is never used to throw a cannon-ball. It probably was known to the Chinese of that date, as the Arab speaks of gunpowder under the designation of "Chinese snow," meaning doubtless the saltpetre which forms a leading ingredient. The Chinese had been dabbling in alchemy for many centuries, and it is scarcely possible that they [Page 116] should have failed to hit on some such explosive. It is, however, believed on good authority that they never made use of cannon in war until the beginning of the fifteenth century. There are, however, three other inventions or improvements of the known arts, which deserve notice in this connection, namely, the "three Ps"--pen, paper and printing--all preëminently instruments of peaceful culture. The pen in China is a hair pencil resembling a paint-brush. It was invented by Mung-tien in the third century B. c. Paper was invented by Tsai Lun, 100 B. c., and printing by Fungtao in the tenth century of the present era. What is meant by printing in this case is, however, merely the substitution of wood for stone, the Chinese having been for ages in the habit of taking rubbings from stone inscriptions. It was not long before they divided the slab into movable characters and earned for themselves the honour of having anticipated Gutenberg and Faust. Their divisible types were never in general use, however, and block printing continues in vogue; but Western methods are rapidly supplanting both. The three states were reunited under the Tsin dynasty, 265 A. D. This lasted for a century and a half and then, after a succession of fifteen emperors, went down in a sea of anarchy, from the froth of which arose more than half a score of contending factions, among which four were sufficiently prominent to make for themselves a place in history. Their period is described as that of the Nan-peh Chao, "Northern and Southern Kingdoms." The names of the principals were Sung, Wei, Liang and Chin. The first [Page 117] only was Chinese, the others belonging to various branches of the Tartar race. The chiefs of the Liang family were of Tibetan origin--a circumstance which may perhaps account for their predilection for Buddhism. The second emperor of that house, Wu Ti, became a Buddhist monk and retired to a monastery where he lectured on the philosophy of Buddhism. He reminds one of Charles the Fifth, who in his retirement amused himself less rationally by repairing watches and striving, in vain, to make a number of them keep identical time. It may be noted that behind these warring factions there is in progress a war of races also. The Tartars are forever encroaching on the Flowery Land. Repulsed or expelled, they return with augmented force; and even at this early epoch the shadow of their coming conquest is plainly visible. In the confused strife of North and South the preponderance is greatly on the side of the Tartars. The pendulum of destiny then begins to swing in the other direction. Yan Kien, a Chinese general in the service of a Tartar principality, took advantage of their divisions to rally a strong body of his countrymen by whose aid he cut them off in detail and set up the Sui dynasty, The Tartars have always made use of Chinese in the invasion of China; and if the Chinese were always faithful to their own country no invader would succeed in conquering them. Though the Sui dynasty lasted less than thirty years (589-618, three reigns), it makes a conspicuous figure on account of two events: (1) a victorious expedition in the north which reached the borders of [Page 118] Turkestan, and (2) the opening of canals between the Yellow River and the Yang-tse Kiang. The latter enterprise only hastened the fall of the house. It was effected by forced labour; and the discontented people were made to believe, as their historians continue to assert, that its chief object was to enable a luxurious emperor to display his grandeur to the people of many provinces. We shall see how the extension of those canals precipitated the overthrow of the Mongols as we have already seen how the completion of the Great Wall caused the downfall of the house of Ts'in. Yang-ti, the second emperor of the Sui dynasty, though not wanting in energy, is notorious for his excesses in display and debauch. He is reported to have hastened his accession to the throne by the murder of his father. A peaceful end to such a reign would have been out of keeping with the course of human events. Li Yuen, one of his generals, rose against him, and he was assassinated in Nanking. By wisdom and courage Li Yuen succeeded in setting up a new dynasty which he called _T'ang_ (618 A. D.): After a long period of unrest, it brought to the distracted provinces an era of unwonted prosperity; it held the field for nearly three hundred years, and surpassed all its predecessors in splendour. [Page 119] CHAPTER XXII THE T'ANG DYNASTY, 618-907 A. D. (20 Emperors) _An Augustan Age--A Pair of Poets--The Coming of Christianity--The Empress Wu--System of Examinations_ I have seen a river plunge into a chasm and disappear. After a subterranean course of many miles it rose to the surface fuller, stronger than before. No man saw from whence it drew its increment of force, but the fact was undeniable. This is just what took place in China at this epoch. It is comforting to know that during those centuries of turmoil the Chinese were not wholly engrossed with war and rapine. The T'ang dynasty is conspicuously the Augustan Age. Literature reappears in a more perfect form than under the preceding reigns. The prose writers of that period are to the present day studied as models of composition, which cannot be affirmed of the writers of any earlier epoch. Poetry, too, shone forth with dazzling splendour. A galaxy of poets made their appearance, among whom two particular stars were Tufu and Lipai, the Dryden and Pope of Chinese literature. The following specimen from Lipai who is deemed the highest poetical genius in the annals of China, may [Page 120] show, even in its Western dress, something of his peculiar talent: ON DRINKING ALONE BY MOONLIGHT[*] Here are flowers and here is wine, But where's a friend with me to join Hand in hand and heart to heart In one full cup before we part? Rather than to drink alone, I'll make bold to ask the moon To condescend to lend her face The hour and the scene to grace. Lo, she answers, and she brings My shadow on her silver wings; That makes three, and we shall be. I ween, a merry company The modest moon declines the cup, But shadow promptly takes it up, And when I dance my shadow fleet Keeps measure with my flying feet. But though the moon declines to tipple She dances in yon shining ripple, And when I sing, my festive song, The echoes of the moon prolong. Say, when shall we next meet together? Surely not in cloudy weather, For you my boon companions dear Come only when the sky is clear. [Footnote *: From "Chinese Legends and Other Poems," by W. A. P. MARTIN.] The second emperor, Tai-tsung, made good his claims by killing two of his brothers who were plotting against him. Notwithstanding this inauspicious beginning [Page 121] he became an able and illustrious sovereign. The twenty-three years during which he occupied the throne were the most brilliant of that famous dynasty. At Si-ngan in Shensi, the capital of the T'angs, is a stone monument which records the introduction of Christianity by Nestorians from Syria. Favoured by the Emperor the new faith made considerable headway. For five hundred years the Nestorian churches held up the banner of the Cross; but eventually, through ignorance and impurity, they sank to the level of heathenism and disappeared. It is sad to think that this early effort to evangelise China has left nothing but a monumental stone. At the funeral of Tai-tsung his successor, Kao-tsung, saw Wu, one of his father's concubines, who pleased him so much that, contrary to law, he took her into his own harem. Raised to the rank of empress and left mother of an infant son, she swayed the sceptre after Kao-tsung's death for twenty-one years. Beginning as regent she made herself absolute. A system of civil service examinations which had sprung up with the revival of learning under the Hans was now brought to maturity. For good or for evil it has dominated the mind of the Empire for twelve centuries. Now, however, the leaders of thought have begun to suspect that it is out of date. The new education requires new tests; but what is to hinder their incorporation in the old system? To abolish it would be fraught with danger, and to modify it is a delicate task for the government of the present day. That the scholar should hold himself in readiness [Page 122] to serve the state no less than the soldier was an acknowledged principle. It was reserved for the statesmen of T'ang to make it the mainspring of the government. To them belongs the honour of constructing a system which would stimulate literary culture and skim the cream of the national talent for the use of the state. It had the further merit of occupying the minds of ambitious youth with studies of absorbing interest, thus diverting them from the dangerous path of political conspiracy. Never was a more effective patronage given to letters. Without founding or endowing schools the state said: "If you acquire the necessary qualifications, we shall see that your exertions are duly rewarded. Look up to those shining heights--see the gates that are open to welcome you, the garlands that wait to crown your triumphant course!" Annual examinations were held in every country; and the degree of S. T. (_Siu-tsai_), equivalent to A. B., was conferred on 3 per cent. of the candidates. To fail was no disgrace; to have entered the lists was a title to respect. Once in three years the budding talent of the province convened in its chief city to compete for the second degree. This was H. L. (_Hiao Lien_, "Filial and Honest"), showing how ethical ideas continued to dominate the literary tribunals. It is now _Chu-jin_, and denotes nothing but promotion or prize man. The prize, a degree answering to A. M., poetically described as a sprig of the _Olea fragrans_, was the more coveted as the competitors were all honour men of the first grade, and it was limited to one in a hundred. Its immediate effect is such social [Page 123] distinction that it is said poor bachelors are common, but poor masters are rare. If the competition stopped here it would be an Olympic game on a grander scale. But there are loftier heights to be climbed. The new-made masters from all the provinces proceed to the imperial capital to try their strength against the assembled scholars of the Empire. Here the prizes are three in a hundred. The successful student comes forth a Literary Doctor--a _Tsin-shi_, "fit for office." To all such is assured a footing, high or low, on the official ladder. But another trial remains by which those who are good at the high leap may at a single bound place themselves very near the top. This final contest takes place in the palace--nominally in the presence of the Emperor, and the questions are actually issued by him. Its object is to select the brightest of the doctors for chairs in the Hanlin Academy--an institution in which the humblest seat is one of exalted dignity. How dazzling the first name on that list! The _Chuang Yuen_ or senior wrangler takes rank with governors and viceroys. An unfading halo rests on the place of his birth. Sometimes in travelling I have seen a triumphal arch proclaiming that "Here was born the laureate of the Empire." Such an advertisement raises the value of real estate; and good families congregate in a place on which the sun shines so auspiciously. A laureate who lived near me married his daughter to a viceroy, and her daughter became consort to the Emperor Tungchi. What then are the objections to a regulation which is so democratic that it makes a nobleman of every [Page 124] successful scholar and gives to all the inspiration of equal opportunity? They are, in a word, that it has failed to expand with the growing wants of the people. The old curriculum laid down by Confucius, "Begin with poetry; make etiquette your strong point; and finish off with music," was not bad for his day, but is utterly inadequate for ours, unless it be for a young ladies seminary. The Sage's chapter on experiment as the source of knowledge--a chapter which might have anticipated the _Novum Organum_--having been lost, the statesmen of the T'ang period fell into the error of leaving in their scheme no place for original research. This it was that made the mind of China barren of discoveries for twelve centuries. It was like putting a hood on the keen-eyed hawk and permitting him to fly at only such game as pleased his master. The chief requirement was superficial polish in prose and verse. The themes were taken exclusively from books, the newest of which was at that time over a thousand years old. To broach a theory not found there was fatal; and to raise a question in physical science was preposterous. Had anyone come forward with a new machine he might have been rewarded; but no such inventor ever came because the best minds in the Empire were trained to trot blindfold on a tread-mill in which there was no possibility of progress. Had the mind of the nation been left free and encouraged to exert its force, who can doubt that the country that produced the mariner's compass might have given birth to a Newton or an Edison? After Wu none of the monarchs of this dynasty [Page 125] calls for notice. The last emperor was compelled to abdicate; and thus, after a career of nearly three centuries bright with the light of genius and prolific of usages good and bad that set the fashion for after ages, this great house was extinguished. [Page 126] CHAPTER XXIII THE SUNG DYNASTY, 960-1280 A. D. (18 Emperors) _The Five Philosophers--Wang Ngan-shi, Economist--The Kin Tartars--The Southern Sungs--Aid of Mongols Invoked to Drive Out the Kins--Mongols Exterminate Sungs_ On the fall of the house of T'ang, a score of factions contended for the succession. During the fifty-three years preceding the establishment of the Sungs, no less than five of them rose to temporary prominence sufficient to admit of being dubbed a "dynasty." Collectively they are spoken of as the "Five Dynasties" (907-960). Their names are without exception a repetition of those of former dynasties, Liang, T'ang, Ts'in, Han, Chou with the prefix "Later"--suggesting that each claimed to be a lineal successor of some previous imperial family. Their struggles for power, not more instructive than a conflict of gladiators, are so devoid of interest that the half-century covered by them may be passed over as a blank. It may, however, be worth while to remind the reader that as the House of Han was followed by the wars of the "Three Kingdoms," and that of Ts'in by a struggle of North and South under four states, so the House of T'ang was now [Page 127] succeeded by five short-lived "dynasties," with a mean duration of scarcely more than ten years. The numerical progression is curious; but it is more important to notice a historical law which native Chinese writers deduce from those scenes of confusion. They state it in this form: "After long union the empire is sure to be divided; after long disruption it is sure to be reunited." So deep an impression has this historical generalisation made on the public mind that if the empire were now to be divided between foreign nations, as it has been more than once, the people would confidently expect it to be reintegrated under rulers of their own race. The undivided Sung dynasty held sway from 960 to 1127; that of the southern Sungs from 1127 to 1280. The founder of the house was Chao-kwang-yun, an able leader of soldiers and an astute politician. So popular was he with his troops that they called him to the throne by acclamation. He was drunk, it is said, when his new dignity was announced, and he had no alternative but to wear the yellow robe that was thrown on his shoulders. Undignified as was his debut, his reign was one continued triumph. After a tenure of seventeen years, he left his successor in possession of nearly the whole of China Proper together with a fatal legacy of lands on the north. The two main features of the Sung period are the rise of a great school of philosophy and the constant encroachment of the Tartars. The two Chengs being brothers, the names of the five leading philosophers fall into an alliterative line of four syllables, _Cheo, [Page 128] Cheng, Chang, Chu_. Acute in speculation and patient in research, they succeeded in fixing the interpretation of the sacred books, and in establishing a theory of nature and man from which it is heresy to dissent. The rise of their school marks an intellectual advance as compared with the lettered age of the T'angs. It was an age of daring speculation; but, as constantly happens in China, the authority of these great men was converted into a bondage for posterity. The century in which they flourished (1020-1120) is unique in the history of their country as the age of philosophy. In Europe it was a part of the Dark Ages; and at that time the Western world was convulsed by the Crusades. The most eminent of the five philosophers was Chu Fu-tse. Not the most original, he collected the best thoughts of all into a system; and his erudition was such that the whole range of literature was his domain. Chu Hi, the Coryphæus of mediæval China, stands next in honour after that incomparable pair, Confucius and Mencius. Contemporary with the earlier members of this coterie appeared Wang Ngan-shi, an economist, of rare originality. His leading principle was the absorption by the state of all industrial enterprises--state ownership of land, and in general a paternal system to supersede private initiative. So charming was the picture presented in his book "The Secret of Peace" (still extant) that the Emperor gave him _carte blanche_ to put his theory into practice. In practical life however it was a failure--perhaps because he failed to allow for the strength or weakness of materials and instruments. His book is a Chinese [Page 129] Utopia, nearly akin to those of Plato and Sir John More. In the northeast beyond the Wall were two Tartar kingdoms, one of which was the Kin or "Golden Horde"--remote ancestors of the Manchu dynasty. A constant menace to the settled population of the "inner land," they obtained possession of Peking in 1118. For a time they were kept at bay by a money payment which reminds one of the _Danegeld_ paid by our forefathers to the sea-robbers of northern Europe. Payments not being punctual, the Tartars occupied portions of the northern provinces, and pushed their way as far south as K'ai-fung-fu, the capital of the Empire. The Emperor retired to Nanking, leaving in command his son, who, unable to resist the Tartars, made a disgraceful peace. A heavy ransom was paid to avert the sacking of the city; and all the region on the north of the Yellow River passed under Tartar sway. Repenting of their hard bargain, the Chinese provoked a renewal of hostilities, which resulted in a heavier downfall. The capital surrendered after a severe siege, and the Emperor with his court was carried into captivity. The next emperor acknowledged himself a vassal of the Tartars; but peace on such conditions could not be of long duration. An intermittent warfare was kept up for more than a century, in the course of which Nanking was pillaged, and the court fell back successively on Hangchow and Wenchow. When there was no longer a place of safety on the mainland the wretched fugitives sought refuge on an island. Fitting out a fleet the Tartars continued the [Page 130] pursuit; but more used to horses than ships, the fleet was annihilated, and the expiring dynasty obtained a new lease of life. This was about 1228. The Mongols under Genghis Khan and his successors had carried everything before them in the northwest. Thirsting for revenge, the Chinese appealed for aid to this new power--and the Mongols found an opportunity to bag two birds instead of one. As a Chinese fable puts it: "A sea-bird failing to make a breakfast on a shellfish was held in its grip until a fisherman captured both." The Kins were driven back into Manchuria; and the Chinese without asking leave of their allies reoccupied their old capital. But the revival of the Sungs was no part of the Mongol programme. The Sungs declining to evacuate K'ai-fung-fu and to cede to the Mongols the northern half of the empire, the latter resolved on a war of extermination. After a bitter struggle of fifteen years, the infant emperor and his guardians again committed their fortunes to the sea. The Mongols, more lucky than the other Tartars, were victorious on water as well as on land; and the last scion of the imperial house drowned himself to escape their fury (1280). [Page 131] CHAPTER XXIV THE YUEN OR MONGOL DYNASTY, 1280-1368 (10 Emperors) _Kublai Khan--First Intercourse of China with Europe--Marco Polo--The Grand Canal_ Parts of China had been frequently overrun by foreign conquerors; but the Mongols were the first to extend their sway over the whole country. The subjugation of China was the work of Kublai, grandson of Genghis, who came to the throne in 1260, inheriting an empire more extensive than Alexander or Cæsar had dreamed of. In 1264 the new khan fixed his court at Peking and proceeded to reduce the provinces to subjection. Exhausted and disunited as they were the task was not difficult, though it took fifteen years to complete. Ambition alone would have been sufficient motive for the conquest, but his hostility was provoked by perfidy--especially by the murder of envoys sent to announce his accession. "Without good faith," says Confucius, "no nation can exist." By the absorption of China the dominions of Kublai were made richer, if not greater in extent, than those of his grandfather, while the splendour of his court quite eclipsed that of Genghis Khan. Unknown to the ancient Romans, China was revealed to their mediæval successors by the Mongol [Page 132] conquest. In 1261 two Venetian merchants, Nicolo and Matteo Polo, made their way to Bokhara, whence, joining an embassy from India, they proceeded to Kublai's capital at Xanadu (or Shangtu) near the site of Peking. They were the first white men the Grand Khan had ever seen, and he seems to have perceived at once that, if not of superior race, they were at least more advanced in civilisation than his own people; for, besides intrusting them with letters to the Pope, he gave them a commission to bring out a hundred Europeans to instruct the Mongols in the arts and sciences of the West. In 1275 they returned to Peking without other Europeans, but accompanied by Marco Polo, the son of Nicolo. They were received with more honour than on their first visit, and the young man was appointed to several positions of trust in the service of the monarch. After a sojourn of seventeen years, the three Polos obtained permission to join the escort of a Mongol princess who was going to the court of Persia. In Persia they heard of the death of their illustrious patron, and, instead of returning to China, turned their faces homeward, arriving at Venice in 1295. Having been captured by the Genoese, Marco Polo while in prison dictated his wonderful story. At first it was looked on as a romance and caused its author to receive the sobriquet of "Messer Millione"; but its general accuracy has been fully vindicated. The chief effect of that narrative was to fire the imagination of another Italian and lead him by steering to the west to seek a short cut to the Eldorado. [Page 133] How strange the occult connection of sublunary things! The Mongol Kublai must be invoked to account for the discovery of America! The same story kindled the fancy of Coleridge, in the following exquisite fragment, which he says came to him in a vision of the night: "In Xanadu did Kubla Khan A stately pleasure-dome decree: Where Alph, the sacred river, ran Through caverns measureless to man, Down to a sunless sea." --_Kubla Khan._ Still another Italian claims mention as having made some impression on the court of Kublai. This was Corvino, a missionary sent by the Pope; but of his church, his schools, and his convents, there were left no more traces than of his predecessors, the Nestorians. The glory of Kublai was not of long duration. The hardy tribes of the north became enervated by the luxury and ease of their rich patrimony. "Capua captured Hannibal." Nine of the founder's descendants followed him, not one of whom displayed either vigour or statesmanship. Their power ebbed more suddenly than it rose. Shun-ti, the last of the house, took refuge behind the Great Wall from the rising tide of Chinese patriotism; and after a tenure of ninety years, or of two centuries of fluctuating dominion, reckoning from the rise of Genghis Khan, the Yuen dynasty came to an untimely end. The magnificent waterway, the Grand Canal, remains an imperishable monument of the Mongol [Page 134] sway. As an "alimentary canal" it was needed for the support of the armies that held the people in subjection; and the Mongols only completed a work which other dynasties had undertaken. A description of it from personal observation is given in Part I of this work (page 31). It remains to be said that the construction of the Canal, like that of the Great Wall, was a leading cause of the downfall of its builders. Forced labour and aggravated taxation gave birth to discontent; rebellion became rife, and the Mongols were too effeminate to take active measures for its suppression. [Page 135] CHAPTER XXV THE MING DYNASTY, 1368-1644 A. D. (16 Emperors) _Humble Origin of the Founder--Nanking and Peking as Capital--First Arrival of European Ships--Portuguese, Spaniards, and Dutch Traders--Arrival of Missionaries--Tragic End of the Last of the Mings_ Humble as was the origin of the founder of the House of Han, spoken of as _Pu-i_, "A peasant clothed in homespun," that of the Father of the Mings was still more obscure. A novice or servant (_sacrificulus_) in a Buddhist monastery, Chu Yuen Chang felt called to deliver his people from oppression. At first regarded as a robber chief, one of many, his rivals submitted to his leadership and the people accepted his protection. Securing possession of Nanking, a city of illustrious memories and strong natural defences, he boldly proclaimed his purpose. After twenty years of blood and strategy, he succeeded in placing the Great Wall between him and the retreating Mongols. Proud of his victory he assumed for the title of his reign _Hungwu_, "Great Warrior," and chose _Ming_, "Luminous," for that of his dynasty. Leaving his son, the Prince of Yen, at Peking, to hold the Tartars in check, Hungwu spent the remaining [Page 136] years of his reign at his original capital, and then left the sceptre to his grandson. The Prince of Yen, uncle of the youthful emperor, feeling the slight implied in his father's choice, raised an army and captured Nanking. A charred corpse being shown to him as that of the emperor, he caused it to be interred with becoming rites, and at once assumed the imperial dignity, choosing for his reigning title _Yungloh_, "Perpetual Joy." He also removed the seat of government to Peking, where it has remained for five centuries. The "Thesaurus of Yungloh," a digest of Chinese literature so extensive as to form a library in itself, remains a monument to his patronage of letters. A tragic episode in the history of the Mings was the capture of the next emperor by the Mongols, who, however, failed to take Peking. It was easier to make a new emperor than to ransom the captive. His brother having been proclaimed, the Tartars sent their captive back, hoping that a war between the brothers would weaken their enemy. Retiring into private life he appeared to renounce his claim; but after the death of his brother he once more occupied the throne. What a theme for a romance! Great Britain was described by a Roman as "almost cut off from the whole world" because it was not accessible by land. China had long been cut off from the Western world because it was not accessible by sea. The way to India was opened by Diaz and Gama in 1498; and the first Portuguese ships appeared at Canton in 1511. Well-treated at first, others came in greater numbers. Their armaments were so formidable as to excite suspicion; and their [Page 137] acts of violence kindled resentment. Under these combined motives a massacre of the foreign traders was perpetrated, and Andrade, a sort of envoy at Peking, was thrown into prison and beheaded. The trading-posts were abolished except at Macao, where the Portuguese obtained a footing by paying an annual rent. After the Portuguese came the Spaniards, who appear to have been satisfied with the Philippine archipelago, rather than provoke a conflict with the Portuguese. The Chinese they had little reason to dread, as the superiority of their arms would have enabled them to seize portions of the seacoast, though not to conquer the Empire as easily as they did the Mexicans and Peruvians. Perhaps, too, they were debarred by the same authority which divided the Western continent between the two Iberian powers. The Chinese becoming too numerous at Manila, the Spaniards slaughtered them without mercy, as if in retaliation for the blood of their cousins, or taking a hint from the policy of China. In 1622 the Dutch endeavoured to open trade with China, but their advances being rejected, doubtless through secret opposition from the Portuguese, they seized the Pescadores, and later established themselves on Formosa, whence they were eventually expelled by Koxinga, a Chinese freebooter. The church founded by Corvino at Peking perished in the overthrow of the Mongols. The Portuguese traders disapproved of missions, as tending to impose restraint on their profligacy and to impart to China the strength that comes from knowledge. The narrow [Page 138] policy of the Mings, moreover, closed the door against the introduction of a foreign creed. Yet it is strange that half a century elapsed before any serious attempt was made to give the Gospel to China. In 1552 St. Francis Xavier, the apostle of the Indies, arrived at Macao. He and his fellow Jesuits were indirect fruits of the Protestant Reformation--belonging to an order organised for the purpose of upholding and extending the power of the Holy See. After wonderful success in India, the Straits, and Japan, Xavier appeared in Chinese waters, but he was not allowed to land. He expired on the island of Shang-chuen or St. John's, exclaiming "O rock, rock, when wilt thou open?" Ricci, who came in 1580, met with better success: but it cost him twenty years of unceasing effort to effect an entrance to Peking. Careful to avoid giving offence, and courtly in manners, his science proved to be the master-key. Among the eminent men who favoured his mission was Sü of Shanghai, whom he baptised by the name of Paul. Not only did he help Ricci to translate Euclid for a people ignorant of the first elements of geometry, but he boldly came to the defence of missionaries when it was proposed to expel them. His memorial in their favour is one of the best documents in the defence of Christianity. Among the converts to the Christian faith there are no brighter names than Paul Sü and his daughter Candida. The Ming dynasty compares favourably in point of duration with most of the imperial houses that preceded it; but long before the middle of its third century it began to show signs of decay. In Korea [Page 139] it came into collision with the Japanese, and emerged with more credit than did its successor from a war with the same foe, which began on the same ground three centuries later. In the northeast the Mings were able to hold the Manchus at bay, notwithstanding an occasional foray; but a disease of the heart was sapping the vigour of the dynasty and hastening its doom. Rebellion became rife; and two of the aspirants to the throne made themselves masters of whole provinces. One depopulated Szechuen; the other ravaged Shansi and advanced on Peking. Chungchen, the last of the Mings, realising that all was lost, hanged himself in his garden on the Palatine Hill, after stabbing his daughter, as a last proof of paternal affection (1643). [Page 140] CHAPTER XXVI THE TA-TS'ING DYNASTY, 1644-- _The Manchus, Invited to Aid in Restoring Order, Seat their Own Princes on the Throne--the Traitor, General Wu San-kwei--Reigns of Shunchi and Kanghi--Spread of Christianity--A Papal Blunder--Yung-cheng Succeeded by Kieñlung, who Abdicates Rather than Reign Longer than his Grandfather--Era of Transformation_ The Manchus had been preparing for some generations for a descent on China. They had never forgotten that half the Empire had once been in the possession of their forefathers, the Kin Tartars; and after one or two abortive attempts to recover their heritage they settled themselves at Mukden and watched their opportunity. It came with the fall of the Mings. Wu San-kwei, a Chinese general whose duty it was to keep them in bounds, threw open the gate of the Great Wall and invoked their assistance to expel the successful rebel. His family had been slaughtered in the fall of the capital; he thirsted for revenge, and without doubt indulged the hope of founding a dynasty. The Manchus agreed to his terms, and, combining their forces with his, advanced on Peking. Feeling himself unable to hold the city, the rebel chief burnt [Page 141] his palace and retreated, after enjoying the imperial dignity ten days. General Wu offered to pay off his mercenaries and asked them to retire beyond the Wall. Smiling at his simplicity, they coolly replied that it was for him to retire or to enter their service. It was the old story of the ass and the stag. An ass easily drove a stag from his pasture-ground by taking a man on his back; but the man remained in the saddle. Forced to submit, the General employed his forces to bring his people into subjection to their hereditary enemy. Rewarded with princely rank, and shielded by the reigning house, he has escaped the infamy which he deserved at the hands of the historians. A traitor to his country, he was also a traitor to his new masters. He died in a vain attempt at counter-revolution. The new dynasty began with Shunchi, a child of six years, his uncle the Prince Hwai acting as regent. Able and devoted, this great man, whom the Manchus call Amawang, acquitted himself of his task in a manner worthy of the model regent, the Duke of Chou. His task was not an easy one. He had to suppress contending factions, to conciliate a hostile populace, and to capture many cities which refused to submit. In seven years he effected the subjugation of the eighteen provinces, everywhere imposing the tonsure and the "pigtail" as badges of subjection. Many a myriad of the Chinese forfeited their heads by refusing to sacrifice their glossy locks; but the conquest was speedy, and possession secure. The success of the Manchus was largely due to the fact that they found the empire exhausted by internal [Page 142] strife and came as deliverers. The odium of overturning the Ming dynasty did not rest on them. While at Mukden they had cultivated the language and letters of the "Inner land" and they had before them, for guidance or warning, the history of former conquests. They have improved on their predecessors, whether Kins or Mongols; and with all their faults they have given to China a better government than any of her native dynasties. Shunchi (1644-1662) passed off the stage at the age of twenty-four and left the throne to a son, Kanghi (1662-1723), who became the greatest monarch in the history of the Empire. During his long reign of sixty-one years, Kanghi maintained order in his wide domain, corrected abuses in administration, and promoted education for both nationalities. It is notable that the most complete dictionary of the Chinese language bears the imprimatur of Kanghi, a Tartar sovereign. For his fame in the foreign world, Kanghi is largely indebted to the learned missionaries who enjoyed his patronage, though he took care to distinguish between them and their religion. The latter had been proscribed by the regents, who exercised supreme power during his minority. Their decree was never revoked; and persecution went on in the provinces, without the least interference from the Emperor. Still his patronage of missionaries was not without influence on the status of Christianity in his dominions. It gained ground, and before the close of his reign it had a following of over three hundred thousand converts. Near the close of his reign he pointedly condemned [Page 143] the foreign faith, and commanded the expulsion of its propagators, except a few, who were required in the Board of Astronomy. The favourable impression made by Ricci had been deepened by Schaal and Verbiest. The former under Shunchi reformed the calendar and obtained the presidency of the Astronomical Board. He also cast cannon to aid the Manchu conquest. The latter did both for Kanghi, and filled the same high post. Schaal employed his influence to procure the building of two churches in Peking. Verbiest made use of his to spread the faith in the provinces. The Church might perhaps have gained a complete victory, had not dissensions arisen within her own ranks. Dominicans and Franciscans entering the field denounced their forerunners for having tolerated heathen rites and accepted heathen names for God. After prolonged discussions and contradictory decrees the final verdict went against the Jesuits. In this decision the Holy See seems not to have been guided by infallible wisdom. Kanghi, whose opinion had been requested by the Jesuits, asserted that by _Tien_ and _Shang-ti_ the Chinese mean the Ruler of the Universe, and that the worship of Confucius and of ancestors is not idolatry, but a state or family ceremony. By deciding against his views, the Pope committed the blunder of alienating a great monarch, who might have been won by a liberal policy. The prohibition of the cult of ancestors--less objectionable in itself than the worship of saints--had the effect of arming every household against a faith that aimed to subvert their family altars. The dethronement of _Shang-ti_ (a name accepted by [Page 144] most Protestant missionaries) and the substitution of _Tien Chu_, could not fail to shock the best feelings of devout people. _Tien Chu_, if not a new coinage, was given by papal fiat an artificial value, equivalent to "Lord of all"--whereas it had previously headed a list of divisional deities, such as Lord of Heaven, Lord of Earth, Lord of the Sea, etc. What wonder that for two centuries Christianity continued to be a prohibited creed! The ground thus lost by a papal blunder it has never regained. The acceptance of _Tien_ and _Shang-ti_ by Protestants might perhaps do something to retrieve the situation, if backed by some form of respect for ancestors. Kanghi was succeeded by his son Yungcheng (1722-1736), who was followed by Kienlung (1736-1796), during whose reign the dynasty reached the acme of splendour. Under Kienlung, Turkestan was added to the empire. The Grand Lama of Tibet was also enrolled as a feudatory; but he never accepted the laws of China, and no doubt considered himself repaid by spiritual homage. No territory has since been added, and none lost, if we except the cession of Formosa to Japan and of Hong Kong to Great Britain. The cessions of seaports to other powers are considered as temporary leases. After a magnificent reign of sixty years, Kienlung abdicated in favour of his fifth son, Kiak'ing, for the whimsical reason that he did not wish to reign longer than his grandfather. In Chinese eyes this was sublime. Why did they not enact a law that no man should surpass the longevity of his father? As to Kiak'ing, who occupied the throne for twenty-four [Page 145] years, weak and dissolute is a summary of his character. The next four reigns came under the influence of new forces. They belong to the era of transformation, and may properly be reserved for Part III. [Page 147] PART III CHINA IN TRANSFORMATION [Page 149] CHAPTER XXVII THE OPENING OF CHINA, A DRAMA IN FIVE ACTS--GOD IN HISTORY _Prologue--Act 1, the Opium War--(Note on the Taiping Rebellion)--Act 2, the "Arrow" War--Act 3, War with France--Act 4, War with Japan--Act 5, the Boxer War_ PROLOGUE If one were asked to name the most important three events that took place in Asia in the last century, he could have no hesitation in pointing to the extension of the Indian Empire and the renovation of Japan as two of them. But where would he look for the third? Possibly to some upheaval in Turkey, Persia, or Asiatic Russia. In my opinion, however, China is the only country whose history supplies the solution of the problem. The opening of that colossal empire to unrestricted intercourse with other countries was not a gradual evolution from within--it was the result of a series of collisions between the conservatism of the extreme Orient and the progressive spirit of the Western world. Each of those collisions culminated in a war, giving rise to a cloud of ephemeral literature, in which a student might easily lose his way, and which it would [Page 150] require the lifetime of an antediluvian to exhaust. I think, therefore, that I shall do my readers a service if I set before them a concise outline of each of those wars, together with an account of its causes and consequences. Not only will this put them on their guard against misleading statements; it will also furnish them with a syllabus of the modern history of China in relation to her intercourse with other nations. During the past seven decades the Chinese Empire has been no less than five times in conflict with foreign powers; and on each occasion her policy has undergone a modification more or less extensive. Taking these five conflicts seriatim--without touching on those internal commotions whose rise and fall resembles the tides of the ocean--I shall ask my readers to think of the Flowery Land as a stage on which, within the memory of men now living, a tragedy in five acts has been performed. Its subject was the Opening of China; and its first act was the so-called Opium War (1839-42). Prior to 1839 the Central Empire, as the Chinese proudly call their country, with a population nearly equal to that of Europe and America combined, was hermetically sealed against foreign intercourse, except at one point, viz., the "Factories" at Canton. This state of things is depicted with a few masterstrokes in a popular work in Chinese entitled "Strange Stories of an Idle Student." The first of these tales describes a traveller meeting in the mountains an old man, in the costume of a former dynasty, whose family had there sought a refuge from the anarchy that preceded the fall of the imperial house. This [Page 151] old fellow had not even heard of the accession of the Manchu conquerors; and though he was eager for information, he disappeared without giving any clue to the Sleepy Hollow in which he was hiding. The author no doubt intended a quiet satire on the seclusion of China, that had nothing to ask of the outside world but to be let alone. Another of the sketches, which is no satire, but a cautionary hint--perhaps an unconscious prophecy--is entitled "The Magic Carpet of the Red-haired," a vulgar designation for Europeans, in contrast with the Chinese, who style themselves the "Black-haired race." During the former dynasty, it says, a ship arrived from some unknown country, and those aboard desired to engage in commerce. Their request was refused; but when they asked permission to dry their goods on shore, requiring for that purpose no more ground than they could cover with a carpet, their petition was readily granted. The carpet was spread, and the goods were exposed to the sun; then, taking the carpet by its four corners, they stretched it so that it covered several acres. A large body of armed men then planted themselves on it, and striking out in every direction took possession of the country. This elastic carpet reminds one of Dido's bull's hide, which covered space enough for the foundation of Carthage. ACT 1. THE OPIUM WAR, 1839-1842 The Tartars, who began their conquest in 1644, were naturally suspicious of other foreigners who had secured a foothold in India, where the Great Mogul, a scion [Page 152] of their own race, still held nominal sway. The trading-posts, which the Chinese emperors had permitted foreigners to open as far north as Ningpo, were closed, and only one point of tangency was allowed to remain--the above-mentioned Factories at Canton, a spot, as we shall see, large enough to admit of the spreading of a "magic carpet." Foreign trade was at that time insignificant, in comparison with the enormous expansion which it has now attained. It was mainly in the hands of the British, as it still continues to be; and no small part of it consisted in opium from the poppy-fields of India. Though under the ban of prohibition, this drug was smuggled into every bay and inlet, with scarcely a pretence of concealment. With the introduction of the vicious opium habit the British had nothing to do; but they contrived to turn it to good account. The Emperor Tao Kwang, moved, it is said, by the unhappy fate of one of his sons who had fallen a victim to the seductive poison, resolved at all hazards to put a stop to a traffic so ruinous to his people. Commissioner Lin, a native of Foochow, was transferred from the viceroyalty of Wuchang to that of Canton and clothed with plenary powers for the execution of this decree. To understand the manner in which he undertook to execute the will of his master it must be remembered that diplomatic intercourse had as yet no existence in China, because she considered herself as sustaining to foreign nations no other relation than that of a suzerain to a vassal. Her mandarins scorned to hold direct communication with any of the superintendents of foreign commerce--receiving [Page 153] petitions and sending mandates through the hong merchants, thirteen native firms which had purchased a monopoly of foreign trade. In 1834 Lord Napier was appointed to the humble position of superintendent of British trade in China, He arrived at Macao on July 15 of that year, and announced his appointment by a letter to the prefect, which was handed for transmission to the commander of the city gate of Canton--a barrier which no foreigner was permitted to pass. The letter was returned through the brokers without any answer other than a line on the cover informing the "barbarian eye" (consul) that the document was "tossed back" because it was not superscribed with the character _pin_ (or _ping_), which signifies a "humble petition." This was the beginning of sorrows for China as well as for poor Napier, who, failing in his efforts to communicate with the mandarins on equal terms, retired to the Portuguese settlement of Macao and died of disappointment. The eminent American statesman, John Quincy Adams, speaking in later years of the war that ensued, declared that its cause was not opium but a _pin_, i. e., an insolent assumption of superiority on the part of China. The irrepressible conflict provoked by these indignities was precipitated in 1839 by the action of the new viceroy, who undertook to effect a summary suppression of the traffic in opium. One morning shortly after his arrival, the foreigners at Canton, who were always locked up at night for their own safety, awoke to find themselves surrounded by a body of soldiers and threatened with indiscriminate [Page 154] slaughter unless they surrendered the obnoxious drug, stored on their opium hulks, at an anchorage outside the harbour. While they were debating as to what action to take, Captain Charles Elliot, the new superintendent, came up from Macao and bravely insisted on sharing the duress of his countrymen. Calling the merchants together he requested them to surrender their opium to him, to be used in the service of the Queen as a ransom for the lives of her subjects, assuring them that Her Majesty's Government would take care that they should be properly indemnified. Twenty thousand chests of opium were handed over to the viceroy (who destroyed the drug by mixing it with quicklime in huge vats); and the prisoners were set at liberty. The viceroy fondly imagined that the incident was closed, and flattered himself that he had gained an easier victory than he could have done by sending his junks against the armed ships of the smugglers. Little did he suspect that he had lighted a slow-match, that would blow up the walls of his own fortress and place the throne itself at the mercy of the "barbarian." A strong force was despatched to China to exact an indemnity, for which the honour of the Crown had been pledged, and to punish the Chinese for the cut-throat fashion in which they had sought to suppress a prohibited trade. The proud city of Canton averted a bombardment by paying a ransom of $6,000,000; islands and seaports were occupied by British troops as far north as the River Yang-tse; and Nanking, the ancient capital, was only saved from falling into their [Page 155] hands by the acceptance of such conditions of peace as Sir Henry Pottinger saw fit to impose. Those conditions were astonishingly moderate for a conqueror who, unembarrassed by the interests of other powers, might have taken the whole empire. They were, besides payment for the destroyed drug, the opening of five ports to British trade, and the cession to Great Britain of Hong Kong, a rocky islet which was then the abode of fishermen and pirates, but which to-day claims to outrank all the seaports of the world in the amount of its tonnage. Not a word, be it noted, about opening up the vast interior, not a syllable in favour of legalising the opium traffic, or tolerating Christianity. So much for the charge that this war, which bears a malodorous name, was waged for the purpose of compelling China to submit to the continuance of an immoral traffic. That a smuggling trade would go on with impunity was no doubt foreseen and reckoned on by interested parties; but it is morally certain that if the Chinese had understood how to deal with it they might have rid themselves of the incubus without provoking the discharge of another shot. Here ends the first act, in 1842; and in it I may claim a personal interest from the fact that my attention was first turned to China as a mission field by the boom of British cannon in the Opium War. China was not opened; but five gates were set ajar against her will. For that she has to thank the pride and ignorance of emperor and viceroy which betrayed them into the blunder of dealing with British merchants as a policeman deals with pickpockets. For the first [Page 156] time in her history she was made aware of the existence of nations with which she would have to communicate on a footing of equality. The moderation and forbearance of Pottinger in refraining from demanding larger concessions, and in leaving the full consequences of this war to be unfolded by the progress of time, may fairly challenge comparison with the politic procedure of Commodore Perry in dealing with Japan in 1854. One may ask, too, would Japan have come to terms so readily if she had not seen her huge neighbour bowing to superior force? * * * * * An important consequence of the Opium War was the outbreak of rebellions in different parts of the Empire. The prestige of the Tartars was in the dust. Hitherto deemed invincible, they had been beaten by a handful of foreigners. Was not this a sure sign that their divine commission had been withdrawn by the Court of Heaven? If so, might it not be possible to wrest the sceptre from their feeble grasp, and emancipate the Chinese race? Private ambition was kindled at the prospect, and patriotism was invoked to induce the people to make common cause. Three parties entered the field: the Tai-pings of the South, the "Red-haired" on the seacoast, and the Nienfi in the north. Neither of the latter two deserves notice; but the first-named made for themselves a place in history which one is [Page 157] not at liberty to ignore, even if their story were less romantic than it is. It will be convenient to introduce here the following note on the Tai-ping rebellion. THE TAI-PING REBELLION In 1847 a young man of good education and pleasing manners, named Hung Siu-tsuen, presented himself at the American Baptist mission in Canton, saying he had seen their sacred book and desired instruction. This he received from the Rev. Issachar Roberts; and he was duly enrolled as a catechumen. Without receiving the sealing ordinance, or taking his instructor into confidence, Siu-tsuen returned to his home at Hwa-hien and began to propagate his new creed. His talents and zeal won adherents, whom he organised into a society called _Shang-ti-hwui_, "the Church of the supreme God." Persecution transformed it into a political party, to which multitudes were attracted by a variety of motives. Following the early Church, in the absence of any modern model, his converts expected and received spiritual gifts. Shall we describe such manifestations as hysteria, hypnotism, or hypocrisy? Their fanaticism was contagious, especially after their flight to the mountains of Kwangsi. There Siu-tsuen boldly raised the flag of rebellion and proclaimed that he had a divine call to restore the throne to the Chinese race, and to deliver the people from the curse of idolatry. In this twofold crusade he was ably seconded by one Yang, who possessed all the qualities of a successful hierophant. Shrewd and calculating, Yang was able [Page 158] at will to bring on cataleptic fits, during which his utterances passed for the words of the Holy Ghost. The new empire which they were trying to establish, they called _Tai-ping Tien-kwoh_, "The Kingdom of Heaven and the reign of peace." Hung was emperor, to be saluted with _Wansue!_ (Japanese, _Banzai!_) "10,000 years!" Yang as prince-premier was saluted with "9,000 years," nine-tenths of a banzai. He was the medium of communication with the Court of Heaven; and all their greater movements were made by command of Shang-ti, the Supreme Ruler. On one occasion Yang went into a trance and declared that Shang-ti was displeased by something done by his chief, and required the latter to receive a castigation on his naked shoulders. The chief submitted, whether from credulity or from policy it might not be easy to say; but thereby the faith of his followers seems to have been confirmed rather than shaken. Nor did Yang take advantage of his chief's disgrace to usurp his place or to treat him as a puppet. Through Yang it was revealed that they were to leave their mountain fortress and strike for Nanking, which had been made the capital on the expulsion of the Mongols, and which was destined to enjoy the same dignity on the overthrow of the Manchus. That programme, one of unexampled daring, was promptly put into execution. Descending into the plains of Hunan, like a mountain torrent they swept everything before them and began their march towards the central stronghold fifteen hundred miles distant. Striking the "Great River" at Hankow, they pillaged [Page 159] the three rich cities Wuchang, Hanyang, and Hankow, and, seizing all the junks, committed themselves to its current without a doubt as to the issue of their voyage. Nanking was carried by assault despite the alleged impregnability of its ramparts, and despite also a garrison of 25,000 Manchus. These last must have fought with the fury of despair; for they well knew what fate awaited them. Not one was spared to tell the tale--this was in 1853. There the Tai-pings held their ground for ten years; and it is safe to affirm that without the aid of foreign missionaries they never would have been dislodged. The second part of their enterprise--the expulsion of the Manchus from Peking--ended in defeat. A strong detachment was sent north by way of the Grand Canal. At first they met with great success--no town or city was able to check their progress, which resembled Napoleon's invasion of Russia. At the beginning of winter they were met by a strong force under the Mongol prince Sengkolinsin; then came the more dreaded generals--January and February. Unable to make headway, they went into winter quarters, and committed the blunder of dividing themselves between two towns, where they were besieged and cut off in detail. In the meantime the eyes of the world were turned toward Nanking. Ships of war were sent to reconnoitre and Consul T. T. Meadows, who accompanied the _Hermes_, made a report full of sympathy; but the failure of their expedition to the north deterred the nation from any formal recognition of the Tai-ping government. [Page 160] Missionaries were attracted by their profession of Christianity. Among others, I made an unsuccessful attempt to reach them. Unable to induce my boatmen to run the blockade, I returned home and took up the pen in their defence. My letters were well received, but they did not prevent soldiers of fortune, like the American Frederick G. Ward and Colonel Gordon of the British army, throwing their swords into the scale. Two Sabbatarians hearing that the rebels observed Saturday for their day of rest, posted off to confirm them in that ancient usage. Learning at an outpost that the seeming agreement with their own practice grew out of a mistake in reckoning, they did not continue their journey. A missionary who actually penetrated to the rebel headquarters was the Rev. Issachar Roberts, the first instructor of the rebel chief. The latter had sent him a message inviting him to court. His stay was not long. He found that his quondam disciple had substituted a new mode of baptism, neither sprinkling nor immersion, but washing the pit of the stomach with a towel dipped in warm water! Who says the Chinese are not original? It is probable that Roberts's dispute lay deeper than a mere ceremony. Professing a New Testament creed, the rebel chief shaped his practice on Old Testament examples--killing men as ruthlessly as David, and, like Solomon, filling his harem with women. A remonstrance on either head was certain to bring danger; it was said indeed that Roberts's life was threatened. Some queer titles were adopted by the Tai-pings. [Page 161] As stated above, the premier was styled "Father of 9,000 years"; other princes had to content themselves with 7,000, 6,000, etc.--or seven-tenths and six-tenths of a "Live forever!" Christ was the "Heavenly Elder Brother"; and the chief called himself "Younger Brother of Jesus Christ." These designations might excite a smile; but when he called Yang, his adviser, the "Holy Ghost," one felt like stopping one's ears, as did the Hebrews of old. The loose morals of the Tai-pings and their travesty of sacred things horrified the Christian world; and Gordon no doubt felt that he was doing God a service in breaking up a horde of blasphemers and blackguards. Gordon's victory won an earldom for Li Hung Chang; but the Chinese conferred no posthumous honours on Gordon as they did on Ward, who has a temple and is reckoned among the gods of the empire. The Tai-pings were commonly called Changmao, "long-haired" rebels, because they rejected the tonsure and "pigtail" as marks of subjection. They printed at Nanking, by what they called "Imperial authority," an edition of the Holy Scriptures. At one time Lord Elgin, disgusted by the conduct of the Peking Government, proposed to make terms with the court at Nanking. The French minister refused to coöperate, partly because the rebels had not been careful to distinguish between the images in Roman Catholic chapels and those in pagan temples, but chiefly from an objection to the ascendency of Protestant influence, coupled with a fear of losing the power that comes from a protectorate of Roman Catholic missions. How different would have been [Page 162] the future of China had the allied powers backed up the Tai-pings against the Manchus! * * * * * ACT 2. THE "ARROW" WAR, 1857-1860 Of the second act in this grand drama on the world's wide stage, a vessel, named the _Arrow_, was, like opium in the former conflict, the occasion, not the cause. The cause was, as before, pride and ignorance on the part of the Chinese, though the British are not to be altogether exonerated. Their flag was compromised; and they sought to protect it. Fifteen years of profitable commerce had passed, during which China had been a double gainer, receiving light and experience in addition to less valuable commodities, when Viceroy Yeh seized the lorcha _Arrow_, on a charge of piracy. Though owned by Chinese, she was registered in Hong Kong, and sailed under the British flag. Had the viceroy handed her over to a British court for trial, justice would no doubt have been done to the delinquents, and the two nations would not have been embroiled; but, haughty as well as hasty, the viceroy declined to admit that the British Government had any right to interfere with his proceedings. Unfortunately (or fortunately) British interests at Canton were in the hands of Consul Parkes, afterward Sir Harry Parkes, the renowned plenipotentiary at Peking and Tokio. Sir John Bowring was governor of Hong Kong, with the oversight of British interests in the Empire. A gifted poet, and an enthusiastic advocate of universal peace, he was a man who might be counted on, if in [Page 163] the power of man, to hold the dogs of war in leash. But he, too, had been consul at Canton and he knew by experience the quagmire in which the best intentions were liable to be swamped. Parkes, whom I came to know as Her Britannic Majesty's minister in Peking, was the soul of honour, as upright as any man who walked the earth. But with all his rectitude, he, like the Viceroy Yeh, was irascible and unyielding. When the viceroy refused his demand for the rendition of the _Arrow_ and her crew, he menaced him with the weight of the lion's paw. Alarmed, but not cowed, the viceroy sent the prisoners in fetters to the consulate, instead of replacing them on board their ship; nor did he vouchsafe a word of courtesy or apology. Parkes, too fiery to overlook such contemptuous informality, sent them back, much as a football is kicked from one to another; and the viceroy, incensed beyond measure, ordered their heads to be chopped off without a trial. Here was a Gordian knot, which nothing but the sword could loose. War was provoked as before by the rashness of a viceroy. The peace-loving governor did not choose to swallow the affront to his country, nor did the occupant of the Dragon Throne deign to interfere; looking on the situation with the same sublime indifference with which the King of Persia regarded the warlike preparations of the younger Cyrus, when he supposed, as Xenophon tells us, that he was only going to fight out a feud with a neighbouring satrap. How could China be opened; how was a stable equilibrium possible so long as foreign powers were kept at a distance from the capital of the Empire? [Page 164] In three months the haughty viceroy was a prisoner in India, never to return, and his provincial capital was held by a garrison of British troops. On this occasion the old blunder of admitting the city to ransom was not repeated, else Canton might have continued to be a hotbed of seditious plots and anti-foreign hostilities. Parkes knew the people, and he knew their rulers also. He was accordingly allowed to have his own way in dealing with them. The viceroy being out of the way, he proposed to Pehkwei, the Manchu governor, to take his place and carry on the provincial government as if the two nations were at peace. Strange to say, the governor did not decline the task. That he did not was due to the fact that he disapproved the policy of the viceroy, and that he put faith in the assurance that Great Britain harboured no design against the reigning house or its territorial domain. To the surprise of the Chinese, who in their native histories find that an Asiatic conqueror always takes possession of as much territory as he is able to hold, it soon became evident that the Queen of England did not make war in the spirit of conquest. Her premier, Lord Palmerston, invited the coöperation of France, Russia, and the United States, in a movement which was expected to issue advantageously to all, especially to China. France, at that time under an ambitious successor of the great Napoleon, seized the opportunity to contribute a strong contingent, with the view of checkmating England and of obtaining for herself a free hand in Indo-China, possibly in China Proper also. For assuming a hostile [Page 165] attitude towards China, she found a pretext in the judicial murder of a missionary in Kwangsi, just as Germany found two of her missionaries similarly useful as an excuse for the occupation of Kiao-Chao in 1897. No wonder the Chinese have grown cautious how they molest a missionary; but they needed practical teaching before they learned the lesson. Unable to take a morsel of China as long as his powerful ally abstained from territorial aggrandisement, Louis Napoleon subsequently employed his troops to enlarge the borders of a small state which the French claimed in Annam, laying the foundation of a dominion which goes far to console them for the loss of India. America and Russia, having no wrongs to redress, declined to send troops, but consented to give moral support to a movement for placing foreign relations with China on a satisfactory basis. In the spring of 1858, the representatives of the four powers met at the mouth of the Peiho, coöperating in a loose sort of concert which permitted each one to carryon negotiations on his own account. As interpreter to the Hon. W. B. Reed, the American minister, I enjoyed the best of opportunities for observing what went on behind the scenes, besides being a spectator of more than one battle. The neutrals, arriving in advance of the belligerents, opened negotiations with the Viceroy of Chihli, which might have added supplementary articles, but must have left the old treaties substantially unchanged. The other envoys coming on the stage insisted that the viceroy should wear the title and be clothed with the powers of a plenipotentiary. When that was [Page 166] refused, as being "incompatible with the absolute sovereignty of the Emperor," they stormed the forts and proceeded to Tientsin where they were met by men whose credentials were made out in due form, though it is doubtful if their powers exceeded those of the crestfallen viceroy. A pitiful artifice to maintain their affectation of superiority was the placing of the names of foreign countries one space lower than that of China in the despatch announcing their appointment. When this covert insult was pointed out they apologised for a clerical error, and had the despatches rectified. The allies were able to dictate their own terms; and they got all they asked for, though, as will be seen, they did not ask enough. The rest of us got the same, though we had struck no blow and shed no blood. One article, known as "the most-favoured-nation clause" (already in the treaty of 1844), was all that we required to enable us to pick up the fruit when others shook the tree. Four additional seaports were opened, but Tienstin, where the treaties were drawn up, was not one of them. I remember hearing Lord Elgin, whose will was absolute, say that he was not willing to have it thrown open to commerce, because in that case it would be used to overawe the capital--just as if _overaweing_ were not the very thing needed to make a bigoted government enter on the path of progress. Never did a man in repute for statesmanship show himself more shortsighted. His blunder led to the renewal of the war, and its continuance for two more years. [Page 167] The next year when the envoys came to the mouth of the river, on their way to Peking to exchange ratified copies of their treaties, they found the forts rebuilt, the river closed, and access to the capital by way of Tientsin bluntly refused. In taking this action, the Chinese were not chargeable with a breach of faith; but the allies, feeling insulted at having the door shut in their faces, decided to force it open. They had a strong squadron; but their gunboats were no match for the forts. Some were sunk; others were beached; and the day ended in disastrous defeat. Though taking no part in the conflict the Americans were not indifferent spectators. Hearing that the British admiral was wounded, their commodore, the brave old Tatnall, went through a shower of bullets to express his sympathy, getting his boat shattered and losing a man on the way. When requested to lend a helping hand, he exclaimed "Blood is thicker than water;" and, throwing neutrality to the winds, he proceeded to tow up a flotilla of British barges. His words have echoed around the world; and his act, though impolitic from the viewpoint of diplomacy, had the effect of knitting closer the ties of two kindred nations. Seeing the repulse of the allies, the American minister, the Hon. J. E. Ward, resolved to accept an offer which they had declined, namely, to proceed to the capital by land under a Chinese escort. His country was pledged in the treaty, of which he was the bearer, to use her good offices on the occurrence of difficulties with other powers. Without cavilling at the prescribed route or mode of conveyance, he felt it his duty to present himself before the Throne as speedily [Page 168] as possible in the hope of averting a threatened calamity. For him, it was an opportunity to do something great and good; for China, it was the last chance to ward off a crushing blow. But so elated were the Chinese by their unexpected success that they were in no mood to accept the services of a mediator. The Emperor insisted that he should go on his knees like the tribute-bearer from a vassal state. "Tell them," said Mr. Ward, "that I go on my knees only to God and woman"--a speech brave and chivalrous, but undignified for a minister and unintelligible to the Chinese. With this he quitted the capital and left China to her fate. He was not the first envoy to meet a rude rebuff at the Chinese court. In 1816 Lord Amherst was not allowed to see the "Dragon's Face" because he refused to kneel. At that date England was not in a position to punish the insult; but it had something to do with the war of 1839. In 1859 it was pitiful to see a power whose existence was hanging in the scales alienate a friend by unseemly insolence. The following year (1860) saw the combined forces of two empires at the gates of Peking. The summer palace was laid in ashes to punish the murder of a company of men and officers under a flag of truce; and it continues to be an unsightly ruin. The Emperor fled to Tartary to find a grave; and throne and capital were for the first time at the mercy of an Occidental army. On the accession of Hien-feng, in 1850, an old counsellor advised him to make it his duty to "restore the restrictions all along the coast." His attempt to do this was one source of his misfortunes. Supplementary articles were signed within the walls, [Page 169] by which China relinquished her absurd pretensions, abandoned her long seclusion, and, at the instance of France, threw open the whole empire to the labours of Christian missions. They had been admitted by rescript to the Five Ports, but no further. Thus ends the second act of the drama; and a spectator must be sadly deficient in spiritual insight if he does not perceive the hand of God overruling the strife of nations and the blunders of statesmen. ACT 3. WAR WITH FRANCE The curtain rises on the third act of the drama in 1885. Peking was open to residence, and I had charge of a college for the training of diplomatic agents. I was at Pearl Grotto, my summer refuge near Peking, when I was called to town by a messenger from the Board of Foreign Affairs. The ministers informed me that the French had destroyed their fleet and seized their arsenal at Foochow. "This," they said, "is war. We desire to know how the non-combatants of the enemy are to be treated according to the rules of international law." I wrote out a brief statement culled from text-books, which I had myself translated for the use of the Chinese Government; but before I had finished writing a clerk came to say that the Grand Council wished to have it as soon as possible, as they were going to draw up a decree on the subject. The next day an imperial decree proclaimed a state of war and assured French people in China that if they refrained from taking part in any hostile act they might remain in their places, and count on full protection. Nobly did the government of the day redeem its pledge. [Page 170] Not a missionary was molested in the interior; and two French professors belonging to my own faculty were permitted to go on with the instruction of their classes. There was not much fighting. The French seized Formosa; and both parties were preparing for a trial of strength, when a seemingly unimportant occurrence led them to come to an understanding. A small steamer belonging to the customs service, employed in supplying the wants of lighthouses, having been taken by the French, Sir Robert Hart applied to the French premier, Jules Ferry, for its release. This was readily granted; and an intimation was at the same time given that the French would welcome overtures for a settlement of the quarrel. Terms were easily agreed upon and the two parties resumed the _status quo ante bellum_. So far as the stipulations were concerned neither party had gained or lost anything, yet as a matter of fact France had scored a substantial victory. She was henceforward left in quiet possession of Tongking, a principality which China had regarded as a vassal and endeavoured to protect. ACT 4. WAR WITH JAPAN China had not thoroughly learned the lesson suggested by this experience; for ten years later a fourth act in the drama grew out of her unwise attempt to protect another vassal. In 1894 the Japanese, provoked by China's interference with their enterprises in Korea, boldly drew the sword and won for themselves a place among the great powers. I was in Japan when the war broke [Page 171] out, and, being asked by a company of foreigners what I thought of Japan's chances, answered, "The swordfish can kill the whale." Not merely did the islanders expel the Chinese from the Korean peninsula, but they took possession of those very districts in Manchuria from which they have but yesterday ousted the Russians. Peking itself was in danger when Li Hung Chang was sent to the Mikado to sue for peace. Luckily for China a Japanese assassin lodged a bullet in the head of her ambassador; and the Mikado, ashamed of that cowardly act, granted peace on easy conditions. China's greatest statesman carried that bullet in his _dura mater_ to the end of his days, proud to have made himself an offering for his country, and rejoicing that one little ball had silenced the batteries of two empires. By the terms of the treaty, Japan was to be left in possession of Port Arthur and Liao-tung. But this arrangement was in fatal opposition to the policy of a great power which had already cast covetous eyes on the rich provinces of Manchuria. Securing the support of France and Germany, Russia compelled the Japanese to withdraw; and in the course of three years she herself occupied those very positions, kindling in the bosom of Japan the fires of revenge, and sowing the seeds of another war.[*] [Footnote *: The Russo-Japanese war lies outside of our present programme because China was not a party to it, though it involved her interests and even her existence. The subject will be treated in another chapter.] The effect of China's defeat at the hands of her despised neighbour, was, if possible, more profound than that of her humiliation by the English and [Page 172] French in 1860. She saw how the adoption of Western methods had clothed a small Oriental people with irresistible might; and her wisest statesmen set themselves to work a similar transformation in their antiquated empire. The young Emperor showed himself an apt pupil, issuing a series of reformatory edicts, which alarmed the conservatives and provoked a reaction that constitutes the last act in this tremendous drama. ACT 5. THE BOXER WAR The fifth act opens with the _coup d'état_ of the Empress Dowager, and terminates with the capture of Peking by the combined forces of the civilised world. Instead of attempting, even in outline, a narrative of events, it will be more useful to direct attention to the springs of action. It should be borne in mind that the late Emperor was the adopted son of the Dowager Empress. After the death of her own son, Tung-chi, who occupied the throne for eleven years under a joint regency of two empresses, his mother cast about for some one to adopt in his stead. With motives not difficult to divine she chose among her nephews an infant of three summers, and gave him the title _Kwangsu_, "Illustrious Successor." When he was old enough to be entrusted with the reins of government, she made a feint of laying down her power, in deference to custom. Yet she exacted of the imperial youth that he visit her at her country palace and throw himself at her feet once in five days--proof enough that she kept her hand on the helm, though she [Page 173] mitted her nephew to pose as steersman. She herself was noted for progressive ideas; and it was not strange that the young man, under the influence of Kang Yuwei, backed by enlightened viceroys, should go beyond his adoptive mother. Within three years from the close of the war he had proclaimed a succession of new measures which amounted to a reversal of the old policy; nor is it likely that she disapproved of any of them, until the six ministers of the Board of Rites, the guardians of a sort of Levitical law, besought her to save the empire from the horrors of a revolution. For her to command was to be obeyed. The viceroys were her appointees; and she knew they would stand by her to a man. The Emperor, though nominally independent, was not emancipated from the obligations of filial duty, which were the more binding as having been created by her voluntary choice. There was no likelihood that he would offer serious resistance; and it was certain that he would not be supported if he did. Coming from behind the veil, she snatched the sceptre from his inexperienced hand, as a mother takes a deadly weapon from a half-grown boy. Submitting to the inevitable he made a formal surrender of his autocratic powers and, confessing his errors, implored her "to teach him how to govern." This was in September, 1898. Stripped of every vestige of authority, the unhappy prince was confined, a prisoner of state, in a secluded palace where it was thought he would soon receive the present of a silken scarf as a hint to make way for a worthier successor. That his life was spared was no [Page 174] doubt due to a certain respect for the public sentiment of the world, to which China is not altogether insensible. He having no direct heir, the son of Prince Tuan was adopted by the Dowager as heir-apparent, evidently in expectation of a vacancy soon to be filled. Prince Tuan, hitherto unknown in the politics of the state, became, from that moment, the leader of a reactionary party. Believing that his son would soon be called to the throne by the demise of the Emperor, he put on all the airs of a _Tai-shang Hwang_, or "Father of an Emperor." Here again the _patria potestas_ comes in as a factor; and in the brief career of the father of the heir-apparent, it shows itself in its most exaggerated form. Under the influence of the reactionary clique, of which he was acknowledged chief, the Empress Dowager in her new regency was induced to repeal almost everything the Emperor had done in the way of reform. In her edict she said cynically: "It does not follow that we are to stop eating, because we have been choked!" Dislike to foreign methods engendered an ill-concealed hatred of foreigners; and just at this epoch occurred a series of aggressions by foreign powers, which had the effect of fanning that hatred into a flame. In the fall of 1897 Germany demanded the cession of Kiao-Chao, calling it a lease for 99 years. The next spring Russia under the form of a lease for 25 years obtained Port Arthur for the terminus of her long railway. England and France followed suit: one taking a _lease_ of Wei-hai-wei; the other, of Kwang-chou-wan. Though in every case the word "lease" [Page 175] was employed, the Chinese knew the transfer meant permanent alienation. A hue and cry was raised against what they described as the "slicing of the melon," and in Shantung, where the first act of spoliation had taken place, the Boxers, a turbulent society of long standing, were encouraged to wage open war against native Christians, foreigners and foreign products, including railways, telegraphs, and all sorts of merchandise. Not until those predatory bands had entered the metropolitan province, with the avowed object of pushing their way to Peking[*] did the legations take steps to strengthen their guards. A small reinforcement of 207 men luckily reached Peking a few days before the railway was wrecked. [Footnote *: On March 30, 1900, the following Boxer manifesto in jingling rhyme, was thrown into the London Mission, at Tientsin. It is here given in a prose version, taken from "A Flight for Life," by the Rev. J. H. Roberts, Pilgrim Press, Boston. "We Boxers have come to Tientsin to kill an foreign devils, and protect the Manchu dynasty. Above, there is the Empress Dowager on our side, and below there is Junglu. The soldiers of Yulu and Yuhien [governors of Shantung and Chihli] are an our men. When we have finished killing in Tientsin, we shall go to Peking. All the officials high and low will welcome us. Whoever is afraid let him quickly escape for his life."] With a view to protect the foreign settlement at Tientsin, then threatened by Boxers, the combined naval forces stormed the forts at the mouth of the river, and advanced to that rich emporium. The Court denounced this as an act of war, and ordered all foreigners to leave the capital within twenty-four hours. That meant slaughter at the hands of the Boxers. The foreign ministers protested, and [Page 176] endeavoured by prolonged negotiation to avoid compliance with the cruel order. On June 20, the German minister, Baron von Ketteler, was on his way to the Foreign Office to obtain an extension of time, when he was shot dead in the street by a man in the uniform of a soldier. His secretary, though wounded, gave the alarm; and all the legations, with all their respective countrymen, took refuge in the British Legation, with the exception of Bishop Favier and his people who, with the aid of forty marines, bravely defended themselves in the new cathedral. In the evening we were fired on by the Government troops, and from that time we were closely besieged and exposed to murderous attacks day and night for eight weeks, when a combined force under the flags of eight nations carried the walls by storm, just in time to prevent such a massacre as the world has never seen. Massacres on a larger scale have not been a rare spectacle; but never before in the history of the world had any government been seen attempting to destroy an entire diplomatic body, every member of whom is made sacred by the law of nations.[*] [Footnote *: AN APPEAL FROM THE LION'S DEN (Written four weeks before the end of the siege, this appeal failed to reach the outside world. It is now printed for the first time. Nothing that I could now write would show the situation with half such vividness. It reveals the scene as with a lightning flash.) "British Legation, July 16, 1900. "TO THE CHRISTIAN WORLD "On the 19th ult. the Chinese declared war on account of the attack on the forts at Taku. Since then we have been shut up in the British Legation and others adjacent, and bombarded day and night with shot and shell. The defence has been magnificent. About 1,000 foreigners (of both sexes) have held their ground against the forces of the Empire. Some thousands of Chinese converts are dependent on us for protection. The City Wall near the legations is held by our men, but the Chinese are forcing them back and driving in our outposts. The mortality in our ranks is very great; and unless relief comes soon we must all perish. Our men have fought bravely, and our women have shown sublime courage. May this terrible sacrifice prove not to be in vain! We are the victims of pagan fanaticism. Let this pagan empire be partitioned among Christian powers, and may a new order of things open on China with a new century! "The chief asylum for native Christians is the Roman Catholic Cathedral, where Bishop Favier aided by forty marines gives protection to four or five thousand. The perils of the siege have obliterated the lines of creed and nation, making a unity, not merely of Christians, but bringing the Japanese into brotherhood with us. To them the siege is a step toward Christianity." "(Signed) DR. W. A. P. MARTIN."] [Page 177] On August 14 Gen. Gaseles and his contingent entered the British Legation. The Court, conscious of guilt, fled to the northwest, leaving the city once more at the mercy of the hated foreigner; and so the curtain falls on the closing scene. What feats of heroism were performed in the course of those eventful weeks; how delicate women rose to the height of the occasion in patient endurance and helpful charity; how international jealousies were merged in the one feeling of devotion to the common good--all this and more I should like to relate for the honour of human nature. How an unseen power appeared to hold our enemies in check and to sustain the courage of the besieged, I would also like to place on record, to the glory of the Most High; but space fails for dealing with anything but general principles.[1] [Footnote 1: See the author's "The Siege in Peking," New York: Fleming H. Revell Company.] On the day following our rescue, at a thanksgiving meeting, which was largely attended, Dr. Arthur [Page 178] Smith pointed out ten instances--most of us agreed that he might have made the number ten times ten--in which the providence of God had intervened on our behalf. It was a role of an ancient critic that a god should not be brought on the stage unless the occasion were such as to require the presence of a more than human power. _Nec deus intersit nisi dignus vindice nodus._ How many such occasions we have had to notice in the course of this narrative! What a theodicæa we have in the result of all this tribulation! We see at last, a government convinced of the folly of a policy which brought on such a succession of disastrous wars. We see missionaries and native Christians fairly well protected throughout the whole extent of the Empire. We see, moreover, a national movement in the direction of educational reform, which, along with the Gospel of Christ, promises to impart new life to that ancient people. The following incident may serve to show the state of uncertainty in which we lived during the interregnum preceding the return of the Court. While waiting for an opportunity to get my "train (the university) on the track," I spent the summer of 1901 at Pearl Grotto, my usual retreat, on the top of a hill over a thousand feet high, overlooking the capital. "The Boxers are coming!" cried my writer and servants one evening about twilight. "Haste--hide in the rocks--they will soon be on us!" "I shall not hide," I replied; and seizing my rifle I rested it on a wall which commanded the approach. They soon became visible at the distance of a hundred yards, [Page 179] waving flambeaux, and yelling like a troop of devils. Happily I reserved my fire for closer range; for leaving the path at that point they betook themselves to the top of another hill where they waved their torches and shouted like madmen. We were safe for the night; and in the morning I reported the occurrence to Mr. O'Conor, the British chargé d'affaires, who was at a large temple at the foot of the hills. "They were not Boxers," he remarked, "but a party we sent out _to look for a lost student_." POSTSCRIPT It is the fashion to speak slightingly of the Boxer troubles, and to blink the fact that the movement which led to the second capture of Peking and the flight of the Court was a serious war. The southern viceroys had undertaken to maintain order in the south. Operations were therefore localised somewhat, as they were in the Russo-Japanese War. It is even said that the combined forces were under the impression that they were coming to the rescue of a helpless government which was doing all in its power to protect foreigners. Whether this was the effect of diplomatic dust thrown in their eyes or not, _it was a fiction_. How bitterly the Empress Dowager was bent on exterminating the foreigner, may be inferred from her decree ordering the massacre of foreigners and their adherents--a savage edict which the southern satraps refused to obey. A similar inference may be drawn from the summary execution of four ministers of state for remonstrating against throwing in the fortunes of the empire with the Boxer party. China [Page 180] should be made to do penance on her knees for those shocking displays of barbarism. At Taiyuan-fu, forty-five missionaries were murdered by the governor, and sixteen at Paoting-fu. Such atrocities are only possible among a _half-civilised people_. [Page 181] CHAPTER XXVIII THE RUSSO-JAPANESE WAR _Russia's Schemes for Conquest--Conflicting Interests in Korea--Hostilities Begin--The First Battles--The Blockade--Dispersion of the Russian Fleet--Battle of Liao-yang--Fall of Port Arthur--Battle of Mukden--The Armada--Battle of Tsushima--The Peace of Portsmouth--The Effect on China_ To the Chinese the retrospect of these five wars left little room for those pompous pretensions which appeared to be their vital breath. Beaten by Western powers and by the new power of the East, their capital taken a second time after forty years' opportunity to fortify it, and their fugitive court recalled a second time to reign on sufferance or during good behaviour, what had they left to boast of except the antiquity of their country and the number of their people? Dazed and paralysed, most of them gave way to a sullen resignation that differed little from despair. There were, indeed, a few who, before things came to the worst, saw that China's misfortunes were due to folly, not fate. Ignorant conservatism had made her weak; vigorous reform might make her strong. But another war was required to turn the feeling of the few into a conviction of the many. This change was [Page 182] accomplished by a war waged within their borders but to which they were not a party--a war which was not an act in their national drama, but a spectacle for which they furnished the stage. That spectacle calls for notice in the present work on account of its influence on the destinies of China. For the springs of action it will be necessary to go back three centuries, to the time when Yermak crossed the Ural Mountains and made Russia an Asiatic power. The conquest of Siberia was not to end in Siberia. Russia saw in it a chance to enrich herself at the expense of weaker neighbours. What but that motive led her, in 1858, to demand the Manchurian seacoast as the price of neutrality? What but that led her to construct the longest railway in the world? What but that impelled her to seek for it a second terminus on the Gulf of Pechili? The occupation of Port Arthur and Liao-tung by the Japanese, in 1895, was a checkmate to Russia's little game; and, supported by France and Germany, she gave her notice to quit. During the Boxer War of 1900, Russia increased her forces in Manchuria to provide for the eventualities of a probable break-up, and after the peace her delay in fulfilling her promise of evacuation was tantamount to a refusal. Had the Russians confined their attention to Manchuria they might have continued to remain in possession; but another feeble state offered itself as a tempting prize. They set greedy eyes on Korea, made interest with an impoverished court, and obtained the privilege of navigating the Yalu and cutting [Page 183] timber on its banks. This proceeding, though explained by the requirements of railway construction, aroused the suspicion and jealousy of the Japanese. They knew it meant more than seeking an outlet for a lumber industry. They knew it portended vassalage for Korea and ejection for themselves. Had they not made war on China ten years before because they could brook no rival in the peninsula? How could they tolerate the intrusion of Russia? Not merely were their interests in Korea at stake; every advance of Russia in that quarter, with Korea for vassal or ally, was a menace to the existence of Japan. The Japanese lost no time in entering a protest. Russia resorted to the Fabian policy of delay as before; but she was dealing with a people whose pride and patriotism were not to be trifled with. After protracted negotiations Japan sent an ultimatum in which she proposed to recognise Manchuria as Russia's sphere of influence, provided Russia would recognise Japanese influence as paramount in Korea. For a fortnight or more the Czar vouchsafed no reply. Accustomed to being waited on, he put the paper in his pocket and kept it there while every train on the railway was pouring fresh troops into Manchuria. Without waiting for a formal reply, or deigning to discuss modifications intended to gain time, the Japanese heard the hour strike and cleared for action. They are reproached for opening hostilities without first formally declaring war. In the age of chivalry a declaration of war was a solemn ceremony. A herald standing on the border read or recited his [Page 184] master's complaint and then hurled a spear across the boundary as an act of defiance. In later times nothing more than a formal announcement is required, except for the information of neutrals and the belligerents' own people. The rupture of relations leaves both parties free to choose their line of action. Japan, the newest of nations, naturally adopted the most modern method. Recalling her ambassador on February 6, 1904, Japan was ready to strike simultaneous blows at two points. On February 8, Admiral Uriu challenged two Russian cruisers at Chemulpo to come out and fight, otherwise he would attack them in the harbour. Steaming out they fired the first shots of the war, and both were captured or destroyed. A little later on the same day Admiral Togo opened his broadsides on the Russian fleet at Port Arthur, and resumed the attack the following morning. Without challenge or notification of any kind, his attack had the effect of a genuine surprise. The Russians, whether from confidence in their position or contempt for their enemy, were unprepared and replied feebly. They had seven battleships to Togo's six, but the big ships of Japan were supported by a flotilla of torpedo-boats which outnumbered those of Russia. These alert little craft did great execution. Creeping into the harbour while the bombardment kept the enemy occupied they sank two battleships and one armoured cruiser. Other Russian vessels were badly damaged; but, according to Togo's report, on the side of Japan not one vessel was incapacitated for actual service. Land forces, fully equipped and waiting for this [Page 185] special service, commenced operations without delay and began to cut off communication from the land side while Togo's squadron corked up every inlet from the sea. Alexieff, whose title of viceroy revealed the intentions of Russia in regard to Manchuria, taking alarm at the prospect of a siege, escaped to Harbin near the Siberian frontier--a safer place for headquarters. To screen his flight he made unwarrantable use of an ambulance train of the Red Cross Society. Disagreeing with General Kuropatkin as to the plan of campaign, he resigned the command of the army in April, and Kuropatkin was promoted to the vacant place. Beaten in several engagements on the Liao-tung peninsula, the Russians began to fall back, followed by the Japanese under Field-Marshal Oyama; and the siege of the fortress was prosecuted with unremitting vigour. By July the Japanese had secured possession of the outer line of forts, and, planting heavy guns on the top of a high hill, they were able to throw plunging shot into the bosom of the harbour. No longer safe at their inner anchorage, the Russian naval officers resolved to attempt to reach Vladivostok, where the combined squadrons might assume the offensive or at least be secure from blockade. Scarcely had they gained the open sea when (on August 10) the Japanese fell on them like a whirlwind and scattered their ships in all directions. A few reëntered the harbour to await their doom; two or three found their way to Vladivostok; two sought refuge at the German port of Tsing-tao; two put into Shanghai; and one continued its flight as far south as Saigon. [Page 186] One gunboat sought shelter at Chefoo, where I was passing my summer vacation. The Japanese, in hot pursuit, showed no more respect to the neutrality of China than they had shown to Korea. Boarding the fugitive vessel, they summoned the captain to surrender. He replied by seizing the Japanese officer in his arms and throwing himself into the sea. They were rescued; and the Japanese then carried off the boat under the guns of a Chinese admiral. Of this incident in its main features I was an eye-witness. I may add that we were near enough to bear witness to the fact of the siege; for, in the words of Helen Sterling: "We heard the boom of guns by day And saw their flash by night, And almost thought, tho' miles away, That we were in the fight. The Chinese admiral, feeling the affront to the Dragon flag and fearing that he would be called to account, promptly tendered his resignation. He was told to keep his place; and, by way of consoling him for his inaction, the Minister of Marine added, "You are not to blame for not firing on the Japanese. They are fighting our battles--we can't do anything against them." So much for Chinese neutrality in theory and in practice. Kuropatkin, like the Parthian, "most dreaded when in flight," renouncing any further attempt to break through the cordon which the Japanese had drawn around the doomed fortress, intrenched his forces in and around Liaoyang. His position was strong by [Page 187] nature, and he strengthened it by every device known to a military engineer; yet he was driven from it in a battle which lasted nine days. The Japanese, though not slow to close around his outposts, were too cautious to deliver their main attack until they could be certain of success. The combat thickened till, on August 24, cannon thundered along a line of forty miles. Outflanked by his assailants, the Russian general, perceiving that he must secure his communications on the north or sustain a siege, abandoned his ground and fell back on Mukden. In this, the greatest battle of the campaign thus far, 400,000 men were engaged, the Japanese, as usual, having a considerable majority. The loss of life was appalling. The Russian losses were reported at 22,000; and those of Japan could not have been less. Yet Liaoyang with all its horrors was only a prelude to a more obstinate conflict on a more extended arena. Without hope of succour by land, and without a fleet to bring relief by sea, the Russians defended their fortress with the courage of despair. Ten years before this date the Japanese under Field-marshal Oyama had carried this same stronghold almost by assault. Taking it in the rear, a move which the Chinese thought so contrary to the rules of war that they had neglected their landward defences, they were masters of the place on the morning of the third day. How different their reception on the present occasion! How changed the aspect! The hills, range after range, were now crowned with forts. Fifty thousand of Russia's best soldiers were behind those batteries, many of which were provided with casemates impenetrable [Page 188] to any ordinary projectile. General Stoessel, a man of science, courage and experience, was in command; and he held General Nogi with a force of sixty or seventy thousand at bay for eleven months. Prodigies of valour were performed on both sides, some of the more commanding positions being taken and retaken three or four times. When, in September, the besiegers got possession of Wolf Hill, and with plunging shot smashed the remnant of the fleet, they offered generous terms to the defenders. General Stoessel declined the offer, resolving to emulate Thermopylæ, or believing, perhaps, in the possibility of rescue. When, however, he saw the "203 Metre Hill" in their hands and knew his casemates would soon be riddled by heavy shot, in sheer despair he was forced to capitulate. This was on the first day of the new year (1905). His force had been reduced to half its original numbers, and of these no fewer than 14,000 were in hospital. General Stoessel has been censured for not holding out until the arrival of the armada; but what could the armada have done had it appeared in the offing? It certainly could not have penetrated the harbour, for in addition to fixed or floating mines it would have had to run the gauntlet of Togo's fleet and its doom would have been precipitated. One critic of distinction denounced Stoessel's surrender as "shameful"; but is it not a complete vindication that his enemies applaud his gallant defence, and that his own government was satisfied that he had done his duty.[*] [Footnote *: Since writing this I have read the finding of the court-martial. It has the air of an attempt to diminish the national disgrace by throwing blame on a brave commander.] [Page 189] The Russian commander had marked out a new camp at Mukden, the chief city of the province and the cradle of the Manchu dynasty. There he was allowed once more to intrench himself. Was this because the Japanese were confident of their ability to compel him again to retire, or were they occupied with the task of filling up their depleted ranks? If the latter was the cause, the Russians were doing the same; but near to their base and with full command of the sea, the Japanese were able to do it more expeditiously than their enemy. Yet with all their facilities they were not ready to move on his works until winter imposed a suspension of hostilities. On October 2 Kuropatkin published a boastful manifesto expressing confidence in the issue of the coming conflict--trusting no doubt to the help of the three generals, December, January, and February. Five months later, on March 8, 1905, he sent two telegrams to the Czar: the first said "I am surrounded;" the second, a few hours later, conveyed the comforting intelligence "the army has escaped." The Japanese, not choosing to encounter the rigours of a Manchurian winter, waited till the advent of spring. The air was mild and the streams spanned by bridges of ice. The manoeuvres need not be described here in detail. After more than ten days of continuous fighting on a line of battle nearly two hundred miles long, with scarcely less than a million of men engaged (Japanese in majority as before), the great Russian strategist broke camp and retired in good order. His army had escaped, but it had lost in killed and wounded 150,000. The losses of Japan amounted to 50,000. [Page 190] The greatest battle of this latest war, the Battle of Mukden was in some respects the greatest in modern history. In length of line, in numbers engaged, and in the resulting casualties its figures are double those of Waterloo. Once more by masterly strategy a rout was converted into a retreat; and the Russian army withdrew to the northwest. Weary of crawfish tactics the Czar appointed General Lineivitch to the chief command; and the ablest of the Russian generals was relieved of the duty of contriving ways of "escape." To cover the rear of a defeated force is always reckoned a post of honour; but it is not the sort of distinction that satisfies the ambition of a great commander. By dint of efforts and sacrifices an enormous fleet was assembled for the relief of Port Arthur. It sailed from Cronstadt on August 11, 1905, leaving the Baltic seaports unprotected save by the benevolent neutrality of the German Kaiser, who granted passage through his ship canal, although he knew the fleet was going to wage war on one of his friends. Part of the fleet proceeded via Suez, and part went round the Cape of Good Hope--to them a name of mockery. The ships moved leisurely, their commanders not doubting that Stoessel would be able to hold his ground; but scarcely had they reached a rendezvous which, by the favour of France, they had fixed in the waters adjacent to Madagascar, when they heard of the fall of Port Arthur. Of the annihilation of the fleet attached to the fortress, and of the destruction of a squadron coming to the rescue from the north they had previously learned. With what dismay did they [Page 191] now hear that the key of the ocean was lost. Almost at the same moment the last of Job's messengers arrived with the heavier tidings that Mukden, the key of the province, had been abandoned by a defeated army--stunning intelligence for a forlorn hope! Should they turn back or push ahead? Anxious question this for Admiral Rozhesvenski and his officers. Too late for Port Arthur, might they not reënforce Vladivostok and save it from a like fate? The signal to "steam ahead" was displayed on the flagship. Slowly and painfully, its propellers clogged by seaweed, its keels overgrown with barnacles, the grand armada crossed the Indian Ocean and headed northward for the China Sea. On May 27, steering for the Korean channel, it fell into a snare which a blind man ought to have been able to foresee. Togo's fleet had the freedom of the seas. Where could it be, if not in that very channel? Yet on the Russians went: "Unmindful of the whirlwind's sway That hushed in grim repose Expects his evening prey." The struggle was short and decisive--finished, it is said, in less than one hour. While Togo's battleships, fresh and in good condition, poured shot and shell into the wayworn strangers, his torpedo-boats, greatly increased in number, glided almost unobservedly among the enemy and launched their thunderbolts with fatal effect. Battleships and cruisers went down with all on board. The Russian flagship was disabled, and the admiral, severely wounded, was transferred [Page 192] to the hold of a destroyer. Without signals from their commander the vessels of the whole fleet fought or fled or perished separately; of 18,000 men, 1,000 escaped and 3,000 were made prisoners. What of the other 14,000? "Ask of the winds that far around With fragments strewed the sea." The much vaunted armada was a thing of the past; and Tsushima or, as Togo officially named it, the Battle of the Sea of Japan, has taken its place along with Trafalgar and Salamis. Tired of a spectacle that had grown somewhat monotonous, the world was clamorous for peace. The belligerents, hitherto deaf to every suggestion of the kind, now accepted an invitation from President Roosevelt and appointed commissioners to arrange the terms of a treaty. They met in August, 1905, at Portsmouth, New Hampshire, and after a good deal of diplomatic fencing the sword was sheathed. In the treaty, since ratified, Russia acknowledges Japan's exceptional position in Korea, transfers to Japan her rights in Port Arthur and Liao-tung, and hands over to Japan her railways in Manchuria. Both parties agree to evacuate Manchuria within eighteen months. Japan was obliged to waive her claim to a war indemnity and to allow Russia to retain half the island of Saghalien. Neither nation was satisfied with the terms, but both perceived that peace was preferable to the renewal of the struggle with all its horrors and uncertainties. For tendering the olive branch [Page 193] and smoothing the way for its acceptance, President Roosevelt merits the thanks of mankind.[*] Besides other advantages Japan has assured her position as the leading power of the Orient; but the greatest gainer will be Russia, if her defeat in the field should lead her to the adoption of a liberal government at home. [Footnote *: Since this was written a Nobel Peace Prize has justly been awarded to the President.] "Peace hath her victories, No less renowned than war." The Czar signified his satisfaction by making Witte the head of a reconstruction ministry and by conferring upon him the title of Count; and the Mikado showed his entire confidence in Baron Komura, notwithstanding some expressions of disappointment among the people, by assigning him the delicate task of negotiating a treaty with China. Though the attitude of China had been as unheroic as would have been Menelaus' had the latter declared neutrality in the Trojan war, the issue has done much to rouse the spirit of the Chinese people. Other wars made them feel their weakness: this one begot a belief in their latent strength. When they witnessed a series of victories on land and sea gained by the Japanese over one of the most formidable powers of the West, they exclaimed, "If our neighbour can do this, why may we not do the same? We certainly can if, like them, we break with the effete systems of the past. Let us take these island heroes for our schoolmasters." [Page 194] That war was one of the most momentous in the annals of history. It unsettled the balance of power, and opened a vista of untold possibilities for the yellow race. Not slow to act on their new convictions, the Chinese have sent a small army of ten thousand students to Japan--of whom over eight thousand are there now, while they have imported from the island a host of instructors whose numbers can only be conjectured. The earliest to come were in the military sphere, to rehabilitate army and navy. Then came professors of every sort, engaged by public or private institutions to help on educational reform. Even in agriculture, on which they have hitherto prided themselves, the Chinese have put themselves under the teaching of the Japanese, while with good reason they have taken them as teachers in forestry also. Crowds of Japanese artificers in every handicraft find ready employment in China. Nor will it be long before pupils and apprentices in these home schools will assume the rôle of teacher, while Chinese graduates returning from Japan will be welcomed as professors of a higher grade. This Japanning process, as it is derisively styled, may be somewhat superficial; but it has the recommendation of cheapness and rapidity in comparison with depending on teachers from the West. It has, moreover, the immense advantage of racial kinship and example. Of course the few students who go to the fountain-heads of science--in the West--must when they return home take rank as China's leading teachers. All this inclines one to conclude that a rapid transformation in this ancient empire is to be counted on. [Page 195] The Chinese will soon do for themselves what they are now getting the Japanese to do for them. Japanese ideas will be permanent; but the direct agency of the Japanese people will certainly become less conspicuous than it now is. To the honour of the Japanese Government, the world is bound to acknowledge that the island nation has not abused its victories to wring concessions from China. In fact to the eye of an unprejudiced observer it appears that in unreservedly restoring Manchuria Japan has allowed an interested neutral to reap a disproportionate share of the profits. [Page 196] CHAPTER XXIX REFORM IN CHINA _Reforms under the Empress Dowager--The Eclectic Commission--Recent Reforms--Naval Abortion--Merchant Marine--Army Reform--Mining Enterprises--Railways--The Telegraph--The Post Office--The Customs--Sir Robert Hart--Educational Reform--The Tung-Wen College--The Imperial University--Diplomatic Intercourse--Progressive Viceroys--New Tests for Honours--Legal Reform--Newspapers--Social Reforms--Reading Rooms--Reform in Writing--Anti-foot-binding Society--The Streets._ "When I returned from England," said Marquis Ito, "my chief, the Prince of Chosin, asked me if I thought anything needed to be changed in Japan. I answered, 'Everything.'" These words were addressed in my hearing, as I have elsewhere recorded, to three Chinese statesmen, of whom Li Hung Chang was one. The object of the speaker was to emphasise the importance of reform in China. He was unfortunate in the time of his visit--it was just after the _coup d'état_, in 1898. His hearers were men of light and leading, in sympathy with his views; but reform was on the ebb; a ruinous recoil was to follow; and nothing came of his suggestions. [Page 197] The Emperor had indeed shown himself inclined to "change everything," but at that moment his power was paralyzed. What vicissitudes he has passed through since that date! Should he come again to power, as now seems probable, may he not, sobered by years and prudent from experience, still carry into effect his grand scheme for the renovation of China. To him a golden dream, will it ever be a reality to his people? Taught by the failure of a reaction on which she had staked her life and her throne, the Dowager became a convert to the policy of progress. She had, in fact, outstripped her nephew. "Long may she live!" "Late may he rule us!" During her lifetime she could be counted on to carry forward the cause she had so ardently espoused. She grasped the reins with a firm hand; and her courage was such that she did not hesitate to drive the chariot of state over many a new and untried road. She knew she could rely on the support of her viceroys--men of her own appointment. She knew too that the spirit of reform was abroad in the land, and that the heart of the people was with her. The best embodiment of this new spirit was the High Commission sent out in 1905 to study the institutions of civilized countries east and west, and to report on the adoption of such as they deemed advisable. The mere sending forth of such an embassy was enough to make her reign illustrious. The only analogous mission in the history of China, is that which was despatched to India, in 66 A. D., in quest of a better faith, by Ming-ti, "The Luminous." The earlier embassy [Page 198] borrowed a few sparks to rekindle the altars of their country; the present embassy propose to introduce new elements in the way of political reform. Their first recommendation, if not their first report, reaches me while I write, and in itself is amply sufficient to prove that this High Commission is not a sham designed to dazzle or deceive. The Court _Gazette_, according to the _China Times_, gives the following on the subject: "The five commissioners have sent in a joint memorial dealing with what they have seen in foreign countries during the last three months. They report that the wealthiest and strongest nations in the world to-day are governed by constitutional government. They mention the proclamation of constitutional government in Russia, and remark that China is the only great country that has not adopted that principle. As they have carefully studied the systems of England, the United States, Japan, etc., they earnestly request the Throne to issue a decree fixing on five years as the limit within which 'China will adopt a constitutional form of government.' "A rescript submits this recommendation to a council of state to advise on the action to be taken." If that venerable body, consisting of old men who hold office for life, does not take umbrage at the prospect of another tribunal infringing on their domain, we shall have at least the promise of a parliament. And five years hence, if the _congé d'elire_ goes forth, it will rend the veil of ages. It implies the conferment on the people of power hitherto unknown in their history. What a commotion will the ballot-box excite! How suddenly will it arouse the dormant [Page 199] intellect of a brainy race! But it is premature to speculate. In 1868 the Mikado granted his subjects a charter of rights, the first article of which guarantees freedom of discussion, and engages that he will be guided by the will of the people. In China does not the coming of a parliament involve the previous issue of a Magna Charta? It is little more than eight years since the restoration, as the return of the Court in January, 1902, may be termed. In this period, it is safe te assert that more sweeping reforms have been decreed in China than were ever enacted in a half-century by any other country, if one except Japan, whose example the Chinese profess to follow, and France, in the Revolution, of which Macaulay remarks that "they changed everything--from the rites of religion to the fashion of a shoe-buckle." Reference will here be made to a few of the more important innovations or ameliorations which, taken together, made the reign of the Empress Dowager the most brilliant in the history of the Empire. The last eight years have been uncommonly prolific of reforms; but the tide began to turn after the peace of Peking in 1860. Since that date every step in the adoption of modern methods was taken during the reign or regency of that remarkable woman, which dated from 1861 to 1908. As late as 1863 the Chinese Government did not possess a single fighting ship propelled by steam. Steamers belonging to Chinese merchants were sometimes employed to chase pirates; but they were not [Page 200] the property of the state. The first state-owned steamers, at least the first owned by the Central Government, was a flotilla of gunboats purchased that year in England by Mr. Lay, Inspector-General of Maritime Customs. Dissatisfied with the terms he had made with the commander, whom he had bound not to act on any orders but such as the Inspector should approve, the Government dismissed the Inspector and sold the ships. In the next thirty years a sufficient naval force was raised to justify the appointment of an admiral; but in 1895 the whole fleet was destroyed by the Japanese, and Admiral Ting committed suicide. At present there is a squadron under each viceroy; but all combined would hardly form the nucleus of a navy. That the Government intend to create a navy may be inferred from the establishment of a Naval Board. In view of the naval exploits of Japan, and under the guidance of Japanese, they are certain to develop this feeble plant and to make it formidable to somebody--perhaps to themselves. Their merchant marine is more respectable. With a fleet of fifty or more good ships the China Merchants' Steam Navigation Company are able by the aid of subsidies and special privileges to compete for a share in the coasting trade; but as yet they have no line trading to foreign ports. In 1860 a wild horde with matchlocks, bows, and spears, the land army is now supplied in large part with repeating rifles, trained in Western drill, and dressed in uniform of the Western type. The manoeuvres that took place near Peking in 1905 made [Page 201] a gala day for the Imperial Court, which expressed itself as more than satisfied with the splendour of the spectacle. The contingent belonging to this province is 40,000, and the total thus drilled and armed is not less than five times that number. In 1907 the troops of five provinces met in Honan. Thanks to railways, something like concentration is coming within the range of possibility. Not deficient in courage, what these raw battalions require to make them effective is confidence in themselves and in their commanders. Lacking in the lively patriotism that makes heroes of the Japanese, these fine big fellows are not machines, but animals. To the mistaken efforts recently made to instil that sentiment at the expense of the foreigner, I shall refer in another chapter. A less objectionable phase of the sentiment is provincialism, which makes it easy for an invader to employ the troops of one province to conquer another. In history these provinces appear as kingdoms, and their mutual wars form the staple subject. What feeling of unity can exist so long as the people are divided by a babel of dialects? More than once have Tartars employed Chinese to conquer China; and in 1900 a fine regiment from Wei-hai-wei helped the British to storm Peking. It may be added they repaid themselves by treating the inhabitants as conquered foes. Everywhere they were conspicuous for acts of lawless violence. Three great arsenals, not to speak of minor establishments, are kept busy turning out artillery and small arms for the national army, and the Board of Army Reform has the supervision of those forces, with [Page 202] the duty of making them not provincial, but national. Efforts of this kind, however, are no proof of a reform spirit. Are not the same to be seen all the way from Afghanistan to Dahomey? "To be weak is to be miserable"; and the Chinese are right in making military reorganisation the starting-point of a new policy. Yet the mere proposal of a parliament is a better indication of the spirit of reform than all these armaments. In the mind of China, wealth is the correlative of strength. The two ideas are combined in the word _Fuchiang_, which expresses national prosperity. Hence the treasures hidden in the earth could not be neglected, when they had given up the follies of geomancy and saw foreigners prospecting and applying for concessions to work mines. At first such applications were met by a puerile quibble as to the effect of boring on the "pulse of the Dragon"--in their eyes not the guardian of a precious deposit, but the personification of "good luck." To find lucky locations, and to decide what might help or harm, were the functions of a learned body of professors of _Fungshui_, a false science which held the people in bondage and kept the mines sealed up until our own day. Gradually the Chinese are shaking off the incubus and, reckless of the Dragon, are forming companies for the exploitation of all sorts of minerals. The Government has framed elaborate regulations limiting the shares of foreigners, and encouraging their own people to engage in mining enterprises. "Give up your _Fungshui_; It keeps your wealth locked up," says a verse of Viceroy Chang. [Page 203] A similar change has taken place in sentiment as regards railways. At first dreaded as an instrument of foreign aggression, they are now understood to be the best of auxiliaries for national defence. It has further dawned on the mind of a grasping mandarinate that they may be utilised as a source of revenue. If stocks pay well, why should not the Government hold them? "Your railways pay 10 per cent.--that's the sort of railway we want in China," said one of the commissioners at a banquet in England. It would not be strange if the nationalisation of railways decided on this spring in Japan should lead to a similar movement in China. In a country like America, with 300,000 miles of track, the purchase would be _ultra vires_ in more senses than one, but with only 1 per cent. of that mileage, the purchase would not be difficult, though it might not be so easy to secure an honest administration. Trains from Peking now reach Hankow (600 miles) in thirty-six hours. When the grand trunk is completed, through trains from the capital will reach Canton in three days. Set this over against the three months' sea voyage of former times (a voyage made only once a year), or against the ten days now required for the trip by steamer! What a potent factor is the railroad in the progress of a great country! The new enterprises in this field would be burdensome to enumerate. Shanghai is to be connected by rail with Tientsin (which means Peking), and with Nanking and Suchow. Lines to penetrate the western provinces are already mapped out; and even in Mongolia it is proposed to supersede the camel by the iron [Page 204] horse on the caravan route to Russia. "Alas! the age of golden leisure is gone--the iron age of hurry-skurry is upon us!" This is the lament of old slow-going China. When China purchased the Shanghai-Woosung railway in 1876, she was thought to be going ahead. What did we think when she tore up the track and dumped it in the river? An æon seems to have passed since that day of darkness. The advent of railways has been slow in comparison with the telegraph. The provinces are covered with wires. Governors and captains consult with each other by wire, in preference to a tardy exchange of written correspondence. The people, too, appreciate the advantage of communicating by a flash with distant members of their families, and of settling questions of business at remote places without stirring from their own doors. To have their thunder god bottled up and brought down to be their courier was to them the wonder of wonders; yet they have now become so accustomed to this startling innovation, that they cease to marvel. The wireless telegraph is also at work--a little manual, translated by a native Christian, tells people how to use it. Over forty years ago, when I exhibited the Morse system to the astonished dignitaries of Peking, those old men, though heads of departments, chuckled like children when, touching a button, they heard a bell ring; or when wrapping a wire round their bodies, they saw the lightning leap from point to point. "It's wonderful," they exclaimed, "but we can't use it in [Page 205] our country. The people would steal the wires." Electric bells are now common appliances in the houses of Chinese who live in foreign settlements. Electric trolleys are soon to be running at Shanghai and Tientsin. Telephones, both private and public, are a convenience much appreciated. Accustomed as the Chinese are to the instantaneous transmission of thought and speech, they have yet to see the _telodyne_--electricity as a transmitter of force. But will they not see it when the trolleys run? The advent of electric power will mark an epoch. China's weakness is not due wholly to backwardness in the arts and sciences. It is to be equally ascribed to defective connection of parts and to a lack of communication between places. Hence a sense of solidarity is wanting, and instead there is a predominance of local over national interests. For this disease the remedy is forthcoming--rail and wire are rapidly welding the disjointed members of the Empire into a solid unity. The post office contributes to the same result. A postal system China has long possessed: mounted couriers for official despatches, and foot messengers for private parties, the Government providing the former, and merchant companies the latter. The modernised post office, now operating in every province, provides for both. To most of the large towns the mails are carried by steamboat or railroad--a marvellous gain in time, compared with horse or foot. The old method was slow and uncertain; the new is safe and expeditious. That the people appreciate the change is shown by [Page 206] the following figures: In 1904 stamps to the amount of $400,000 (Mexican) were sold; in 1905 the sale rose to $600,000--an advance of 50 per cent. in one year. What may we not expect when the women learn to read, and when education becomes more general among men? Sir Robert Hart, from whom I had this statement, is the father of China's postal system. Overcoming opposition with patience and prudence, he has given the post office a thorough organisation and has secured for it the confidence of princes and people. Already does the Government look to it as a prospective source of revenue. To the maritime customs service, Sir Robert has been a foster-father. Provided for by treaty, it was in operation before he took charge, in 1863; but to him belongs the honour of having nursed the infant up to vigorous maturity by the unwearied exertions of nearly half a century. While the post office is a new development, the maritime customs have long been looked upon as the most reliable branch of the revenue service. China's debts to foreign countries, whether for loans or indemnities, are invariably paid from the customs revenue. The Government, though disinclined to have such large concerns administered by foreign agents, is reconciled to the arrangement in the case of the customs by finding it a source of growing income. The receipts for 1905 amounted to 35,111,000 taels = £5,281,000. In volume of trade this shows a gain of 11-1/2 per cent. on 1904; but, owing to a favouring gale from the happy isles of high finance, in sterling value the gain is actually 17 per cent. [Page 207] To a thoughtful mind, native or foreign, the maritime customs are not to be estimated by a money standard. They rank high among the agencies working for the renovation of China. They furnish an object-lesson in official integrity, showing how men brought up under the influence of Christian morals can collect large sums and pay them over without a particle sticking to their fingers. While the local commissioners have carried liberal ideas into mandarin circles all along the seacoast and up the great rivers into the interior, the Inspector-General (the "I. G." as Sir Robert is usually called) has been the zealous advocate of every step in the way of reform at headquarters. Another man in his position might have been contented to be a mere fiscal agent, but Sir Robert Hart's fertile brain has been unceasingly active for nearly half a century in devising schemes for the good of China. All the honours and wealth that China has heaped on her trusted adviser are far from being sufficient to cancel her obligations. It was he who prompted a timid, groping government to take the first steps in the way of diplomatic intercourse. It was he who led them to raise their school of interpreters to the rank of a diplomatic college. He it was who made peace in the war with France; and in 1900, after the flight of the Court, he it was who acted as intermediary between the foreign powers and Prince Ching. To some of these notable services I shall refer elsewhere. I speak of them here for the purpose of emphasising my disapproval of an intrigue designed to oust Sir Robert and to overturn [Page 208] the lofty structure which he has made into a light-house for China. In May, 1906, two ministers were appointed by the Throne to take charge of the entire customs service, with plenary powers to reform or modify _ad libitum_. Sir Robert was not consulted, nor was he mentioned in the decree. He was not dismissed, but was virtually superseded. Britain, America, and other powers took alarm for the safety of interests involved, and united in a protest. The Government explained that it was merely substituting one tribunal for another, creating a dual headship for the customs service instead of leaving it under the Board of Foreign Affairs, a body already overburdened with responsibilities. They gave a solemn promise that while Sir Robert Hart remained there should be no change in his status or powers; and so the matter stands. The protest saved the situation for the present. Explanation and promise were accepted; but the Government (or rather the two men who got themselves appointed to a fat office) remain under the reproach of discourtesy and ingratitude. The two men are Tieliang, a Manchu, and Tang Shao-yi, a Chinese. The latter, I am told on good authority, is to have £30,000 per annum. The other will not have less. This enormous salary is paid to secure honesty. In China every official has his salary paid in two parts: one called the "regular stipend," the other, a "solatium to encourage honesty." The former is counted by hundreds of taels; the latter, by thousands, especially where there is a temptation to peculate. What a rottenness at the core is here betrayed! [Page 209] A new development worthy of all praise is the opening, by imperial command, of a school for the training of officials for the customs service. It is a measure which Sir Robert Hart with all his public spirit, never ventured to recommend, because it implies the speedy replacement of the foreign staff by trained natives. Filling the sky with a glow of hope not unlike the approach of sunshine after an arctic winter, the reform in the field of education throws all others into the shade. By all parties is recognised its supremacy. Its beginning was feeble and unwelcome, implying on the part of China nothing but a few drops of oil to relieve the friction at a few points of contact with the outside world. The new treaties found China unprovided with interpreters capable of translating documents in foreign languages. Foreign nations agreed to accompany their despatches with a Chinese version, until a competent staff of interpreters should be provided. With a view to meeting this initial want, a school was opened in 1862, in connection with the Foreign Office, and placed under the direction of the Inspector-General of Maritime Customs, by whom I was recommended for the presidency. Professors of English, French, and Russian were engaged; and later on German took a place alongside of the three leading languages of the Western world. At first no science was taught or expected, but gradually we succeeded in obtaining the consent of the Chinese ministers to enlarge our faculty so as to include chairs of astronomy, mathematics, chemistry, and physics. International law was taught by the [Page 210] president; and by him also the Chinese were supplied with their first text-books on the law of nations. What use had they for books on that subject, so long as they held no intercourse on equal terms with foreign countries? The students trained in that school of diplomacy had to shiver in the cold for many a year before the Government recognised their merits and rewarded them with official appointments. The minister recently returned from London, the ministers now in Germany and Japan, and a minister formerly in France, not to speak of secretaries of legation and consuls, were all graduates of our earlier classes. In 1898 the young Emperor, taught by defeat at the hands of the Japanese, resolved on a thorough reform in the system of national education. It would never do to confine the knowledge of Western science to a handful of interpreters and attachés. The highest scholars of the Empire must be allowed access to the fountain of national strength. A university was created with a capital of five million taels, and the writer was made president by an imperial decree which conferred on him the highest but one of the nine grades of the mandarinate. Two or three hundred students were enrolled, among whom were bachelors, masters, and doctors of the civil service examinations. It was launched with a favouring breeze; but the wind changed with the _coup d'état_ of the Empress Dowager, and two years later the university went down in the Boxer cyclone. A professor, a tutor, and a student lost their lives. How the cause of educational reform rose stronger after the storm, I relate in a special [Page 211] chapter. It is a far cry from a university for the _élite_ to that elaborate system of national education which is destined to plant its schools in every town and hamlet in the Empire. The new education was in fact still regarded with suspicion by the honour men of the old system. They looked on it, as they did on the railway, as a source of danger, a perilous experiment. As yet the intercourse was one-sided: envoys came; but none were sent. Embassies were no novelty; but they had always moved on an inclined plane, either coming up laden with tribute, or going down bearing commands. Where there was no tribute and no command, why send them? Why send to the very people who had robbed China of her supremacy! It was a bitter pill, and she long refused to swallow it. Hart gilded the dose and she took it. Obtaining leave to go home to get married, he proposed that he should be accompanied by his teacher, Pinchun, a learned Manchu, as unofficial envoy--with the agreeable duty to see and report. It was a travelling commission, not like that of 1905-06, to seek light, but to ascertain whether the representative of a power so humbled and insulted would be treated with common decency. The old pundit was a poet. All Chinese pundits are poets; but Pinchun had real gifts, and the flow of champagne kindled his inspiration. Everywhere wined and dined, though accredited to no court, he was in raptures at the magnificence of the nations of the West. He lauded their wealth, culture, and scenery in faultless verse; and if he indulged in satire, [Page 212] it was not for the public eye. He was attended by several of our students, to whom the travelling commission was an education. They were destined, after long waiting as I have said, to revisit the Western world, clothed with higher powers. The impression made on both sides was favourable, and the way was prepared for a genuine embassy. The United States minister, Anson Burlingame, a man of keen penetration and broad sympathies, had made himself exceedingly acceptable to the Foreign Office at Peking. When he was taking leave to return home, in 1867, the Chinese ministers begged his good offices with the United States Government and with other governments as occasion might offer--"In short, you will be our ambassador," they said, with hearty good-will. Burlingame, who grasped the possibilities of the situation, called at the Customs on his way to the Legation. Hart seized the psychological moment, and, hastening to the _Yamên_, induced the ministers to turn a pleasantry into a reality. The Dowagers (for there were two) assented to the proposal of Prince Kung, to invest Burlingame with a roving commission to all the Treaty powers, and to associate with him a Manchu and a Chinese with the rank of minister. An "oecumenical embassy" was the result. Some of our students were again attached to the suite; reciprocal intercourse had begun; and Burlingame has the glory of initiating it". In the work of reform three viceroys stand pre-eminent, viz., Li Hung Chang, Yuen Shi Kai and Chang Chitung. Li, besides organising an army and [Page 213] a navy (both demolished by the Japanese in 1895), founded a university at Tienstin, and placed Dr. Tenney at the head of it. Yuen, coming to the same viceroyalty with the lesson of the Boxer War before his eyes, has made the army and education objects of special care. In the latter field he had had the able assistance of Dr. Tenney, and succeeded in making the schools of the province of Chihli an example for the Empire. Viceroy Chang has the distinction of being the first man (with the exception of Kang Yuwei) to start the emperor on the path of reform. Holding that, to be rich, China must have the industrial arts of the West, and to be strong she must have the sciences of the West, he has taken the lead in advocating and introducing both. Having been called, after the suspension of the Imperial University, to assist this enlightened satrap in his great enterprise, I cannot better illustrate the progress of reform than by devoting a separate chapter to him and to my observations during three years in Central China. Tests of scholarship and qualifications for office have undergone a complete change. The regulation essay, for centuries supreme in the examinations for the civil service, is abolished; and more solid acquirements have taken its place. It takes time to adjust such an ancient system to new conditions. That this will be accomplished is sufficiently indicated by the fact that in May, 1906, degrees answering to A. M. and Ph. D. were conferred on quite a number of students who had completed their studies at universities in foreign countries. As a result there is certain [Page 214] to be a rush of students to Europe and America, the fountain-heads of science. Forty young men selected by Viceroy Yuen from the advanced classes of his schools were in 1906 despatched under the superintendence of Dr. Tenney to pursue professional studies in the United States. That promising mission was partly due to the relaxation of the rigour of the exclusion laws. The Chinese assessor of the Mixed Court in Shanghai was dismissed the same year because he had condemned criminals to be beaten with rods--a favourite punishment, in which there is a way to alleviate the blows. Slicing, branding, and other horrible punishments with torture to extort confessions have been forbidden by imperial decree. Conscious of the contempt excited by such barbarities, and desirous of removing an obstacle to admission to the comity of nations, the Government has undertaken to revise its penal code. Wu-ting-fang, so well known as minister at Washington, has borne a chief part in this honourable task. The code is not yet published; but magistrates are required to act on its general principles. When completed it will no doubt provide for a jury, a thing hitherto unknown in China. The commissioners on legal reform have already sent up a memorial, explaining the functions of a jury; and, to render its adoption palatable, they declare that it is an ancient institution, having been in use in China three thousand years ago. They leave the Throne to infer that Westerners borrowed it from China. The fact is that each magistrate is a petty tyrant, embodying in his person the functions of local governor, [Page 215] judge, and jury, though there are limits to his discretion and room for appeal or complaint. It is to be hoped that lawyers and legal education will find a place in the administration of justice. Formerly clinging to a foreign flagstaff, the editor of a Chinese journal cautiously hinted the need for some kinds of reform. Within this _lustrum mirabile_ the daily press has taken the Empire by storm. Some twenty or more journals have sprung up under the shadow of the throne, and they are not gagged. They go to the length of their tether in discussing affairs of state--notwithstanding cautionary hints. Refraining from open attack, they indulge in covert criticism of the Government and its agents. Social reforms open to ambitious editors a wide field and make amends for exclusion from the political arena. One of the most influential recently deplored the want of vitality in the old religions of the country, and, regarding their reformation as hopeless, openly advocated the adoption of Christianity. To be independent of the foreigner it must, he said, be made a state church, with one of the princes for a figurehead, if not for pilot. Another deals with the subject of marriage. Many improvements, he says, are to be made in the legal status of woman. The total abolition of polygamy might be premature; but that is to be kept in view. In another issue he expresses a regret that the Western usage of personal courtship cannot safely be introduced. Those who are to be companions for life cannot as yet be allowed to see each other, as disorders might result from excess of freedom. Such liberty [Page 216] in social relations is impracticable "except in a highly refined and well-ordered state of society." The same or another writer proposes, by way of enlarging woman's world, that she shall not be confined to the house, but be allowed to circulate as freely as Western women but she must hide her charms behind a veil. Reporting an altercation between a policeman and the driver of one of Prince Ching's carts, who insisted on driving on tracks forbidden to common people, an editor suggests with mild sarcasm that a notice be posted in such cases stating that only "noblemen's carts are allowed to pass." Do not these specimens show a laudable attempt to simulate a free press? Free it is by sufferance, though not by law. Reading-rooms are a new institution full of promise. They are not libraries, but places for reading and expounding newspapers for the benefit of those who are unable to read for themselves. Numerous rooms may be seen at the street corners, where men are reciting the contents of a paper to an eager crowd. They have the air of wayside chapels; and this mode of enlightening the ignorant was confessedly borrowed from the missionary. How urgent the need, where among the men only one in twenty can read; and among women not one in a hundred! Reform in writing is a genuine novelty, Chinese writing being a development of hieroglyphics, in which the sound is no index to the sense, and in which each pictorial form must be separately made familiar to the eye. Dr. Medhurst wittily calls it "an occulage, not a language." Without the introduction of alphabetic [Page 217] writing, the art of reading can never become general. To meet this want a new alphabet of fifty letters has been invented, and a society organised to push the system, so that the common people, also women, may soon be able to read the papers for themselves. The author of the system is Wang Chao, mentioned above as having given occasion for the _coup d'état_ by which the Dowager Empress was restored to power in 1898. I close this formidable list of reforms with a few words on a society for the abolition of a usage which makes Chinese women the laughing-stock of the world, namely, the binding of their feet. With the minds of her daughters cramped by ignorance, and their feet crippled by the tyranny of an absurd fashion, China suffers an immense loss, social and economic. Happily there are now indications that the proposed enfranchisement will meet with general favour. Lately I heard mandarins of high rank advocate this cause in the hearing of a large concourse at Shanghai. They have given a pledge that there shall be no more foot-binding in their families; and the Dowager Empress came to the support of the cause with a hortatory edict. As in this matter she dared not prohibit, she was limited to persuasion and example. Tartar women have their powers of locomotion unimpaired. Viceroy Chang denounced the fashion as tending to sap the vigour of China's mothers; and he is reported to have suggested a tax on small feet--in inverse proportion to their size, of course. The leader in this movement, which bids fair to become national, is Mrs. Archibald Little. [Page 218] The streets are patrolled by a well-dressed and well-armed police force, in strong contrast with the ragged, negligent watchmen of yore. The Chinese, it seems, are in earnest about mending their ways. Their streets, in Peking and other cities, are undergoing thorough repair--so that broughams and rickshaws are beginning to take the place of carts and palanquins. A foreign style of building is winning favour; and the adoption of foreign dress is talked of. When these changes come, what will be left of this queer antique? [Page 219] CHAPTER XXX VICEROY CHANG-A LEADER OF REFORM _His Origin--Course as a Student--In the Censorate--He Floors a Magnate--The First to Wake Up--As a Leader of Reform--The Awakening of the Giant_ If I were writing of Chang, the Chinese giant, who overtopped the tallest of his fellow-men by head and shoulders, I should be sure of readers. Physical phenomena attract attention more than mental or moral grandeur. Is it not because greatness in these higher realms requires patient thought for due appreciation? Chang, the viceroy of Hukwang, a giant in intellect and a hero in achievement, is not a commonplace character. If my readers will follow me, while I trace his rise and progress, not only will they discover that he stands head and shoulders above most officials of his rank, but they will gain important side-lights on great events in recent history. During my forty years' residence in the capital I had become well acquainted with Chang's brilliant career; but it is only within the last three or four years that I have had an opportunity to study him in personal intercourse, having been called to preside over his university and to aid him in other educational enterprises. [Page 220] Whatever may be thought of the rank and file of China's mandarins, her viceroys are nearly always men of exceptional ability. They are never novices, but as a rule old in years and veterans in experience. Promoted for executive talent or for signal services, their office is too high to be in the market; nor is it probable that money can do much to recommend a candidate. A governor of Kwangsi was recently dismissed for incompetence, or for ill-success against a body of rebels. Being a rich man, he made a free use of that argument which commonly proves effective at Peking. But, so far from being advanced to the viceroyalty, he was not even reinstated in his original rank. The most he was able to obtain by a lavish expenditure was the inspectorship of a college at Wuchang, to put his foot on one of the lower rounds of the official ladder. Chang was never rich enough to buy official honours, even in the lower grades; and it is one of his chief glories that, after a score of years in the exercise of viceregal power, he continues to be relatively poor. His name in full is Chang Chi-tung, meaning "Longbow of the Cavern," an allusion to a tradition that one of his ancestors was born in a cave and famed for archery. This was far back in the age of the troglodytes. Now, for many generations, the family has been devoted to the peaceful pursuit of letters. As for Chang himself, it will be seen with what deadly effect he has been able to use the pen, in his hands a more formidable weapon than the longbow of his ancestor. Chang was born at Nanpi, in the metropolitan [Page 221] province of Chihli, not quite seventy years ago; and that circumstance debarred him from holding the highest viceroyalty in the Empire, as no man is permitted to hold office in his native place. He has climbed to his present eminence without the extraneous aids of wealth and family influence. This implies talents of no ordinary grade; but how could those talents have found a fit arena without that admirable system of literary competition which for so many centuries has served the double purpose of extending patronage to letters and of securing the fittest men for the service of the state. Crowned with the laurel of A. B., or budding genius, before he was out of his teens, three years later he won the honour of A. M., or, as the Chinese say, he plucked a sprig of the _olea fragrans_ in a contest with his fellow-provincials in which only one in a hundred gained a prize. Proceeding to the imperial capital he entered the lists against the picked scholars of all the provinces. The prizes were 3 per cent. of the whole number of competitors, and he gained the doctorate in letters, which, as the Chinese title indicates, assures its possessor of an official appointment. Had he been content to wait for some obscure position he might have gone home to sleep on his laurels. But his restless spirit saw fresh battle-fields beckoning him to fresh triumphs. The three hundred new-made doctors were summoned to the palace to write on themes assigned by the Emperor, that His Majesty might select a score of them for places in the Hanlin Academy. Here again fortune favoured young Chang; the elegance of his penmanship and his skill in composing [Page 222] mechanical verse were so remarkable that he secured a seat on the literary Olympus of the Empire. His conflicts were not yet ended. A conspicuous advantage of his high position was that it qualified him as a candidate for membership of the Board of Censors. Nor did fortune desert her favourite in this instance. After writing several papers to show his knowledge of law, history, and politics, he came forth clothed with powers that made him formidable to the highest officers of the state--powers somewhat analogous to the combined functions of censor and tribune in ancient Rome. Before I proceed to show how our "knight of the longbow" employed his new authority, a few words on the constitution of that august tribunal, the Board of Censors, may prove interesting to the reader. Its members are not judges, but prosecuting attorneys for the state. They are accorded a freedom of speech which extends even to pointing out the shortcomings of majesty. How important such a tribunal for a country in which a newspaper press with its argus eyes has as yet no existence! There is indeed a court _Gazette_, which has been called the oldest newspaper in the world; but its contents are strictly limited to decrees, memorials, and appointments. Free discussion and general news have no place in its columns; so that in the modern sense it is not a newspaper. The court--even the occupant of the Dragon Throne--needs watch-dogs. Such is the theory; but as a matter of fact these guardians of official morals find it safer to occupy themselves with the aberrations of satellites than to discover spots on the sun. About [Page 223] thirty years ago one of them, Wukotu, resolved to denounce the Empress Dowager for having adopted the late emperor as her son instead of making him her grandson. He accordingly immolated himself at the tomb of the late emperor by way of protesting against the impropriety of leaving him without a direct heir to worship his manes. It is doubtful whether the Western mind is capable of following Wukotu's subtle reasoning; but is it not plain that he felt that he was provoking an ignominious death, and chose rather to die as a hero--the champion of his deceased master? If a censor succeeds in convicting a single high functionary of gross misconduct his fortune is made. He is rewarded by appointment to some respectable post, possibly the same from which his victim has been evicted. Practical advantage carries the day against abstract notions of æsthetic fitness. Sublime it might be to see the guardians of the common weal striking down the unworthy, with a public spirit untainted by self-interest; but in China (and in some other countries) such machinery requires self-interest for its motive force. Wanting that, it would be like a windmill without wind, merely a fine object in the landscape. As an illustration of the actual procedure take the case in which Chang first achieved a national reputation. Chunghau, a Manchu of noble family and high in favour at court, had been sent to Russia in 1880 to demand the restoration of Ili, a province of Chinese Turkestan, which the Russians had occupied on pretext of quelling its chronic disorders. Scarcely had he reported the success of his mission, which had [Page 224] resulted in recovering two-thirds of the disputed territory, when Chang came forward and denounced it as worse than a failure. He had, as Chang proved, permitted the Russians to retain certain strategic points, and had given them fertile districts in exchange for rugged mountains or arid plains. To such a settlement no envoy could be induced to consent, unless chargeable with corruption or incompetence. The unlucky envoy was thrown into prison and condemned to death (but reprieved), and his accuser rose in the official scale as rapidly as if he had won a great battle on land or sea. His victory was not unlike that of those British orators who made a reputation out of the impeachment of Lord Clive or Warren Hastings, save that with him a trenchant pen took the place of an eloquent tongue. I knew Chunghau both before and after his disgrace. In 1859, when an American embassy for the first time entered the gates of Peking, it was Chunghau who was appointed to escort the minister to the capital and back again to the seacoast--a pretty long journey in those days when there was neither steamboat nor railway. During that time, acting as interpreter, I had occasion to see him every day, and I felt strongly attracted by his generous and gentlemanly bearing. The poor fellow came out of prison stripped of all his honours, and with his prospects blighted forever. In a few months he died of sheer chagrin. The war with Japan in 1894-1895 found Chang established in the viceroyalty of Hukwang, two provinces in Central China, with a prosperous population of over fifty millions, on a great highway of internal [Page 225] traffic rivalling the Mississippi, and with Hankow, the hub of the Empire, for its commercial centre. When he saw the Chinese forces scattered like chaff by the battalions of those despised islanders he was not slow to grasp the explanation. Kang Yuwei, a Canton man, also grasped it, and urged on the Emperor the necessity for reform with such vigour as to prompt him to issue a meteoric shower of reformatory edicts, filling one party with hope and the other with dismay. Chang had held office at Canton; and his keen intellect had taken in the changed relations of West and East. He perceived that a new sort of sunshine shed its beams on the Western world. He did not fully apprehend the spiritual elements of our civilisation; but he saw that it was clothed with a power unknown to the sages of his country, the forces of nature being brought into subjection through science and popular education. He felt that China must conform to the new order of things, or perish--even if that new order was in contradiction to her ancient traditions as much as the change of sunrise to the west. He saw and felt that knowledge is power, a maxim laid down by Confucius before the days of Bacon; and he set about inculcating his new ideas by issuing a series of lectures for the instruction of his subordinates. Collected into a volume under the title of "Exhortations to Learn,"[*] they were put into the hands of the young Emperor and by his command distributed among the viceroys and governors of the Empire. [Footnote *: Translated by Dr. Woodbridge as "China's Only Hope." Kelly & Walsh, Shanghai.] [Page 226] What a harvest might have sprung from the sowing of such seed in such soil by an imperial husbandman! But there were some who viewed it as the sowing of dragons' teeth. Those reactionaries induced the Dowager Empress to come out from her retirement and to reassume her abdicated power in order to save the Empire from a threatening conflagration. It was the fable of Phaëton enacted in real life. The young charioteer was struck down and the sun brought back to his proper course instead of rising in the west. The progressive legislation of the two previous years 1897-98 was repealed and then followed two years of a narrow, benighted policy, controlled by the reactionaries under the lead of Prince Tuan, father of the heir-apparent, with a junta of Manchu princes as blind and corrupt as Russian grand dukes. That disastrous recoil resulted in war, not against a single power, but against the whole civilised world, as has been set forth in the account of the Boxer War (see page 172). Affairs were drifting into this desperate predicament when Chang of the Cavern became in a sense the saviour of his country. This he effected by two actions which called for uncommon intelligence and moral force: (1) By assuring the British Government that he would at all costs maintain peace in Central China; (2) by refusing to obey an inhuman decree from Peking, commanding the viceroys to massacre all foreigners within their jurisdiction--a decree which would be incredible were it not known that at the same moment the walls of the capital were placarded with proclamations offering rewards of 50, 30 and 20 [Page 227] taels respectively for the heads of foreign men, women, and children. It is barely possible that Chang was helped to a decision by a friendly visit from a British man-of-war, whose captain, in answer to a question about his artillery, informed Chang that he had the bearings of his official residence, and could drop a shell into it with unerring precision at a distance of three miles. He was also aided by the influence of Mr. Fraser, a wide-awake British consul. Fraser modestly disclaims any special merit in the matter, but British missionaries at Hankow give him the credit. They say that, learning from them the state of feeling among the people, he induced the viceroy to take prompt measures to prevent an outbreak. At one time a Boxer army from the south was about to cross the river and destroy the foreign settlement. Chang, when appealed to, frankly confessed that his troops were in sympathy with the Boxers, and that being in arrears of pay they were on the verge of revolt. Fraser found him the money by the help of the Hong Kong Bank; the troops were paid; and the Boxers dispersed. The same problem confronted Liu, the viceroy of Nanking; and it was solved by him in the same way. Both viceroys acted in concert; but to which belongs the honour of that wise initiative can never be decided with certainty. The foreign consuls at Nanking claim it for Liu. Mr. Sundius, now British consul at Wuhu, assures me that as Liu read the barbarous decree he exclaimed, "I shall repudiate this as a forgery," adding "I shall not obey, if I have to die for it." His words have a heroic ring; and [Page 228] suggest that his policy was not taken at second-hand. A similar claim has been put forward for Li Hung Chang, who was at that time viceroy at Canton. Is it not probable that the same view of the situation flashed on the minds of all three simultaneously? They were not, like the Peking princes, ignorant Tartars, but Chinese scholars of the highest type. They could not fail to see that compliance with that bloody edict would seal their own doom as well as that of the Empire. Speaking of Chang, Mr. Fraser says: "He had the wit to see that any other course meant ruin." Chang certainly does not hesitate to blow his own trumpet; but I do not suspect him of "drawing the longbow." Having the advantage of being an expert rhymer, he has put his own pretensions into verses which all the school-children in a population of fifty millions are obliged to commit to memory. They run somewhat like this: "In Kengtse (1900) the Boxer robbers went mad, And Peking became for the third time the prey of fire and sword; But the banks of the Great River and the province of Hupei Remained in tranquillity." He adds in a tone of exultation: "The province of Hupei was accordingly exempted From the payment of an indemnity tax, And allowed to spend the amount thus saved In the erection of schoolhouses." In these lines there is not much poetry; but the fact which they commemorate adds one more wreath to [Page 229] a brow already crowned with many laurels, showing how much the viceroy's heart was set on the education of his people. In the interest of the educational movement, I was called to Chang's assistance in 1902. The Imperial University was destroyed in the Boxer War, and, seeing no prospect of its reëstablishment I was on the way to my home in America when, on reaching Vancouver, I found a telegram from Viceroy Chang, asking me to be president of a university which he proposed to open, and to instruct his junior officials in international law. I engaged for three years; and I now look back on my recent campaign in Central China as one of the most interesting passages in a life of over half a century in the Far East. Besides instructing his mandarins in the law of nations, I had to give them some notion of geography and history, the two coördinates of time and place, without which they might, like some of their writers, mistake Rhode Island for the Island of Rhodes, and Rome, New York, for the City of the Seven Hills. A book on the Intercourse of Nations and a translation of Dudley Field's "International Code," remain as tangible results of those lectures. But the university failed to materialise. Within a month after my arrival the viceroy was ordered to remove to Nanking to take up a post rendered vacant by the death of his eminent colleague, Liu. Calling at my house on the eve of embarking he said, "I asked you to come here to be president of a university for two provinces. If you will go with me to Nanking, I will make you president of a university [Page 230] for five provinces," meaning that he would combine the educational interests of the two viceroyalties, and showing how the university scheme had expanded in his fertile brain. Before he had been a month at that higher post he learned to his intense disappointment that he was only to hold the place for another appointee. After nearly a year at Nanking, he was summoned to Peking, where he spent another year in complete uncertainty as to his future destination. In the meantime the university existed only on paper. In justice to the viceroy I ought to say that nothing could exceed the courtesy and punctuality with which he discharged his obligations to me. The despatch which once a month brought me my stipend was always addressed to me as president of the Wuchang University, though as a matter of fact I might as well have been styled president of the University of Weissnichtwo. In one point he went beyond his agreement, viz., in giving me free of charge a furnished house of two stories, with ten rooms and a garden. It was on the bank of the "Great River" with the picturesque hills of Hanyang nearly opposite, a site which I preferred to any other in the city. I there enjoyed the purest air with a minimum of inconvenience from narrow, dirty streets. To these exceptional advantages it is doubtless due that my health held out, notwithstanding the heat of the climate, which, the locality being far inland and in lat. 30° 30', was that of a fiery furnace. On the night of the autumnal equinox, my first in Wuchang, the mercury stood in my bedroom at 102°. I was the guest of the Rev. Arnold Foster of the London Missionary [Page 231] Society, whose hospitality was warm in more ways than one. The viceroy returned from Peking, broken in health; the little strength he had left was given to military preparation for the contingencies of the Russo-Japanese War; and his university was consigned to the limbo of forgotten dreams. Viceroy Chang has been derided, not quite justly, as possessing a superabundance of initiative along with a rather scant measure of finality, taking up and throwing down his new schemes as a child does its playthings. In these enterprises the paucity of results was due to the shortcomings of the agents to whom he entrusted their management. The same reproach and the same apology might be made for the Empress Dowager who, like the Roman Sybil, committed her progressive decrees to the mercy of the winds without seeming to care what became of them. Next after the education of his people the development of their material resources has been with Chang a leading object. To this end he has opened cotton-mills, silk-filatures, glass-works and iron-works, all on an extensive scale, with foreign machinery and foreign experts. For miles outside of the gates of Wuchang the banks of the river are lined with these vast establishments. Do they not announce more clearly than the batteries which command the waterway the coming of a new China? Some of them he has kept going at an annual loss. The cotton-mill, for example, was standing idle when I arrived, because in the hands of his mandarins he could not make it pay expenses. A Canton merchant leased it on easy terms, and made it [Page 232] such a conspicuous success that he is now growing rich. It is an axiom in China that no manufacturing or mercantile enterprise can be profitably conducted by a deputation of mandarins. Chang is rapidly changing the aspect of his capital by erecting in all parts of it handsome school-buildings in foreign style, literally proclaiming from the house-tops his gospel of education. The youth in these schools are mostly clad in foreign dress; his street police and the soldiers in his barracks are all in foreign uniform; and many of the latter have cut off their cues as a sign of breaking with the old régime. In talking with their officers I applauded the prudence of the measure as making them less liable to be captured while running away. Chang's soldiers are taught to march to the cadence of his own war-songs--which, though lacking the fire of Tyrtæus or Körner, are not ill-suited to arouse patriotic sentiment. Take these lines as a sample: "Foreigners laugh at our impotence, And talk of dividing our country like a watermelon, But are we not 400 million strong? If we of the Yellow Race only stand together, What foreign power will dare to molest us? Just look at India, great in extent But sunk in hopeless bondage. Look, too, at the Jews, famous in ancient times, Now scattered on the face of the earth. Then look at Japan with her three small islands, Think how she got the better of this great nation, And won the admiration of the world. What I admire in the Japanese Is not their skill in using ship or gun But their single-hearted love of country." [Page 233] Viceroy Chang's mode of dealing with his own malady might be taken as a picture of the shifting policy of a half-enlightened country. The first doctor he consulted was a Chinese of the old school. Besides administering pills composed of "Eye of newt, and toe of frog, Wool of bat, and tongue of dog," the doctor suggested that one thing was still required to put the patient in harmony with the course of Nature. Pointing to a fine chain of hills that stretches in a waving line across the wide city, he said: "The root of your trouble lies there. That carriage-road that you have opened has wounded the spinal column of the serpent. Restore the hill to its former condition and you will soon get well." The viceroy filled the gap incontinently, but found himself no better. He then sent for English and American doctors--dismissing them in turn to make way for a Japanese who had him in charge when I left Wuchang. For a paragon of intelligence and courage, how pitiful this relapse into superstition! Did not China after a trial of European methods also relapse during the Boxer craze into her old superstitions? And is she not at this moment taking the medicine of Japan? To Japan she looks for guidance in the conduct of her public schools as well as for the training of her army and navy. To Japan she is sending her sons and daughters in growing numbers. No fewer than eight thousand of her young men, and, what is more significant, one or two hundred of her young women from the best families are now in those islands inhaling the breath of a new life. [Page 234] Some writers have sounded a note of alarm in consequence of this wholesale surrender on the part of China. But for my part I have no fear of any sinister tendency in the teachings of Japan, whether political or educational. On a memorable occasion twelve years ago, when Marquis Ito was entertained at a banquet in Peking by the governor of the city and the chancellor of the Imperial University, I congratulated him on the fact that "Japan exerts a stronger influence on China than any Western power--just as the moon raises a higher tide than the more distant sun"--implying, what the Japanese are ready enough to admit, that their country shines by borrowed light. After all, the renovating effect, for which I look to them, will not come so much from their teaching as from their example. "What is to hinder us from doing what those islanders have done?" is an argument oft reiterated by Viceroy Chang in his appeals to his drowsy countrymen. It was, as I have said, largely under his influence that the Emperor was led to adopt a new educational programme twelve years ago. Nor can there be a doubt that by his influence more than that of any other man, the Empress Dowager was induced to reenact and to enlarge that programme. To show what is going on in this very decade: On September 3, 1905, an edict was issued "abolishing the literary competitive examinations of the old style," and ordering that "hereafter exclusive attention shall be given to the establishment of schools of modern learning throughout the Empire in lieu thereof." The next day a supplementary decree ordained that [Page 235] the provincial chancellors or examiners who, like Othello, found their occupation gone, should have the duty of examining and inspecting the schools in their several provinces; and, to give the new arrangement greater weight, it was required that they "discharge this duty in conjunction with the viceroy or governor of the province." An item of news that came along with these decrees seemed to indicate that a hitherto frivolous court has at length become thoroughly in earnest on the subject of education. A sum of 300,000 taels appeared in the national budget as the annual expense of a theatrical troupe in attendance on the Court. At the instance of two ministers (Viceroy Yuan and General Tieliang) Her Majesty reduced this to one-third of that amount, ordering that theatricals should be performed twice a week instead of daily; and that the 200,000 taels thus economised shall be set apart for _the use of schools_. How much this resembles the policy of Viceroy Chang who, exempted from raising a war indemnity, set apart an equal amount for the building of schoolhouses! An empire that builds schoolhouses is more certain to make a figure in the world than one that spends its money on batteries and forts. In addition to adopting the new education there are three items which Chang proclaims as essential to a renovation of Chinese society. In the little book, already cited, he says: [Page 236] The crippling of women makes their offspring weak; The superstition of _Fungshui_ prevents the opening of mines, And keeps China poor." How could the man who wrote this fall back into the folly of _Fungshui?_ Is it not possible that he closed that new road in deference to the superstitions of his people? In either case it would be a deplorable weakness; but his country, thanks to his efforts, is now fully committed to progress. She moves, however, in that direction much as her noble rivers move toward the sea--with many a backward bend, many a refluent eddy. POSTSCRIPT NO. I In taking leave of this eminent man, who represents the best class of his countrymen, there are two or three incidents, which I mention by way of supplement. In his telegram to Vancouver, besides engaging me to assume the office of president of the proposed university, he asked me to act as his legal and political adviser. In the agreement formally made through the consul in New York, in place of these last-named functions was substituted the duty of instructing his junior mandarins in international law. The reason assigned for the change was that the Peking Government declined to allow _any foreigner_ to hold the post of adviser. The objection was represented as resting on general policy, not on personal grounds. If, however, the Peking officials had read my book on the Siege, in which I denounce the treachery of Manchu government and favour the [Page 237] position of China, it is quite conceivable that their objection might have a tinge of personality. When Viceroy Chang was starting for Peking, I called to see him on board his steamer. He held in his hand a printed report of my opening lecture at the beginning of a new term, and expressed regret that in the hurry of departure he had been unable to find time to attend in person. On that occasion (the previous day) several of his higher officials, including the treasurer, judge, and prefect, after giving me tiffin at the Mandarin Institute, brought sixty junior officials to make their salaam to their instructor. This ceremony performed, I bowed to Their Excellencies, and requested them to leave me with my students. "No," they replied, "we too are desirous of hearing you"; and they took seats in front of the platform. Viceroy Chang seems to have manifested some jealousy of Sir Robert Hart, in criticising the Inspector-General's proposal for a single tax. He likewise criticised unfavourably the scheme of Professor Jenckes for unifying the currency of the Empire--influenced, perhaps, by the fear that such an _innovation_ might impair the usefulness of a costly plant which he has recently erected for minting both silver and copper coin. For the same reason perhaps he objects, as I hear he does, to the proposed engagement of a Cornell professor by the Board of Revenue in the capacity of financial adviser. With all his foibles, however, he is a true patriot; and his influence has done much to move China in the right direction. O for more men like Chang, the "Longbow of the Cavern!" [Page 238] I append a weighty document that is not the less interesting for being somewhat veiled in mystery. I regret that I am not at liberty to disclose its authorship. The report is to be taken as anonymous, being an unpublished document of the secret service. To the reader it is left to divine the nationality and personality of its author. Valuable for the light it throws on a great character in a trying situation, the report gains piquancy and interest from the fact that the veil of official secrecy has to be treated with due respect. My unnamed friend has my thanks and deserves those of my readers. OFFICIAL INTERVIEWS WITH VICEROY CHANG DURING THE CRISIS OF 1900 "At our interview of 17th June, described at length in my despatch to you of 18th June, the Viceroy explained his determination to maintain order and to afford the protection due under treaty; he also emphasised his desire to be on friendly terms with England. "Early in June, the three cities of Wuchang, Hanyang and Hankow had been full of rumours of the kidnapping of children and even grown persons by means of hypnotism; and though a concise notification by the Viceroy, that persons spreading such tales would be executed, checked its prevalence here, the scare spread to the country districts and inflamed the minds of the people against foreigners and, in consequence, against converts and missions. "On the 25th June, the Viceroy, as reported in a separate despatch of 28th June, to Lord Salisbury, sent a special envoy to assure me that H. E. would not accept or act upon any anti-foreign decrees from Peking. At the same time he communicated copy of a telegraphic memorial from himself and seven other high provincial officers insisting on the suppression of the [Page 239] Boxers and the maintenance of peace. This advice H. E. gave me to understand led to the recall of Li Hung Chang to the north as negotiator. "Distorted accounts of the capture of the Taku forts and the hostilities of the north caused some excitement, but the Viceroy's proclamation of 2nd July, copy of which was forwarded in my despatch of 3rd July to the Foreign Office, and the vigorous police measures taken by His Excellency soon restored calm which, despite occasional rumours, continued until the recent plot and scare reported in my despatch to you of 23rd of August. In the same despatch I described how, in compliance with my wish, H. E. took the unprecedented step of tearing down his proclamation embodying an Imperial Decree which had been taken to imply license to harry converts. To foreigners during the past two months the question of interest has been whether the Viceroy could and would keep his troops in order. The Viceroy himself seemed to be in some doubt until the return of his trusted officers, who were attending the Japanese manoeuvres when the northern troubles began. Every now and then reports of disaffection have been industriously circulated, but the drilled troops have never shown any sign of disloyalty. "A point of H. E.'s policy which has caused considerable suspicion is the despatch of troops northward, At the end of June some 2,000 or 3,000 men passed through Hankow bound for Nyanking where the Governor was said to want a body-guard. They were unarmed and did no mischief beyond invading the Customs and China Merchants' Steam Navigation Company's premises. During July some 5,000 troops, of whom perhaps half were drilled men, went from Hukeang provinces overland to Honan and on to Chihli. They were led by the anti-foreign Treasurer of Hunan; and their despatch was explained by the constitutional duty of succouring the Emperor. Since July I have not heard of any further detachments leaving, though it was said that the total would reach 10,000. Possibly the Viceroy sent the men because he did not feel strong enough to defy Peking altogether, because failure to help the court would [Page 240] have excited popular reprobation, and also in order to get rid of a considerable part of the dangerous 'loafer' class. "About the 20th July there was a persistent report that the Viceroy was secretly placing guns on the opposite banks of the river. The German military instructors assured me that the report was baseless; and Lieutenant Brandon, H. M. S. _Pique_, thoroughly searched the bank for a distance of three miles in length and breadth, without discovering a trace of a cannon. The only guns in position are the two 5-inch Armstrong M. L. within the walls of Wuchang, and they have been there for a long time and are used 'merely for training purposes.' "So early as our interview of June 17th, the Viceroy expressed anxiety as to missionaries at remote points in the interior; and I had about that time suggested to the various missions that women and children would be better at a treaty port. The missions themselves preferred to recall all their members, and at the Viceroy's request supplied lists of the stations thus left to the care of the local authorities. Since then, even in Hupeh, there have been a few cases of plundering, especially in the large district of Sin Chan on the Hunan border, while at Hangchow-fu, in Hunan, the London Mission premises were wrecked early in July and for a time throughout the whole province it appeared probable that the Missions would be destroyed. The chief cause of this, as of the riots in Hupeh, was the dissemination of an alleged decree of 26th June praising the Boxers and ordering the authorities to imitate the north in exterminating foreigners. This decree seems to have reached local authorities direct; and those hostile to foreigners acted upon it or let its existence be known to the gentry and people. The chapels in Hunan were all sealed up; and it was understood that all mission and convert property would be confiscated. Towards the end of July, however, the Viceroy and the Hunan Governor issued a satisfactory proclamation, and I have heard no more complaints from that province, the western part of which seems tranquil. "Besides safeguarding foreign life and property in his own province the Viceroy has frequently been asked to aid missionaries retiring from Kansuh, Shensi, Shansi, and Honan. In [Page 241] every case H. E. has readily consented. Detailed telegrams have been sent again and again not only to his frontier officers, but to the governors of other provinces with whom H. E. has expostulated, when necessary, in strong terms. Thus, when Honan seemed likely to turn against us, the Viceroy insisted on the publication of favourable decrees, and even went so far as to send his men to establish a permanent escort depot at Ching Tzu Kuan, an important post in Honan where travellers from the north and northwest have to change from cart to boat. Happily the acting Governor of Shensi has coöperated nobly. But the refugees who testify invariably to the marvellous feeling of security engendered by reaching Hupeh, will, I doubt not, agree that they owe their lives to Chang Chi-tung's efforts; for simple inaction on his part would have encouraged the many hostile officers to treat them as Shansi has treated its missionaries. "At times during the past two anxious months the Viceroy's action in sending troops north, the occurrence of riots at various points, H. E.'s communication of decrees in which the Peking Government sought to gloss over the northern uprising, and his eagerness to make out that the Empress Dowager had not incited the outbreak and had no hostile feeling against foreigners have inevitably made one uneasy. But on looking back one appreciates the skill and constancy with which H. E. has met a most serious crisis and done his duty to Chinese and foreigners alike. It is no small thing for a Chinese statesman and scholar to risk popularity, position, and even life in a far-seeing resistance to the apparent decrees of a court to which his whole training enforces blind loyalty and obedience. His desire to secure the personal safety of the Empress Dowager on account of her long services to the Empire is natural enough; nor need he be blamed for supplying some military aid to his sovereign, even though he may have guessed that it would be used against those foreign nations with whom he himself steadfastly maintains friendship and against whose possible attack he has not mounted an extra gun." [Page 242] POSTSCRIPT NO.2 TUAN FANG OF THE HIGH COMMISSION During Chang's long absence, Tuan Fang, Governor of Hupeh, held the seals and exercised the functions of viceroy. He was a Manchu--one of those specimens, admirable but not rare, who, in acquiring the refinement of Chinese culture, lose nothing of the vigour of their own race. "Of their own race," I say, because in language and habits the Manchus are strongly differentiated from their Chinese subjects. In the Boxer War Governor Tuan established an excellent record. Acting as governor in Shensi, instead of killing missionaries, as did the Manchu governor of the next province, he protected them effectually and sent them safely to Hankow. One day when I was at his house a missionary came to thank him for kindness shown on that occasion. Mentioning one of my books I once asked him if he had read it. "You never wrote a book that I have not read," was his emphatic reply. He was a pretty frequent visitor at my house, punctually returning all my calls; and when he was transferred to the governorship of Hunan he appeared pleased to have the Yale Mission commended to his patronage. He has a son at school in the United States; and his wife and daughters have taken lessons in English from ladies of the American Episcopal Mission. Governor Tuan (now viceroy) is a leading member of a commission recently sent abroad to study and report on the institutions of the Western world. Its [Page 243] departure was delayed by the explosion of a bomb in one of the carriages just as the commission was leaving Peking. The would-be assassin was "hoist with his own petard," leaving the public mystified as to the motive of the outrage. [Page 244] CHAPTER XXXI ANTI-FOREIGN AGITATION _American Influence in the Far East--Officials and the Boycott--Interview with President Roosevelt--Riot in a British Concession--Ex-territoriality--Two Ways to an End--A Grave Mistake--The Nan-chang Tragedy--Dangers from Superstition_ So far from being new, an anti-foreign spirit is the normal state of the Chinese mind. Yet during the year past it has taken on new forms, directed itself against new objects, and employed new methods. It deserves therefore a conspicuous place among the new developments in the China of the twentieth century. Where everything is changing, the temper of the people has undergone a change. They have become restless as the sea and fickle as a weather-vane, The friends of yesterday are the enemies of to-day; and a slight or petty annoyance is enough to make them transfer man or country from one to the other category. Murderous outbreaks, rare in the past, have now become alarmingly frequent, so much so that the last year might be described as a year of anti-foreign riots. The past nine months have witnessed four such outbreaks, In four widely separated provinces, venting their fury pretty impartially on people of four nationalities and of all professions, they were actuated by a [Page 245] common hate and indicated a common purpose. That purpose--if they had a purpose--was to compel a readjustment of treaty relations. America has the distinction of being the target for the first assaults. In treating the subject I accordingly begin with America and the boycott, as set forth in a long extract from an address before the Publishers' League of New York, November 8, 1905, on AMERICAN INFLUENCE IN THE FAR EAST "Mr. President and Gentlemen: "If I were asked to find a _pou sto_, a fulcrum, on which to erect a machine to move the world, I should choose this league of publishers; and the machine would be no other than the power press! I have accepted your invitation not merely from pleasant recollections of your former hospitality, but because new occurrences have taken place which appeal to the patriotism of every good citizen. They are issues that rise above party; they involve our national character and the well-being of another people whom we owe the sacred duties of justice and humanity. "When I agreed to speak to you of American influence in the Far East, I was not aware that we should have with us a representative of Japan, and I expected to spread myself thinly over two empires. Happy I am to resign one of these empires to Mr. Stevens. "I shall accordingly say no more about Japan than to advert to the fact that the wise forbearance of Commodore Perry, which, in 1854, induced the Shogun to open his ports without firing a gun, has won the gratitude of the Japanese people; so that in many ways they testify a preference for us and our country. For instance, they call the English language 'Americano,' etc. They were disappointed that their claims against Russia were not backed up by the United States. That, however, caused only a momentary cloud. Beyond this, nothing has ever occurred to mar the harmony of the two peoples who [Page 246] face each other on the shores of the Pacific. Perry's wise initiative was followed by the equal wisdom of Townsend Harris, who, before any other consul or minister had arrived, was invited to Yedda to give advice to the government of the Shogun. "American influence thus inaugurated has been fostered by a noble army of ministers, consuls, and missionaries. The total absence of massacres and murders[*] makes the history of our intercourse with Japan tame in contrast with the tragic story from China. It speaks the reign of law. [Footnote *: The only missionary killed in the last fifty years was stabbed while grappling with a burglar.] "My acquaintance with Japan dates back forty-six years; and in the meantime I have had pleasant relations with most of the ministers she has sent to China. One of her officials recently gave me a beautiful scarf-pin that speaks volumes for American influence, showing as it does the two flags in friendly union on one flagstaff. I gave him in return the following lines: "'To sun and stars divided sway! Remote but kindred suns are they, In friendly concord here they twine To form a new celestial sign. "'Thou, Orient sun, still higher rise To fill with light the Eastern skies! And you, ye stars and stripes, unfurled Shed glory on the Western world! "'Our starry flag first woke the dawn In the empire of the Rising Sun. May no ill chance e'er break the tie, And so we shout our loud _banzai!_' "I now turn to the less cheering theme of American influence in China. It reminds me of the naturalist who took for the [Page 247] heading of a chapter 'Snakes in Iceland,' and whose entire chapter consisted of the words 'There are no snakes in Iceland.' Though formerly blazing like a constellation in the Milky Way, American influence has vanished so completely that you can hardly see it with a microscope. What influence can we presume on when our commodities are shut out, not by legislative action but as a result of popular resentment? THE BOYCOTT "True, the latest advices are to the effect that the boycott has broken down. I foresaw and foretold more than two months ago that it could not in the nature of the case be of long duration, that it was a mere _ballon d'essai_--an encouraging proof that Orientals are learning to apply our methods. But is there not a deplorable difference between the conditions under which it is used in the two countries? In one the people all read, and the newspaper is in everybody's hand. The moment a strike or boycott is declared off all hands fall into their places and things go on as usual. In the other the readers are less than one in twenty. Newspapers, away from the open ports, are scarcely known, or if they exist they are subject to the tyranny of the mandarins or the terrorism of the mob. Hence a war may be waged in one province and people in another may scarcely hear of it. Chevaux-de-frise may bar out goods from one port, while they are more or less openly admitted in other ports. Not only so, the hostile feeling engendered by such conflict of interest is not dissipated by sunshine, but rankles and spreads like an epidemic over vast regions unenlightened by newspapers or by contact with foreign commerce. "Witness the massacre of American missionaries at Lienchow in the Canton province. I am not going to enter into the details of that shocking atrocity, nor to dwell on it further than to point out that although the boycott was ended on September 14, the people in that district were in such a state of exasperation that the missionaries felt themselves in danger fourteen days after that date. In the New York _Sun_ of November 5 I find part of a letter from one of the victims, the Reverend Mr. [Page 248] Peale, written exactly one month before the tragedy. Allow me to read it along with an introductory paragraph. "'PRINCETON, N. J., Nov. 4.--A. Lee Wilson, a student in the Princeton Theological Seminary, received a letter a few days ago from John R. Peale, the missionary who, with his wife, was killed in Lienchow, China, on October 28. The letter was dated September 28, and reached America at the time that Peale and his wife were murdered. It gives a clue to the troubles which led to the death of Peale. The letter says in part: "'"The interest in the boycott is vital to the missionaries. Heretofore the Americans always enjoyed special favour, and to fly the American flag meant protection; but it is different now. No personal violence has been attempted, but the people are less cordial and more suspicious. People in China are not asking that their coolies be allowed entrance into the States, but they only ask that the Americans cease treating the Chinese with contempt and allow their merchants and students the same privileges that other foreigners receive." "'Peale graduated from the Princeton Theological Seminary last May. "Is it not evident that whatever spark caused the explosion, the nitro-glycerin that made it possible came from the boycott? "Not only do they boycott ponderables such as figure at the custom-house, but they extend the taboo to things of the head and heart. The leader of the whole movement was formerly an active supporter of the International Institute, an institution which proposes to open gratuitous courses of lectures and to place Chinese men of intelligence on common ground with scholars of the West, He now opposes the International Institute because, forsooth, it is originated and conducted by Dr. Reid, a large-minded American. "After this, will you be surprised to hear that your own publications, the best text-books for the schools of the Far East, have been put on the _index expurgatorius?_ A number of such books were lately returned with the excuse that they were forbidden because they bore the stamp of an American press. [Page 249] "If I should go on to say that government officials, high and low, look with satisfaction on this assertion of something like national feeling, you might reply, 'National feeling! Yes, it is a duty to cultivate that.' But do we not know how it has been fostered in China? Has not hatred of the foreigner been mistaken for patriotism, and been secretly instigated as a safeguard against foreign aggression? In this instance, however, there is no room to suspect such a motive. The movement is purely a result of provocation on our part; and it is fostered with a view to coercing our government into modifying or repealing our offensive exclusion laws. The Viceroy of Central China, with whom I have spent the last three years, is known as a pioneer of reform--a man who has done more than any other to instruct his people in their duties as well as their rights. When, on the expiration of my engagement, I was about to leave for home, the prefect of Wuchang, a Canton man, addressed me a letter begging me to plead the cause of his people with the President of the United States. That letter was referred to in an interview by the viceroy, and the request which it contained reiterated by him. He gave me a parting banquet, attended by many of his mandarins, and on that occasion the subject came up again and the same request was renewed and pressed on me from all sides. While I promised to exert myself on their behalf, let me give you a specimen of the kind of oil which I poured on their wounded feelings. "Said I, 'Under the exasperating effect of these petty grievances your people forget what they owe to the United States. They lose sight of the danger of alienating their best friend. In the Boxer War, when Peking was captured by a combined force of eight foreign powers, who but America was the first to introduce a self-denying ordinance forbidding any power to take any portion of the Chinese territory? In this she was backed up by Great Britain; the other powers fell into line and the integrity of the Empire was assured. Again, when China was in danger of being drawn into the vortex of the Russo-Japanese war, who but America secured for her the privileges of neutrality--thus a second time protecting her national life? And now you turn [Page 250] against us! Is not such conduct condemned by your ancient poet who says: "_'Ki wo siao yuen, wang wo ta teh', etc._ (How many acts of kindness done One small offence wipes out, As motes obscure the shining sun And shut his lustre out.') "If the cause of offence be taken away there is reason to hope that the beneficent action of our country, on those two occasions so big with destiny, will be remembered, and will lead China to look to our flag as an ægis under which she may find protection in time of need. Not till then will our influence, now reduced to the vanishing-point, be integrated to its full value. PROVOCATIONS TO A BOYCOTT "The injuries inflicted, though trifling in comparison with the benefits conferred, are such as no self-respecting people should either perpetrate or endure. Take one example, where I could give you twenty. Two young men, both Christians, one rich, the other poor, came to the United States for education. They were detained in a prison-shed for three months, One of them, falling sick, was removed to a hospital; the other obtaining permission to visit him, they made their escape to Canada and thence back to China. "What wonder no more students come to us and that over 8,000 are now pursuing their studies in Japan![*] [Footnote *: The conciliatory policy of President Roosevelt is bearing fruit Forty students are about to start to the United States (May, 1906).] "The present irritation is, we are assured by the agitators, provoked by the outrageous treatment of the _privileged classes_ (merchants, travellers, and students) and not by the exclusion of labourers, to which their government has given its assent. Yet in the growing intelligence of the Chinese a time has come when their rulers feel such discrimination as a stigma. It is not merely [Page 251] a just application of existing laws that Viceroy Chang and his mandarins demand. They call for the rescinding of those disgraceful prohibitions and the right to compete on equal terms with immigrants from Europe. If we show a disposition to treat the Chinese fairly, their country and their hearts will be open to us as never before. Our commerce with China will expand to vast proportions; and our flag will stand highest among those that overarch and protect the integrity of that empire." On November 16, I was received by President Roosevelt. Running his eye over the documents (see below) which I placed in his hands he expressed himself on each point. The grievances arising from the Exclusion Laws he acknowledged to be real. He promised that they should be mitigated or removed by improvements in the mode of administration; but he held out no hope of their repeal. "We have one race problem on our hands and we don't want another," he said with emphasis. The boycott which the Chinese have resorted to as a mode of coercion he condemned as an aggravation of existing difficulties. The interruption of trade and the killing of American missionaries to which it had led made it impossible, he said, to turn over to China the surplus indemnity, as he had intended. This response is what I expected; but it will by no means satisfy the ruling classes in China, who aim at nothing short of repeal. When I assured him the newspapers were wrong in representing the agitation as confined to labourers and merchants, adding that the highest mandarins, while formally condemning it, really give it countenance, he replied that he believed that to be the case, and reiterated the declaration that [Page 252] nothing is to be gained by such violent measures on the part of China. From the Executive Mansion, I proceeded to the Chinese Legation, where I talked over the matter with the minister, Sir Chentung Liang. He was not surprised at the attitude of the President. He said the state of feeling towards China in Congress and in the entire country is improving, but that, in his opinion, it will require ten years to bring about the repeal of the Exclusion Laws. The present hitch in negotiations comes in part from Peking, but he hoped a temporary settlement would soon be arrived at. The papers referred to above are here appended. LETTERS REQUESTING GOOD OFFICES (_Translation_) "To the Hon. Dr. Martin. "Sir: "During the last three years we have often exchanged views on the subject of education and other topics of the day; and to me it is a joy to reflect that no discordant note has ever marred our intercourse. "In view of your learning and your long residence of forty years at our capital, besides fifteen years in other parts of China, you are regarded by us with profound respect. When we hear your words we ponder them and treasure them up as things not to be forgotten. It is by your scholarship and by your personal character that you have been able to associate with the officers and scholars of the Central Empire in harmony like this. "Now, sir, there is a matter which we wish to bring to your attention--a matter that calls for the efforts of wise men like yourself. I refer to the exclusion of Chinese labourers. It affects our mercantile as well as our labouring population very deeply. [Page 253] "We beg you to bear in mind your fifty-five years' sojourn in China and to speak a good word on our behalf to the President of the United States so as to secure the welfare of both classes. "If through your persuasion the prohibitory regulations should be withdrawn the gratitude of our Chinese people will know no bounds; your fifty-five years of devotion to the good of China will have a fitting consummation in one day's achievement; and your name will be handed down to coming generations. "Being old friends, I write as frankly as if we were speaking face to face. "(Signed) LIANG TING FEN, "Director of the Normal College for the Two Lake "Provinces, Intendant of Circuit (_Taotai_), etc. etc. "Wuchang, July 8, 1905." The foregoing translation was made by me, and the original is attached to the copy presented to the President, for the satisfaction of any official interpreter who may desire to see it. This letter may be regarded as expressing the sentiments of the higher officials of the Chinese Empire. It was written on the eve of my embarkation for home by a man who more than any other has a right to be looked on as spokesman for Viceroy Chang; and the following day the request was repeated by the viceroy himself. These circumstances make it a document of more than ordinary importance. The outrageous treatment to which the privileged classes (merchants, students, and travellers) have been subjected, under cover of enforcing the Exclusion Laws, has caused a deep-rooted resentment, of which the boycott is only a superficial manifestation. That movement may not be of long duration, but it has already lasted long enough to do us no little damage. [Page 254] Besides occasioning embarrassment to our trade, it has excited a feeling of hostility which it will require years of conciliatory policy to eradicate. The letter makes no direct reference to the boycott, neither does it allude to coming negotiations; yet there can be little doubt that, in making this appeal, the writer had both in view. The viceroy and his officials are right in regarding the present as a grave crisis in the intercourse of the two countries. Their amicable relations have never been interrupted except during a fanatical outbreak known as the "Boxer Troubles," which aimed at the expulsion of all foreigners. The leading part taken by our country in the subsequent settlement, especially in warding off the threatened dismemberment of China, added immensely to our influence. Again, on the outbreak of the Russo-Japanese conflict, which was waged mainly on Chinese territory, it was American diplomacy that secured for China the advantage of neutrality, and once more warded off a danger that menaced her existence. Yet every spark of gratitude for these transcendent services is liable to be extinguished by the irritation caused by discrimination against her labourers and the consequent ill-treatment of other classes of her people. No argument is required to show how important it is to remove all grounds of complaint in the interest of our growing commerce. That any sweeping alteration will be made in our existing laws, I have given my mandarin friends no reason to expect. Self-preservation stands on a higher plane than the amenities of intercourse. For many years these laws served as a bulwark without which the [Page 255] sparse population of our Western States would have been swamped by the influx of Asiatics. In early days it was easier for the Chinese to cross the ocean than for the people of our Eastern States to cross the Continent. Now, however, the completion of railroads has reduced the continental transit to five or six days, in lieu of many months; and the population of our Pacific Coast is so considerable that there is no longer any danger of its being overrun by immigrants from the Far East. Is it not therefore a fair question whether the maintenance of these old restrictions is desirable or politic? Swaddling bands, necessary for the protection of an infant, are an impediment to a growing boy. That question can perhaps be best decided by ascertaining the general sentiment of our Pacific States. My impression is that, with the exception of the fruit-growers of California and some others, they are strongly opposed to what they call "letting down the bars." The most feasible way of meeting the difficulty would be, as it appears to me, the enactment of regulations to provide against abuses in the enforcement of our Exclusion Laws. The President has already spoken forcibly in condemnation of such abuses. The "privileged classes" might be construed in a more liberal sense. Provision might be made to mitigate the hardships of detention and repatriation; and a better class of inspectors might be appointed with a general superintendent, whose duty it should be to see that the laws are enforced humanely as well as faithfully. On December 18, less than three months after the attack on Americans at Lienchow, an attempt [Page 256] was made to destroy the British settlement in Shanghai. A woman arrested on a charge of kidnapping was sent to the foreign jail to await trial. The Chinese assessor insisted, not without reason, that she ought to be kept in a native jail. No attention being given to his protest, though supported by the _taotai_ or local governor, a mob of riff-raff from beyond the limits burst into the settlement, put the foreign police to flight, and began to burn and pillage. Happily a body of marines with gatling guns and fire-engines succeeded in quelling the flames and suppressing the insurrection. A few hours' delay must have seen that rich emporium converted into a heap of ashes. Forty of the rioters were killed and many wounded. Though on ground granted to Great Britain, the settlement is called international and is governed by a municipal council elected by the foreign ratepayers. The Chinese residents, numbering half a million, are allowed no voice in the council; and that also is felt as a grievance. They are, however, protected against the rapacity of their own officials; and it is said they took no part in the riot. In fact had it not been promptly suppressed they must have suffered all the horrors of sack and pillage. After it was over they took occasion to demand recognition in the municipal government; promising to be satisfied if allowed to appoint a permanent committee, with whom the council should consult before deciding on any question affecting their interests. Modest as this request was, it was rejected by an almost unanimous vote of the foreign ratepayers. They knew that such committee, however elected, [Page 257] was certain to be manipulated by the governor to extend his jurisdiction. Their decision was quietly accepted by the Chinese residents, who appreciate the protection which they enjoy in that strange republic. The question is certain to come up again, and their claim to be heard will be pressed with more insistence as they become more acquainted with the principles of representative government. The existence of an _imperium in imperio_ which comes between them and their people is of course distasteful to the mandarins; and they are bent on curtailing its privileges. If its franchises were surrendered, "Ichabod" might be inscribed on the gates of the model settlement. The practice of marking out a special quarter for each nationality is an old one in China, adopted for convenience. When, after the first war, the British exacted the opening of ports, they required the grant of a concession in each, within which their consuls should have chief, if not exclusive authority. Other nations made the same demands; and China made the grants, not as to the British from necessity, but apparently from choice--the foreign consul being bound to keep his people in order. Now, however, the influx of natives into the foreign settlements, and the enormous growth of those mixed communities in wealth and population, have led the Chinese Government to look on the ready compliance of its predecessors as a blunder. Accordingly, in opening new ports in the interior it marks out a foreign quarter, but makes no "concession." It does not as before waive the exercise of jurisdiction within those limits. [Page 258] The above question relates solely to the government of Chinese residing in the foreign "concessions." But there is a larger question now looming on the political sky, viz., how to recover the right of control over foreigners, wherever they may be in the Empire. If it were in their power, the Chinese would cancel not merely the franchises of foreign settlements, but the treaty right of exemption from control by the local government. This is a franchise of vital interest to the foreigner, whose life and property would not be safe were they dependent on the native tribunals as these are at present constituted. Such exemption is customary in Turkey and other Moslem countries, not to say among the Negroes of Africa. It was recognised by treaty in Japan; and the Japanese, in proportion as they advanced in the path of reform, felt galled by an exception which fixed on them the stigma of barbarism. When they had proved their right to a place in the comity of nations, with good laws administered, foreign powers cheerfully consented to allow them the exercise of all the prerogatives of sovereignty. How does her period of probation compare with that of her neighbour? Japan resolved on national renovation on Western lines in 1868. China came to no such resolution until the collapse of her attempt to exterminate the foreigner in 1900. With her the age of reform dates from the return of the Court in 1902--as compared with Japan four years to thirty! Then what a contrast in the animus of the two countries! The one characterised by law and order, the other [Page 259] by mob violence, unrestrained, if not instigated, by the authorities! When the north wind tried to compel a traveller to take off his cloak, the cloak was wrapped the closer and held the tighter. When the sun came out with his warm beams, the traveller stripped it off of his own accord. The sunrise empire has exemplified the latter method; China prefers the former. Is it not to be feared that the apparent success of the boycott will encourage her to persist in the policy of the traveller in the north wind. She ought to be notified that she is on probation, and that the only way to recover the exercise of her sovereign rights is to show herself worthy of confidence. The Boxer outbreak postponed by many years the withdrawal of the cloak of ex-territoriality, and every fresh exhibition of mob violence defers that event to a more distant date. To confound "stranger" with "enemy" is the error of Bedouin or Afghan. Does not China do the same when she mistakes hostility to foreigners for patriotism? By this blunder she runs the risk of alienating her best friends, England and America. A farmer attempting to rope up a shaky barrel in which a hen was sitting on a nest full of eggs, the silly fowl mistook him for an enemy and flew in his face. Is not China in danger of being left to the fate which her friends have sought to avert? In April a magistrate went by invitation to the French Catholic Mission to settle a long-standing dispute, and he settled it by committing suicide--in China the most dreaded form of revenge. Carried [Page 260] out gasping but speechless, he intimated that he was the victim of a murderous attack by the senior priest. His wounds were photographed; and the pictures were circulated with a view to exciting the mob. Gentry and populace held meetings for the purpose of screwing their courage up to the required pitch--governor and mandarins kept carefully in the background--and on the fifth day the mission buildings were destroyed and the priests killed. An English missionary, his wife and daughter, living not far away, were set upon and slain, not because they were not known to belong to another nation and another creed, but because an infuriated mob does not care to discriminate. English and French officials proceeded to the scene in gunboats to examine the case and arrange a settlement. The case of the English family was settled without difficulty; but that of the French mission was more complicated. Among the French demands were two items which the Chinese Government found embarrassing. It had accepted the theory of murder and hastily conferred posthumous honours on the deceased magistrate. The French demanded the retraction of those honors, and a public admission of suicide. To pay a money indemnity and cashier a governor was no great hardship, but how could the court submit to the humiliation of dancing to the tune of a French piper? An English surgeon declared, in a sealed report of autopsy, that the wounds must have been self-inflicted, as their position made it impossible for them to have been inflicted by an assailant. But [Note from PG proofer: two lines of text missing here.] [Page 261] In 1870 France accepted a money payment for the atrocious massacre at Tientsin, because the Second Empire was entering on a life-and-death struggle with Germany. If she makes things easy for China this time, will it not be because the Republic is engaged in mortal combat with the Roman Church? China's constant friction and frequent collisions with France spring chiefly from two sources; (1) the French protectorate over the Roman missions, and (2) the menacing attitude of France in Indo-China. It was to avenge the judicial murder of a missionary that Louis Napoleon sent troops to China in 1857-60. From this last date the long-persecuted Church assumed an imperious tone. The restitution of confiscated property was a source of endless trouble; and the certainty of being backed up by Church and State emboldened native converts not only to insist on their own rights, but to mix in disputes with which they had no necessary connection--a practice which more than anything else has tended to bring the Holy Faith into disrepute among the Chinese people. Yet, on the other side, there are more fruitful sources of difficulty in the ignorance of the people and in the unfair treatment of converts by the Chinese Government. While the Government, having no conception of religious freedom, extends to Christians of all creeds a compulsory toleration and views them as traitors to their country, is it not natural for their pagan neighbours to treat them with dislike and suspicion? In this state of mind they, like the pagans of ancient Rome, charge them with horrible crimes, and seize the slightest occasion for murderous attack. A church [Page 262] spire is said to disturb the good luck of a neighbourhood--the people burn the building. A rumour is started that babies in a foundling hospital have their eyes taken out to make into photographic medicine--the hospital is demolished and the Sisters of Charity killed. A skeleton found in the house of a physician is paraded on the street as proof of diabolical acts--instantly an angry mob wrecks the building and murders every foreigner within its reach. One of these instances was seen in the Tientsin massacre of 1869, the other in the Lienchow massacre of 1905. Nor are these isolated cases. Two American ladies doing hospital work in Canton were set upon by a mob, who accused them of killing a man whose life they were trying to save, and they narrowly escaped murder. But why extend the gruesome list? In view of their mad fury, so fatal to their benefactors, one is tempted to exclaim: _Unglaube du bist nicht so viel ein ungeheuer als aberglaube du!_ "Of the twin monsters, unbelief and superstition, the more to be dreaded is the last!" In China if a man falls in the street, the priest and Levite consult their own safety by keeping at a distance; and if a good Samaritan stoops to pick him up it is at his peril. In treating the sick a medical man requires as much courage and tact as if he were dealing with lunatics! These dark shadows, so harmful to the good name of China, are certain to be dissipated by the numerous agencies now employed to diffuse intelligence. But what of the feeling towards religious missions? Medical missions are recognised as a potent agency in overcoming prejudice. They reach the heart of [Page 263] the people by ministering to their bodily infirmities; high officials are among their supporters; and the Empress Dowager latterly showed a disposition to give them her patronage. But how about the preaching missionary and the teaching missionary? Are the Chinese hostile to these branches of missionary work? Unlike Mohammedan or Brahman, the Chinese are not strongly attached to any form of religious faith. They take no umbrage at the offer of a new creed, particularly if it have the advantage of being akin to that of their ancient sages. What they object to is not the creed, but the foreigner who brings it. Their newspapers are in fact beginning to agitate the question of accepting the Christian faith and propagating it in their own way, without aid from the foreigner. That they would be glad to see merchant and missionary leave them in peace, no one can doubt. Yet the influence of missions is steadily on the increase; and their influence for good is acknowledged by the leading minds of the Empire. Said the High Commissioner Tuan Fang, in an address to the Mission Boards at New York, February 2,1906: "We take pleasure this evening in bearing testimony to the part taken by American missionaries in promoting the progress of the Chinese people. They have borne the light of Western civilisation into every nook and corner of the Empire. They have rendered inestimable service to China by the laborious task of translating into the Chinese language religious and scientific works of the West. They help us to bring happiness and comfort to the poor and the suffering by the establishment [Page 264] of hospitals and schools. The awakening of China which now seems to be at hand may be traced in no small measure to the hand of the missionary. For this service you will find China not ungrateful." Mission stations, now counted by hundreds, have generally high schools or colleges. Not only is the science taught in them up-to-date, but the conscientious manner in which they are conducted makes them an object-lesson to those officials who are charged with the supervision of government schools. To name only a few: Here in Peking is a university of the American Methodist Episcopal Church which is not unworthy of the name it bears. At Tungchow, a suburb of the capital, is a noble college of the American Board (Congregationalist) which is in every point a worthy compeer. These coöperate with each other and with a Union Medical College which under the London Mission has won the favour of the Empress Dowager. The American Presbyterian Mission has a high school and a theological seminary, and coöperates to a certain extent with the three societies above named. A quadrilateral union like this speaks volumes as to the spirit in which the work of Christian education is being carried forward. The Atlantic is bridged and two nations unite; denominational differences are forgotten in view of the mighty enterprise of converting an empire. In the economy of their teaching force they already experience the truth of the maxim "Union is Strength." In Shantung, at Weihien, there is a fine college in [Page 265] which English Baptists unite with American Presbyterians. The original plant of the latter was a college at Tengchow, which under Dr. Mateer afforded conclusive proof that an education deep and broad may be given through the medium of the Chinese language. In most of these schools the English language is now claiming a prominent place, not as the sole medium for instruction, but as a key to the world's literature, and a preparation for intercourse with foreign nations. At Shanghai, which takes the lead in education as in commerce, there is an admirable institution called St. John's College which makes English the basis of instruction. Numberless other schools make it a leading branch of study to meet the wants of a centre of foreign trade. One of the best known institutions of Shanghai is a Roman Catholic College at Siccawei, which preserves the traditions of Matteo Ricci, and his famous convert Paul Sü. In connection with it are an astronomical observatory and a weather bureau, which are much appreciated by foreigners in China, and ought to be better known throughout the Empire. Passing down a coast on which colleges are more numerous than lighthouses, one comes to Canton, where, near the "Great City" and beautifully conspicuous, rises the Canton Christian College. These are mentioned by way of example, to show what missionaries are doing for the education of China. It is a narrow view of education that confines it to teaching in schools. Missionaries led the way in Chinese journalism and in the preparation of textbooks in all branches of science. The Society for the [Page 266] Diffusion of Useful Knowledge is spreading broadcast the seeds of secular and religious truth. Gratitude for the good they have already done, as well as for benefits to come, ought to lead the Chinese Government to accord a generous recognition to all these institutions. At the opening of the Union Medical College, Mr. Rockhill, the American minister, in a remarkable address, proposed the recognition of their degrees by the Government; and as a representative of the Empress Dowager was in the chair on that occasion, there is reason to hope that his suggestion will not be overlooked. [Page 267] CHAPTER XXXII THE MANCHUS, THE NORMANS OF CHINA _The Ta-Ts'ing Dynasty--The Empress Dowager--Her Origin--Her First Regency--Her Personality--Other Types--Two Manchu Princes--Two Manchu Ministers--The Nation's Choice--Conclusions_ In a wide survey of the history of the world, we discover a law which appears to govern the movements of nations. Those of the north show a tendency to encroach on those of the south. The former are nomads, hunters, or fishers, made bold by a constant struggle with the infelicities of their environment. The latter are occupied with the settled industries of civilised life. The Goths and Vandals of Rome, and the Tartars under Genghis and Tamerlane all conform to this law and seem to be actuated by a common impulse. In the east and west of the Eastern hemisphere may be noted two examples of this general movement, which afford a curious parallel: I refer to the Normans of Great Britain and the Manchus of China. Both empires are under the sway of dynasties which originated in the north; for the royal house of Britain, though under another title, has always been proud of its Norman blood. The Normans who conquered Britain had first [Page 268] settled in France and there acquired the arts of civilised life. The Manchus coming from the banks of the Amur settled in Liao-tung, a region somewhat similarly situated with reference to China. There they learned something of the civilisation of China, and watched for an opportunity to obtain possession of the empire. In Britain a kindred branch of the Norman family was on the throne, and William the Conqueror contrived to give his invasion a colour of right, by claiming the throne under an alleged bequest of Edward the Confessor. The Manchus, though not invoking such artificial sanction, aspired to the dominion of China because their ancestors of the Golden Horde had ruled over the northern half of the empire. The Norman conquest, growing out of a family quarrel, was decided by a single battle. The Manchus' conquest of a country more than ten times the extent of Britain was not so easy to effect. Yet they achieved it with unexampled rapidity, because they came by invitation and they brought peace to a people exhausted by long wars. Their task was comparatively easy in the north, where the traditions of the Kin Tartars still survived; but it was prolonged and bloody in the south. Both houses treated their new subjects as a conquered people. Each imposed the burden of foreign garrisons and a new nobility. Each introduced a foreign language, which they tried to perpetuate as the speech of the court, if not of the people. In each case the language of the people asserted itself. In Britain it absorbed and assimilated the alien tongue; in China, where the absence of common elements made amalgamation [Page 269] impossible, it superseded that of the conquerors, not merely for writing purposes, but as the spoken dialect of the court. Both conquerors found it necessary to conciliate the subject race by liberal and timely concessions; but here begins a contrast. In Britain no external badge of subjection was ever imposed; in process of time all special privileges of the ruling caste were abolished; and no trace of race antipathy ever displays itself anywhere--if we except Ireland. In China the cue remains as a badge of subjection. Habit has reconciled the people to its use; but it still offers a tempting grip to revolutionary agitators. Every party that raises the standard of revolt abolishes the cue; would it not be wise for the Manchu Government to make the wearing of that appendage a matter of option, especially as it is beginning to disappear from their soldiers' uniform? The extension of reform in dress from camp to court and from court to people (to them as a matter of option) would remove a danger. It would also remove a barrier in the way of China's admission into the congress of nations. The abolition of the cue implies the abandonment of those long robes which make such an impression of barbaric pomp. Already the Chinese are tacitly permitted to adopt foreign dress; and in every case they have to dispense with the cue. The Japanese never did a wiser thing than to adopt our Western costume. Their example tends to encourage a reform of the same kind in China. A new costume means a new era. Another point is required to complete the parallel: [Page 270] each victor has given the conquered country a better government than any in its previous history. To Confucius feudalism was a beau-ideal, and he beautifully compares the sovereign to the North Star which sits in state on the pole of the heavens while all the constellations revolve around it, and pay it homage. Yet was the centralised government of the First Hwang-ti an immense improvement on the loose agglomeration of the Chous. The great dynasties have all adopted the principle of centralisation; but not one has applied it with such success, nor is there one which shows so large a proportion of respectable rulers as the house of Ta-ts'ing. Of the first six some account has been given in Part II. As to the next two it is too soon to have the verdict of history. One died after a brief reign of two years and three months, too short to show character. The other now sits at the foot of the throne, while his adoptive mother sways the sceptre. Both have been overshadowed by the Empress Dowager and controlled by her masterful spirit. China has had female rulers that make figures in history, such as Lu of the Han and Wu of the T'ang dynasties, but she has no law providing for the succession of a female under any conditions. A female reign is abnormal, and the ruler a monstrosity. Her character is always blackened so as to make it difficult to delineate. Yet in every instance those women have possessed rare talent; for without uncommon gifts it must have been impossible to seize a sceptre in the face of such prejudices, and to sway it over a submissive people. Usually they are described much as the Jewish chronicler sketches the character of Jezebel [Page 271] or Athaliah. Cruel, licentious, and implacable, they "destroy the seed royal," they murder the prophets and they make the ears of the nation tingle with stories of shameless immorality. Among these we shall not seek a parallel for the famous Empress Dowager, so well known to the readers of magazine literature. In tragic vicissitudes, if not in length of reign, she stood without a rival in the history of the world. She also stood alone in the fact that her destinies were interwoven with the tangle of foreign invasion. Twice she fled from the gates of a fallen capital; and twice did the foreign conqueror permit her to return. Without the foreigner and his self-imposed restraint, there could have been no Empress Dowager in China. Did she hate the foreigner for driving her away, or did she thank him for her repeated restoration? The daughter of Duke Chou (the slave-girl story is a myth), she became a secondary wife of Hienfung in 1853 or 1854; and her sister somewhat later became consort of the Emperor's youngest brother. Having the happiness to present her lord with a son, she was raised to the rank of Empress and began to exert no little influence in the character of mother to an heir-apparent. Had she not been protected by her new rank her childless rival might have driven her from court and appropriated the boy. She had instead to admit a joint motherhood, which in a few years led to a joint regency. Scarcely had the young Empress become accustomed to her new dignity, when the fall of Taku and Tientsin, in 1860, warned the Emperor of what he might [Page 272] expect. Taking the two imperial ladies and their infant son, he retired to Jeho, on the borders of Tartary, in time to escape capture. There he heard of the burning of his summer palace and the surrender of his capital. Whether he succumbed to disease or whether a proud nature refused to survive his disgrace, is not known. What we do know is, that on his death, in 1861, two princes, Sushun and Tuanhwa, organised a regency and brought the court back to the capital about a year after the treaty of peace had been signed by Prince Kung as the Emperor's representative. Prince Kung was not included in the council of regency; and he knew that he was marked for destruction. Resolving to be beforehand, he found means to consult with the Empresses, who looked to him to rescue them from the tyranny of the Council of Eight. On December 2 the blow was struck: all the members of the council were seized; the leader was put to death in the market-place; some committed suicide; and others were condemned to exile. A new regency was formed, consisting of the two Empresses and Prince Kung, the latter having the title of "joint regent." What part the Empress Mother had taken in this her first _coup d'état_, is left to conjecture. Penetrating and ambitious she was not content to be a tool in the hands of the Eight. The senior Empress yielded to the ascendency of a superior mind, as she continued to do for twenty years. There was another actor whom it would be wrong to overlook, namely, Kweiliang, the good secretary, who had signed the treaties at Tientsin. His daughter [Page 273] was Prince Kung's principal wife, and though too old to take a leading part in the Court revolutions, it was he who prompted Prince Kung, who was young and inexperienced, to strike for his life. The reigning title of the infant Emperor was changed from _Kisiang_, "good luck," to _Tung-chi_, "joint government"; and the Empire acquiesced in the new régime. One person there was, however, who was not quite satisfied with the arrangement. This was the restless, ambitious young Dowager. The Empire was quiet; and things went on in their new course for years, Prince Kung all the time growing in power and dignity. His growing influence gave her umbrage; and one morning a decree from the two Dowagers stripped him of power, and confined him a prisoner in his palace. His alleged offence was want of respect to their Majesties; he threw himself at their feet and implored forgiveness. The ladies were not implacable; he was restored to favour and clothed with all his former dignities, except one. The title of _Icheng-wang_, "joint regent," never reappeared. In 1881 the death of the senior Dowager left the second Dowager alone in her glory. So harmoniously had they coöperated during their joint regency, and so submissive had the former been to the will of the latter, that there was no ground for suspicion of foul play, yet such suspicions are always on the wing, like bats in the twilight of an Oriental court. On the death of Tung-chi, the adroit selection of a nephew of three summers to succeed to the throne as her adopted son, gave the Dowager the prospect of another long regency. Recalled to power by the [Page 274] reactionaries, in 1898, after a brief retirement, the Empress Dowager dethroned her puppet by a second _coup-d'état_. During the ruinous recoil that followed she had the doubtful satisfaction of feeling herself sole aristocrat of the Chinese Empire. Was it not the satisfaction of a gladiator who seated himself on the throne of the Cæsars in a burning amphitheatre? Was she not made sensible that she, too, was a creature of circumstances, when her ill-judged policy compelled her a second time to seek safety in flight? A helpless fugitive, how could she conceive that fortune held in reserve for her brighter days than she had ever experienced? Accepting the situation and returning with the Emperor, the Empire and the world accepted her, and, taught by experience, she engaged in the congenial task of renovating the Chinese people. Advancing years, consciousness of power, and willing conformity to the freer usages of European courts, all conspired to lead her to throw aside the veil and to appear openly as the chief actor on this imperial stage. Six years ago her seventieth birthday was celebrated with great pomp, although she had forbidden her people to be too lavish in their loyalty. At Wuchang, Tuan Fang, who was acting viceroy, gave a banquet at which he asked me to make a speech in the Dowager's honor. The task was a delicate one for a man who had borne the hardships of a siege in 1900; but I accepted it, and excused the Dowager on the principle of British law, that "The king can do no [Page 275] wrong." Throwing the blame on her ministers, I pronounced a eulogy on her talents and her public services. The question arises, did we know her in person and character? Have we not seen her in that splendid portrait executed by Miss Carl, and exhibited at St. Louis? If we suspect the artist of flattery, have we not a gallery of photographs, in which she shows herself in many a majestic pose? Is flattery possible to a sunbeam? We certainly see her as truly as we see ourselves in a mirror! As to character, it is too soon to express an opinion. _Varium et mutabile semper femina_. To pencil and sunbeam add word-pictures by men and women from whose critical eyes she did not conceal herself; and we may confidently affirm that we knew her personal appearance as well as we knew that of any lady who occupies or shares a European throne. A trifle under the average height of European ladies, so perfect were her proportions and so graceful her carriage that she seemed to need nothing to add to her majesty. Her features were vivacious and pleasing rather than beautiful; her complexion, not yellow, but subolive, and her face illuminated by orbs of jet, half-hidden by dark lashes, behind which lurked the smiles of favour or the lightning of anger. No one would take her to be over forty. She carried tablets on which, even during conversation, she jotted down memoranda. Her pencil was the support of her sceptre. With it she sent out her autograph commands; and with it, too, she inscribed those pictured characters which were worn as the proudest decorations [Page 276] of her ministers. I have seen them in gilded frames in the hall of a viceroy. The elegance of her culture excited sincere admiration in a country where women are illiterate; and the breadth of her understanding was such as to take in the details of government. She chose her agents with rare judgment, and shifted them from pillar to post, so that they might not forget their dependence on her will. Without a parallel in her own country, she has been sometimes compared with Catherine II. of Russia. She had the advantage in the decency of her private life; for though she is said to have had favourites they have never dared to boast of her favours, nor was a curious public ever able to identify them. Her full name, including honorific epithets added by the Academy, was Tse Hi Tuanyin Kangyi Chaoyu Chuangcheng Shoukung Chinhien Chunghi. A few hours before her death, which occurred on the day after the Emperor's, she named his nephew as successor, and the present ruler, Hsuan-Tung, who was born in 1903, began to reign November 14, 1908. Let the Dowager be taken as a type of the Manchu woman. The late Emperor, though handsome and intelligent, was too small for a representative of a robust race. Tuan Fang, the High Commissioner, is a more favourable specimen. The Manchus are in general taller than the Chinese, and both in physical and intellectual qualities they prove that their branch of the family is far from effete. Prince Kung, who for fifteen years presided over the imperial cabinet, was tall, handsome and urbane. [Page 277] Despite the disadvantages of an education in a narrow-minded court, he displayed a breadth and capacity of a high order. Prince Ching, who succeeded him in 1875, though less attractive in person, is not deficient in that sort of astuteness that passes for statesmanship. What better evidence than that he has kept himself on top of a rolling log for thirty years? To keep his position through the dethronement of the Emperor and the convulsions of the Boxer War required agility and adaptability of no mean order. Personally I have seen much of both princes. They are abler men than one would expect to find among the offshoots of an Oriental court. Wensiang, who from the opening of Peking to his death in 1875 bore the leading part in the conduct of foreign affairs, showed great ability in piloting the state through rocks and breakers. His mental power greatly impressed all foreigners, while it secured him an easy ascendency among his countrymen. Such men are sure to be overloaded with official duties in a country like China. Physically he was not strong; and on one occasion when he came into the room wheezing with asthma he said to me: "You see I am like a small donkey, with a tight collar and a heavy load." The success of Prince Kung's administration was largely due to Wensiang. Paochuin, minister of finance, and member of the Inner Council, was distinguished as a literary genius. Prince Kung delighted on festive occasions to call him and Tungsuin to a contest in extempore verse. To enter the lists with a noted scholar and poet like Tung, showed how the Manchus have come to vie with the Chinese in the [Page 278] refinements of literary culture. I remember him as a dignified greybeard, genial and jocose. On the fall of the Kung ministry, he doffed his honours in three stanzas, which contain more truth than poetry: "Through life, as in a pleasing dream, Unconscious of my years, In Fortune's smile to bask I seem; Perennial, Spring appears. "Alas! Leviathan to take Defies the fisher's art; From dreams of glory I awake,-- My youth and power depart. "That loss is often gain's disguise May us for loss console. My fellow-sufferers, take advice And keep your reason whole." In more than one crisis, the heart of the nation has cleaved to the Manchu house as the embodiment of law and order. The people chose to adhere to a tolerably good government rather than take the chance of a better one emerging from the strife of factions. Three things are required to confirm their loyalty: (1) the abolition of tonsure and pigtail, (2) the abandonment of all privileges in examinations and in the distribution of offices, (3) the removal of all impediments in the way of intermarriage. This last has been recently authorised by proclamation. It is not so easy for those who are in possession of the loaves and fishes to admit others to an equal share. If to these were added the abolition of a degrading [Page 279] badge, the Manchu dynasty might hope to be perpetual, because the Manchus would cease to exist as a people. CONCLUSIONS 1. More than once I have demanded the expulsion of the Manchus, and the partition of China. That they deserved it no one who knows the story of 1900 will venture to deny. It was not without reason that _Mene tekel_ and _Ichabod_ were engraved on the medal commemorating the siege in Peking. If I seem to recant, it is in view of the hopeful change that has come over the spirit of the Manchu Government. Under the leadership of Dowager Empress and Emperor, the people were more likely to make peaceful progress than under a new dynasty or under the Polish policy of division. 2. The prospect of admission to the full privileges of a member of the brotherhood of nations will act as an incentive to improvement. But the subjection of foreigners to Chinese jurisdiction ought not to be conceded without a probation as long and thorough as that through which Japan had to pass. In view of the treachery and barbarism so conspicuous in 1900--head-hunting and edicts to massacre foreigners--a probation of thirty years would not be too long. During that time the reforms in law and justice should be fully tested, and the Central Government should be held responsible for the repression of every tendency to anti-foreign riots. A government that encourages Boxers and other rioters as patriots does not merit an equal place in the [Page 280] congress of nations. The alternative is the "gunboat policy," according to which foreign powers will administer local punishment. If the mother of the house will not chastise her unruly children, she must allow her neighbours to do it. 3. Prior to legal reform, and at the root of it, the adoption of a constitution ought to be insisted on. In such constitution a leading article ought to be not toleration, but freedom of conscience. As long as China looks on native Christians as people who have abjured their nationality, so long will they be objects of persecution; self-defence and reprisals will keep the populace in a ferment, and peace will be impossible. If China is sincere in her professions of reform, she will follow the example of Japan and make her people equal in the eye of the law without distinction of creed. 4. All kinds of reform are involved in the new education, and to that China is irrevocably committed. Reënforced by railroad, telegraph, and newspaper, the schoolmaster will dispel the stagnation of remote districts, giving to the whole people a horizon wider than their hamlet, and thoughts higher than their hearthstone. Animated by sound science and true religion, it will not be many generations before the Chinese people will take their place among the leading nations of the earth. [Page 281] APPENDIX I. THE AGENCY OF MISSIONARIES IN THE DIFFUSION OF SECULAR KNOWLEDGE IN CHINA[*] [Footnote *: This paper was originally written for Dr. Dennis's well-known work on The Secular Benefits of Christian Missions. As it now appears it is not a mere reprint, it having been much enlarged and brought down to date.] While the primary motive of missionaries in going to China is, as in going to other countries, the hope of bringing the people to Christ, the incidental results of their labours in the diffusion of secular knowledge have been such as to confer inestimable benefit on the world at large and on the Chinese people in particular. This is admitted by the recent High Commission.[**] [Footnote **: See page 263.] It was in the character of apostles of science that Roman Catholic missionaries obtained a footing in Peking three centuries ago, and were enabled to plant their faith throughout the provinces. Armed with telescope and sextant they effected the reform of the Chinese calendar, and secured for their religion the respect and adherence of some of the highest minds in the Empire. So firmly was it rooted that churches of their planting were able to survive a century and a half of persecution. Their achievements, recorded in detail by Abbé Huc and others, fill some of the [Page 282] brightest pages in the history of missions. I shall not enlarge on them in this place, as my present task is to draw attention to the work of Protestant missions. A CENTURY OF PROTESTANT MISSIONS. It is not too much to claim for these last that for a century past they have been active intermediaries, especially between the English-speaking nations and the Far East. On one hand, they have supplied such information in regard to China as was indispensable for commercial and national intercourse, while on the other they have brought the growing science of the Western world to bear on the mind of China. Not only did Dr. Morrison, who led the way in 1807, give the Chinese the first translation of our Holy Scriptures; he was the very first to compile a Chinese dictionary in the English language. THE PIONEER OF AMERICAN MISSIONS It was not until 1838 that America sent her pioneer missionary in the person of Dr. Bridgman. Besides coöperating with others in the revision of Morrison's Bible, or, more properly, in making a new version, Bridgman won immortality by originating and conducting the _Chinese Repository_, a monthly magazine which became a thesaurus of information in regard to the Chinese Empire. THE PRESS--A MISSIONARY FRANKLIN The American Board showed their enlightened policy by establishing a printing-press at Canton, and [Page 283] in sending S. Wells Williams to take charge of it, in 1833. John R. Morrison, son of the missionary, had, indeed, made a similar attempt; but from various causes he had felt compelled to relinquish the enterprise. From the arrival of Williams to the present day the printing-press has shown itself a growing power--a lever which, planted on a narrow fulcrum in the suburb of a single port, has succeeded in moving the Eastern world. The art of printing was not new to the Chinese. They had discovered it before it was dreamed of in Europe; but with their hereditary tendency to run in ruts, they had continued to engrave their characters on wooden blocks in the form of stereotype plates. With divisible types (mostly on wood) they had indeed made some experiments; but that improved method never obtained currency among the people. It was reserved for Christian missions to confer on them the priceless boon of the power press and metallic types. What Williams began at Canton was perfected at Shanghai by Gamble of the Presbyterian Board, who multiplied the fonts and introduced the process of electrotyping. Shut up in the purlieus of Canton, it is astonishing how much Dr. Williams was able to effect in the way of making China known to the Western world. His book on "The Middle Kingdom," first published in 1848, continues to be, after the lapse of half a century, the highest of a long list of authorities on the Chinese Empire. Beginning like Benjamin Franklin as a printer, like Franklin he came to perform a brilliant part in the diplomacy of our country, aiding in the [Page 284] negotiation of a new treaty and filling more than once the post of chargé d'affaires. EXPANSION OF THE WORK The next period of missionary activity dates from the treaty of Nanking, which put an end to the Opium War, in 1842. The opening of five great seaports to foreign residence was a vast enlargement in comparison with a small suburb of Canton; and the withdrawal of prohibitory interdicts, first obtained by the French minister Lagrené, invited the efforts of missionary societies in all lands. In this connection it is only fair to say that, in 1860, when the Peking expedition removed the remaining barriers, it was again to the French that our missionaries were indebted for access to the interior. MEDICAL WORK From the earliest dawn of our mission work it may be affirmed that no sooner did a chapel open its doors than a hospital was opened by its side for the relief of bodily ailments with which the rude quackery of the Chinese was incompetent to deal. Nor is there at this day a mission station in any part of China that does not in this way set forth the practical charity of the Good Samaritan. This glorious crusade against disease and death began, so far as Protestants are concerned, with the Ophthalmic Hospital opened by Dr. Peter Parker at Canton in 1834. MEDICAL TEACHING The training of native physicians began at the same date; and those who have gone forth to bless their [Page 285] people by their newly acquired medical skill may now be counted by hundreds. In strong contrast with the occult methods of native practitioners, neither they nor their foreign teachers have hidden their light under a bushel. Witness the Union Medical College, a noble institution recently opened in Peking under the sanction and patronage of the Imperial Government. A formal despatch of the Board of Education (in July, 1906) grants the power of conferring degrees, and guarantees their recognition by the state. For many years to come this great school is likely to be the leading source of a new faculty. THE SEEDS OF A NEW EDUCATION Not less imperative, though not so early, was the establishment of Christian schools. Those for girls have the merit of being the first to shed light on the shaded hemisphere of Chinese society. Those for boys were intended to reach all grades of life; but their prime object was to raise up a native ministry, not merely to coöperate with foreign missions, but eventually to take the place of the foreign missionary. THE EARLIEST UNION COLLEGE One of the earliest and most successful of these lighthouses was the Tengchow College founded by Dr. C. W. Mateer. It was there that young Chinese were most thoroughly instructed in mathematics, physics, and chemistry. So conspicuous was the success of that institution that when the Government opened a university in Peking, and more recently in Shantung, [Page 286] it was in each case to Tengchow that they had recourse for native teachers of science. From that school they obtained text-books, and from the same place they secured (in Dr. Hayes) a president for the first provincial university organised in China. METHODIST EPISCOPAL UNIVERSITY IN PEKING The missions of the Methodist Episcopal Church have of late taken up the cause of education and carried it forward with great vigour. Not to speak of high schools for both sexes in Fukien, they have a flourishing college in Shanghai, and a university in the imperial capital under the presidency of H. H. Lowry. Destroyed by the Boxers in 1900, that institution has now risen phoenix-like from its ashes with every prospect of a more brilliant future than its most sanguine friends ever ventured to anticipate. AMERICAN BOARD COLLEGE AT TUNGCHOW A fine college of the American Board at Tungchow, near the capital, met the same fate and rose again with similar expansion. Dr. Sheffield, its president, has made valuable contributions to the list of educational text-books. These great schools, together with the Medical College of the London Mission, above referred to, and a high school of the United States Presbyterians, have formed a system of cöoperation which greatly augments the efficiency of each. Of this educational union the chief cornerstone is the Medical College. A similar coöperative union between the English [Page 287] Baptists and American Presbyterians is doing a great work at Weihien, in Shantung. I speak of these because of that most notable feature--union international and interdenominational. Space would fail to enumerate a tithe of the flourishing schools that are aiding in the educational movement; but St. John's College, at Shanghai (U. S. Episcopal), though already mentioned, claims further notice because, as we now learn, it has been given by the Chinese Government the status of a university. PREPARATION OF TEXT-BOOKS Schools require text-books; and the utter absence of anything of the kind, except in the department of classical Chinese, gave rise to early and persistent efforts to supply the want. Manuals in geography and history were among the first produced. Those in mathematics and physics followed; and almanacs were sent forth yearly containing scientific information in a shape adapted to the taste of Chinese readers--alongside of religious truths. Such an annual issued by the late Dr. McCartee, was much sought for. A complete series of text-books in mathematics was translated by Mr. Wylie, of the London Mission; and text-books on other subjects, including geology, were prepared by Messrs. Muirhead, Edkins, and Williamson. At length the task of providing text-books was taken in hand by a special committee, and later on by the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge, now under the direction of the Rev. Dr. Richard. [Page 288] So deeply was the want of text-books felt by some of the more progressive mandarins that a corps of translators was early formed in connection with one of the government arsenals--a work in which Dr. John Fryer has gained merited renown. Those translators naturally gave prominence to books on the art of war, and on the politics of Western nations, the one-sided tendency of their publications serving to emphasise the demand for such books as were prepared by missionaries. Text-books on international law and political economy were made accessible to Chinese literature by Dr. W. A. P. Martin, who, having acted as interpreter to two of the American embassies, was deeply impressed by the ignorance of those vital subjects among Chinese mandarins. On going to reside in Peking, in 1863, Dr. Martin carried with him a translation of Wheaton, and it was welcomed by the Chinese Foreign Office as a timely guide in their new situation. He followed this up by versions of Woolsey, Bluntschli and Hall. He also gave them a popular work on natural philosophy--not a translation--together with a more extended work on mathematical physics. Not only has the former appeared in many editions from the Chinese press, but it has been often reprinted in Japan; and to this day maintains its place in the favour of both empires. To this he has lately added a text-book on mental philosophy. A book on the evidences of Christianity, by the same author, has been widely circulated both in China and in Japan. Though distinctly religious in aim, it [Page 289] appeals to the reader's taste for scientific knowledge, seeking to win the heathen from idolatry by exhibiting the unity and beauty of nature, while it attempts to show the reasonableness of our revealed religion. THREE PRESIDENTS OF GOVERNMENT COLLEGES It is not without significance that the Chinese have sought presidents for their highest schools among the ranks of Protestant missionaries. Dr. Ferguson of the Methodist Episcopal Mission was called to the presidency of the Nanyang College at Shanghai; Dr. Hayes, to be head of a new university in Shantung; and Dr. Martin, after serving for twenty-five years as head of the Diplomatic College in Peking, was, in 1898, made president of the new Imperial University. His appointment was by decree from the Throne, published in the Government _Gazette_; and mandarin rank next to the highest was conferred on him. On terminating his connection with that institution, after it was broken up by Boxers, he was recalled to China to take charge of a university for the two provinces of Hupeh and Hunan. CREATORS OF CHINESE JOURNALISM In the movement of modern society, no force is more conspicuous than journalism. In this our missionaries have from the first taken a leading part, as it was they who introduced it to China. At every central station for the last half-century periodicals have been issued by them in the Chinese language. [Page 290] The man who has done most in this line is Dr. Y. J. Allen, of the Methodist Episcopal Church South. He has devoted a lifetime to it, besides translating numerous books. Formerly the Chinese had only one newspaper in the empire--the _Peking Gazette_, the oldest journal in the world. They now have, in imitation of foreigners, some scores of dailies, in which they give foreign news, and which they print in foreign type. The highest mandarins wince under their stinging criticisms. THEY LEAD A VERNACULAR REVOLUTION It is one of the triumphs of Christianity to have given a written form to the language of modern Europe. It is doing the same for heathen nations in all parts of the earth. Nor does China offer an exception. The culture for which her learned classes are noted is wholly confined to a classic language that is read everywhere, and spoken nowhere, somewhat as Latin was in the West in the Middle Ages, save that Latin was really a tongue capable of being employed in speech, whereas the classical language of China is not addressed to the ear but to the eye, being, as Dr. Medhurst said, "an occulage, not a language." The mandarin or spoken language of the north was, indeed, reduced to writing by the Chinese themselves; and a similar beginning was made with some of the southern dialects. In all these efforts the Chinese ideographs have been employed; but so numerous and disjointed are they that the labour of years is required to get a command of them even for reading in a vernacular [Page 291] dialect. In all parts of China our missionaries have rendered the Scriptures into the local dialects. so that they may be understood when read aloud, and that every man "may hear in his own tongue the wonderful works of God." In some places they have printed them in the vernacular by the use of Chinese characters. Yet those characters are clumsy instruments for the expression of sounds; and in several provinces our missionaries have tried to write Chinese with Roman letters. The experiment has proved successful beyond a doubt. Old women and young children have in this way come to read the Scriptures and other books in a few days. This revolution must go forward with the spread of Christianity; nor is it too much to expect that in the lapse of ages, the hieroglyphs of the learned language will for popular use be superseded by the use of the Roman alphabet, or by a new alphabet recently invented and propagated by officials in Peking. In conclusion: Our missionaries have made our merchants acquainted with China; and they have made foreign nations known to the Chinese. They have aided our envoys in their negotiations; and they have conferred on the Chinese the priceless boon of scientific text-books. Also along with schools for modern education, they have introduced hospitals for the relief of bodily suffering. W. A. P. M. PEKING, Aug. 4. 1906. [Page 292] II. UNMENTIONED REFORMS[*] [Footnote *: Written by the author for the _North-China Daily News_.] The return of the Mission of Inquiry has quickened our curiosity as to its results in proposition and in enactment. All well-wishers of China are delighted to learn that the creation of a parliament and the substitution of constitutional for autocratic government are to have the first place in the making of a New China. The reports of the High Commissioners are not yet before the public, but it is understood that they made good use of their time in studying the institutions of the West, and that they have shown a wise discrimination in the selection of those which they recommend for adoption. There are, however, three reforms of vital importance, which have scarcely been mentioned at all, which China requires for full admission to the comity of nations. 1. A CHANGE OF COSTUME During their tour no one suggested that the Chinese costume should be changed nor would it have been polite or politic to do so. But I do not admire either the taste or the wisdom of those orators who, in welcoming the distinguished visitors; applauded them for their graceful dress and stately carriage. If that indiscreet flattery had any effect it merely tended [Page 293] to postpone a change which is now in progress. All the soldiers of the Empire will ere long wear a Western uniform, and all the school children are rapidly adopting a similar uniform. To me few spectacles that I have witnessed are so full of hope for China as the display on an imperial birthday, when the military exhibit their skilful evolutions and their Occidental uniform, and when thousands of school children appear in a new costume, which is both becoming and convenient. But the Court and the mandarins cling to their antiquated attire. If the peacock wishes to soar with the eagle, he must first get rid of his cumbersome tail. This subject, though it savours of the tailor shop, is not unworthy the attention of the grand council of China's statesmen. Has not Carlyle shown in his "Sartor Resartus" how the Philosophy of Clothes is fundamental to the history of civilisation? The Japanese with wonderful foresight settled that question at the very time when they adopted their new form of government. When Mr. Low was U. S. Minister in Peking some thirty years ago, he said to the writer "Just look at this tomfoolery!" holding up the fashion plates representing the new dress for the diplomatic service of Japan. Time has proved that he was wrong, and that the Japanese were right in adopting a new uniform, when they wished to fall in line with nations of the West. With their old shuffling habiliments and the cringing manners inseparable from them, they never could have been admitted to intercourse on easy terms with Western society. [Page 294] The mandarin costume of China, though more imposing, is not less barbaric than that of Japan; and the etiquette that accompanies it is wholly irreconcilable with the usages of the Western world. Imagine a mandarin doffing his gaudy cap, gay with tassels, feathers, and ruby button, on meeting a friend, or pushing back his long sleeves to shake hands! Such frippery we have learned to leave to the ladies; and etiquette does not require them to lay aside their hats. Quakers, like the mandarins, keep their hats on in public meetings; and the oddity of their manners has kept them out of society and made their following very exiguous. Do our Chinese friends wish to be looked on as Quakers, or do they desire to fraternise freely with the people of the great West? Their cap of ceremony hides a shaven pate and dangling cue, and here lies the chief obstacle in the way of the proposed reform in style and manners. Those badges of subjection will have to be dispensed with either formally or tacitly before the cap that conceals them can give way to the dress hat of European society. Neither graceful nor convenient, that dress hat is not to be recommended on its own merits, but as part of a costume common to all nations which conform to the usages of our modern civilisation. It must have struck the High Commissioners that, wherever they went, they encountered in good society only one general type of costume. Nor would it be possible for them to advise the adoption of the costume of this or that nationality--a general conformity is all that seems feasible or desirable. Will the Chinese [Page 295] cling to their cap and robes with a death grip like that of the Korean who jumped from a railway train to save his high hat and lost his life? As they are taking passage on the great railway of the world's progress, will they not take pains to adapt themselves in every way to the requirements of a new era? 2. POLYGAMY We have as yet no intimation what the Reform Government intends to do with this superannuated institution. Will they persist in burning incense before it to disguise its ill-odour, or will they bury it out of sight at once and for ever? The Travelling Commissioners, whose breadth and acumen are equally conspicuous, surely did not fail to inquire for it in the countries which they visited. Of course, they did not find it there; but, as with the question of costume, the good breeding of their hosts would restrain them from offering any suggestion touching the domestic life of the Chinese. The Commissioners had the honour of presentation to the Queen-Empress Alexandra. Fancy them asking how many subordinate wives she has to aid her in sustaining the dignity of the King-Emperor! They would learn with surprise that no European sovereign, however lax in morals, has ever had a palace full of concubines as a regular appendage to his regal menage; that for prince and people the ideal is monogamy; and that, although the conduct of the rich and great is often such as to make us blush for our Christian civilisation, it is true this day that the crowned heads of Europe are in general setting a worthy example of [Page 296] domestic morals. "Admirable!" respond the Commissioners; "our ancient sovereigns were like that, and our sages taught that there should be '_Ne Wu Yuen Nu, Wai wu Kwang-tu_' (in the harem no pining beauty, outside no man without a mate). It is the luxury of later ages that keeps a multitude of women in seclusion for the pleasure of a few men, and leaves the common man without a wife. We heartily approve the practice of Europe, but what of Africa?" "There the royal courts consider a multitude of wives essential to their grandeur, and the nobles reckon their wealth by the number of their wives and cows. The glory of a prince is that of a cock in a barn-yard or of a bull at the head of a herd. Such is their ideal from the King of Dahomey with his bodyguard of Amazons to the Sultan of Morocco and the Khedive of Egypt. Not only do the Mahommedans of Asia continue the practice--they have tried to transplant their ideal paradise into Europe. Turkey, decayed and rotten, with its black eunuchs and its Circassian slave girls, stands as an object-lesson to the whole world." "We beg your pardon, we know enough about Asia; but what of America--does polygamy flourish there?" "It did exist among the Peruvians and Aztecs before the Spanish conquest, but it is now under ban in every country from pole to pole. Witness the Mormons of Utah! They were refused admission into the American Union as long as they adhered to the Oriental type of plural marriage." "Ah! We perceive you are pointing to the Mormons as a warning to us. You mean that we shall not be admitted into the society of the more civilised nations [Page 297] as long as we hold to polygamy. Well! Our own sages have condemned it. It has a long and shameful record; but its days are numbered. It will do doubt be suppressed by our new code of laws." This imaginary conversation is so nearly a transcript of what must have taken place, that I feel tempted to throw the following paragraphs into the form of a dialogue. The dialogue, however, is unavoidably prolix, and I hasten to wind up the discussion. With reference to the Mormons I may add that at the conference on International Arbitration held at Lake Mohonk last July, there were present Jews, Quakers, Protestants and Roman Catholics, but no Mormons and no Turks. Creeds were not required as credentials, but Turk and Mormon did not think it worth while to knock at the door. Both are objects of contempt, and no nation whose family life is formed on the same model can hope to be admitted to full fraternity with Western peoples. The abominations associated with such a type of society are inconsistent with any but a low grade of civilisation--they are eunuchs, slavery, unnatural vice, and, more than all, a general debasement of the female sex. In Chinese society, woman occupies a shaded hemisphere--not inaptly represented by the dark portion in their national symbol the _Yinyang-tse_ or Diagram of the Dual principles. So completely has she hitherto been excluded from the benefits of education that a young man in a native high school recently began an essay with the exclamation--"I am glad I am not a Chinese woman. Scarcely one in a thousand is able to read!" [Page 298] If "Knowledge is power," as Bacon said, and Confucius before him, what a source of weakness has this neglect of woman been to China. Happily she is not excluded from the new system of national education, and there is reason to believe that with the reign of ignorance polygamy will also disappear as a state of things repugnant to the right feeling of an intelligent woman. But would it not hasten the enfranchisement of the sex, and rouse the fair daughters of the East to a nobler conception of human life if the rulers would issue a decree placing concubinage under the ban of law? Nothing would do more to secure for China the respect of the Western world. 3. DOMESTIC SLAVERY Since writing the first part of this paper, I have learned that some of the Commissioners have expressed themselves in favour of a change of costume. I have also learned that the regulation of slavery is to have a place in the revised statutes, though not referred to by the Commissioners. Had this information reached me earlier, it might have led me to omit the word "unmentioned" from my general title, but it would not have altered a syllable in my treatment of the subject. Cheering it is to the well-wishers of China to see that she has a government strong enough and bold enough to deal with social questions of this class. How urgent is the slave question may be seen from the daily items in your own columns. What, for example, was the lady from Szechuen doing but carrying on a customary [Page 299] form of the slave traffic? What was the case of those singing girls under the age of fifteen, of whom you spoke last week, but a form of slavery? Again, by way of climax, what will the Western world think of a country that permits a mistress to beat a slave girl to death for eating a piece of watermelon--as reported by your correspondent from Hankow? The triviality of the provocation reminds us of the divorce of a wife for offering her mother-in-law a dish of half-cooked pears. The latter, which is a classic instance, is excused on the ground of filial duty, but I have too much respect for the author of the "Hiaoking," to accept a tradition which does a grievous wrong to one of the best men of ancient times. The tradition, however unfounded, may serve as a guide to public opinion. It suggests another subject, which we might (but will not) reserve for another section, viz., the regulation of divorce and the limitation of marital power. It is indeed intimately connected with my present topic, for what is wife or concubine but a slave, as long as a husband has power to divorce or sell her at will--with or without provocation? Last week an atrocious instance, not of divorce, but of wife-murder, occurred within bow-shot of my house. A man engaged in a coal-shop had left his wife with an aunt in the country. The aunt complained of her as being too stupid and clumsy to earn a living. Her brutal husband thereon took the poor girl to a lonely spot, where he killed her, and left her unburied. Returning to the coal-shop, he sent word to his aunt that he was ready to answer for what he had done, if called to account. "Has he been called to account?" [Page 300] I enquired this morning of one of his neighbours. "Oh no! was the reply; it's all settled; the woman is buried, and no inquiry is called for." Is not woman a slave, though called a wife, in a society where such things are allowed to go with impunity? Will not the new laws, from which so much is expected, limit the marriage relation to one woman, and make the man, to whom she is bound, a husband, not a master? Confucius, we are told, resigned office in his native state when the prince accepted a bevy of singing girls sent from a neighbouring principality. The girls were slaves bought and trained for their shameful profession, and the traffic in girls for the same service constitutes the leading form of domestic slavery at this day--so little has been the progress in morals, so little advance toward a legislation that protects the life and virtue of the helpless! But the slave traffic is not confined to women; any man may sell his son; and classes of both sexes are found in all the houses of the rich. Prædial servitude was practised in ancient times, as it was in Europe in the Middle Ages, and in Russia till a recent day. We read of lands and labourers being conferred on court favourites. How the system came to disappear we need not pause to inquire. It is certain, however, that no grand act of emancipation ever took place in China like that which cost Lincoln his life, or that for which the good Czar Alexander II. had to pay the same forfeit. Russia is to-day eating the bitter fruits of ages of serfdom; and the greatest peril ever encountered by the United States was a war brought on by negro slavery. [Page 301] The form of slavery prevailing in China is not one that threatens war or revolutions; but in its social aspects it is worse than negro slavery. It depraves morals and corrupts the family, and as long as it exists, it carries the brand of barbarism. China has great men, who for the honour of their country would not be afraid to take the matter in hand. They would, if necessary, imitate Lincoln and the Czar Alexander to effect the removal of such a blot. It is proposed, we are told, to limit slavery to minors--freedom ensuing on the attainment of majority. This would greatly ameliorate the evil, but the evil is so crying that it demands not amelioration, but extinction. Let the legislators of China take for their model the provisions of British law, which make it possible to boast that "as soon as a slave touches British soil his fetters fall." Let them also follow that lofty legislation which defines the rights and provides for the well-being of the humblest subject. Let the old system be uprooted before a new one is inaugurated, otherwise there is danger that the limiting of slavery to minors will leave those helpless creatures exposed to most of the wrongs that accompany a lifelong servitude. The number and extent of the reforms decreed or effected are such as to make the present reign the most illustrious in the history of the Empire. May we not hope that in dealing with polygamy and domestic slavery, the action of China will be such as to lift her out of the class of Turkey and Morocco into full companionship with the most enlightened nations of Europe and America. [Page 302] III. A NEW OPIUM WAR The fiat has gone forth--war is declared against an insidious enemy that has long been exhausting the resources of China and sapping the strength of her people. She has resolved to rid herself at once and forever of the curse of opium. The home production of the drug, and all the ramifications of the vice stand condemned by a decree from the throne, followed by a code of regulations designed not to limit, but to extirpate the monster evil. In this bold stroke for social reform there can be no doubt that the Government is supported by the best sentiment of the whole country. Most Chinese look upon opium as the beginning of their national sorrows. In 1839 it involved them in their first war with the West; and that opened the way for a series of wars which issued in their capital being twice occupied by foreign forces. Their first effort to shake off the incubus was accompanied by such displays of pride, ignorance and unlawful violence that Great Britain was forced to make war--not to protect an illegal traffic, but to redress an outrage and to humble a haughty empire. In this renewed onslaught the Chinese have exhibited so much good sense and moderation as to show that they have learned much from foreign intercourse during the sixty-seven years that have intervened. [Page 303] Without making any appeal to the foreigner, they courageously resolved to deal with the evil in its domestic aspects. Most of the mandarins are infected by it; and the licensed culture of the poppy has made the drug so cheap that even the poor are tempted to indulge. The prohibitory edict asserts that of the adult population 30 or 40 per cent. are under the influence of the seductive poison. This, by the way, gives an enormous total, far beyond any of the estimates of foreign writers. Appalled by the signs of social decadence the more patriotic of China's statesmen were not slow to perceive that all attempts at reform in education, army, and laws must prove abortive if opium were allowed to sap the vigour of the nation. "You can't carve a piece of rotten wood," says Confucius. Every scheme for national renovation must have for its basis a sound and energetic people. It was this depraved taste that first made a market for the drug; if that taste can be eradicated the trade and the vice must disappear together, with or without the concurrence of Great Britain. Great Britain was not, however, to be ignored. Besides her overshadowing influence and her commercial interests vast and varied, is she not mistress of India, whose poppy-fields formerly supplied China and are still sending to the Chinese market fifty thousand chests per annum? No longer an illegal traffic, this importation is regulated by treaty. Concerted action might prevent complications and tend to insure success. The new British Government was approached on the [Page 304] subject. Fortunately, the Liberals being in power, it was not bound by old traditions. A general resolution passed the House of Commons without a dissentient voice, expressing sympathy with China and a willingness to adopt similar measures in India. "When asked in the House what steps had been taken to carry out the resolution for the abolition of the opium traffic between India and China, Mr. Morley replied, that he understood that China was contemplating the issue of regulations restricting the importation, cultivation, and consumption of opium. He had received no communication from China; but as soon as proposals were submitted he was prepared to consider them in a sympathetic spirit. H. B. M.'s minister in Peking had been instructed to communicate with the Chinese Government to that effect." The telegram containing these words is dated London, October 30. The imperial edict, which initiated what many call "the new crusade," was issued barely forty days before that date (viz., on September 20). Let it also be noted that near the end of August a memorial of the Anti-Opium League, suggesting action on the part of the Government, was sent up through the Nanking viceroy. It was signed by 1,200 missionaries of different nations and churches. Is it not probable that their representations, backed by the viceroy, moved the hand that sways the sceptre? The decree runs as follows: "Since the first prohibition of opium, almost the whole of China has been flooded with the poison. Smokers of opium have wasted their time, neglected their employment, ruined their constitutions, and impoverished their households. Thus for several decades China has presented a [Page 305] spectacle of increasing poverty and weakness. It rouses our indignation to speak of the matter. The Court is now determined to make China powerful; and it is our duty to urge our people to reformation in this respect. "We decree, therefore, that within a limit of ten years this harmful muck be fully and entirely wiped away. We further command the Council of State to consider means for the strict prohibition both of opium-smoking and of poppy-growing." Among the regulations drawn up by the Council of State are these: That all smokers of opium be required to report themselves and to take out licenses. Smokers holding office are divided into two classes. Those of the junior class are to cleanse themselves in six months. For the seniors no limit of time is fixed. Both classes while under medical treatment are to pay for approved deputies, by whom their duties shall be discharged. All opium dens are to be closed after six months. These are places where smokers dream away the night in company with the idle and the vicious. No opium lamps or pipes are to be made or sold after six months. Shops for the sale of the drug are not to be closed until the tenth year. The Government provides medicines for the cure of the habit. The formation of anti-opium societies is encouraged; but the members are cautioned not to discuss political questions. The question no doubt arises in the mind of the reader, Will China succeed in freeing herself from bondage to this hateful vice? It is easy for an autocrat to issue a decree, but not easy to secure obedience. It [Page 306] is encouraging to know that this decisive action is favoured by all the viceroys--Yuan, the youngest and most powerful, has already taken steps to put the new law in force in the metropolitan province. A flutter of excitement has also shown itself in the ranks of Indian traders--Parsees, Jews, and Mohammedans--who have presented a claim for damages to their respectable traffic. On the whole we are inclined to believe in the good faith of the Chinese Government in adopting this measure, and to augur well for its success. Next after the change of basis in education, this brave effort to suppress a national vice ranks as the most brilliant in a long series of reformatory movements. W. A. P. M. PEKING, January, 1907. [Page 307] INDEX [Page 309] INDEX Adams, John Quincy, on the Opium War, 153 Albazin, Cossack garrison captured at, 57 Alphabet, a new, invented by Wang Chao, 217 Amherst, Lord, declines to kneel to Emperor, 168 Amoy, seaport in Fukien province, 14 its grass cloth and peculiar sort of black tea, 15 Anhwei, province of, home of Li Hung Chang, 49 Anti-foot-binding Society, supported by Dowager Empress in an edict, 217 Anti-foreign Agitation, 244-266 American influence in the Far East and, 245-251 "Appeal from the Lion's Den," 176 Army, the Chinese, 200-202 _Arrow_ War, the, 162-169 allied troops at Peking, 168 Canton occupied by British troops, 164 China abandons her long seclusion, 169 crew of the _Arrow_ executed without trial, 163 negotiations of the four powers with China, 165 seizure of the lorcha _Arrow_, 162 Bamboo tablets, writings of Confucius engraved on, 106 Battle of the Sea of Japan, 191-192 Bell-tower, boy's soul supposed to be hovering in, 21 Black-haired race, Chinese style themselves the, 151 Bowring, Sir John, Governor of Hong Kong, and the _Arrow_ case, 162-163 Boxer War, the, 172-180 a Boxer manifesto, 175 Boycott, the, 247, 252, 253, 259 Bridges, 16, 41, 42 Bridgman, Dr., pioneer missionary to China, 282 founds the Chinese Repository, 282 Buddhism, introduction of, into China, 95 "Apotheosis of Mercy," a legend of Northern Buddhism, 108 number of Buddhist monasteries, 108 rooted in the minds of the illiterate, 108 Burden, Bishop, of the English Church Mission. Hang-chow, 23 Burlingame, Hon. Anson, U. S. Minister to China, 212 Cambalu, Mongol name for Peking, 59 [Page 310] Camöens, tomb of, at Macao, 9 Canton, the most populous city of the Empire, 9-12 American trade suffers most in Canton from boycott of 1905, 13 averts bombardment by payment of $6,000,000 ransom, 154 Christian college, 10 cock-fighting the popular amusement, 10 crowds of beggars, 12 excellence of tea and silk produced in the vicinity, 13 "flower-boats," 9 historical enigma contests, 11 narrowness of streets, 12 passion for gambling, 11 Canton (Kwangtung), province of, 7-13 Viceroy of, has also Kwangsi under his jurisdiction, 13 Caravan Song, 61 Chang Chien, legend of, 63 Chang-fi, rescues son of Liu Pi from burning palace, 114 Chang Tien-shi, arch-magician of Taoism, 109 Chang Chi-tung, Viceroy of Hukwang, his life and public career, 219-241 first to start the Emperor on the path of reform 213 case of Chunghau, 223-224 his commercial developments at Wuchang, 231 official interviews with, 238-241 Chang Yee, an able diplomatist of the Chou period, 99 Chao, Prince of, is offered fifteen cities for a Kohinoor belonging to him, 98 Chau-siang subjugates Tung-chou-Kiun, last monarch of the Chou dynasty, 99 Chefoo (Chifu), port in Shantung province, 32 Chéhkiang, province of, smallest of the eighteen provinces, 17-24 Cheng-wang, "the completer," a ruler of the Chou dynasty, 86-87 his successors, 87-88 Chentung, Liang, Sir, interview with Dr. Martin with reference to the Exclusion Laws and the boycott, 252 Chin, one of the Nan-peh Chao, 117 China, probable derivation of name, 101 agency of missionaries in diffusing secular knowledge in, 281-291 American exclusion laws, 253 anti-opium edict, 304-305 boycott, 247, 252, 253, 259 condition after five wars, 181 displays of barbarity during the Boxer War, 180 effect of her defeat by Japan, 171 effects of Russo-Japanese War, 193 eighteen provinces, 6 [Page 311] five grand divisions, 3 Grand Canal, 31 Great Wall, 4, 31, 32, 101 interference in Tongking, 62 interference in Korea, 62 physiographical features, 4 reforms in, 196-218 rivers, 19, 15, 18, 25, 41, 52 sincerity of reformatory movements, 306 China Merchants' Steam Navigation Company, 200 Chingtu-fu, capital of the state of Shuh, 113 Chinhai, city at the mouth of the Ningpo, 18 Chosin, Prince of, 196 Chou dynasty, founded by Wen-wang, 84 annals of, 84-88, 96, 99 form of government praised by Confucius, 96 term _Chung Kwoh_, "Middle Kingdom," originates in, 85 Chou-sin, brings ruin on the house of Shang, sets fire to his own palace, and perishes in the flames, 81 Christians, attitude of Chinese Government towards, 261 newspapers and the Christian faith, 263 Chu Fu-tse, the philosopher, 128 Chu Hi, the Coryphæus of Mediæval China, 128 Chu-koh Liang, a peasant who became minister to Liu Pi, 114-115 _Chuang Yuen_, Chinese term for senior wrangler; his importance and privileges 123 Chungchen, last of the Mings, hangs himself after stabbing his daughter, 139 Chunghau and the restoration of Ili, 223 accused by Chang Chi-tung, 224 Chunking, city on the Yangtse, 51 Chusan, Archipelago and Island, 17 Chu Yuen Chang, Father of the Mings, 135 Chwan-siang, exterminates the house of Chou, 99 Confucius, birth and parentage of 89, 90 account of his education, 90 describes himself as "editor, not author," 91 edits the Five Classics, 92 Golden Rule the essence of his teaching, 92 number of his disciples, 90 passion for music, 91 search for lost books by Liu-Pang, 106 tomb of, 30-31 worshipped by his people, 92-93 writings burned and disciples persecuted by Shi-hwang-ti, 102-103 Control of Chinese over foreigners throughout Empire, 258 _Corvée_, myriads of labourers drafted by, for construction of the Grand Canal, 32 [Page 312] Corvino, missionary, 133 his church at Peking perishes in the overthrow of the Mongols, 137 Cotton produced in all the provinces, 3 Cue, abolition of, requisite to confirm loyalty to Manchus, 278 Degrees, literary, 122-123 Diaz and da Gama, voyage to India, 136 Diplomacy, becomes an art under the Chou dynasty, 97 Diplomatic College, 209 Dr. Martin president of, 209 "Drinking Alone by Moonlight," poem by Lipai, 120 Eclectic Commission, the, 197-198 Educational reforms, 210 the Imperial University, 210 Elgin, Lord, and the Tai-pings, 161, 166 Elliott, Captain Charles, and the Opium War, 154 Empress Dowager, and the Boxer War, 172-174, 179-180 celebrates her seventieth birthday with great pomp, 274 convert to the policy of progress, 197 _coup d'état_, 272 full name, 276 parentage, 271 personal description of, 275 reactionary clique and, 174 type of the Manchu woman, 276 England takes lease of Wei-hai-wei, 174 Eunuchism, 112, 297 Examinations, system of civil service, instituted by the Hans, 109 continued for twelve centuries, 121 details of, 122-124 developed under the T'angs, 121 reforms in, 213 Exclusion laws, the, Chinese resentment of, 253 most feasible way to deal with, 255 President Roosevelt on, 251 Factories, the, at Canton, 150,152 Favier, Bishop, defends his people in the French Cathedral, Peking, 176 Fishing, queer methods of, 19 Five dynasties, the, factions contending for the succession on the fall of the house of T'ang, 126 the later Liang, T'ang, Ts'in, Han, and Chou are united after fifty-three years in the Sung dynasty, 126-127 Foochow (Fuchau), on the River Min, 15 fine wall and "bridge of ten thousand years," 16 Kushan, its sacred mountain, 15 Manchu colony, 16 [Page 313] Formosa, Island of, colonised by people of Fukien, 14 France takes lease of Kwang-chou-wan, 174 France, war with, 169 allowed to retain Tong-king, 170 French seize Formosa, 170 Fraser, Consul, and Viceroy Chang in the Boxer War, 227 Fuchau (Foochow), province of Fukien, 15 large and prosperous missions in, 16 Fuhi, mythical ruler, teaches his people to rear domestic animals, 72 Fukien (Fuhkien), province of, 14-16 derivation of name, 15 dialect, 14 inhabitants bold navigators, 14 Fungshui, a false science, 202 Fungtao, inventor of printing, 116 Gabet and Huc, French missionaries, reach Lhasa in Tibet, 63 Gama, da, voyage to India, 136 Gaselee, General, and his contingent relieve the British Legation, Peking, 177 Genghis Khan, splendour of his court eclipsed by that of his grandson, Kublai Khan, 131 Gods, the numerous, of the Chinese, 82 worship of many of them referred to the Shang dynasty, 82 Gordon, General, victorious over the Tai-pings, 161 Grand Canal, journey down from Tsi-ning, 31 as useful to-day as six hundred years ago, 31 constructed by Kublai Khan, 31-32 its object, 32 Grand Lama, the Buddhist pope, 62, 109 Great Wall, the, origin of, 4 an effete relic, 31 built by Ts'in, 101 its construction overthrows house of its builder, 32 Gunpowder, early known to the Chinese, but not used with cannon, 115 spoken of by Arabs as "Chinese snow," 115 Han dynasty, founded by Liu-pang, 105 annals, 105-111 civil service examinations inaugurated, 109 marked advance in belles-lettres, 109 Hangchow, capital of Chéh-kiang province, its streets first trodden by white men in 1855, 22 its "bore", 24 its magnificent West Lake, 22 "The Japanese are coming," 23 Hanlin Academy, contest before the Emperor for seats in, 123 [Page 314] Han Yu, eminent writer of the eighth century, ridicules the relics of Buddha, 107 Hart, Sir Robert, his opportune services in the war with France, 170 development of the maritime customs, 206-208 father of the postal system, 206 many honours of, 207 Hayes, Dr., president of first provincial university in China, 286 Helungkiang, province of Manchuria, 56 Hia dynasty, founded by Ta-Yü, 78 together with the Shang and Chou dynasties, known as the San Tai or San Wang, 78 Hien-feng, Emperor, escapes to Tartary and dies there, 168 Himalayas, a bulwark to China, 4 _Hiao Lien_, literary degree, now _Chu-jin_, equivalent to A. M., 122 Hiunghu, supposed ancestors of the Huns, 111 Honan province of, 41-44 agricultural resources, 42 bridge over the Hwang Ho,41 Hong Kong, "the Gibraltar of the Orient," ceded to Great Britain, 7 British make it chief emporium of Eastern seas, 8 rapid development of, 8 Huc and Gabet, French missionaries, make their way to Lhasa, 63 Hung Siu-tsuen, leader of the Tai-pings, 157 his aid Yang, 158 invites his first instructor, Rev. Issachar Roberts, to visit his court, 160 new method of baptism 160 raises the flag of rebellion in Kwangsi, 157 Huns, supposed ancestors were the Hiunghu, 111 Hupeh, province of, 45-49 Hankow, Hupeh province, a Shanghai on a smaller scale, 45 Hanyang, Hupeh province, a busy industrial centre, 46 Wuchang, capital of Hupeh, 45 Hwai, Prince, regent during minority of Shunchi, 141 called Amawang by the Manchus, 141 effects the subjugation of the eighteen provinces, and imposes the tonsure and "pigtail," 141 Hwan, Duke, of western Shan-tung, convokes the States-General nine times, 96 _Hwang-ti_, term for "Emperor," first used by the builder of the Great Wall, 78 Hwei-ti, a ruler of the Han dynasty, 106 Ichang, city on the Yang-tse, 15 [Page 315] Ili, Chunghau and the restoration of, 223-224 Ito, Marquis, 196 I-yin, a wise minister who had charge of the young ruler T'ai-kia, 80-81 Japan, war with, provoked by China's interference in Korea, 170 Japanese expel Chinese from Korea, and take part of Manchuria, 171 Japan left in possession of Port Arthur and Liao-tung, 171 Russia is envious and compels her to withdraw, 171 having defeated Russia unreservedly restores Manchuria to China, 195 Jews, of K'ai-fung-fu, 43 ancestors of, reach China by way of India, 43 Shanghai, help their K'ai-fung-fu brethren, 44 Jin-hwang, Tién-hwang, and Ti-hwang, three mythical rulers, 71 K'ai-fung-fu, formerly the capital under Chou and Sung dynasties, 42 visit to the Jews of, 43 Kairin, province of Manchuria, 56 Kalgan, Mongolia, a caravan terminal, 58, 61 Kanghi, the greatest monarch in the history of the Empire, 142 alienated by the pope, 144 patron of missionaries, 142 Kanghi, progress of Christianity during his reign, 143 Kang Yuwei, urges reform on the Emperor, 213 Kansuh, province of, comparatively barren, and climate unfavourable to agriculture, 55 Kao-tsung, son of Tai-tsung, raises Wu, one of his father's concubines, to the rank of empress, 121 Ketteler, Baron von, killed during siege in Peking, 176 Kiachta, a double town in Manchuria, 58 Kiak'ing, succeeds on the abdication of his father, Kienlung, 144 a weak and dissolute monarch, 145 Kiangsu province, 25-29 derivation of name, 25 Kiao-Chao (Kiau-Chau), port occupied by Germans, 30, 165 Kiayi, an exiled statesman, dates a poem from Changsha, 110 Kié, last king of the Hia dynasty, his excesses, 80 Kien Lung, emperor poet, lines inscribed by him on rock at Patachu, 35 abdicates, after a reign of sixty years, for the reason that he did not wish to reign longer than his grandfather, 144 adds Turkestan to the empire, 144 dynasty reaches the acme of splendour in his reign, 144 [Page 316] Kin Tartars, obtain possession of Peking, and push their way to K'ai-fung-fu, the Emperor retiring to Nanking, 129 Kin Tartars, the, 140 Kingdoms, the three, Wei, Wu, and Shuh, 112-113 King Sheng Tau, annotator of popular historical novel, 113 Kinsha, "River of Golden Sands," 52 Komura, Baron, and Portsmouth treaty, 193 Korea, the bone of contention between Japan and Russia, 182, 183, 186, 192 Kuanyin Pusa, a legend of, "The Apotheosis of Mercy," 108 Kublai Khan, absorbs China, 131 Kung, Prince, and the Empress Dowager, 273 disgraced and confined in his palace, 273 personal characteristics, 277 restored to favour but not to joint regency, 273 Kuropatkin, General, and the Russo-Japanese War, 185-192 Kwangsi, province of, subordinate to Canton, 13 in an almost chronic state of rebellion, 13 Kwangsu, Emperor, and the Empress Dowager, 172, 173 his desire for reforms, 197 imprisoned in a secluded palace, 173, 174 influenced by Kang Yuwei 173 Kwangtung (Canton), province of, 7-13 Kweichau, province of, the poorest province of China, 52 one-half its population aborigines, 52 Kweilang, secretary to the Empress, 272 prompts Prince Kung to strike for his life, 273 Lao-Tse, founder of Taoism, his life and influence, 94 Lhasa, treaty of, 62 Li and Yu, two bad kings of the house of Chou, 88 Liang, one of the Nan-peh Chao, 116 Liang Ting Fen, letter to Dr. Martin requesting his good offices with President Roosevelt, 252-253 Liaoyang, battle of, 187 Lienchow, attack on Americans at, 248, 255 Lien P'o, a general of Chao, who threatens to kill the envoy Lin at sight, 98 makes friends with his adversary, 99 Li Hung Chang, a native of Anhwei, 49 preëminent in the work of reform, 212 sent to Japan to sue for peace he is shot by an assassin, 171 wins earldom through Gordon's victory, 161 [Page 317] Li Ling, a commander for whom Sze-ma Ts'ien stood sponsor, and who surrendered to the enemy, 110 Lin, Commissioner, and the opium traffic, 152 Lin Sian Ju, a brave envoy, 98 Lineivitch, General, and the Russo-Japanese War, 190-192 Lipai, the Pope of Chinese literature, 119 Li-Sze, chancellor of Shi-hwang-ti, denounces the works of Confucius to that ruler, and causes them to be burned, 102 Little, Mrs. Archibald, and the Anti-foot-binding Society, 217 Liu-pang founds the Han dynasty, 105 Liu Pi founds the state of Shuh, 113 Li Yuen, assassinates Yang-ti and sets up the T'ang dynasty, 118 Lo Kwan-chung, author of a popular historical novel, 113 Lo-yang, capital of the state of Wei, 112 Lu, Empress, holds the Empire in absolute subjection for eight years, 106 Macao, Portuguese town of, 8 burial place of Camöens and Robert Morrison, 8 McCartee, Dr., annual issued by, 287 Manchuria, 3 consists of three regions or provinces under one governor-general, 56 home of the Manchus, 56 ignorance of Manchus in their original habitat, 57 Japan takes possession of parts of, 171 population and products, 57 restored by Japan to China, 195 Russia occupies the very positions from which she compelled Japan to withdraw, 171 sacred city of Mukden, 56 Manchus, the, ignorance of those remaining in Manchuria, 57 give to China a better government than any of her native dynasties, 142 the Normans of China, 267-280 they settle at Mukden and await an opportunity to descend on China, 140 Marco Polo. See Polo Maritime customs, the, 206-208 Sir Robert Hart's long and valuable services, 206-209 Martin, Dr. W. A. P., head of the Tung-wen College, 209 in siege at Peking, 176, 177 president of the Imperial University, 210 Mateer, Dr. C. W., founds Teng-chow College, 285 [Page 318] Meadows, Consul T. T., reports in favour of the Tai-pings, 159 Medhurst, Dr., his description of the Chinese Classical language, 290 Mencius, more eloquent but less original than Confucius, 93 his tribute to Confucius, 94 owed much to his mother's training, 93 Merchant marine, the, 200 Mings, last of, stabs daughter and hangs himself, 139 Ming-ti, sends embassy to India to import Buddhist books and bonzes, 107 Mining enterprises, 202 Min River, 15 Missions, development of, 264 Minister Rockhill's address upon, 266 Missionaries, attacks on, 40, 180, 248, 260, 261, 262 agency of, in the diffusion of secular knowledge, 263-291 apostles of science, 263 creators of Chinese journalism 290 medical work, 284 lead a vernacular revolution, 290 preparation of text-books, 287 presidents of government colleges, 289 teaching and preaching, 263 Mongolia, the largest division of Tartary, 57, 61 contribution to the luxuries of the metropolis, 50 inhabitants nomadic, 58 has only three towns, 58 Russians "came lean and went away fat," 58 Russians granted privilege of establishing an ecclesiastical mission, 57 Mongols, liable to military service, but prohibited from doing garrison duty in China, 59 dress, 60 forty-eight Mongolian princes, 59 Mongol monks at Peking, 60 nomadic wanderings, 58 princes visit Cambalu (Peking), in winter, 59 their camel, 60 victorious over the Sungs, 130 Yuen or Mongol dynasty, 131-134 Morrison, John R., son of Dr. Morrison the missionary, attempts to establish a printing-press, 283 Morrison, Robert, pioneer of Protestant missions to China, tomb of, at Macao, 9, 282 Moule, Bishop, makes Hang-chow seat of his diocese, 23 Mukden, city of, sacred to every Manchu, 56 battle of, 189 Mu-wang, a Chou ruler, who seeks relief from ennui in foreign travel, 87 [Page 319] Nanking, chief city of Kiangsu province, 25, 26 called _Kiangning_ by the Manchus, 26 pillaged by Tartars, 129 Nanking, treaty of, 7 Nan-peh Chao, "Northern and Southern Kingdoms" four factions arising on the fall of the Tsin dynasty, 116 Napier, Lord, appointed superintendent of British trade in China, 153 arrives at Macao and announces his appointment by letter to the prefect of Canton, who "tosses it back," 153 dies of chagrin at Macao, 153 Napoleon, Louis, and Annam, 165 Navy, the Chinese, 199-200 "Nest-builder, The," 71 Nevius, Rev. J. L., missionary at Hangchow, 23 at Chefoo, where he plants a church and a fruit garden, 32 Nevius, Mrs., at Chefoo, 32 Newspapers, reforms in, 215 covertly criticise Government and its agents, 215 Ningpo, province of Chéhkiang, 19 its handsome people and their literary and commercial prominence, 20 residence of the author for ten years, 20 Ningpo River, 18 Nogi, General, and the Russo-Japanese War, 188-192 O'Connor, Mr., British chargé d'affaires, 179 Omesham Mountains, 51 Opening of China, the, a drama in five acts, 149 result of collisions between Oriental conservatism and Occidental progress, 149, 150 Opium, extent of trade in, 303 20,000 chests destroyed at request of Captain Charles Elliott, 154 Opium traffic, Commissioner Lin directed by Emperor Tao Kwang to abolish it, 152 attitude of British Government, 304 decree ordering its total abolition, 304 regulations of Council of State, 305 Opium War, the, its causes, precipitation, and effects, 150-162 Oyama, Field-marshal, in the Russo-Japanese War, 187-192 P's, the three--pen, paper, and printing, invention of, 116 Palmerston, Lord, invites cooperation of France, Russia and the United States concerning the _Arrow_ case, 164 P'an-keng, of the house of Shang, moves his capital five times, 81 P'anku, the "ancient founder," 71 [Page 320] Paoting-fu, in Chihli province, scene of martyrdom of missionaries, 40 Parker, Dr. Peter, missionary at Canton, 284 Parkes, Consul and the _Arrow_ case, 162, 163, 164 Patachu, summer resort near Peking, 34-35 its eight Buddhist temples, 35 Pearl River, 9 Peking, northern capital of China, 34 approaches to new foreign quarter fortified, 37 Byron's lines on Lisbon applied to Peking, 39 climate and low death-rate, 38 Empress Dowager's summer residence, 34 "Forbidden City," 37 French Cathedral defended by Bishop Favier and marines, 176 Legation Street, 36 Prospect or Palatine Hill, 38 siege of legations, 175 summer palaces, 34 Tai-ping expedition against, 159 Tartar and Chinese cities, 35 Temples of Agriculture, Heaven and Earth, 35, 36 Peking Gazette, the, oldest journal in the world, 290 Philosophers of the Sung period, Cheo, Cheng, Chang, and Chu, 127-128 Philosophers: Chu Hi, 128 Wang Ngan-shi, economist, 128 Pirates, attacks of, on Mr. Russell and the author, 18 Rev. Walter Lowrie is drowned by, 18 Police, reforms in, 218 Polo, Marco, Mattei, and Nicolo, 132 sojourn in China, 132 Port Arthur and Liao-tung, 171, 174, 182, 184, 186, 187, 188, 190, 191, 192 Ports, five, opened to great Britain at close of the Opium War, 155 Portsmouth (N. H.), treaty of, 192 Portuguese, first ships of the, appear at Canton, 136 disapprove missions, 137 obtain a footing at Macao, 137 secretly oppose Dutch traders, 137 Postal system, 206 Pottinger, Sir Henry, moderate conditions imposed by, at close of Opium War, 155, 156 his action compared with that of Commodore Perry, 156 Psychology, Chinese, its recognition of three souls, 22 Punishments, barbarous, abolished, 214 Putu, the sacred island of, 18 its monasteries, 18 prevalence of piracy in adjacent waters, 18 [Page 321] Railways, King-Ran road completed to Hankow, 39 first grand trunk road, 39 good work of Belgian constructors, 39 influence of, on people and government, 40 questionable action of American company, 40 reforms in, 203 Rankin, Rev. Henry, with the author, the first white man to enter Hang-chow, 22 Reading-rooms (not libraries, but places for reading) a new institution, 216 Red-haired, the, a vulgar designation for Europeans, 151 Reed, Hon, W. B., American Minister to China, and the _Arrow_ case, 165 Reforms in China, 196-218 Anti-foot-binding Society, 217 army, 201 customs, 206 educational, 213 Hart, Sir Robert, and, 206 legal, 204 merchant marine, 200 mining enterprises, 202 newspapers, 215 post office, 205 railways, 203 streets, 218 telegraph, 214 Tung-wen College and The Imperial University, 209-210 writing, 216 Reforms, unmentioned, 292, 301 a change of costume, 292 domestic slavery, 298 polygamy, 295 Religions, the three, Confucianism, Taoism, and Buddhism, their characteristic features, 107 each religion has a hierarchy, 109 "Hall of the Three Religions," 108 Ricci, after twenty years of effort, effects an entrance to Peking, 138 Rice, grown in all the provinces, 3 Richard, Dr. and the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge, 287 Richthofen, explorer, 58 River traffic, junks drawn by hundreds of coolies, 50 Rivers, the Yang-tse Kiang, 25 Hwang Ho, 41 Hingpo, 18 Pearl, 9 Kinsha, the "river of golden sands," 52 Min, 15 Roberts, Rev. Issachar, and the leader of the Tai-pings, 160 is invited to visit their court, 160 Rockhill, Mr., the American Minister, and missionary institutions, 266 Roman Catholic missionaries, dissensions in the ranks of, 143 Roosevelt, President, his efforts to end Russo-Japanese War, 193 [Page 322] awarded Nobel peace prize, 193 interview with Dr. Martin on the subject of the Exclusion Laws and the boycott, 251 Rozhesvenski, Admiral, and the relief squadron for Port Arthur, 190-192 Russell, Mr., and the author captured by pirates, 18 Russia, compels Japan to evacuate Manchuria and occupies the same districts herself, 171 designs on Korea, 182 increases her forces in Manchuria during Boxer War, 182 obtains lease of Port Arthur, 174 schemes for conquest, 182, 183 surprised by Japan's commencement of the war, 184 Russo-Japanese War, the, 181-195 Sages of China, the, Confucius, 89-93 Lao-tse, 94 Mencius, 93-94 Saghalien, Island of, Japan and Russia to divide possession of, 192 Schaal, Father, is president of Astronomical Board, casts cannon, and builds churches in Peking, 143 Sea of Japan, Battle of, 191-192 Seng Ko Lin Sin (nicknamed "Sam Collinson" by British), Lama prince who heads northern armies against Tai-ping rebels, 59, 159 defeated by British and French before Peking, 59 Shang dynasty, founded by Shang-tang, 80 annals of, 80, 82 "made religion the basis of education," 82 Shanghai, one of the five treaty ports, 26 colleges and schools, newspapers and translation bureaux, 28 foreign Concessions, opulent business houses, and luxurious mansions, 27 leading commercial emporium, 26 _Shang-ti_ and _Tien_, Roman Catholics and the terms, 143 Shangyang, a statesman of the Chou dynasty, converts the tenure of land into fee simple, 85 Shansi, province of, 54 prolific of bankers, 54 rich in agricultural and mineral resources, 54 Shantung, province of, 30-32 apples, pears, and peaches grown, 30 railway built by Germans from the sea to Tsinan-fu,30 Shanyu, a forerunner of the Grand Khan of Tartary, 111 [Page 323] Shaohing, city, in Chéhkiang province noted for its rice wine and lawyers, 23 Sheffield, Dr., president of Tung-chow College, 286 Shengking, province of Manchuria, 56 Shensi, province of, earliest home of the Chinese, 55 monument at Si-ngan commemorating the introduction of Christianity by Nestorians, 55 Shi-hwang-ti, real founder of the Chinese Empire, 102 devout believer in Taoism, 104 sends a consignment of lads and lasses to Japan, 103 though one of the heroes of history he is execrated for burning the writings of Confucius, 102 Shin-nung, "divine husbandman," mythical ruler, worshipped as the Ceres of China, 72 _Shu-king_, the, or "Book of History," one of the Five Classics edited by Confucius, 76 Shun, successor of Yao, rejects his own son and leaves throne to Ta-yü, 74 Shunteh-fu, American mission at, 40 Shun-ti, last monarch of the Yuen dynasty, 133 Si-ngan, city in Shensi, 55 capital of the Chous, 55 capital of the T'angs, 121 Empress Dowager takes refuge there, 42 monument commemorating the introduction of Christianity by Nestonans, 121 _Sing Su Hai_, "Sea of Stars," cluster of lakes in Tibet, 63 Siun Kien founds the state of Wu, 112 _Siu-tsai_, literary degree equivalent to A. B., 122 Smith, Dr. Arthur, and thanksgiving service at raising of siege of British Legation, Peking, 178 Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge, 266 Solatium to encourage honesty in public officials, 208 Spaniards, the, trade and relations with China, 137 St. John's College, Shanghai, 287 Stoessel, General, and his defence of Port Arthur, 188 "Strange Stories of an Idle Student," a popular work in Chinese depicting conditions prior to Opium War, 150-151 Streets, improvement in construction and protection of, 218 Sü of Shanghai, baptised by the name of Paul by Ricci, 138 his daughter Candida also baptised, 138 Suchow, in Kiangsu, the Paris of the Far East, 25 musical dialect, of, 26 Su Ts'in, the patient diplomat, whose reputation is ruined by his own passions, 99 [Page 324] Sui dynasty, the, founded by Yan Kien, lasts less than thirty years, 117 Sundius, Mr., British consul at Wuhu, 227 Sung, one of the Nan-peh Chao, 116 Sung dynasty, founded by Chao-kwang-yun, 127 annals, 127-128 encroachment of the Tartars, 127 rise of a great school of philosophy, 127-129 Southern Sungs, 127 Superstitions of the Chinese, concerning wandering spirits, 21 Sven Hedin, explorer, 58 Swatow, Canton province, American Baptists' Mission at, 15 Szechuen, province of, 50-51 fratricidal wars under Ming dynasty, 51 great variety of climate, 51 Szema Ts'ien, the Herodotus of China, 110 barbarously treated by his people, 110 T'ai-kia, successor of Shang-tang, 80 Tai-ping Rebellion, the, a result of the Opium War, 156 details of, 157-162 Tai-pings, the, try to establish a new empire, the _Tai-ping Tien-kwoh_, 158 commonly called "Chang-mao," long-haired rebels, owing to their rejection of the tonsure and cue, 161 defeated by Gordon, 161 descend into the plains of Hunan, pillage three cities, and capture Nanking, massacring its garrison of 25,000 Manchus, 158-159 go into winter quarters, and, dividing their forces, are cut off in detail, 159 hold Nanking for ten years, 159 loose morals and travesty of sacred things horrify Christian world, 161 missionaries attracted by their profession of Christianity, 160 queer titles adopted by, 161 sympathy for their cause by Consul Meadows, 159 unsuccessfully attempt to drive the Manchus from Peking, 159 Tai-tsung, second emperor of the T'ang dynasty, 120 Taiyuan-fu, missionaries murdered at by the governor, 180 Ta-Ki, a wicked woman by whom Chou-sin is said to have been led into his evil courses, 81 _Ta Kiang_, "Great River," the Chinese name for the Yang-tse Kiang, 28 Taku, at the mouth of the Peiho, 33 capture of forts by British and French, repulse of allied forces in following year, 33 [Page 325] Tamerlane, Mongolian origin of, 61 born in Turkestan, 61 Tanao, a minister of Hwang-ti, author of the cycle of sixty, 77 T'ang dynasty, founded by Li Yuen, 118 an Augustan age, 119 annals, 119-125 Tang Shao-yi, a Chinese, one of two ministers appointed to take charge of the entire customs service, 208 Tao Kwang, Emperor, resolves to put a stop to opium traffic, 152 Tartars, encroach on the Flowery Land, 117 suspicious of other foreigners, 151 Tartary, Grand Khan of, 111 Tatnall, Commodore, his kind action at Taku, 167 Ta-ts'ing dynasty, the, its annals, 140-145 Ta-yü, or Yu the Great, early emperor, subdues the waters of a deluge, 75 casts 9 brazen tripods, 79 departs from practice of his predecessors and leaves throne to his son, 76 devotes nine years to the dredging and diking of rivers, 75 his acts and reign, 78-79 monuments commemorating his labours, 75 Telegraph and telephone, introduction of, 204-205 Temples of Heaven, Earth and Agriculture, 36 Teng-chow College, founded by Dr. C. W. Mateer, 285 Tenney, Dr., and the University of Tientsin, 213 Text-books, prepared by missionaries--Edkins, Martin, Muirhead, Williamson and Wylie, 287-288 Theatre, the Chinese, 114 Three Kingdoms, the, states of Wei, Wu and Shuh, 112 Lo Kwan-chung, author of a historical novel, 113 Tibet, the land of the Grand Lama, 62 called by the Chinese "the roof of the world," 63 Chinese influence in is nearly _nil_, 62 explored by Huc and Gabet, 63 mother of great rivers, 63 polyandry prevalent, 63 Tieliang, a Manchu, one of two ministers appointed to take charge of the entire customs service, 208 _Tien_ and _Shang-ti_, question among Catholics concerning the terms, 143 _Tien Chu_, substitution of, for _Shang-ti_ repulsive to pious Chinese, 144 _Tien Ho_, "River of Heaven," Chinese term for the Milky Way, 63 Tién-hwang, Ti-hwang, and Jin-hwang, three mythical rulers who reigned eighteen thousand years each, 71 [Page 326] _Tiensheng_, Chinese name for province of Yünnan 52 Tientsin, province of Chihli, rises anew from its half-ruined condition, 33 ranks as third of treaty ports, 34 treaties of, 166 Ti-hwang, Jin-hwang, and Tién-hwang, three mythical rulers, 71 Togo, Admiral, in Russo-Japanese War, 184, 185, 188, 191, 192 Tongking, French left in possession of, 170 Translators, corps of, Dr. John Fryer's prominent connection with, 288 Tsao Tsao founds the state of Wei, 112 Tsai Lun, inventor of paper 116 Ts'ang-Kié, the Cadmus of China, author of its written characters, 77 Ts'in dynasty, Yin Cheng brings the whole country under his sway and assumes title of _Shi-Hwang-ti_ "Emperor First," 101 annals of, 101-104 builds Great Wall, 101 lasts for a century and a half, 116 Ts'in, Prince of, offers fifteen cities for a kohinoor, 98 Tsinan-fu, railway from the sea to, built by the Germans, 30 _Tsin-shi_, "Literary Doctor," degree of, 123 Tsungming, Island of, formed by the waters of the Yang-tse Kiang, 28 and Tunking coupled in popular proverb, 28 Tsushima, Battle of, 191-192 Tuan Fang, governor of Hupeh, 242-243 favourable specimen of a Manchu, 276 Tuan, Prince, father of the heir apparent, 174 Tufu, poet of the T'ang dynasty, 119 Tung-chi, Emperor, death of, 273 Tung-chou-kiun, last monarch of the Chou dynasty, 99 Turkestan, 3, 61 majority of the inhabitants Mohammedans, 61 most of the khanates absorbed by Russia, 61 Union Medical College, Peking, 285 Urga, Mongolia, a shrine for pilgrimage, 58 Uriu, Admiral, in Russo-Japanese War, 184 Verbiest, the Jesuit, made president of Board of Astronomy, 143 Wall, Great, see Great Wall Wang Chao, invents new alphabet, 217 Ward, Frederick G., the American, and the Tai-ping rebellion, 160 Ward, Hon. J. E., American minister, proceeds to Peking by land, 167 [Page 327] declines to kneel to Emperor, 168 Wei, one of the Nan-peh Chao, 116 Weihien, in Shantung, destined to become a railway centre, 30 Weihwei-fu, city on the border of Chihli and Honan, 41 Wensiang, success of Prince Kung's administration largely due to him, 277 contests with Tungsuin in extemporaneous verse, 277 Wen-ti, "patron of letters," a ruler of the house of Han, 107 Wen-wang, the real founder of the Chou dynasty, 84 encourages letters, 84 known as a commentator in the _Yih-king_, 84 Whales, the river near Hang-chow a trap for, 23 Wheat, produced in all the provinces, 3 Williams, Dr. S. Wells, takes charge of American Board printing press at Canton, 283 labours, 283 "The Middle Kingdom," 283 Witte, Count, and Portsmouth treaty, 193 Women in China, considered out of place in attempting to govern, 82 Writing, reform in, 216 new alphabet invented, 217 Wu, Empress, succeeds Kao-tsung and reigns for twenty-one years, 121 Wu Pa, the five dictators, 96 Wu San-kwei, a traitorous Chinese general, makes terms with the Manchus, 140-141 Wu Ti, Liang emperor, who became a Buddhist monk, 117 Wu-ti, "the five rulers," 71 Wu-ting-fang, Chinese minister at Washington, and legal reforms, 214 Wu-wang, the martial king, rescues the people from the oppression of the Shangs, 83 Xavier, St. Francis, arrives at Macao, is not allowed to land, and dies on the Island of St. John, 138 Yang, chief supporter of the leader of the Tai-pings, 157-158 Yang Chia Kow, called by foreign sailors "Yankee Cow," at the mouth of the Yellow River, 29 Yang-tse Kiang, possible Tibetan source of, 63 new islands made by, 28 Yan Kien, a Chinese general sets up the Sui dynasty, 117 Yao, type of an unselfish monarch, 73 astronomical observations, 76 passes by son in naming his successor, 73 Yeh, Viceroy, and the _Arrow_ War, 162 [Page 328] Yellow River, source of, 63 forsakes its old bed, 29 "Yellow ruler, the," reputed inventor of letters and the cycle of sixty years, 72 Yellow Sea, why so called, 28 Yermak, 182 Yu and Li, two bad kings of the house of Chou, 88 Yuen or Mongol dynasty 131-134 Yuen Shi Kai, Viceroy, preeminent in the work of reform, 212 Yungcheng, succeeds Kanghi and reigns fourteen years, 144 Yungloh, emperor of the Ming dynasty, 136 "Thesaurus of," 136 Yünkwei, viceregal district of, 15, 52 Yünnan, province of, 52, 53 coal measures and copper mines, 52 hundred tribes of aborigines within its borders, 52 unhealthful climate, 52 15250 ---- Myths & Legends of China By E.T.C. Werner H.B.M. Consul Foochow (Retired) Barrister-at-law Middle Temple Late Member of The Chinese Government Historiographical Bureau Peking Author of "Descriptive Sociology: Chinese" "China of the Chinese" Etc. George G. Harrap & Co. Ltd. London Bombay Sydney In Memoriam _Gladys Nina Chalmers Werner_ Preface The chief literary sources of Chinese myths are the _Li tai shên hsien t'ung chien_, in thirty-two volumes, the _Shên hsien lieh chuan_, in eight volumes, the _Fêng shên yen i_, in eight volumes, and the _Sou shên chi_, in ten volumes. In writing the following pages I have translated or paraphrased largely from these works. I have also consulted and at times quoted from the excellent volumes on Chinese Superstitions by Père Henri Doré, comprised in the valuable series _Variétés Sinologiques_, published by the Catholic Mission Press at Shanghai. The native works contained in the Ssu K'u Ch'üan Shu, one of the few public libraries in Peking, have proved useful for purposes of reference. My heartiest thanks are due to my good friend Mr Mu Hsüeh-hsün, a scholar of wide learning and generous disposition, for having kindly allowed me to use his very large and useful library of Chinese books. The late Dr G.E. Morrison also, until he sold it to a Japanese baron, was good enough to let me consult his extensive collection of foreign works relating to China whenever I wished, but owing to the fact that so very little work has been done in Chinese mythology by Western writers I found it better in dealing with this subject to go direct to the original Chinese texts. I am indebted to Professor H.A. Giles, and to his publishers, Messrs Kelly and Walsh, Shanghai, for permission to reprint from _Strange Stories from a Chinese Studio_ the fox legends given in Chapter XV. This is, so far as I know, the only monograph on Chinese mythology in any non-Chinese language. Nor do the native works include any scientific analysis or philosophical treatment of their myths. My aim, after summarizing the sociology of the Chinese as a prerequisite to the understanding of their ideas and sentiments, and dealing as fully as possible, consistently with limitations of space (limitations which have necessitated the presentation of a very large and intricate topic in a highly compressed form), with the philosophy of the subject, has been to set forth in English dress those myths which may be regarded as the accredited representatives of Chinese mythology--those which live in the minds of the people and are referred to most frequently in their literature, not those which are merely diverting without being typical or instructive--in short, a true, not a distorted image. _Edward Theodore Chalmers Werner_ _Peking_ _February_ 1922 Contents Chapter I. The Sociology of the Chinese II. On Chinese Mythology III. Cosmogony--P'an Ku and the Creation Myth IV. The Gods of China V. Myths of the Stars VI. Myths of Thunder, Lightning, Wind, and Rain VII. Myths of the Waters VIII. Myths of Fire IX. Myths of Epidemics, Medicine, Exorcism, Etc. X. The Goddess of Mercy XI. The Eight Immortals XII. The Guardian of the Gate of Heaven XIII. A Battle of the Gods XIV. How the Monkey Became a God XV. Fox Legends XVI. Miscellaneous Legends The Pronunciation of Chinese Words _Mais cet Orient, cette Asie, quelles en sont, enfin, les frontières réelles?... Ces frontières sont d'une netteté qui ne permet aucune erreur. L'Asie est là où cesse la vulgarité, où naît la dignité, et où commence l'élégance intellectuelle. Et l'Orient est là où sont les sources débordantes de poésie._ _Mardrus_, _La Reine de Saba_ CHAPTER I The Sociology of the Chinese Racial Origin In spite of much research and conjecture, the origin of the Chinese people remains undetermined. We do not know who they were nor whence they came. Such evidence as there is points to their immigration from elsewhere; the Chinese themselves have a tradition of a Western origin. The first picture we have of their actual history shows us, not a people behaving as if long settled in a land which was their home and that of their forefathers, but an alien race fighting with wild beasts, clearing dense forests, and driving back the aboriginal inhabitants. Setting aside several theories (including the one that the Chinese are autochthonous and their civilization indigenous) now regarded by the best authorities as untenable, the researches of sinologists seem to indicate an origin (1) in early Akkadia; or (2) in Khotan, the Tarim valley (generally what is now known as Eastern Turkestan), or the K'un-lun Mountains (concerning which more presently). The second hypothesis may relate only to a sojourn of longer or shorter duration on the way from Akkadia to the ultimate settlement in China, especially since the Khotan civilization has been shown to have been imported from the Punjab in the third century B.C. The fact that serious mistakes have been made regarding the identifications of early Chinese rulers with Babylonian kings, and of the Chinese _po-hsing_ (Cantonese _bak-sing_) 'people' with the Bak Sing or Bak tribes, does not exclude the possibility of an Akkadian origin. But in either case the immigration into China was probably gradual, and may have taken the route from Western or Central Asia direct to the banks of the Yellow River, or may possibly have followed that to the south-east through Burma and then to the north-east through what is now China--the settlement of the latter country having thus spread from south-west to north-east, or in a north-easterly direction along the Yangtzu River, and so north, instead of, as is generally supposed, from north to south. Southern Origin Improbable But this latter route would present many difficulties; it would seem to have been put forward merely as ancillary to the theory that the Chinese originated in the Indo-Chinese peninsula. This theory is based upon the assumptions that the ancient Chinese ideograms include representations of tropical animals and plants; that the oldest and purest forms of the language are found in the south; and that the Chinese and the Indo-Chinese groups of languages are both tonal. But all of these facts or alleged facts are as easily or better accounted for by the supposition that the Chinese arrived from the north or north-west in successive waves of migration, the later arrivals pushing the earlier farther and farther toward the south, so that the oldest and purest forms of Chinese would be found just where they are, the tonal languages of the Indo-Chinese peninsula being in that case regarded as the languages of the vanguard of the migration. Also, the ideograms referred to represent animals and plants of the temperate zone rather than of the tropics, but even if it could be shown, which it cannot, that these animals and plants now belong exclusively to the tropics, that would be no proof of the tropical origin of the Chinese, for in the earliest times the climate of North China was much milder than it is now, and animals such as tigers and elephants existed in the dense jungles which are later found only in more southern latitudes. Expansion of Races from North to South The theory of a southern origin (to which a further serious objection will be stated presently) implies a gradual infiltration of Chinese immigrants through South or Mid-China (as above indicated) toward the north, but there is little doubt that the movement of the races has been from north to south and not _vice versa_. In what are now the provinces of Western Kansu and Ssuch'uan there lived a people related to the Chinese (as proved by the study of Indo-Chinese comparative philology) who moved into the present territory of Tibet and are known as Tibetans; in what is now the province of Yünnan were the Shan or Ai-lao (modern Laos), who, forced by Mongol invasions, emigrated to the peninsula in the south and became the Siamese; and in Indo-China, not related to the Chinese, were the Annamese, Khmer, Mon, Khasi, Colarains (whose remnants are dispersed over the hill tracts of Central India), and other tribes, extending in prehistoric times into Southern China, but subsequently driven back by the expansion of the Chinese in that direction. Arrival of the Chinese in China Taking into consideration all the existing evidence, the objections to all other theories of the origin of the Chinese seem to be greater than any yet raised to the theory that immigrants from the Tarim valley or beyond (_i.e._ from Elam or Akkadia, either direct or _via_ Eastern Turkestan) struck the banks of the Yellow River in their eastward journey and followed its course until they reached the localities where we first find them settled, namely, in the region covered by parts of the three modern provinces of Shansi, Shensi, and Honan where their frontiers join. They were then (about 2500 or 3000 B.C.) in a relatively advanced state of civilization. The country east and south of this district was inhabited by aboriginal tribes, with whom the Chinese fought, as they did with the wild animals and the dense vegetation, but with whom they also commingled and intermarried, and among whom they planted colonies as centres from which to spread their civilization. The K'un-lun Mountains With reference to the K'un-lun Mountains, designated in Chinese mythology as the abode of the gods--the ancestors of the Chinese race--it should be noted that these are identified not with the range dividing Tibet from Chinese Turkestan, but with the Hindu Kush. That brings us somewhat nearer to Babylon, and the apparent convergence of the two theories, the Central Asian and the Western Asian, would seem to point to a possible solution of the problem. Nü Kua, one of the alleged creators of human beings, and Nü and Kua, the first two human beings (according to a variation of the legend), are placed in the K'un-lun Mountains. That looks hopeful. Unfortunately, the K'un-lun legend is proved to be of Taoist origin. K'un-lun is the central mountain of the world, and 3000 miles in height. There is the fountain of immortality, and thence flow the four great rivers of the world. In other words, it is the Sumêru of Hindu mythology transplanted into Chinese legend, and for our present purpose without historical value. It would take up too much space to go into details of this interesting problem of the origin of the Chinese and their civilization, the cultural connexions or similarities of China and Western Asia in pre-Babylonian times, the origin of the two distinct culture-areas so marked throughout the greater part of Chinese history, etc., and it will be sufficient for our present purpose to state the conclusion to which the evidence points. Provisional Conclusion Pending the discovery of decisive evidence, the following provisional conclusion has much to recommend it--namely, that the ancestors of the Chinese people came from the west, from Akkadia or Elam, or from Khotan, or (more probably) from Akkadia or Elam _via_ Khotan, as one nomad or pastoral tribe or group of nomad or pastoral tribes, or as successive waves of immigrants, reached what is now China Proper at its north-west corner, settled round the elbow of the Yellow River, spread north-eastward, eastward, and southward, conquering, absorbing, or pushing before them the aborigines into what is now South and South-west China. These aboriginal races, who represent a wave or waves of neolithic immigrants from Western Asia earlier than the relatively high-headed immigrants into North China (who arrived about the twenty-fifth or twenty-fourth century B.C.), and who have left so deep an impress on the Japanese, mixed and intermarried with the Chinese in the south, eventually producing the pronounced differences, in physical, mental, and emotional traits, in sentiments, ideas, languages, processes, and products, from the Northern Chinese which are so conspicuous at the present day. Inorganic Environment At the beginning of their known history the country occupied by the Chinese was the comparatively small region above mentioned. It was then a tract of an irregular oblong shape, lying between latitude 34° and 40° N. and longitude 107° and 114° E. This territory round the elbow of the Yellow River had an area of about 50,000 square miles, and was gradually extended to the sea-coast on the north-east as far as longitude 119°, when its area was about doubled. It had a population of perhaps a million, increasing with the expansion to two millions. This may be called infant China. Its period (the Feudal Period) was in the two thousand years between the twenty-fourth and third centuries B.C. During the first centuries of the Monarchical Period, which lasted from 221 B.C. to A.D. 1912, it had expanded to the south to such an extent that it included all of the Eighteen Provinces constituting what is known as China Proper of modern times, with the exception of a portion of the west of Kansu and the greater portions of Ssuch'uan and Yünnan. At the time of the Manchu conquest at the beginning of the seventeenth century A.D. it embraced all the territory lying between latitude 18° and 40° N. and longitude 98° and 122° E. (the Eighteen Provinces or China Proper), with the addition of the vast outlying territories of Manchuria, Mongolia, Ili, Koko-nor, Tibet, and Corea, with suzerainty over Burma and Annam--an area of more than 5,000,000 square miles, including the 2,000,000 square miles covered by the Eighteen Provinces. Generally, this territory is mountainous in the west, sloping gradually down toward the sea on the east. It contains three chief ranges of mountains and large alluvial plains in the north, east, and south. Three great and about thirty large rivers intersect the country, their numerous tributaries reaching every part of it. As regards geological features, the great alluvial plains rest upon granite, new red sandstone, or limestone. In the north is found the peculiar loess formation, having its origin probably in the accumulated dust of ages blown from the Mongolian plateau. The passage from north to south is generally from the older to the newer rocks; from east to west a similar series is found, with some volcanic features in the west and south. Coal and iron are the chief minerals, gold, silver, copper, lead, tin, jade, etc., being also mined. The climate of this vast area is not uniform. In the north the winter is long and rigorous, the summer hot and dry, with a short rainy season in July and August; in the south the summer is long, hot, and moist, the winter short. The mean temperature is 50.3° F. and 70° F. in the north and south respectively. Generally, the thermometer is low for the latitude, though perhaps it is more correct to say that the Gulf Stream raises the temperature of the west coast of Europe above the average. The mean rainfall in the north is 16, in the south 70 inches, with variations in other parts. Typhoons blow in the south between July and October. Organic Environment The vegetal productions are abundant and most varied. The rice-zone (significant in relation to the cultural distinctions above noted) embraces the southern half of the country. Tea, first cultivated for its infusion in A.D. 350, is grown in the southern and central provinces between the twenty-third and thirty-fifth degrees of latitude, though it is also found as far north as Shantung, the chief 'tea district,' however, being the large area south of the Yangtzu River, east of the Tungting Lake and great Siang River, and north of the Kuangtung Province. The other chief vegetal products are wheat, barley, maize, millet, the bean, yam, sweet and common potato, tomato, eggplant, ginseng, cabbage, bamboo, indigo, pepper, tobacco, camphor, tallow, ground-nut, poppy, water-melon, sugar, cotton, hemp, and silk. Among the fruits grown are the date, mulberry, orange, lemon, pumelo, persimmon, lichi, pomegranate, pineapple, fig, coconut, mango, and banana, besides the usual kinds common in Western countries. The wild animals include the tiger, panther, leopard, bear, sable, otter, monkey, wolf, fox, twenty-seven or more species of ruminants, and numerous species of rodents. The rhinoceros, elephant, and tapir still exist in Yünnan. The domestic animals include the camel and the water-buffalo. There are about 700 species of birds, and innumerable species of fishes and insects. Sociological Environment On their arrival in what is now known as China the Chinese, as already noted, fought with the aboriginal tribes. The latter were exterminated, absorbed, or driven south with the spread of Chinese rule. The Chinese "picked out the eyes of the land," and consequently the non-Chinese tribes now live in the unhealthy forests or marshes of the south, or in mountain regions difficult of access, some even in trees (a voluntary, not compulsory promotion), though several, such as the Dog Jung in Fukien, retain settlements like islands among the ruling race. In the third century B.C. began the hostile relations of the Chinese with the northern nomads, which continued throughout the greater part of their history. During the first six centuries A.D. there was intercourse with Rome, Parthia, Turkey, Mesopotamia, Ceylon, India, and Indo-China, and in the seventh century with the Arabs. Europe was brought within the sociological environment by Christian travellers. From the tenth to the thirteenth century the north was occupied by Kitans and Nüchêns, and the whole Empire was under Mongol sway for eighty-eight years in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries. Relations of a commercial and religious nature were held with neighbours during the following four hundred years. Regular diplomatic intercourse with Western nations was established as a result of a series of wars in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. Until recently the nation held aloof from alliances and was generally averse to foreign intercourse. From 1537 onward, as a sequel of war or treaty, concessions, settlements, etc., were obtained by foreign Powers. China has now lost some of her border countries and large adjacent islands, the military and commercial pressure of Western nations and Japan having taken the place of the military pressure of the Tartars already referred to. The great problem for her, an agricultural nation, is how to find means and the military spirit to maintain her integrity, the further violation of which could not but be regarded by the student of sociological history as a great tragedy and a world-wide calamity. Physical, Emotional, and Intellectual Characters The physical characters of the Chinese are too well known to need detailed recital. The original immigrants into North China all belonged to blond races, but the modern Chinese have little left of the immigrant stock. The oblique, almond-shaped eyes, with black iris and the orbits far apart, have a vertical fold of skin over the inner canthus, concealing a part of the iris, a peculiarity distinguishing the eastern races of Asia from all other families of man. The stature and weight of brain are generally below the average. The hair is black, coarse, and cylindrical; the beard scanty or absent. The colour of the skin is darker in the south than in the north. Emotionally the Chinese are sober, industrious, of remarkable endurance, grateful, courteous, and ceremonious, with a high sense of mercantile honour, but timorous, cruel, unsympathetic, mendacious, and libidinous. Intellectually they were until recently, and to a large extent still are, non-progressive, in bondage to uniformity and mechanism in culture, imitative, unimaginative, torpid, indirect, suspicious, and superstitious. The character is being modified by intercourse with other peoples of the earth and by the strong force of physical, intellectual, and moral education. Marriage in Early Times Certain parts of the marriage ceremonial of China as now existing indicate that the original form of marriage was by capture--of which, indeed, there is evidence in the classical _Book of Odes_. But a regular form of marriage (in reality a contract of sale) is shown to have existed in the earliest historical times. The form was not monogamous, though it seems soon to have assumed that of a qualified monogamy consisting of one wife and one or more concubines, the number of the latter being as a rule limited only by the means of the husband. The higher the rank the larger was the number of concubines and handmaids in addition to the wife proper, the palaces of the kings and princes containing several hundreds of them. This form it has retained to the present day, though associations now exist for the abolition of concubinage. In early times, as well as throughout the whole of Chinese history, concubinage was in fact universal, and there is some evidence also of polyandry (which, however, cannot have prevailed to any great extent). The age for marriage was twenty for the man and fifteen for the girl, celibacy after thirty and twenty respectively being officially discouraged. In the province of Shantung it was usual for the wives to be older than their husbands. The parents' consent to the betrothal was sought through the intervention of a matchmaker, the proposal originating with the parents, and the wishes of the future bride and bridegroom not being taken into consideration. The conclusion of the marriage was the progress of the bride from the house of her parents to that of the bridegroom, where after various ceremonies she and he worshipped his ancestors together, the worship amounting to little more than an announcement of the union to the ancestral spirits. After a short sojourn with her husband the bride revisited her parents, and the marriage was not considered as finally consummated until after this visit had taken place. The status of women was low, and the power of the husband great--so great that he could kill his wife with impunity. Divorce was common, and all in favour of the husband, who, while he could not be divorced by her, could put his wife away for disobedience or even for loquaciousness. A widower remarried immediately, but refusal to remarry by a widow was esteemed an act of chastity. She often mutilated herself or even committed suicide to prevent remarriage, and was posthumously honoured for doing so. Being her husband's as much in the Otherworld as in this, remarriage would partake of the character of unchastity and insubordination; the argument, of course, not applying to the case of the husband, who by remarriage simply adds another member to his clan without infringing on anyone's rights. Marriage in Monarchical and Republican Periods The marital system of the early classical times, of which the above were the essentials, changed but little during the long period of monarchical rule lasting from 221 B.C. to A.D. 1912. The principal object, as before, was to secure an heir to sacrifice to the spirits of deceased progenitors. Marriage was not compulsory, but old bachelors and old maids were very scarce. The concubines were subject to the wife, who was considered to be the mother of their children as well as her own. Her status, however, was not greatly superior. Implicit obedience was exacted from her. She could not possess property, but could not be hired out for prostitution. The latter vice was common, in spite of the early age at which marriage took place and in spite of the system of concubinage--which is after all but a legalized transfer of prostitutional cohabitation to the domestic circle. Since the establishment of the Republic in 1912 the 'landslide' in the direction of Western progress has had its effect also on the domestic institutions. But while the essentials of the marriage contract remain practically the same as before, the most conspicuous changes have been in the accompanying ceremonial--now sometimes quite foreign, but in a very large, perhaps the greatest, number of cases that odious thing, half foreign, half Chinese; as, for instance, when the procession, otherwise native, includes foreign glass-panelled carriages, or the bridegroom wears a 'bowler' or top-hat with his Chinese dress--and in the greater freedom allowed to women, who are seen out of doors much more than formerly, sit at table with their husbands, attend public functions and dinners, dress largely in foreign fashion, and play tennis and other games, instead of being prisoners of the 'inner apartment' and household drudges little better than slaves. One unexpected result of this increased freedom is certainly remarkable, and is one not likely to have been predicted by the most far-sighted sociologist. Many of the 'progressive' Chinese, now that it is the fashion for Chinese wives to be seen in public with their husbands, finding the uneducated, _gauche_, small-footed household drudge unable to compete with the smarter foreign-educated wives of their neighbours, have actually repudiated them and taken unto themselves spouses whom they can exhibit in public without 'loss of face'! It is, however, only fair to add that the total number of these cases, though by no means inconsiderable, appears to be proportionately small. Parents and Children As was the power of the husband over the wife, so was that of the father over his children. Infanticide (due chiefly to poverty, and varying with it) was frequent, especially in the case of female children, who were but slightly esteemed; the practice prevailing extensively in three or four provinces, less extensively in others, and being practically absent in a large number. Beyond the fact that some penalties were enacted against it by the Emperor Ch'ien Lung (A.D. 1736-96), and that by statute it was a capital offence to murder children in order to use parts of their bodies for medicine, it was not legally prohibited. When the abuse became too scandalous in any district proclamations condemning it would be issued by the local officials. A man might, by purchase and contract, adopt a person as son, daughter, or grandchild, such person acquiring thereby all the rights of a son or daughter. Descent, both of real and personal property, was to all the sons of wives and concubines as joint heirs, irrespective of seniority. Bastards received half shares. Estates were not divisible by the children during the lifetime of their parents or grandparents. The head of the family being but the life-renter of the family property, bound by fixed rules, wills were superfluous, and were used only where the customary respect for the parents gave them a voice in arranging the details of the succession. For this purpose verbal or written instructions were commonly given. In the absence of the father, the male relatives of the same surname assumed the guardianship of the young. The guardian exercised full authority and enjoyed the surplus revenues of his ward's estate, but might not alienate the property. There are many instances in Chinese history of extreme devotion of children to parents taking the form of self-wounding and even of suicide in the hope of curing parents' illnesses or saving their lives. Political History The country inhabited by the Chinese on their arrival from the West was, as we saw, the district where the modern provinces of Shansi, Shensi, and Honan join. This they extended in an easterly direction to the shores of the Gulf of Chihli--a stretch of territory about 600 miles long by 300 broad. The population, as already stated, was between one and two millions. During the first two thousand years of their known history the boundaries of this region were not greatly enlarged, but beyond the more or less undefined borderland to the south were _chou_ or colonies, nuclei of Chinese population, which continually increased in size through conquest of the neighbouring territory. In 221 B.C. all the feudal states into which this territory had been parcelled out, and which fought with one another, were subjugated and absorbed by the state of Ch'in, which in that year instituted the monarchical form of government--the form which obtained in China for the next twenty-one centuries. Though the origin of the name 'China' has not yet been finally decided, the best authorities regard it as derived from the name of this feudal state of Ch'in. Under this short-lived dynasty of Ch'in and the famous Han dynasty (221 B.C. to A.D. 221) which followed it, the Empire expanded until it embraced almost all the territory now known as China Proper (the Eighteen Provinces of Manchu times). To these were added in order between 194 B.C. and A.D. 1414: Corea, Sinkiang (the New Territory or Eastern Turkestan), Manchuria, Formosa, Tibet, and Mongolia--Formosa and Corea being annexed by Japan in 1895 and 1910 respectively. Numerous other extra-China countries and islands, acquired and lost during the long course of Chinese history (at one time, from 73 to 48 B.C., "all Asia from Japan to the Caspian Sea was tributary to the Middle Kingdom," _i.e._ China), it is not necessary to mention here. During the Southern Sung dynasty (1127-1280) the Tartars owned the northern half of China, as far down as the Yangtzu River, and in the Yüan dynasty (1280-1368) they conquered the whole country. During the period 1644-1912 it was in the possession of the Manchus. At present the five chief component peoples of China are represented in the striped national flag (from the top downward) by red (Manchus), yellow (Chinese), blue (Mongolians), white (Mohammedans), and black (Tibetans). This flag was adopted on the establishment of the Republic in 1912, and supplanted the triangular Dragon flag previously in use. By this time the population--which had varied considerably at different periods owing to war, famine, and pestilence--had increased to about 400,000,000. General Government The general division of the nation was into the King and the People, The former was regarded as appointed by the will of Heaven and as the parent of the latter. Besides being king, he was also law-giver, commander-in-chief of the armies, high priest, and master of ceremonies. The people were divided into four classes: (1) _Shih_, Officers (later Scholars), consisting of _Ch'ên_, Officials (a few of whom were ennobled), and _Shên Shih_, Gentry; (2) _Nung_, Agriculturists; (3) _Kung_, Artisans; and (4) _Shang_, Merchants. For administrative purposes there were at the seat of central government (which, first at P'ing-yang--in modern Shansi--was moved eleven times during the Feudal Period, and was finally at Yin) ministers, or ministers and a hierarchy of officials, the country being divided into provinces, varying in number from nine in the earliest times to thirty-six under the First Emperor, 221 B.C., and finally twenty-two at the present day. At first these provinces contained states, which were models of the central state, the ruler's 'Middle Kingdom.' The provincial administration was in the hands of twelve Pastors or Lord-Lieutenants. They were the chiefs of all the nobles in a province. Civil and military offices were not differentiated. The feudal lords or princes of states often resided at the king's court, officers of that court being also sent forth as princes of states. The king was the source of legislation and administered justice. The princes in their several states had the power of rewards and punishments. Revenue was derived from a tithe on the land, from the income of artisans, merchants, fishermen, foresters, and from the tribute brought by savage tribes. The general structure and principles of this system of administration remained the same, with few variations, down to the end of the Monarchical Period in 1912. At the end of that period we find the emperor still considered as of divine descent, still the head of the civil, legislative, military, ecclesiastical, and ceremonial administration, with the nation still divided into the same four classes. The chief ministries at the capital, Peking, could in most cases trace their descent from their prototypes of feudal times, and the principal provincial administrative officials--the Governor-General or Viceroy, governor, provincial treasurer, judge, etc.--had similarly a pedigree running back to offices then existing--a continuous duration of adherence to type which is probably unique. Appointment to office was at first by selection, followed by an examination to test proficiency; later was introduced the system of public competitive literary examinations for office, fully organized in the seventeenth century, and abolished in 1903, when official positions were thrown open to the graduates of colleges established on a modern basis. In 1912, on the overthrow of the Manchu monarchy, China became a republic, with an elected President, and a Parliament consisting of a Senate and House of Representatives. The various government departments were reorganized on Western lines, and a large number of new offices instituted. Up to the present year the Law of the Constitution, owing to political dissension between the North and the South, has not been put into force. Laws Chinese law, like primitive law generally, was not instituted in order to ensure justice between man and man; its object was to enforce subordination of the ruled to the ruler. The laws were punitive and vindictive rather than reformatory or remedial, criminal rather than civil. Punishments were cruel: branding, cutting off the nose, the legs at the knees, castration, and death, the latter not necessarily, or indeed ordinarily, for taking life. They included in some cases punishment of the family, the clan, and the neighbours of the offender. The _lex talionis_ was in full force. Nevertheless, in spite of the harsh nature of the punishments, possibly adapted, more or less, to a harsh state of society, though the "proper end of punishments"--to "make an end of punishing"--was missed, the Chinese evolved a series of excellent legal codes. This series began with the revision of King Mu's _Punishments_ in 950 B.C., the first regular code being issued in 650 B.C., and ended with the well-known _Ta Ch'ing lü li_ (_Laws and Statutes of the Great Ch'ing Dynasty_), issued in A.D. 1647. Of these codes the great exemplar was the _Law Classic_ drawn up by Li K'uei (_Li K'uei fa ching_), a statesman in the service of the first ruler of the Wei State, in the fourth century B.C. The _Ta Ch'ing lü li_ has been highly praised by competent judges. Originally it sanctioned only two kinds of punishment, death and flogging, but others were in use, and the barbarous _ling ch'ih_, 'lingering death' or 'slicing to pieces,' invented about A.D. 1000 and abolished in 1905, was inflicted for high treason, parricide, on women who killed their husbands, and murderers of three persons of one family. In fact, until some first-hand knowledge of Western systems and procedure was obtained, the vindictive as opposed to the reformatory idea of punishments continued to obtain in China down to quite recent years, and has not yet entirely disappeared. Though the crueller forms of punishment had been legally abolished, they continued to be used in many parts. Having been joint judge at Chinese trials at which, in spite of my protests, prisoners were hung up by their thumbs and made to kneel on chains in order to extort confession (without which no accused person could be punished), I can testify that the true meaning of the "proper end of punishments" had no more entered into the Chinese mind at the close of the monarchical _régime_ than it had 4000 years before. As a result of the reform movement into which China was forced as an alternative to foreign domination toward the end of the Manchu Period, but chiefly owing to the bait held out by Western Powers, that extraterritoriality would be abolished when China had reformed her judicial system, a new Provisional Criminal Code was published. It substituted death by hanging or strangulation for decapitation, and imprisonment for various lengths of time for bambooing. It was adopted in large measure by the Republican _régime_, and is the chief legal instrument in use at the present time. But close examination reveals the fact that it is almost an exact copy of the Japanese penal code, which in turn was modelled upon that of Germany. It is, in fact, a Western code imitated, and as it stands is quite out of harmony with present conditions in China. It will have to be modified and recast to be a suitable, just, and practicable national legal instrument for the Chinese people. Moreover, it is frequently overridden in a high-handed manner by the police, who often keep a person acquitted by the Courts of Justice in custody until they have 'squeezed' him of all they can hope to get out of him. And it is noteworthy that, though provision was made in the Draft Code for trial by jury, this provision never went into effect; and the slavish imitation of alien methods is shown by the curiously inconsistent reason given--that "the fact that jury trials have been abolished in Japan is indicative of the inadvisability of transplanting this Western institution into China!" Local Government The central administration being a far-flung network of officialdom, there was hardly any room for local government apart from it. We find it only in the village elder and those associated with him, who took up what government was necessary where the jurisdiction of the unit of the central administration--the district magistracy--ceased, or at least did not concern itself in meddling much. Military System The peace-loving agricultural settlers in early China had at first no army. When occasion arose, all the farmers exchanged their ploughshares for swords and bows and arrows, and went forth to fight. In the intervals between the harvests, when the fields were clear, they held manoeuvres and practised the arts of warfare. The king, who had his Six Armies, under the Six High Nobles, forming the royal military force, led the troops in person, accompanied by the spirit-tablets of his ancestors and of the gods of the land and grain. Chariots, drawn by four horses and containing soldiers armed with spears and javelins and archers, were much in use. A thousand chariots was the regular force. Warriors wore buskins on their legs, and were sometimes gagged in order to prevent the alarm being given to the enemy. In action the chariots occupied the centre, the bowmen the left, the spearmen the right flank. Elephants were sometimes used in attack. Spy-kites, signal-flags, hook-ladders, horns, cymbals, drums, and beacon-fires were in use. The ears of the vanquished were taken to the king, quarter being rarely if ever given. After the establishment of absolute monarchical government standing armies became the rule. Military science was taught, and soldiers sometimes trained for seven years. Chariots with upper storeys or spy-towers were used for fighting in narrow defiles, and hollow squares were formed of mixed chariots, infantry, and dragoons. The weakness of disunion of forces was well understood. In the sixth century A.D. the massed troops numbered about a million and a quarter. In A.D. 627 there was an efficient standing army of 900,000 men, the term of service being from the ages of twenty to sixty. During the Mongol dynasty (1280-1368) there was a navy of 5000 ships manned by 70,000 trained fighters. The Mongols completely revolutionized tactics and improved on all the military knowledge of the time. In 1614 the Manchu 'Eight Banners,' composed of Manchus, Mongolians, and Chinese, were instituted. The provincial forces, designated the Army of the Green Standard, were divided into land forces and marine forces, superseded on active service by 'braves' (_yung_), or irregulars, enlisted and discharged according to circumstances. After the war with Japan in 1894 reforms were seriously undertaken, with the result that the army has now been modernized in dress, weapons, tactics, etc., and is by no means a negligible quantity in the world's fighting forces. A modern navy is also being acquired by building and purchase. For many centuries the soldier, being, like the priest, unproductive, was regarded with disdain, and now that his indispensableness for defensive purposes is recognized he has to fight not only any actual enemy who may attack him, but those far subtler forces from over the sea which seem likely to obtain supremacy in his military councils, if not actual control of his whole military system. It is, in my view, the duty of Western nations to take steps before it is too late to avert this great disaster. Ecclesiastical Institutions The dancing and chanting exorcists called _wu_ were the first Chinese priests, with temples containing gods worshipped and sacrificed to, but there was no special sacerdotal class. Worship of Heaven could only be performed by the king or emperor. Ecclesiastical and political functions were not completely separated. The king was _pontifex maximus_, the nobles, statesmen, and civil and military officers acted as priests, the ranks being similar to those of the political hierarchy. Worship took place in the 'Hall of Light,' which was also a palace and audience and council chamber. Sacrifices were offered to Heaven, the hills and rivers, ancestors, and all the spirits. Dancing held a conspicuous place in worship. Idols are spoken of in the earliest times. Of course, each religion, as it formed itself out of the original ancestor-worship, had its own sacred places, functionaries, observances, ceremonial. Thus, at the State worship of Heaven, Nature, etc., there were the 'Great,' 'Medium,' and 'Inferior' sacrifices, consisting of animals, silk, grain, jade, etc. Panegyrics were sung, and robes of appropriate colour worn. In spring, summer, autumn, and winter there were the seasonal sacrifices at the appropriate altars. Taoism and Buddhism had their temples, monasteries, priests, sacrifices, and ritual; and there were village and wayside temples and shrines to ancestors, the gods of thunder, rain, wind, grain, agriculture, and many others. Now encouraged, now tolerated, now persecuted, the ecclesiastical _personnel_ and structure of Taoism and Buddhism survived into modern times, when we find complete schemes of ecclesiastical gradations of rank and authority grafted upon these two priestly hierarchies, and their temples, priests, etc., fulfilling generally, with worship of ancestors, State or official (Confucianism) and private or unofficial, and the observance of various annual festivals, such as 'All Souls' Day' for wandering and hungry ghosts, the spiritual needs of the people as the 'Three Religions' (_San Chiao_). The emperor, as high priest, took the responsibility for calamities, etc., making confession to Heaven and praying that as a punishment the evil be diverted from the people to his own person. Statesmen, nobles, and officials discharged, as already noted, priestly functions in connexion with the State religion in addition to their ordinary duties. As a rule, priests proper, frowned upon as non-producers, were recruited from the lower classes, were celibate, unintellectual, idle, and immoral. There was nothing, even in the elaborate ceremonies on special occasions in the Buddhist temples, which could be likened to what is known as 'public worship' and 'common prayer' in the West. Worship had for its sole object either the attainment of some good or the prevention of some evil. Generally this represents the state of things under the Republican _régime_; the chief differences being greater neglect of ecclesiastical matters and the conversion of a large number of temples into schools. Professional Institutions We read of physicians, blind musicians, poets, teachers, prayer-makers, architects, scribes, painters, diviners, ceremonialists, orators, and others during the Feudal Period, These professions were of ecclesiastical origin, not yet completely differentiated from the 'Church,' and both in earlier and later times not always or often differentiated from each other. Thus the historiographers combined the duties of statesmen, scholars, authors, and generals. The professions of authors and teachers, musicians and poets, were united in one person. And so it continued to the present day. Priests discharge medical functions, poets still sing their verses. But experienced medical specialists, though few, are to be found, as well as women doctors; there are veterinary surgeons, musicians (chiefly belonging to the poorest classes and often blind), actors, teachers, attorneys, diviners, artists, letter-writers, and many others, men of letters being perhaps the most prominent and most esteemed. Accessory Institutions A system of schools, academies, colleges, and universities obtained in villages, districts, departments, and principalities. The instruction was divided into 'Primary Learning' and 'Great Learning.' There were special schools of dancing and music. Libraries and almshouses for old men are mentioned. Associations of scholars for literary purposes seem to have been numerous. Whatever form and direction education might have taken, it became stereotyped at an early age by the road to office being made to lead through a knowledge of the classical writings of the ancient sages. It became not only 'the thing' to be well versed in the sayings of Confucius, Mencius; etc., and to be able to compose good essays on them containing not a single wrongly written character, but useless for aspirants to office--who constituted practically the whole of the literary class--to acquire any other knowledge. So obsessed was the national mind by this literary mania that even infants' spines were made to bend so as to produce when adult the 'scholarly stoop.' And from the fact that besides the scholar class the rest of the community consisted of agriculturists, artisans, and merchants, whose knowledge was that of their fathers and grandfathers, inculcated in the sons and grandsons as it had been in them, showing them how to carry on in the same groove the calling to which Fate had assigned them, a departure from which would have been considered 'unfilial'--unless, of course (as it very rarely did), it went the length of attaining through study of the classics a place in the official class, and thus shedding eternal lustre on the family--it will readily be seen that there was nothing to cause education to be concerned with any but one or two of the subjects which are included by Western peoples under that designation. It became at an early age, and remained for many centuries, a rote-learning of the elementary text-books, followed by a similar acquisition by heart of the texts of the works of Confucius and other classical writers. And so it remained until the abolition, in 1905, of the old competitive examination system, and the substitution of all that is included in the term 'modern education' at schools, colleges, and universities all over the country, in which there is rapidly growing up a force that is regenerating the Chinese people, and will make itself felt throughout the whole world. It is this keen and shrewd appreciation of the learned, and this lust for knowledge, which, barring the tragedy of foreign domination, will make China, in the truest and best sense of the word, a great nation, where, as in the United States of America, the rigid class status and undervaluation, if not disdaining, of knowledge which are proving so disastrous in England and other European countries will be avoided, and the aristocracy of learning established in its place. Besides educational institutions, we find institutions for poor relief, hospitals, foundling hospitals, orphan asylums, banking, insurance, and loan associations, travellers' clubs, mercantile corporations, anti-opium societies, co-operative burial societies, as well as many others, some imitated from Western models. Bodily Mutilations Compared with the practices found to exist among most primitive races, the mutilations the Chinese were in the habit of inflicting were but few. They flattened the skulls of their babies by means of stones, so as to cause them to taper at the top, and we have already seen what they did to their spines; also the mutilations in warfare, and the punishments inflicted both within and without the law; and how filial children and loyal wives mutilated themselves for the sake of their parents and to prevent remarriage. Eunuchs, of course, existed in great numbers. People bit, cut, or marked their arms to pledge oaths. But the practices which are more peculiarly associated with the Chinese are the compressing of women's feet and the wearing of the queue, misnamed 'pigtail.' The former is known to have been in force about A.D. 934, though it may have been introduced as early as 583. It did not, however, become firmly established for more than a century. This 'extremely painful mutilation,' begun in infancy, illustrates the tyranny of fashion, for it is supposed to have arisen in the imitation by the women generally of the small feet of an imperial concubine admired by one of the emperors from ten to fifteen centuries ago (the books differ as to his identity). The second was a badge of servitude inflicted by the Manchus on the Chinese when they conquered China at the beginning of the seventeenth century. Discountenanced by governmental edicts, both of these practices are now tending toward extinction, though, of course, compressed feet and 'pigtails' are still to be seen in every town and village. Legally, the queue was abolished when the Chinese rid themselves of the Manchu yoke in 1912. Funeral Rites Not understanding the real nature of death, the Chinese believed it was merely a state of suspended animation, in which the soul had failed to return to the body, though it might yet do so, even after long intervals. Consequently they delayed burial, and fed the corpse, and went on to the house-tops and called aloud to the spirit to return. When at length they were convinced that the absent spirit could not be induced to re-enter the body, they placed the latter in a coffin and buried it--providing it, however, with all that it had found necessary in this life (food, clothing, wives, servants, etc.), which it would require also in the next (in their view rather a continuation of the present existence than the beginning of another)--and, having inducted or persuaded the spirit to enter the 'soul-tablet' which accompanied the funeral procession (which took place the moment the tablet was 'dotted,' _i.e._ when the character _wang_, 'prince,' was changed into _chu_, 'lord'), carried it back home again, set it up in a shrine in the main hall, and fell down and worshipped it. Thus was the spirit propitiated, and as long as occasional offerings were not overlooked the power for evil possessed by it would not be exerted against the surviving inmates of the house, whom it had so thoughtlessly deserted. The latter mourned by screaming, wailing, stamping their feet, and beating their breasts, renouncing (in the earliest times) even their clothes, dwelling, and belongings to the dead, removing to mourning-sheds of clay, fasting, or eating only rice gruel, sleeping on straw with a clod for a pillow, and speaking only on subjects of death and burial. Office and public duties were resigned, and marriage, music, and separation from the clan prohibited. During the lapse of the long ages of monarchical rule funeral rites became more elaborate and magnificent, but, though less rigid and ceremonious since the institution of the Republic, they have retained their essential character down to the present day. Funeral ceremonial was more exacting than that connected with most other observances, including those of marriage. Invitations or notifications were sent to friends, and after receipt of these _fu_, on the various days appointed therein, the guest was obliged to send presents, such as money, paper horses, slaves, etc., and go and join in the lamentations of the hired mourners and attend at the prayers recited by the priests. Funeral etiquette could not be _pu'd, i.e._ made good, if overlooked or neglected at the right time, as it could in the case of the marriage ceremonial. Instead of symmetrical public graveyards, as in the West, the Chinese cemeteries belong to the family or clan of the deceased, and are generally beautiful and peaceful places planted with trees and surrounded by artistic walls enclosing the grave-mounds and monumental tablets. The cemeteries themselves are the metonyms of the villages, and the graves of the houses. In the north especially the grave is very often surmounted by a huge marble tortoise bearing the inscribed tablet, or what we call the gravestone, on its back. The tombs of the last two lines of emperors, the Ming and the Manchu, are magnificent structures, spread over enormous areas, and always artistically situated on hillsides facing natural or artificial lakes or seas. Contrary to the practice in Egypt, with the two exceptions above mentioned the conquering dynasties have always destroyed the tombs of their predecessors. But for this savage vandalism, China would probably possess the most magnificent assembly of imperial tombs in the world's records. Laws of Intercourse Throughout the whole course of their existence as a social aggregate the Chinese have pushed ceremonial observances to an extreme limit. "Ceremonies," says the _Li chi_, the great classic of ceremonial usages, "are the greatest of all things by which men live." Ranks were distinguished by different headdresses, garments, badges, weapons, writing-tablets, number of attendants, carriages, horses, height of walls, etc. Daily as well as official life was regulated by minute observances. There were written codes embracing almost every attitude and act of inferiors toward superiors, of superiors toward inferiors, and of equals toward equals. Visits, forms of address, and giving of presents had each their set of formulae, known and observed by every one as strictly and regularly as each child in China learned by heart and repeated aloud the three-word sentences of the elementary _Trimetrical Classic_. But while the school text-book was extremely simple, ceremonial observances were extremely elaborate. A Chinese was in this respect as much a slave to the living as in his funeral rites he was a slave to the dead. Only now, in the rush of 'modern progress,' is the doffing of the hat taking the place of the 'kowtow' (_k'o-t'ou_). It is in this matter of ceremonial observances that the East and the West have misunderstood each other perhaps more than in all others. Where rules of etiquette are not only different, but are diametrically opposed, there is every opportunity for misunderstanding, if not estrangement. The points at issue in such questions as 'kowtowing' to the emperor and the worshipping of ancestors are generally known, but the Westerner, as a rule, is ignorant of the fact that if he wishes to conform to Chinese etiquette when in China (instead of to those Western customs which are in many cases unfortunately taking their place) he should not, for instance, take off his hat when entering a house or a temple, should not shake hands with his host, nor, if he wishes to express approval, should he clap his hands. Clapping of hands in China (_i.e._ non-Europeanized China) is used to drive away the _sha ch'i_, or deathly influence of evil spirits, and to clap the hands at the close of the remarks of a Chinese host (as I have seen prominent, well-meaning, but ill-guided men of the West do) is equivalent to disapproval, if not insult. Had our diplomatists been sociologists instead of only commercial agents, more than one war might have been avoided. Habits and Customs At intervals during the year the Chinese make holiday. Their public festivals begin with the celebration of the advent of the new year. They let off innumerable firecrackers, and make much merriment in their homes, drinking and feasting, and visiting their friends for several days. Accounts are squared, houses cleaned, fresh paper 'door-gods' pasted on the front doors, strips of red paper with characters implying happiness, wealth, good fortune, longevity, etc., stuck on the doorposts or the lintel, tables, etc., covered with red cloth, and flowers and decorations displayed everywhere. Business is suspended, and the merriment, dressing in new clothes, feasting, visiting, offerings to gods and ancestors, and idling continue pretty consistently during the first half of the first moon, the vacation ending with the Feast of Lanterns, which occupies the last three days. It originated in the Han dynasty 2000 years ago. Innumerable lanterns of all sizes, shapes, colours (except wholly white, or rather undyed material, the colour of mourning), and designs are lit in front of public and private buildings, but the use of these was an addition about 800 years later, _i.e._ about 1200 years ago. Paper dragons, hundreds of yards long, are moved along the streets at a slow pace, supported on the heads of men whose legs only are visible, giving the impression of huge serpents winding through the thoroughfares. Of the other chief festivals, about eight in number (not counting the festivals of the four seasons with their equinoxes and solstices), four are specially concerned with the propitiation of the spirits--namely, the Earlier Spirit Festival (fifteenth day of second moon), the Festival of the Tombs (about the third day of the third moon), when graves are put in order and special offerings made to the dead, the Middle Spirit Festival (fifteenth day of seventh moon), and the Later Spirit Festival (fifteenth day of tenth moon). The Dragon-boat Festival (fifth day of fifth moon) is said to have originated as a commemoration of the death of the poet Ch'ü Yüan, who drowned himself in disgust at the official intrigue and corruption of which he was the victim, but the object is the procuring of sufficient rain to ensure a good harvest. It is celebrated by racing with long narrow boats shaped to represent dragons and propelled by scores of rowers, pasting of charms on the doors of dwellings, and eating a special kind of rice-cake, with a liquor as a beverage. The fifteenth day of the eighth moon is the Mid-autumn Festival, known by foreigners as All Souls' Day. On this occasion the women worship the moon, offering cakes, fruit, etc. The gates of Purgatory are opened, and the hungry ghosts troop forth to enjoy themselves for a month on the good things provided for them by the pious. The ninth day of the ninth moon is the Chung Yang Festival, when every one who possibly can ascends to a high place--a hill or temple-tower. This inaugurates the kite-flying season, and is supposed to promote longevity. During that season, which lasts several months, the Chinese people the sky with dragons, centipedes, frogs, butterflies, and hundreds of other cleverly devised creatures, which, by means of simple mechanisms worked by the wind, roll their eyes, make appropriate sounds, and move their paws, wings, tails, etc., in a most realistic manner. The festival originated in a warning received by a scholar named Huan Ching from his master Fei Ch'ang-fang, a native of Ju-nan in Honan, who lived during the Han dynasty, that a terrible calamity was about to happen, and enjoining him to escape with his family to a high place. On his return he found all his domestic animals dead, and was told that they had died instead of himself and his relatives. On New Year's Eve (_Tuan Nien_ or _Chu Hsi_) the Kitchen-god ascends to Heaven to make his annual report, the wise feasting him with honey and other sticky food before his departure, so that his lips may be sealed and he be unable to 'let on' too much to the powers that be in the regions above! Sports and Games The first sports of the Chinese were festival gatherings for purposes of archery, to which succeeded exercises partaking of a military character. Hunting was a favourite amusement. They played games of calculation, chess (or the 'game of war'), shuttlecock with the feet, pitch-pot (throwing arrows from a distance into a narrow-necked jar), and 'horn-goring' (fighting on the shoulders of others with horned masks on their heads). Stilts, football, dice-throwing, boat-racing, dog-racing, cock-fighting, kite-flying, as well as singing and dancing marionettes, afforded recreation and amusement. Many of these games became obsolete in course of time, and new ones were invented. At the end of the Monarchical Period, during the Manchu dynasty, we find those most in use to be foot-shuttlecock, lifting of beams headed with heavy stones--dumb-bells four feet long and weighing thirty or forty pounds--kite-flying, quail-fighting, cricket-fighting, sending birds after seeds thrown into the air, sauntering through fields, playing chess or 'morra,' or gambling with cards, dice, or over the cricket- and quail-fights or seed-catching birds. There were numerous and varied children's games tending to develop strength, skill, quickness of action, parental instinct, accuracy, and sagacity. Theatricals were performed by strolling troupes on stages erected opposite temples, though permanent theatres also existed, female parts until recently being taken by male actors. Peep-shows, conjurers, ventriloquists, acrobats, fortune-tellers, and story-tellers kept crowds amused or interested. Generally, 'young China' of the present day, identified with the party of progress, seems to have adopted most of the outdoor but very few of the indoor games of Western nations. Domestic Life In domestic or private life, observances at birth, betrothal, and marriage were elaborate, and retained superstitious elements. Early rising was general. Shaving of the head and beard, as well as cleaning of the ears and massage, was done by barbers. There were public baths in all cities and towns. Shops were closed at nightfall, and, the streets being until recent times ill-lit or unlit, passengers or their attendants carried lanterns. Most houses, except the poorest, had private watchmen. Generally two meals a day were taken. Dinners to friends were served at inns or restaurants, accompanied or followed by musical or theatrical performances. The place of honour is stated in Western books on China to be on the left, but the fact is that the place of honour is the one which shows the utmost solicitude for the safety of the guest. It is therefore not necessarily one fixed place, but would usually be the one facing the door, so that the guest might be in a position to see an enemy enter, and take measures accordingly. Lap-dogs and cage-birds were kept as pets; 'wonks,' the _huang kou_, or 'yellow dog,' were guards of houses and street scavengers. Aquaria with goldfish were often to be seen in the houses of the upper and middle classes, the gardens and courtyards of which usually contained rockeries and artistic shrubs and flowers. Whiskers were never worn, and moustaches and beards only after forty, before which age the hair grew, if at all, very scantily. Full, thick beards, as in the West, were practically never seen, even on the aged. Snuff-bottles, tobacco-pipes, and fans were carried by both sexes. Nails were worn long by members of the literary and leisured classes. Non-Manchu women and girls had cramped feet, and both Manchu and Chinese women used cosmetics freely. Industrial Institutions While the men attended to farm-work, women took care of the mulberry-orchards and silkworms, and did spinning, weaving, and embroidery. This, the primitive division of labour, held throughout, though added to on both sides, so that eventually the men did most of the agriculture, arts, production, distribution, fighting, etc., and the women, besides the duties above named and some field-labour, mended old clothes, drilled and sharpened needles, pasted tin-foil, made shoes, and gathered and sorted the leaves of the tea-plant. In course of time trades became highly specialized--their number being legion--and localized, bankers, for instance, congregating in Shansi, carpenters in Chi Chou, and porcelain-manufacturers in Jao Chou, in Kiangsi. As to land, it became at an early age the property of the sovereign, who farmed it out to his relatives or favourites. It was arranged on the _ching_, or 'well' system--eight private squares round a ninth public square cultivated by the eight farmer families in common for the benefit of the State. From the beginning to the end of the Monarchical Period tenure continued to be of the Crown, land being unallodial, and mostly held in clans or families, and not entailed, the conditions of tenure being payment of an annual tax, a fee for alienation, and money compensation for personal services to the Government, generally incorporated into the direct tax as scutage. Slavery, unknown in the earliest times, existed as a recognized institution during the whole of the Monarchical Period. Production was chiefly confined to human and animal labour, machinery being only now in use on a large scale. Internal distribution was carried on from numerous centres and at fairs, shops, markets, etc. With few exceptions, the great trade-routes by land and sea have remained the same during the last two thousand years. Foreign trade was with Western Asia, Greece, Rome, Carthage, Arabia, etc., and from the seventeenth century A.D. more generally with European countries. The usual primitive means of conveyance, such as human beings, animals, carts, boats, etc., were partly displaced by steam-vessels from 1861 onward. Exchange was effected by barter, cowries of different values being the prototype of coins, which were cast in greater or less quantity under each reign. But until within recent years there was only one coin, the copper cash, in use, bullion and paper notes being the other media of exchange. Silver Mexican dollars and subsidiary coins came into use with the advent of foreign commerce. Weights and measures (which generally decreased from north to south), officially arranged partly on the decimal system, were discarded by the people in ordinary commercial transactions for the more convenient duodecimal subdivision. Arts Hunting, fishing, cooking, weaving, dyeing, carpentry, metallurgy, glass-, brick-, and paper-making, printing, and book-binding were in a more or less primitive stage, the mechanical arts showing much servile imitation and simplicity in design; but pottery, carving, and lacquer-work were in an exceptionally high state of development, the articles produced being surpassed in quality and beauty by no others in the world. Agriculture and Rearing of Livestock From the earliest times the greater portion of the available land was under cultivation. Except when the country has been devastated by war, the Chinese have devoted close attention to the cultivation of the soil continuously for forty centuries. Even the hills are terraced for extra growing-room. But poverty and governmental inaction caused much to lie idle. There were two annual crops in the north, and five in two years in the south. Perhaps two-thirds of the population cultivated the soil. The methods, however, remained primitive; but the great fertility of the soil and the great industry of the farmer, with generous but careful use of fertilizers, enabled the vast territory to support an enormous population. Rice, wheat, barley, buckwheat, maize, kaoliang, several millets, and oats were the chief grains cultivated. Beans, peas, oil-bearing seeds (sesame, rape, etc.), fibre-plants (hemp, ramie, jute, cotton, etc.), starch-roots (taros, yams, sweet potatoes, etc.), tobacco, indigo, tea, sugar, fruits, were among the more important crops produced. Fruit-growing, however, lacked scientific method. The rotation of crops was not a usual practice, but grafting, pruning, dwarfing, enlarging, selecting, and varying species were well understood. Vegetable-culture had reached a high state of perfection, the smallest patches of land being made to bring forth abundantly. This is the more creditable inasmuch as most small farmers could not afford to purchase expensive foreign machinery, which, in many cases, would be too large or complicated for their purposes. The principal animals, birds, etc., reared were the pig, ass, horse, mule, cow, sheep, goat, buffalo, yak, fowl, duck, goose, pigeon, silkworm, and bee. The Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce, the successor to the Board of Agriculture, Manufactures, and Commerce, instituted during recent years, is now adapting Western methods to the cultivation of the fertile soil of China, and even greater results than in the past may be expected in the future. Sentiments and Moral Ideas The Chinese have always shown a keen delight in the beautiful--in flowers, music, poetry, literature, embroidery, paintings, porcelain. They cultivated ornamental plants, almost every house, as we saw, having its garden, large or small, and tables were often decorated with flowers in vases or ornamental wire baskets or fruits or sweetmeats. Confucius made music an instrument of government. Paper bearing the written character was so respected that it might not be thrown on the ground or trodden on. Delight was always shown in beautiful scenery or tales of the marvellous. Commanding or agreeable situations were chosen for temples. But until within the last few years streets and houses were generally unclean, and decency in public frequently absent. Morality was favoured by public opinion, but in spite of early marriages and concubinage there was much laxity. Cruelty both to human beings and animals has always been a marked trait in the Chinese character. Savagery in warfare, cannibalism, luxury, drunkenness, and corruption prevailed in the earliest times. The attitude toward women was despotic. But moral principles pervaded the classical writings, and formed the basis of law. In spite of these, the inferior sentiment of revenge was, as we have seen, approved and preached as a sacred duty. As a result of the universal _yin-yang_ dualistic doctrines, immorality was leniently regarded. In modern times, at least, mercantile honour was high, "a merchant's word is as good as his bond" being truer in China than in many other countries. Intemperance was rare. Opium-smoking was much indulged in until the use of the drug was forcibly suppressed (1906-16). Even now much is smuggled into the country, or its growth overlooked by bribed officials. Clan quarrels and fights were common, vendettas sometimes continuing for generations. Suicide under depressing circumstances was approved and honoured; it was frequently resorted to under the sting of great injustice. There was a deep reverence for parents and superiors. Disregard of the truth, when useful, was universal, and unattended by a sense of shame, even on detection. Thieving was common. The illegal exactions of rulers were burdensome. In times of prosperity pride and satisfaction in material matters was not concealed, and was often short-sighted. Politeness was practically universal, though said to be often superficial; but gratitude was a marked characteristic, and was heartfelt. Mutual conjugal affection was strong. The love of gambling was universal. But little has occurred in recent years to modify the above characters. Nevertheless the inferior traits are certainly being changed by education and by the formation of societies whose members bind themselves against immorality, concubinage, gambling, drinking, smoking, etc. Religious Ideas Chinese religion is inherently an attitude toward the spirits or gods with the object of obtaining a benefit or averting a calamity. We shall deal with it more fully in another chapter. Suffice it to say here that it originated in ancestor-worship, and that the greater part of it remains ancestor-worship to the present day. The State religion, which was Confucianism, was ancestor-worship. Taoism, originally a philosophy, became a worship of spirits--of the souls of dead men supposed to have taken up their abode in animals, reptiles, insects, trees, stones, etc.--borrowed the cloak of religion from Buddhism, which eventually outshone it, and degenerated into a system of exorcism and magic. Buddhism, a religion originating in India, in which Buddha, once a man, is worshipped, in which no beings are known with greater power than can be attained to by man, and according to which at death the soul migrates into anything from a deified human being to an elephant, a bird, a plant, a wall, a broom, or any piece of inorganic matter, was imported ready made into China and took the side of popular superstition and Taoism against the orthodox belief, finding that its power lay in the influence on the popular mind of its doctrine respecting a future state, in contrast to the indifference of Confucianism. Its pleading for compassion and preservation of life met a crying need, and but for it the state of things in this respect would be worse than it is. Religion, apart from ancestor-worship, does not enter largely into Chinese life. There is none of the real 'love of God' found, for example, in the fervent as distinguished from the conventional Christian. And as ancestor-worship gradually loses its hold and dies out agnosticism will take its place. Superstitions An almost infinite variety of superstitious practices, due to the belief in the good or evil influences of departed spirits, exists in all parts of China. Days are lucky or unlucky. Eclipses are due to a dragon trying to eat the sun or the moon. The rainbow is supposed to be the result of a meeting between the impure vapours of the sun and the earth. Amulets are worn, and charms hung up, sprigs of artemisia or of peach-blossom are placed near beds and over lintels respectively, children and adults are 'locked to life' by means of locks on chains or cords worn round the neck, old brass mirrors are supposed to cure insanity, figures of gourds, tigers' claws, or the unicorn are worn to ensure good fortune or ward off sickness, fire, etc., spells of many kinds, composed mostly of the written characters for happiness and longevity, are worn, or written on paper, cloth, leaves, etc., and burned, the ashes being made into a decoction and drunk by the young or sick. Divination by means of the divining stalks (the divining plant, milfoil or yarrow) and the tortoiseshell has been carried on from time immemorial, but was not originally practised with the object of ascertaining future events, but in order to decide doubts, much as lots are drawn or a coin tossed in the West. _Fêng-shui_, "the art of adapting the residence of the living and the dead so as to co-operate and harmonize with the local currents of the cosmic breath" (the _yin_ and the _yang_: see Chapter III), a doctrine which had its root in ancestor-worship, has exercised an enormous influence on Chinese thought and life from the earliest times, and especially from those of Chu Hsi and other philosophers of the Sung dynasty. Knowledge Having noted that Chinese education was mainly literary, and why it was so, it is easy to see that there would be little or no demand for the kind of knowledge classified in the West under the head of science. In so far as any demand existed, it did so, at any rate at first, only because it subserved vital needs. Thus, astronomy, or more properly astrology, was studied in order that the calendar might be regulated, and so the routine of agriculture correctly followed, for on that depended the people's daily rice, or rather, in the beginning, the various fruits and kinds of flesh which constituted their means of sustentation before their now universal food was known. In philosophy they have had two periods of great activity, the first beginning with Lao Tzu and Confucius in the sixth century B.C. and ending with the Burning of the Books by the First Emperor, Shih Huang Ti, in 213 B.C.; the second beginning with Chou Tzu (A.D. 1017-73) and ending with Chu Hsi (1130-1200). The department of philosophy in the imperial library contained in 190 B.C. 2705 volumes by 137 authors. There can be no doubt that this zeal for the orthodox learning, combined with the literary test for office, was the reason why scientific knowledge was prevented from developing; so much so, that after four thousand or more years of national life we find, during the Manchu Period, which ended the monarchical _régime_, few of the educated class, giants though they were in knowledge of all departments of their literature and history (the continuity of their traditions laid down in their twenty-four Dynastic Annals has been described as one of the great wonders of the world), with even the elementary scientific learning of a schoolboy in the West. 'Crude,' 'primitive,' 'mediocre,' 'vague,' 'inaccurate,' 'want of analysis and generalization,' are terms we find applied to their knowledge of such leading sciences as geography, mathematics, chemistry, botany, and geology. Their medicine was much hampered by superstition, and perhaps more so by such beliefs as that the seat of the intellect is in the stomach, that thoughts proceed from the heart, that the pit of the stomach is the seat of the breath, that the soul resides in the liver, etc.--the result partly of the idea that dissection of the body would maim it permanently during its existence in the Otherworld. What progress was made was due to European instruction; and this again is the _causa causans_ of the great wave of progress in scientific and philosophical knowledge which is rolling over the whole country and will have marked effects on the history of the world during the coming century. Language Originally polysyllabic, the Chinese language later assumed a monosyllabic, isolating, uninflected form, grammatical relations being indicated by position. From the earliest forms of speech several subordinate vernacular languages arose in various districts, and from these sprang local dialects, etc. Tone-distinctions arose--_i.e._ the same words pronounced with a different intonation came to mean different things. Development of these distinctions led to carelessness of articulation, and multiplication of what would be homonyms but for these tones. It is incorrect to assume that the tones were invented to distinguish similar sounds. So that, at the present day, anyone who says _ma_ will mean either an exclamation, hemp, horse, or curse according to the quality he gives to the sound. The language remains in a primitive state, without inflexion, declension, or distinction of parts of speech. The order in a sentence is: subject, verb, complement direct, complement indirect. Gender is formed by distinctive particles; number by prefixing numerals, etc.; cases by position or appropriate prepositions. Adjectives precede nouns; position determines comparison; and absence of punctuation causes ambiguity. The latter is now introduced into most newly published works. The new education is bringing with it innumerable words and phrases not found in the old literature or dictionaries. Japanese idioms which are now being imported into the language are making it less pure. The written language, too well known to need detailed description, a thing of beauty and a joy for ever to those able to appreciate it, said to have taken originally the form of knotted cords and then of notches on wood (though this was more probably the origin of numeration than of writing proper), took later that of rude outlines of natural objects, and then went on to the phonetic system, under which each character is composed of two parts, the radical, indicating the meaning, and the phonetic, indicating the sound. They were symbols, non-agglutinative and non-inflexional, and were written in vertical columns, probably from having in early times been painted or cut on strips of bark. Achievements of the Chinese As the result of all this fitful fever during so many centuries, we find that the Chinese, after having lived in nests "in order to avoid the animals," and then in caves, have built themselves houses and palaces which are still made after the pattern of their prototype, with a flat wall behind, the openings in front, the walls put in after the pillars and roof-tree have been fixed, and out-buildings added on as side extensions. The _k'ang_, or 'stove-bed' (now a platform made of bricks), found all over the northern provinces, was a place scooped out of the side of the cave, with an opening underneath in which (as now) a fire was lit in winter. Windows and shutters opened upward, being a survival of the mat or shade hung in front of the apertures in the walls of the primitive cave-dwelling. Four of these buildings facing each other round a square made the courtyard, and one or more courtyards made the compound. They have fed themselves on almost everything edible to be found on, under, or above land or water, except milk, but live chiefly on rice, chicken, fish, vegetables, including garlic, and tea, though at one time they ate flesh and drank wine, sometimes to excess, before tea was cultivated. They have clothed themselves in skins and feathers, and then in silks and satins, but mostly in cotton, and hardly ever in wool. Under the Manchu _régime_ the type of dress adopted was that of this horse-riding race, showing the chief characteristics of that noble animal, the broad sleeves representing the hoofs, the queue the mane, etc. This queue was formed of the hair growing from the back part of the scalp, the front of which was shaved. Unlike the Egyptians, they did not wear wigs. They have nearly always had the decency to wear their coats long, and have despised the Westerner for wearing his too short. They are now paradoxical enough to make the mistake of adopting the Westerner's costume. They have made to themselves great canals, bridges, aqueducts, and the longest wall there has ever been on the face of the earth (which could not be seen from the moon, as some sinologists have erroneously supposed, any more than a hair, however long, could be seen at a distance of a hundred yards). They have made long and wide roads, but failed to keep them in repair during the last few centuries, though much zeal, possibly due to commerce on oil- or electricity-driven wheels, is now being shown in this direction. They have built honorary portals to chaste widows, pagodas, and arched bridges of great beauty, not forgetting to surround each city with a high and substantial wall to keep out unfriendly people. They have made innumerable implements and weapons, from pens and fans and chopsticks to ploughs and carts and ships; from fiery darts, 'flame elephants,' bows and spears, spiked chariots, battering-rams, and hurling-engines to mangonels, trebuchets, matchlocks of wrought iron and plain bore with long barrels resting on a stock, and gingals fourteen feet long resting on a tripod, cuirasses of quilted cotton cloth covered with brass knobs, and helmets of iron or polished steel, sometimes inlaid, with neck- and ear-lappets. And they have been content not to improve upon these to any appreciable extent; but have lately shown a tendency to make the later patterns imported from the West in their own factories. They have produced one of the greatest and most remarkable accumulations of literature the world has ever seen, and the finest porcelain; some music, not very fine; and some magnificent painting, though hardly any sculpture, and little architecture that will live. CHAPTER II On Chinese Mythology Mythology and Intellectual Progress The Manichæst, _yin-yang_ (dualist), idea of existence, to which further reference will be made in the next chapter, finds its illustration in the dual life, real and imaginary, of all the peoples of the earth. They have both real histories and mythological histories. In the preceding chapter I have dealt briefly with the first--the life of reality--in China from the earliest times to the present day; the succeeding chapters are concerned with the second--the life of imagination. A survey of the first was necessary for a complete understanding of the second. The two react upon each other, affecting the national character and through it the history of the world. Mythology is the science of the unscientific man's explanation of what we call the Otherworld--itself and its denizens, their mysterious habits and surprising actions both there and here, usually including the creation of this world also. By the Otherworld he does not necessarily mean anything distant or even invisible, though the things he explains would mostly be included by us under those terms. In some countries myths are abundant, in others scarce. Why should this be? Why should some peoples tell many and marvellous tales about their gods and others say little about them, though they may say a great deal to them? We recall the 'great' myths of Greece and Scandinavia. Other races are 'poor' in myths. The difference is to be explained by the mental characters of the peoples as moulded by their surroundings and hereditary tendencies. The problem is of course a psychological one, for it is, as already noted, in imagination that myths have their root. Now imagination grows with each stage of intellectual progress, for intellectual progress implies increasing representativeness of thought. In the lower stages of human development imagination is feeble and unproductive; in the highest stages it is strong and constructive. The Chinese Intellect The Chinese are not unimaginative, but their minds did not go on to the construction of any myths which should be world-great and immortal; and one reason why they did not construct such myths was that their intellectual progress was arrested at a comparatively early stage. It was arrested because there was not that contact and competition with other peoples which demands brain-work of an active kind as the alternative of subjugation, inferiority, or extinction, and because, as we have already seen, the knowledge required of them was mainly the parrot-like repetition of the old instead of the thinking-out of the new [1]--a state of things rendered possible by the isolation just referred to. Confucius discountenanced discussion about the supernatural, and just as it is probable that the exhortations of Wên Wang, the virtual founder of the Chou dynasty (1121-255 B.C.), against drunkenness, in a time before tea was known to them, helped to make the Chinese the sober people that they are, so it is probable--more than probable--that this attitude of Confucius may have nipped in the bud much that might have developed a vigorous mythology, though for a reason to be stated later it may be doubted if he thereby deprived the world of any beautiful and marvellous results of the highest flights of poetical creativeness. There are times, such as those of any great political upheaval, when human nature will assert itself and break through its shackles in spite of all artificial or conventional restraints. Considering the enormous influence of Confucianism throughout the latter half of Chinese history--_i.e._ the last two thousand years--it is surprising that the Chinese dared to think about supernatural matters at all, except in the matter of propitiating their dead ancestors. That they did so is evidence not only of human nature's inherent tendency to tell stories, but also of the irrepressible strength of feeling which breaks all laws and commandments under great stimulus. On the opposing unæsthetic side this may be compared to the feeling which prompts the unpremeditated assassination of a man who is guilty of great injustice, even though it be certain that in due course he would have met his deserts at the hands of the public executioner. The Influence of Religion Apart from this, the influence of Confucianism would have been even greater than it was, but for the imperial partiality periodically shown for rival doctrines, such as Buddhism and Taoism, which threw their weight on the side of the supernatural, and which at times were exalted to such great heights as to be officially recognized as State religions. These, Buddhism especially, appealed to the popular imagination and love of the marvellous. Buddhism spoke of the future state and the nature of the gods in no uncertain tones. It showed men how to reach the one and attain to the other. Its founder was virtuous; his commandments pure and life-sustaining. It supplied in great part what Confucianism lacked. And, as in the fifth and sixth centuries A.D., when Buddhism and Taoism joined forces and a working union existed between them, they practically excluded for the time all the "chilly growth of Confucian classicism." Other opponents of myth, including a critical philosopher of great ability, we shall have occasion to notice presently. History and Myth The sobriety and accuracy of Chinese historians is proverbial. I have dilated upon this in another work, and need add here only what I inadvertently omitted there--a point hitherto unnoticed or at least unremarked--that the very word for history in Chinese (_shih_) means impartiality or an impartial annalist. It has been said that where there is much myth there is little history, and _vice versa_, and though this may not be universally true, undoubtedly the persistently truthful recording of facts, events, and sayings, even at the risk of loss, yea, and actual loss of life of the historian as the result of his refusal to make false entries in his chronicle at the bidding of the emperor (as in the case of the historiographers of Ch'i in 547 B.C.), indicates a type of mind which would require some very strong stimulus to cause it to soar very far into the hazy realms of fanciful imagination. Chinese Rigidity A further cause, already hinted at above, for the arrest of intellectual progress is to be found in the growth of the nation in size during many centuries of isolation from the main stream of world-civilization, without that increase in heterogeneity which comes from the moulding by forces external to itself. "As iron sharpeneth iron, so a man sharpeneth the countenance of his friend." Consequently we find China what is known to sociology as an 'aggregate of the first order,' which during its evolution has parted with its internal life-heat without absorbing enough from external sources to enable it to retain the plastic condition necessary to further, or at least rapid, development. It is in a state of rigidity, a state recognized and understood by the sociologist in his study of the evolution of nations. The Prerequisites to Myth But the mere increase of constructive imagination is not sufficient to produce myth. If it were, it would be reasonable to argue that as intellectual progress goes on myths become more numerous, and the greater the progress the greater the number of myths. This we do not find. In fact, if constructive imagination went on increasing without the intervention of any further factor, there need not necessarily be any myth at all. We might almost say that the reverse is the case. We connect myth with primitive folk, not with the greatest philosophers or the most advanced nations--not, that is, with the most advanced stages of national progress wherein constructive imagination makes the nation great and strong. In these stages the philosopher studies or criticizes myth, he does not make it. In order that there may be myth, three further conditions must be fulfilled. There must, as we have seen, be constructive imagination, but, nevertheless, there must not be too much of it. As stated above, mythology, or rather myth, is the _unscientific_ man's explanation. If the constructive imagination is so great that it becomes self-critical, if the story-teller doubts his own story, if, in short, his mind is scientific enough to see that his explanation is no explanation at all, then there can be no myth properly so called. As in religion, unless the myth-maker believes in his myth with all his heart and soul and strength, and each new disciple, as it is cared for and grows under his hands during the course of years, holds that he must put his shoes from off his feet because the place whereon he treads is holy ground, the faith will not be propagated, for it will lack the vital spark which alone can make it a living thing. Stimulus Necessary The next condition is that there must be a stimulus. It is not ideas, but feelings, which govern the world, and in the history of mythology where feeling is absent we find either weak imitation or repetition of the myths of other peoples (though this must not be confused with certain elements which seem to be common to the myths of all races), or concoction, contamination, or "genealogical tree-making," or myths originated by "leisurely, peaceful tradition" and lacking the essential qualities which appeal to the human soul and make their possessors very careful to preserve them among their most loved and valued treasures. But, on the other hand, where feeling is stirred, where the requisite stimulus exists, where the people are in great danger, or allured by the prize of some breathless adventure, the contact produces the spark of divine poetry, the myths are full of artistic, philosophic, and religious suggestiveness, and have abiding significance and charm. They are the children, the poetic fruit, of great labour and serious struggles, revealing the most fundamental forces, hopes, and cravings of the human soul. Nations highly strung, undergoing strenuous emotion, intensely energized by constant conflict with other nations, have their imagination stimulated to exceptional poetic creativeness. The background of the Danaïds is Egyptian, not Greek, but it was the danger in which the Greeks were placed in their wars with the sons of the land of the Pharaohs that stimulated the Greek imagination to the creation of that great myth. This explains why so many of the greatest myths have their staging, not in the country itself whose treasured possessions they are, but where that country is 'playing the great game,' is carrying on wars decisive of far-reaching national events, which arouse to the greatest pitch of excitement the feelings both of the combatants and of those who are watching them from their homes. It is by such great events, not by the romance-writer in his peaceful study, that mythology, like literature, is "incisively determined." Imagination, we saw, goes _pari passu_ with intellectual progress, and intellectual progress, in early times, is furthered not so much by the mere contact as by the actual conflict of nations. And we see also that myths may, and very frequently do, have a character quite different from that of the nation to which they appertain, for environment plays a most important part both in their inception and subsequent growth--a truth too obvious to need detailed elaboration. Persistent Soul-expression A third condition is that the type of imagination must be persistent through fairly long periods of time, otherwise not only will there be an absence of sufficient feeling or momentum to cause the myths to be repeated and kept alive and transmitted to posterity, but the inducement to add to them and so enable them to mature and become complete and finished off and sufficiently attractive to appeal to the human mind in spite of the foreign character they often bear will be lacking. In other words, myths and legends grow. They resemble not so much the narrative of the story-teller or novelist as a gradually developing art like music, or a body of ideas like philosophy. They are human and natural, though they express the thought not of any one individual mind, but of the folk-soul, exemplifying in poetical form some great psychological or physiographical truth. The Character of Chinese Myth The nature of the case thus forbids us to expect to find the Chinese myths exhibiting the advanced state and brilliant heterogeneity of those which have become part of the world's permanent literature. We must expect them to be true to type and conditions, as we expect the other ideas of the Chinese to be, and looking for them in the light of this knowledge we shall find them just where we should expect to find them. The great sagas and eddas exalted among the world's literary masterpieces, and forming part of the very life of a large number of its inhabitants, are absent in China. "The Chinese people," says one well-known sinologist, "are not prone to mythological invention." "He who expects to find in Tibet," says another writer, "the poetical charm of Greek or Germanic mythology will be disappointed. There is a striking poverty of imagination in all the myths and legends. A great monotony pervades them all. Many of their stories, taken from the sacred texts, are quite puerile and insipid. It may be noted that the Chinese mythology labours under the same defect." And then there comes the crushing judgment of an over-zealous Christian missionary sinologist: "There is no hierarchy of gods brought in to rule and inhabit the world they made, no conclave on Mount Olympus, nor judgment of the mortal soul by Osiris, no transfer of human love and hate, passions and hopes, to the powers above; all here is ascribed to disembodied agencies or principles, and their works are represented as moving on in quiet order. There is no religion [!], no imagination; all is impassible, passionless, uninteresting.... It has not, as in Greece and Egypt, been explained in sublime poetry, shadowed forth in gorgeous ritual and magnificent festivals, represented in exquisite sculptures, nor preserved in faultless, imposing fanes and temples, filled with ideal creations." Besides being incorrect as to many of its alleged facts, this view would certainly be shown by further study to be greatly exaggerated. Periods Fertile in Myth What we should expect, then, to find from our philosophical study of the Chinese mind as affected by its surroundings would be barrenness of constructive imagination, except when birth was given to myth through the operation of some external agency. And this we do find. The period of the overthrow of the Yin dynasty and the establishment of the great house of Chou in 1122 B.C., or of the Wars of the Three States, for example, in the third century after Christ, a time of terrible anarchy, a medieval age of epic heroism, sung in a hundred forms of prose and verse, which has entered as motive into a dozen dramas, or the advent of Buddhism, which opened up a new world of thought and life to the simple, sober, peace-loving agricultural folk of China, were stimuli not by any means devoid of result. In China there are gods many and heroes many, and the very fact of the existence of so great a multitude of gods would logically imply a wealth of mythological lore inseparable from their apotheosis. You cannot--and the Chinese cannot--get behind reason. A man is not made a god without some cause being assigned for so important and far-reaching a step; and in matters of this sort the stated cause is apt to take the form of a narrative more or less marvellous or miraculous. These resulting myths may, of course, be born and grow at a later time than that in which the circumstances giving rise to them took place, but, if so, that merely proves the persistent power of the originating stimulus. That in China these narratives always or often reach the highest flights of constructive imagination is not maintained--the maintenance of that argument would indeed be contradictory; but even in those countries where the mythological garden has produced some of the finest flowers millions of seeds must have been sown which either did not spring up at all or at least failed to bring forth fruit. And in the realm of mythology it is not only those gods who sit in the highest seats--creators of the world or heads of great religions--who dominate mankind; the humbler, though often no less powerful gods or spirits--those even who run on all fours and live in holes in the ground, or buzz through the air and have their thrones in the shadow of a leaf--have often made a deeper impress on the minds and in the hearts of the people, and through that impress, for good or evil, have, in greater or less degree, modified the life of the visible universe. Sources of Chinese Myth "So, if we ask whence comes the heroic and the romantic, which supplies the story-teller's stock-in-trade, the answer is easy. The legends and history of early China furnish abundance of material for them. To the Chinese mind their ancient world was crowded with heroes, fairies, and devils, who played their part in the mixed-up drama, and left a name and fame both remarkable and piquant. Every one who is familiar with the ways and the language of the people knows that the country is full of common objects to which poetic names have been given, and with many of them there is associated a legend or a myth. A deep river's gorge is called 'the Blind Man's Pass,' because a peculiar bit of rock, looked at from a certain angle, assumes the outline of the human form, and there comes to be connected therewith a pleasing story which reaches its climax in the petrifaction of the hero. A mountain's crest shaped like a swooping eagle will from some one have received the name of 'Eagle Mountain,' whilst by its side another shaped like a couchant lion will have a name to match. There is no lack of poetry among the people, and most striking objects claim a poetic name, and not a few of them are associated with curious legends. It is, however, to their national history that the story-teller goes for his most interesting subjects, and as the so-called history of China imperceptibly passes into the legendary period, and this again fades into the mythical, and as all this is assuredly believed by the masses of the people, it is obvious that in the national life of China there is no dearth of heroes whose deeds of prowess will command the rapt attention of the crowds who listen." [2] The soul in China is everywhere in evidence, and if myths have "first and foremost to do with the life of the soul" it would appear strange that the Chinese, having spiritualized everything from a stone to the sky, have not been creative of myth. Why they have not the foregoing considerations show us clearly enough. We must take them and their myths as we find them. Let us, then, note briefly the result of their mental workings as reacted on by their environment. Phases of Chinese Myth We cannot identify the earliest mythology of the Chinese with that of any primitive race. The myths, if any, of their place of origin may have faded and been forgotten in their slow migration eastward. We cannot say that when they came from the West (which they probably did) they brought their myths with them, for in spite of certain conjectural derivations from Babylon we do not find them possessed of any which we can identify as imported by them at that time. But research seems to have gone at least as far as this--namely, that while we cannot say that Chinese myth was derived from Indian myth, there is good reason to believe that Chinese and Indian myth had a common origin, which was of course outside of China. To set forth in detail the various phases through which Chinese myth has passed would involve a technical description foreign to the purpose of a popular work. It will sufficiently serve our present purpose to outline its most prominent features. In the earliest times there was an 'age of magic' followed by an 'heroic age,' but myths were very rare before 800 B.C., and what is known as primitive mythology is said to have been invented or imitated from foreign sources after 820 B.C. In the eighth century B.C. myths of an astrological character began to attract attention. In the age of Lao Tzu (604 B.C.), the reputed founder of the Taoist religion, fresh legends appear, though Lao Tzu himself, absorbed in the abstract, records none. Neither did Confucius (551-479 B.C.) nor Mencius, who lived two hundred years later, add any legends to history. But in the Period of the Warring States (500-100 B.C.) fresh stimuli and great emotion prompted to mythological creation. Tso-ch'iu Ming and Lieh Tzu Tso-ch'iu Ming, commentator on Confucius's _Annals_, frequently introduced legend into his history. Lieh Tzu (fifth and fourth centuries B.C.), a metaphysician, is one of the earliest authors who deal in myths. He is the first to mention the story of Hsi Wang Mu, the Western Queen, and from his day onward the fabulists have vied with one another in fantastic descriptions of the wonders of her fairyland. He was the first to mention the islands of the immortals in the ocean, the kingdoms of the dwarfs and giants, the fruit of immortality, the repairing of the heavens by Nü Kua Shih with five-coloured stones, and the great tortoise which supports the universe. The T'ang and Sung Epochs Religious romance began at this time. The T'ang epoch (A.B. 618-907) was one of the resurrection of the arts of peace after a long period of dissension. A purer and more enduring form of intellect was gradually overcoming the grosser but less solid superstition. Nevertheless the intellectual movement which now manifested itself was not strong enough to prevail against the powers of mythological darkness. It was reserved for the scholars of the Sung Period (A.D. 960-1280) to carry through to victory a strong and sustained offensive against the spiritualistic obsessions which had weighed upon the Chinese mind more or less persistently from the Han Period (206 B.C.-A.D. 221) onward. The dogma of materialism was specially cultivated at this time. The struggle of sober reason against superstition or imaginative invention was largely a struggle of Confucianism against Taoism. Though many centuries had elapsed since the great Master walked the earth, the anti-myth movement of the T'ang and Sung Periods was in reality the long arm and heavy fist of Confucius emphasizing a truer rationalism than that of his opponents and denouncing the danger of leaving the firm earth to soar into the unknown hazy regions of fantasy. It was Sung scholarship that gave the death-blow to Chinese mythology. It is unnecessary to labour the point further, because after the Sung epoch we do not meet with any period of new mythological creation, and its absence can be ascribed to no other cause than its defeat at the hands of the Sung philosophers. After their time the tender plant was always in danger of being stunted or killed by the withering blast of philosophical criticism. Anything in the nature of myth ascribable to post-Sung times can at best be regarded only as a late blossom born when summer days are past. Myth and Doubt It will bear repetition to say that unless the myth-builder firmly believes in his myth, be he the layer of the foundation-stone or one of the raisers of the superstructure, he will hardly make it a living thing. Once he believes in reincarnation and the suspension of natural laws, the boundless vistas of space and the limitless æons of time are opened to him. He can perform miracles which astound the world. But if he allow his mind to inquire, for instance, why it should have been necessary for Elijah to part the waters of the Jordan with his garment in order that he and Elisha might pass over dryshod, or for Bodhidharma to stand on a reed to cross the great Yangtzu River, or for innumerable Immortals to sit on 'favourable clouds' to make their journeys through space, he spoils myth--his child is stillborn or does not survive to maturity. Though the growth of philosophy and decay of superstition may be good for a nation, the process is certainly conducive to the destruction of its myth and much of its poetry. The true mythologist takes myth for myth, enters into its spirit, and enjoys it. We may thus expect to find in the realm of Chinese mythology a large number of little hills rather than a few great mountains, but the little hills are very good ones after their kind; and the object of this work is to present Chinese myth as it is, not as it might have been had the universe been differently constituted. Nevertheless, if, as we may rightly do, we judge of myth by the sentiments pervading it and the ideals upheld and taught by it, we shall find that Chinese myth must be ranked among the greatest. Myth and Legend The general principles considered above, while they explain the paucity of myth in China, explain also the abundance of legend there. The six hundred years during which the Mongols, Mings, and Manchus sat upon the throne of China are barren of myth, but like all periods of the Chinese national life are fertile in legend. And this chiefly for the reason that myths are more general, national, divine, while legends are more local, individual, human. And since, in China as elsewhere, the lower classes are as a rule less educated and more superstitious than the upper classes--have a certain amount of constructive imagination, but not enough to be self-critical--legends, rejected or even ridiculed by the scholarly class when their knowledge has become sufficiently scientific, continue to be invented and believed in by the peasant and the dweller in districts far from the madding crowd long after myth, properly so called, has exhaled its last breath. CHAPTER III Cosmogony-p'an Ku and the Creation Myth The Fashioner of the Universe The most conspicuous figure in Chinese cosmogony is P'an Ku. He it was who chiselled the universe out of Chaos. According to Chinese ideas, he was the offspring of the original dual powers of Nature, the _yin_ and the _yang_ (to be considered presently), which, having in some incomprehensible way produced him, set him the task of giving form to Chaos and "making the heavens and the earth." Some accounts describe him as the actual creator of the universe--"the ancestor of Heaven and earth and all that live and move and have their being." 'P'an' means 'the shell of an egg,' and 'Ku' 'to secure,' 'solid,' referring to P'an Ku being hatched from out of Chaos and to his settling the arrangement of the causes to which his origin was due. The characters themselves may, however, mean nothing more than 'Researches into antiquity,' though some bolder translators have assigned to them the significance if not the literal sense of 'aboriginal abyss,' or the Babylonian Tiamat, 'the Deep.' P'an Ku is pictured as a man of dwarfish stature clothed in bearskin, or merely in leaves or with an apron of leaves. He has two horns on his head. In his right hand he holds a hammer and in his left a chisel (sometimes these are reversed), the only implements he used in carrying out his great task. Other pictures show him attended in his labours by the four supernatural creatures--the unicorn, phoenix, tortoise, and dragon; others again with the sun in one hand and the moon in the other, some of the firstfruits of his stupendous labours. (The reason for these being there will be apparent presently.) His task occupied eighteen thousand years, during which he formed the sun, moon, and stars, the heavens and the earth, himself increasing in stature day by day, being daily six feet taller than the day before, until, his labours ended, he died that his works might live. His head became the mountains, his breath the wind and clouds, his voice the thunder, his limbs the four quarters of the earth, his blood the rivers, his flesh the soil, his beard the constellations, his skin and hair the herbs and trees, his teeth, bones, and marrow the metals, rocks, and precious stones, his sweat the rain, and the insects creeping over his body human beings, who thus had a lowlier origin even than the tears of Khepera in Egyptian cosmology. [3] This account of P'an Ku and his achievements is of Taoist origin. The Buddhists have given a somewhat different account of him, which is a late adaptation from the Taoist myth, and must not be mistaken for Buddhist cosmogony proper. [4] The Sun and the Moon In some of the pictures of P'an Ku he is represented, as already noted, as holding the sun in one hand and the moon in the other. Sometimes they are in the form of those bodies, sometimes in the classic character. The legend says that when P'an Ku put things in order in the lower world, he did not put these two luminaries in their proper courses, so they retired into the Han Sea, and the people dwelt in darkness. The Terrestrial Emperor sent an officer, Terrestrial Time, with orders that they should come forth and take their places in the heavens and give the world day and night. They refused to obey the order. They were reported to Ju Lai; P'an Ku was called, and, at the divine direction of Buddha, wrote the character for 'sun' in his left hand, and that for 'moon' in his right hand; and went to the Han Sea, and stretched forth his left hand and called the sun, and then stretched forth his right hand and called the moon, at the same time repeating a charm devoutly seven times; and they forthwith ascended on high, and separated time into day and night. [5] Other legends recount that P'an Ku had the head of a dragon and the body of a serpent; and that by breathing he caused the wind, by opening his eyes he created day, his voice made the thunder, etc. P'an Ku and Ymer Thus we have the heavens and the earth fashioned by this wonderful being in eighteen thousand years. With regard to him we may adapt the Scandinavian ballad: It was Time's morning When P'an Ku lived; There was no sand, no sea, Nor cooling billows; Earth there was none, No lofty Heaven; No spot of living green; Only a deep profound. And it is interesting to note, in passing, the similarity between this Chinese artificer of the universe and Ymer, the giant, who discharges the same functions in Scandinavian mythology. Though P'an Ku did not have the same kind of birth nor meet with the violent death of the latter, the results as regards the origin of the universe seem to have been pretty much the same. [6] P'an Ku a Late Creation But though the Chinese creation myth deals with primeval things it does not itself belong to a primitive time. According to some writers whose views are entitled to respect, it was invented during the fourth century A.D. by the Taoist recluse, Magistrate Ko Hung, author of the _Shên hsien chuan_ (_Biographies of the Gods_). The picturesque person of P'an Ku is said to have been a concession to the popular dislike of, or inability to comprehend, the abstract. He was conceived, some Chinese writers say, because the philosophical explanations of the Cosmos were too recondite for the ordinary mind to grasp. That he did fulfil the purpose of furnishing the ordinary mind with a fairly easily comprehensible picture of the creation may be admitted; but, as will presently be seen, it is over-stating the case to say that he was conceived with the set purpose of furnishing the ordinary mind with a concrete solution or illustration of this great problem. There is no evidence that P'an Ku had existed as a tradition before the time when we meet with the written account of him; and, what is more, there is no evidence that there existed any demand on the part of the popular mind for any such solution or illustration. The ordinary mind would seem to have been either indifferent to or satisfied with the abstruse cosmogonical and cosmological theories of the early sages for at least a thousand years. The cosmogonies of the _I ching_, of Lao Tzu, Confucius (such as it was), Kuan Tzu, Mencius, Chuang Tzu, were impersonal. P'an Ku and his myth must be regarded rather as an accident than as a creation resulting from any sudden flow of psychological forces or wind of discontent ruffling the placid Chinese mind. If the Chinese brought with them from Babylon or anywhere else the elements of a cosmogony, whether of a more or less abstruse scientific nature or a personal mythological narrative, it must have been subsequently forgotten or at least has not survived in China. But for Ko Hung's eccentricity and his wish to experiment with cinnabar from Cochin-China in order to find the elixir of life, P'an Ku would probably never have been invented, and the Chinese mind would have been content to go on ignoring the problem or would have quietly acquiesced in the abstract philosophical explanations of the learned which it did not understand. Chinese cosmogony would then have consisted exclusively of the recondite impersonal metaphysics which the Chinese mind had entertained or been fed on for the nine hundred or more years preceding the invention of the P'an Ku myth. Nü Kua Shih, the Repairer of the Heavens It is true that there exist one or two other explanations of the origin of things which introduce a personal creator. There is, for instance, the legend--first mentioned by Lieh Tzu (to whom we shall revert later)--which represents Nü Kua Shih (also called Nü Wa and Nü Hsi), said to have been the sister and successor of Fu Hsi, the mythical sovereign whose reign is ascribed to the years 2953-2838 B.C., as having been the creator of human beings when the earth first emerged from Chaos. She (or he, for the sex seems uncertain), who had the "body of a serpent and head of an ox" (or a human head and horns of an ox, according to some writers), "moulded yellow earth and made man." Ssu-ma Chêng, of the eighth century A.D., author of the _Historical Records_ and of another work on the three great legendary emperors, Fu Hsi, Shên Nung, and Huang Ti, gives the following account of her: "Fu Hsi was succeeded by Nü Kua, who like him had the surname Fêng. Nü Kua had the body of a serpent and a human head, with the virtuous endowments of a divine sage. Toward the end of her reign there was among the feudatory princes Kung Kung, whose functions were the administration of punishment. Violent and ambitious, he became a rebel, and sought by the influence of water to overcome that of wood [under which Nü Kua reigned]. He did battle with Chu Jung [said to have been one of the ministers of Huang Ti, and later the God of Fire], but was not victorious; whereupon he struck his head against the Imperfect Mountain, Pu Chou Shan, and brought it down. The pillars of Heaven were broken and the corners of the earth gave way. Hereupon Nü Kua melted stones of the five colours to repair the heavens, and cut off the feet of the tortoise to set upright the four extremities of the earth. [7] Gathering the ashes of reeds she stopped the flooding waters, and thus rescued the land of Chi, Chi Chou [the early seat of the Chinese sovereignty]." Another account separates the name and makes Nü and Kua brother and sister, describing them as the only two human beings in existence. At the creation they were placed at the foot of the K'un-lun Mountains. Then they prayed, saying, "If thou, O God, hast sent us to be man and wife, the smoke of our sacrifice will stay in one place; but if not, it will be scattered." The smoke remained stationary. But though Nü Kua is said to have moulded the first man (or the first human beings) out of clay, it is to be noted that, being only the successor of Fu Hsi, long lines of rulers had preceded her of whom no account is given, and also that, as regards the heavens and the earth at least, she is regarded as the repairer and not the creator of them. Heaven-deaf (T'ien-lung) and Earth-dumb (Ti-ya), the two attendants of Wên Ch'ang, the God of Literature (see following chapter), have also been drawn into the cosmogonical net. From their union came the heavens and the earth, mankind, and all living things. These and other brief and unelaborated personal cosmogonies, even if not to be regarded as spurious imitations, certainly have not become established in the Chinese mind as the explanation of the way in which the universe came to be: in this sphere the P'an Ku legend reigns supreme; and, owing to its concrete, easily apprehensible nature, has probably done so ever since the time of its invention. Early Cosmogony Dualistic The period before the appearance of the P'an Ku myth may be divided into two parts; that from some early unknown date up to about the middle of the Confucian epoch, say 500 B.C., and that from 500 B.C. to A.D. 400. We know that during the latter period the minds of Chinese scholars were frequently occupied with speculations as to the origin of the universe. Before 500 B.C. we have no documentary remains telling us what the Chinese believed about the origin of things; but it is exceedingly unlikely that no theories or speculations at all concerning the origin of themselves and their surroundings were formed by this intelligent people during the eighteen centuries or more which preceded the date at which we find the views held by them put into written form. It is safe to assume that the dualism which later occupied their philosophical thoughts to so great an extent as almost to seem inseparable from them, and exercised so powerful an influence throughout the course of their history, was not only formulating itself during that long period, but had gradually reached an advanced stage. We may even go so far as to say that dualism, or its beginnings, existed in the very earliest times, for the belief in the second self or ghost or double of the dead is in reality nothing else. And we find it operating with apparently undiminished energy after the Chinese mind had reached its maturity in the Sung dynasty. The Canon of Changes The Bible of Chinese dualism is the _I ching_, the _Canon of Changes_ (or _Permutations_). It is held in great veneration both on account of its antiquity and also because of the "unfathomable wisdom which is supposed to lie concealed under its mysterious symbols." It is placed first in the list of the classics, or Sacred Books, though it is not the oldest of them. When exactly the work itself on which the subsequent elaborations were founded was composed is not now known. Its origin is attributed to the legendary emperor Fu Hsi (2953-2838 B.C.). It does not furnish a cosmogony proper, but merely a dualistic system as an explanation, or attempted explanation, or even perhaps only a record, of the constant changes (in modern philosophical language the "redistribution of matter and motion") going on everywhere. That explanation or record was used for purposes of divination. This dualistic system, by a simple addition, became a monism, and at the same time furnished the Chinese with a cosmogony. The Five Elements The Five Elements or Forces (_wu hsing_)--which, according to the Chinese, are metal, air, fire, water, and wood--are first mentioned in Chinese literature in a chapter of the classic _Book of History_. [8] They play a very important part in Chinese thought: 'elements' meaning generally not so much the actual substances as the forces essential to human, life. They have to be noticed in passing, because they were involved in the development of the cosmogonical ideas which took place in the eleventh and twelfth centuries A.D. Monism As their imagination grew, it was natural that the Chinese should begin to ask themselves what, if the _yang_ and the _yin_ by their permutations produced, or gave shape to, all things, was it that produced the _yang_ and the _yin_. When we see traces of this inquisitive tendency we find ourselves on the borderland of dualism where the transition is taking place into the realm of monism. But though there may have been a tendency toward monism in early times, it was only in the Sung dynasty that the philosophers definitely placed behind the _yang_ and the _yin_ a First Cause--the Grand Origin, Grand Extreme, Grand Terminus, or Ultimate Ground of Existence. [9] They gave to it the name _t'ai chi_, and represented it by a concrete sign, the symbol of a circle. The complete scheme shows the evolution of the Sixty-four Diagrams (_kua_) from the _t'ai chi_ through the _yang_ and the _yin_, the Four, Eight, Sixteen, and Thirty-two Diagrams successively. This conception was the work of the Sung philosopher Chou Tun-i (A.D. 1017-73), commonly known as Chou Tzu, and his disciple Chu Hsi (A.D. 1130-1200), known as Chu Tzu or Chu Fu Tzu, the famous historian and Confucian commentator--two of the greatest names in Chinese philosophy. It was at this time that the tide of constructive imagination in China, tinged though it always was with classical Confucianism, rose to its greatest height. There is the philosopher's seeking for causes. Yet in this matter of the First Cause we detect, in the full flood of Confucianism, the potent influence of Taoist and Buddhist speculations. It has even been said that the Sung philosophy, which grew, not from the _I ching_ itself, but from the appendixes to it, is more Taoistic than Confucian. As it was with the P'an Ku legend, so was it with this more philosophical cosmogony. The more fertile Taoist and Buddhist imaginations led to the preservation of what the Confucianists, distrusting the marvellous, would have allowed to die a natural death. It was, after all, the mystical foreign elements which gave point to--we may rightly say rounded off--the early dualism by converting it into monism, carrying philosophical speculation from the Knowable to the Unknowable, and furnishing the Chinese with their first scientific theory of the origin, not of the changes going on in the universe (on which they had already formed their opinions), but of the universe itself. Chou Tzu's "T'ai Chi T'u" Chou Tun-i, appropriately apotheosized as 'Prince in the Empire of Reason,' completed and systematized the philosophical world-conception which had hitherto obtained in the Chinese mind. He did not ask his fellow-countrymen to discard any part of what they had long held in high esteem: he raised the old theories from the sphere of science to that of philosophy by unifying them and bringing them to a focus. And he made this unification intelligible to the Chinese mind by his famous _T'ai chi t'u_, or Diagram of the Great Origin (or Grand Terminus), showing that the Grand Original Cause, itself uncaused, produces the _yang_ and the _yin_, these the Five Elements, and so on, through the male and female norms (_tao_), to the production of all things. Chu Hsi's Monistic Philosophy The writings of Chu Hsi, especially his treatise on _The Immaterial Principle [li] and Primary Matter [ch'i]_, leave no doubt as to the monism of his philosophy. In this work occurs the passage: "In the universe there exists no primary matter devoid of the immaterial principle; and no immaterial principle apart from primary matter"; and although the two are never separated "the immaterial principle [as Chou Tzu explains] is what is previous to form, while primary matter is what is subsequent to form," the idea being that the two are different manifestations of the same mysterious force from which all things proceed. It is unnecessary to follow this philosophy along all the different branches which grew out of it, for we are here concerned only with the seed. We have observed how Chinese dualism became a monism, and how while the monism was established the dualism was retained. It is this mono-dualistic theory, combining the older and newer philosophy, which in China, then as now, constitutes the accepted explanation of the origin of things, of the universe itself and all that it contains. Lao Tzu's "Tao" There are other cosmogonies in Chinese philosophy, but they need not detain us long. Lao Tzu (sixth century B.C.), in his _Tao-tê ching, The Canon of Reason and Virtue_ (at first entitled simply _Lao Tzu_), gave to the then existing scattered sporadic conceptions of the universe a literary form. His _tao_, or 'Way,' is the originator of Heaven and earth, it is "the mother of all things." His Way, which was "before God," is but a metaphorical expression for the manner in which things came at first into being out of the primal nothingness, and how the phenomena of nature continue to go on, "in stillness and quietness, without striving or crying." Lao Tzu is thus so far monistic, but he is also mystical, transcendental, even pantheistic. The way that can be walked is not the Eternal Way; the name that can be named is not the Eternal Name. The Unnameable is the originator of Heaven and earth; manifesting itself as the Nameable, it is "the mother of all things." "In Eternal Non-Being I see the Spirituality of Things; in Eternal Being their limitation. Though different under these two aspects, they are the same in origin; it is when development takes place that different names have to be used. It is while they are in the condition of sameness that the mystery concerning them exists. This mystery is indeed the mystery of mysteries. It is the door of all spirituality." This _tao_, indefinable and in its essence unknowable, is "the fountain-head of all beings, and the norm of all actions. But it is not only the formative principle of the universe; it also seems to be primordial matter: chaotic in its composition, born prior to Heaven and earth, noiseless, formless, standing alone in its solitude, and not changing, universal in its activity, and unrelaxing, without being exhausted, it is capable of becoming the mother of the universe." And there we may leave it. There is no scheme of creation, properly so called. The Unwalkable Way leads us to nothing further in the way of a cosmogony. Confucius's Agnosticism Confucius (551-479 B.C.) did not throw any light on the problem of origin. He did not speculate on the creation of things nor the end of them. He was not troubled to account for the origin of man, nor did he seek to know about his hereafter. He meddled neither with physics nor metaphysics. There might, he thought, be something on the other side of life, for he admitted the existence of spiritual beings. They had an influence on the living, because they caused them to clothe themselves in ceremonious dress and attend to the sacrificial ceremonies. But we should not trouble ourselves about them, any more than about supernatural things, or physical prowess, or monstrosities. How can we serve spiritual beings while we do not know how to serve men? We feel the existence of something invisible and mysterious, but its nature and meaning are too deep for the human understanding to grasp. The safest, indeed the only reasonable, course is that of the agnostic--to leave alone the unknowable, while acknowledging its existence and its mystery, and to try to understand knowable phenomena and guide our actions accordingly. Between the monism of Lao Tzu and the positivism of Confucius on the one hand, and the landmark of the Taoistic transcendentalism of Chuang Tzu (fourth and third centuries B.C.) on the other, we find several "guesses at the riddle of existence" which must be briefly noted as links in the chain of Chinese speculative thought on this important subject. Mo Tzu and Creation In the philosophy of Mo Ti (fifth and fourth centuries B.C.), generally known as Mo Tzu or Mu Tzu, the philosopher of humanism and utilitarianism, we find the idea of creation. It was, he says, Heaven (which was anthropomorphically regarded by him as a personal Supreme Being) who "created the sun, moon, and innumerable stars." His system closely resembles Christianity, but the great power of Confucianism as a weapon wielded against all opponents by its doughty defender Mencius (372-289 B.C.) is shown by the complete suppression of the influence of Mo Tzuism at his hands. He even went so far as to describe Mo Tzu and those who thought with him as "wild animals." Mencius and the First Cause Mencius himself regarded Heaven as the First Cause, or Cause of Causes, but it was not the same personal Heaven as that of Mo Tzu. Nor does he hang any cosmogony upon it. His chief concern was to eulogize the doctrines of the great Confucius, and like him he preferred to let the origin of the universe look after itself. Lieh Tzu's Absolute Lieh Tzu (said to have lived in the fifth century B.C.), one of the brightest stars in the Taoist constellation, considered this nameable world as having evolved from an unnameable absolute being. The evolution did not take place through the direction of a personal will working out a plan of creation: "In the beginning there was Chaos [_hun tun_]. It was a mingled potentiality of Form [_hsing_], Pneuma [_ch'i_], and Substance [_chih_]. A Great Change [_t'ai i_] took place in it, and there was a Great Starting [_t'ai ch'u_] which is the beginning of Form. The Great Starting evolved a Great Beginning [_t'ai shih_], which is the inception of Pneuma. The Great Beginning was followed by the Great Blank [_t'ai su_], which is the first formation of Substance. Substance, Pneuma, and Form being all evolved out of the primordial chaotic mass, this material world as it lies before us came into existence." And that which made it possible for Chaos to evolve was the Solitary Indeterminate (_i tu_ or the _tao_), which is not created, but is able to create everlastingly. And being both Solitary and Indeterminate it tells us nothing determinate about itself. Chuang Tzu's Super-tao Chuang Chou (fourth and third centuries B.C.), generally known as Chuang Tzu, the most brilliant Taoist of all, maintained with Lao Tzu that the universe started from the Nameless, but it was if possible a more absolute and transcendental Nameless than that of Lao Tzu. He dwells on the relativity of knowledge; as when asleep he did not know that he was a man dreaming that he was a butterfly, so when awake he did not know that he was not a butterfly dreaming that he was a man. [10] But "all is embraced in the obliterating unity of the _tao_, and the wise man, passing into the realm of the Infinite, finds rest therein." And this _tao_, of which we hear so much in Chinese philosophy, was before the Great Ultimate or Grand Terminus (_t'ai chi_), and "from it came the mysterious existence of God [_ti_]. It produced Heaven, it produced earth." Popular Cosmogony still Personal or Dualistic These and other cosmogonies which the Chinese have devised, though it is necessary to note their existence in order to give a just idea of their cosmological speculations, need not, as I said, detain us long; and the reason why they need not do so is that, in the matter of cosmogony, the P'an Ku legend and the _yin-yang_ system with its monistic elaboration occupy virtually the whole field of the Chinese mental vision. It is these two--the popular and the scientific--that we mean when we speak of Chinese cosmogony. Though here and there a stern sectarian might deny that the universe originated in one or the other of these two ways, still, the general rule holds good. And I have dealt with them in this order because, though the P'an Ku legend belongs to the fourth century A.D., the _I ching_ dualism was not, rightly speaking, a cosmogony until Chou Tun-i made it one by the publication of his _T'ai chi t'u_ in the eleventh century A.D. Over the unscientific and the scientific minds of the Chinese these two are paramount. Applying the general principles stated in the preceding chapter, we find the same cause which operated to restrict the growth of mythology in general in China operated also in like manner in this particular branch of it. With one exception Chinese cosmogony is non-mythological. The careful and studiously accurate historians (whose work aimed at being _ex veritate_, 'made of truth'), the sober literature, the vast influence of agnostic, matter-of-fact Confucianism, supported by the heavy Mencian artillery, are indisputable indications of a constructive imagination which grew too quickly and became too rapidly scientific to admit of much soaring into the realms of fantasy. Unaroused by any strong stimulus in their ponderings over the riddle of the universe, the sober, plodding scientists and the calm, truth-loving philosophers gained a peaceful victory over the mythologists. CHAPTER IV The Gods of China The Birth of the Soul The dualism noted in the last chapter is well illustrated by the Chinese pantheon. Whether as the result of the co-operation of the _yin_ and the _yang_ or of the final dissolution of P'an Ku, human beings came into existence. To the primitive mind the body and its shadow, an object and its reflection in water, real life and dream life, sensibility and insensibility (as in fainting, etc.), suggest the idea of another life parallel with this life and of the doings of the 'other self' in it. This 'other self,' this spirit, which leaves the body for longer or shorter intervals in dreams, swoons, death, may return or be brought back, and the body revive. Spirits which do not return or are not brought back may cause mischief, either alone, or by entry into another human or animal body or even an inanimate object, and should therefore be propitiated. Hence worship and deification. The Populous Otherworld The Chinese pantheon has gradually become so multitudinous that there is scarcely a being or thing which is not, or has not been at some time or other, propitiated or worshipped. As there are good and evil people in this world, so there are gods and demons in the Otherworld: we find a polytheism limited only by a polydemonism. The dualistic hierarchy is almost all-embracing. To get a clear idea of this populous Otherworld, of the supernal and infernal hosts and their organizations, it needs but to imagine the social structure in its main features as it existed throughout the greater part of Chinese history, and to make certain additions. The social structure consisted of the ruler, his court, his civil, military, and ecclesiastical officials, and his subjects (classed as Scholars--officials and gentry--Agriculturists, Artisans, and Merchants, in that order). Worship of Shang Ti When these died, their other selves continued to exist and to hold the same rank in the spirit world as they did in this one. The _ti_, emperor, became the _Shang Ti_, Emperor on High, who dwelt in _T'ien_, Heaven (originally the great dome). [11] And Shang Ti, the Emperor on High, was worshipped by _ti_, the emperor here below, in order to pacify or please him--to ensure a continuance of his benevolence on his behalf in the world of spirits. Confusion of ideas and paucity of primitive language lead to personification and worship of a thing or being in which a spirit has taken up its abode in place of or in addition to worship of the spirit itself. Thus Heaven (T'ien) itself came to be personified and worshipped in addition to Shang Ti, the Emperor who had gone to Heaven, and who was considered as the chief ruler in the spiritual world. The worship of Shang Ti was in existence before that of T'ien was introduced. Shang Ti was worshipped by the emperor and his family as their ancestor, or the head of the hierarchy of their ancestors. The people could not worship Shang Ti, for to do so would imply a familiarity or a claim of relationship punishable with death. The emperor worshipped his ancestors, the officials theirs, the people theirs. But, in the same way and sense that the people worshipped the emperor on earth, as the 'father' of the nation, namely, by adoration and obeisance, so also could they in this way and this sense worship Shang Ti. An Englishman may take off his hat as the king passes in the street to his coronation without taking any part in the official service in Westminster Abbey. So the 'worship' of Shang Ti by the people was not done officially or with any special ceremonial or on fixed State occasions, as in the case of the worship of Shang Ti by the emperor. This, subject to a qualification to be mentioned later, is really all that is meant (or should be meant) when it is said that the Chinese worship Shang Ti. As regards sacrifices to Shang Ti, these could be offered officially only by the emperor, as High Priest on earth, who was attended or assisted in the ceremonies by members of his own family or clan or the proper State officials (often, even in comparatively modern times, members of the imperial family or clan). In these official sacrifices, which formed part of the State worship, the people could not take part; nor did they at first offer sacrifices to Shang Ti in their own homes or elsewhere. In what way and to what extent they did so later will be shown presently. Worship of T'ien Owing to T'ien, Heaven, the abode of the spirits, becoming personified, it came to be worshipped not only by the emperor, but by the people also. But there was a difference between these two worships, because the emperor performed his worship of Heaven officially at the great altar of the Temple of Heaven at Peking (in early times at the altar in the suburb of the capital), whereas the people (continuing always to worship their ancestors) worshipped Heaven, when they did so at all--the custom being observed by some and not by others, just as in Western countries some people go to church, while others stay away--usually at the time of the New Year, in a simple, unceremonious way, by lighting some incense-sticks and waving them toward the sky in the courtyards of their own houses or in the street just outside their doors. Confusion of Shang Ti and T'ien The qualification necessary to the above description is that, as time went on and especially since the Sung dynasty (A.D. 960-1280), much confusion arose regarding Shang Ti and T'ien, and thus it came about that the terms became mixed and their definitions obscure. This confusion of ideas has prevailed down to the present time. One result of this is that the people may sometimes state, when they wave their incense-sticks or light their candles, that their humble sacrifice is made to Shang Ti, whom in reality they have no right either to worship or to offer sacrifice to, but whom they may unofficially pay respect and make obeisance to, as they might and did to the emperor behind the high boards on the roadsides which shielded him from their view as he was borne along in his elaborate procession on the few occasions when he came forth from the imperial city. Thus we find that, while only the emperor could worship and sacrifice to Shang Ti, and only he could officially worship and sacrifice to T'ien, the people who early personified and worshipped T'ien, as already shown, came, owing to confusion of the meanings of Shang Ti and T'ien, unofficially to 'worship' both, but only in the sense and to the extent indicated, and to offer 'sacrifices' to both, also only in the sense and to the extent indicated. But for these qualifications, the statement that the Chinese worship and sacrifice to Shang Ti and T'ien would be apt to convey an incorrect idea. From this it will be apparent that Shang Ti, the Supreme Ruler on High, and T'ien, Heaven (later personified), do not mean 'God' in the sense that the word is used in the Christian religion. To state that they do, as so many writers on China have done, without pointing out the essential differences, is misleading. That Chinese religion was or is "a monotheistic worship of God" is further disproved by the fact that Shang Ti and T'ien do not appear in the list of the popular pantheon at all, though all the other gods are there represented. Neither Shang Ti nor T'ien mean the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, or the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost of the New Testament. Did they mean this, the efforts of the Christian missionaries to convert the Chinese would be largely superfluous. The Christian religion, even the Holy Trinity, is a monotheism. That the Chinese religion (even though a summary of extracts from the majority of foreign books on China might point to its being so) is not a monotheism, but a polytheism or even a pantheism (as long as that term is taken in the sense of universal deification and not in that of one spiritual being immanent in all things), the rest of this chapter will abundantly prove. There have been three periods in which gods have been created in unusually large numbers: that of the mythical emperor Hsien Yüan (2698-2598 B.C.), that of Chiang Tzu-ya (in the twelfth century B.C.), and that of the first emperor of the Ming dynasty (in the fourteenth century A.D.). The Otherworld Similar to this World The similarity of the Otherworld to this world above alluded to is well shown by Du Bose in his _Dragon, Image, and, Demon_, from which I quote the following passages: "The world of spirits is an exact counterpart of the Chinese Empire, or, as has been remarked, it is 'China ploughed under'; this is the world of light; put out the lights and you have Tartarus. China has eighteen [now twenty-two] provinces, so has Hades; each province has eight or nine prefects, or departments; so each province in Hades has eight or nine departments; every prefect or department averages ten counties, so every department in Hades has ten counties. In Soochow the Governor, the provincial Treasurer, the Criminal Judge, the Intendant of Circuit, the Prefect or Departmental Governor, and the three District Magistrates or County Governors each have temples with their apotheoses in the other world. Not only these, but every _yamên_ secretary, runner, executioner, policeman, and constable has his counterpart in the land of darkness. The market-towns have also mandarins of lesser rank in charge, besides a host of revenue collectors, the bureau of government works and other departments, with several hundred thousand officials, who all rank as gods beyond the grave. These deities are civilians; the military having a similar gradation for the armies of Hades, whose captains are gods, and whose battalions are devils. "The framers of this wonderful scheme for the spirits of the dead, having no higher standard, transferred to the authorities of that world the etiquette, tastes, and venality of their correlate officials in the Chinese Government, thus making it necessary to use similar means to appease the one which are found necessary to move the other. All the State gods have their assistants, attendants, door-keepers, runners, horses, horsemen, detectives, and executioners, corresponding in every particular to those of Chinese officials of the same rank." (Pp. 358-359.) This likeness explains also why the hierarchy of beings in the Otherworld concerns itself not only with the affairs of the Otherworld, but with those of this world as well. So faithful is the likeness that we find the gods (the term is used in this chapter to include goddesses, who are, however, relatively few) subjected to many of the rules and conditions existing on this earth. Not only do they, as already shown, differ in rank, but they hold _levées_ and audiences and may be promoted for distinguished services, just as the Chinese officials are. They "may rise from an humble position to one near the Pearly Emperor, who gives them the reward of merit for ruling well the affairs of men. The correlative deities of the mandarins are only of equal rank, yet the fact that they have been apotheosized makes them their superiors and fit objects of worship. Chinese mandarins rotate in office, generally every three years, and then there is a corresponding change in Hades. The image in the temple remains the same, but the spirit which dwells in the clay tabernacle changes, so the idol has a different name, birthday, and tenant. The priests are informed by the Great Wizard of the Dragon Tiger Mountain, but how can the people know gods which are not the same to-day as yesterday?" (Pp. 360-361.) The gods also indulge in amusements, marry, sin, are punished, die, are resurrected, or die and are transformed, or die finally. [12] The Three Religions We have in China the universal worship of ancestors, which constitutes (or did until A.D. 1912) the State religion, usually known as Confucianism, and in addition we have the gods of the specific religions (which also originally took their rise in ancestor-worship), namely, Buddhism and Taoism. (Other religions, though tolerated, are not recognized as Chinese religions.) It is with a brief account of this great hierarchy and its mythology that we will now concern ourselves. Besides the ordinary ancestor-worship (as distinct from the State worship) the people took to Buddhism and Taoism, which became the popular religions, and the _literati_ also honoured the gods of these two sects. Buddhist deities gradually became installed in Taoist temples, and the Taoist immortals were given seats beside the Buddhas in their sanctuaries. Every one patronized the god who seemed to him the most popular and the most lucrative. There even came to be united in the same temple and worshipped at the same altar the three religious founders or figure-heads, Confucius, Buddha, and Lao Tzu. The three religions were even regarded as forming one whole, or at least, though different, as having one and the same object: _san êrh i yeh_, or _han san wei i_, "the three are one," or "the three unite to form one" (a quotation from the phrase _T'ai chi han san wei i_ of Fang Yü-lu: "When they reach the extreme the three are seen to be one"). In the popular pictorial representations of the pantheon this impartiality is clearly shown. The Super-triad The toleration, fraternity, or co-mixture of the three religions--ancestor-worship or Confucianism, Chinese Buddhism, and Taoism--explains the compound nature of the triune head of the Chinese pantheon. The numerous deities of Buddhism and Taoism culminate each in a triad of gods (the Three Precious Ones and the Three Pure Ones respectively), but the three religions jointly have also a triad compounded of one representative member of each. This general or super-triad is, of course, composed of Confucius, Lao Tzu, and Buddha. This is the officially decreed order, though it is varied occasionally by Buddha being placed in the centre (the place of honour) as an act of ceremonial deference shown to a 'stranger' or 'guest' from another country. Worship of the Living Before proceeding to consider the gods of China in detail, it is necessary to note that ancestor-worship, which, as before stated, is worship of the ghosts of deceased persons, who are usually but not invariably relatives of the worshipper, has at times a sort of preliminary stage in this world consisting of the worship of living beings. Emperors, viceroys, popular officials, or people beloved for their good deeds have had altars, temples, and images erected to them, where they are worshipped in the same way as those who have already "shuffled off this mortal coil." The most usual cases are perhaps those of the worship of living emperors and those in which some high official who has gained the gratitude of the people is transferred to another post. The explanation is simple. The second self which exists after death is identical with the second self inhabiting the body during life. Therefore it may be propitiated or gratified by sacrifices of food, drink, etc., or theatricals performed in its honour, and continue its protection and good offices even though now far away. Confucianism Confucianism (_Ju Chiao_) is said to be the religion of the learned, and the learned were the officials and the _literati_ or lettered class, which includes scholars waiting for posts, those who have failed to get posts (or, though qualified, prefer to live in retirement), and those who have retired from posts. Of this 'religion' it has been said: "The name embraces education, letters, ethics, and political philosophy. Its head was not a religious man, practised few religious rites, and taught nothing about religion. In its usual acceptation the term Confucianist means 'a gentleman and a scholar'; he may worship only once a year, yet he belongs to the Church. Unlike its two sisters, it has no priesthood, and fundamentally is not a religion at all; yet with the many rites grafted on the original tree it becomes a religion, and the one most difficult to deal with. Considered as a Church, the classics are its scriptures, the schools its churches, the teachers its priests, ethics its theology, and the written character, so sacred, its symbol." [13] Confucius not a God It should be noted that Confucius himself is not a god, though he has been and is worshipped (66,000 animals used to be offered to him every year; probably the number is about the same now). Suggestions have been made to make him the God of China and Confucianism the religion of China, so that he and his religion would hold the same relative positions that Christ and Christianity do in the West. I was present at the lengthy debate which took place on this subject in the Chinese Parliament in February 1917, but in spite of many long, learned, and eloquent speeches, chiefly by scholars of the old school, the motion was not carried. Nevertheless, the worship accorded to Confucius was and is (except by 'new' or 'young' China) of so extreme a nature that he may almost be described as the great unapotheosized god of China. [14] Some of his portraits even ascribe to him superhuman attributes. But in spite of all this the fact remains that Confucius has not been appointed a god and holds no _exequatur_ entitling him to that rank. If we inquire into the reason of this we find that, astonishing though it may seem, Confucius is classed by the Chinese not as a god (_shên_), but as a demon (_kuei_). A short historical statement will make the matter clear. In the classical _Li chi, Book of Ceremonial_, we find the categorical assignment of the worship of certain objects to certain subjective beings: the emperor worshipped Heaven and earth, the feudal princes the mountains and rivers, the officials the hearth, and the _literati_ their ancestors. Heaven, earth, mountains, rivers, and hearth were called _shên_ (gods), and ancestors _kuei_ (demons). This distinction is due to Heaven being regarded as the god and the people as demons--the upper is the god, the lower the evil spirit or demon. Though _kuei_ were usually bad, the term in Chinese includes both good and evil spirits. In ancient times those who had by their meritorious virtue while in the world averted calamities from the people were posthumously worshipped and called gods, but those who were worshipped by their descendants only were called spirits or demons. In the worship of Confucius by emperors of various dynasties (details of which need not be given here) the highest titles conferred on him were _Hsien Shêng_, 'Former or Ancestral Saint,' and even _Win Hsüan Wang_, 'Accomplished and Illustrious Prince,' and others containing like epithets. When for his image or idol there was (in the eleventh year--A.D. 1307--of the reign-period Ta Tê of the Emperor Ch'êng Tsung of the Yüan dynasty) substituted the tablet now seen in the Confucian temples, these were the inscriptions engraved on it. In the inscriptions authoritatively placed on the tablets the word _shên_ does not occur; in those cases where it does occur it has been placed there (as by the Taoists) illegally and without authority by too ardent devotees. Confucius may not be called a _shên_, since there is no record showing that the great ethical teacher was ever apotheosized, or that any order was given that the character _shên_ was to be applied to him. The God of Literature In addition to the ancestors of whose worship it really consists, Confucianism has in its pantheon the specialized gods worshipped by the _literati_. Naturally the chief of these is Wên Ch'ang, the God of Literature. The account of him (which varies in several particulars in different Chinese works) relates that he was a man of the name of Chang Ya, who was born during the T'ang dynasty in the kingdom of Yüeh (modern Chêkiang), and went to live at Tzu T'ung in Ssuch'uan, where his intelligence raised him to the position of President of the Board of Ceremonies. Another account refers to him as Chang Ya Tzu, the Soul or Spirit of Tzu T'ung, and states that he held office in the Chin dynasty (A.D. 265-316), and was killed in a fight. Another again states that under the Sung dynasty (A.D. 960-1280), in the third year (A.D. 1000) of the reign-period Hsien P'ing of the Emperor Chên Tsung, he repressed the revolt of Wang Chün at Ch'êng Tu in Ssuch'uan. General Lei Yu-chung caused to be shot into the besieged town arrows to which notices were attached inviting the inhabitants to surrender. Suddenly a man mounted a ladder, and pointing to the rebels cried in a loud voice: "The Spirit of Tzu T'ung has sent me to inform you that the town will fall into the hands of the enemy on the twentieth day of the ninth moon, and not a single person will escape death." Attempts to strike down this prophet of evil were in vain, for he had already disappeared. The town was captured on the day indicated. The general, as a reward, caused the temple of Tzu T'ung's Spirit to be repaired, and sacrifices offered to it. The object of worship nowadays in the temples dedicated to Wên Ch'ang is Tzu T'ung Ti Chün, the God of Tzu T'ung. The convenient elasticity of dualism enabled Chang to have as many as seventeen reincarnations, which ranged over a period of some three thousand years. Various emperors at various times bestowed upon Wên Ch'ang honorific titles, until ultimately, in the Yüan, or Mongol, dynasty, in the reign Yen Yu, in A.D. 1314, the title was conferred on him of Supporter of the Yüan Dynasty, Diffuser of Renovating Influences, Ssu-lu of Wên Ch'ang, God and Lord. He was thus apotheosized, and took his place among the gods of China. By steps few or many a man in China has often become a god. Wên Ch'ang and the Great Bear Thus we have the God of Literature, Wên Ch'ang Ti Chün, duly installed in the Chinese pantheon, and sacrifices were offered to him in the schools. But scholars, especially those about to enter for the public competitive examinations, worshipped as the God of Literature, or as his palace or abode (Wên Ch'ang), the star K'uei in the Great Bear, or Dipper, or Bushel--the latter name derived from its resemblance in shape to the measure used by the Chinese and called _tou_. The term K'uei was more generally applied to the four stars forming the body or square part of the Dipper, the three forming the tail or handle being called Shao or Piao. How all this came about is another story. A scholar, as famous for his literary skill as his facial deformities, had been admitted as first academician at the metropolitan examinations. It was the custom that the Emperor should give with his own hand a rose of gold to the fortunate candidate. This scholar, whose name was Chung K'uei, presented himself according to custom to receive the reward which by right was due to him. At the sight of his repulsive face the Emperor refused the golden rose. In despair the miserable rejected one went and threw himself into the sea. At the moment when he was being choked by the waters a mysterious fish or monster called _ao_ raised him on its back and brought him to the surface. K'uei ascended to Heaven and became arbiter of the destinies of men of letters. His abode was said to be the star K'uei, a name given by the Chinese to the sixteen stars of the constellation or 'mansion' of Andromeda and Pisces. The scholars quite soon began to worship K'uei as the God of Literature, and to represent it on a column in the temples. Then sacrifices were offered to it. This star or constellation was regarded as the palace of the god. The legend gave rise to an expression frequently used in Chinese of one who comes out first in an examination, namely, _tu chan ao t'ou_, "to stand alone on the sea-monster's head." It is especially to be noted that though the two K'ueis have the same sound they are represented by different characters, and that the two constellations are not the same, but are situated in widely different parts of the heavens. How then did it come about that scholars worshipped the K'uei in the Great Bear as the abode of the God of Literature? (It may be remarked in passing that a literary people could not have chosen a more appropriate palace for this god, since the Great Bear, the 'Chariot of Heaven,' is regarded as the centre and governor of the whole universe.) The worship, we saw, was at first that of the star K'uei, the apotheosized 'homely,' successful, but rejected candidate. As time went on, there was a general demand for a sensible, concrete representation of this star-god: a simple character did not satisfy the popular taste. But it was no easy matter to comply with the demand. Eventually, guided doubtless by the community of pronunciation, they substituted for the star or group of stars K'uei (1), venerated in ancient times, a new star or group of stars K'uei (2), forming the square part of the Bushel, Dipper, or Great Bear. But for this again no bodily image could be found, so the form of the written character itself was taken, and so drawn as to represent a _kuei_ (3) (disembodied spirit, or ghost) with its foot raised, and bearing aloft a _tou_ (4) (bushel-measure). The adoration was thus misplaced, for the constellation K'uei (2) was mistaken for K'uei (1), the proper object of worship. It was due to this confusion by the scholars that the Northern Bushel came to be worshipped as the God of Literature. Wên Ch'ang and Tzu T'ung This worship had nothing whatever to do with the Spirit of Tzu T'ung, but the Taoists have connected Chang Ya with the constellation in another way by saying that Shang Ti, the Supreme Ruler, entrusted Chang Ya's son with the management of the palace of Wên Ch'ang. And scholars gradually acquired the habit of saying that they owed their success to the Spirit of Tzu T'ung, which they falsely represented as being an incarnation of the star Wên Ch'ang. This is how Chang Ya came to have the honorific title of Wên Ch'ang, but, as a Chinese author points out, Chang belonged properly to Ssuch'uan, and his worship should be confined to that province. The _literati_ there venerated him as their master, and as a mark of affection and gratitude built a temple to him; but in doing so they had no intention of making him the God of Literature. "There being no real connexion between Chang Ya and K'uei, the worship should be stopped." The device of combining the personality of the patron of literature enthroned among the stars with that of the deified mortal canonized as the Spirit of Tzu T'ung was essentially a Taoist trick. "The thaumaturgic reputation assigned to the Spirit of Chang Ya Tzu was confined for centuries to the valleys of Ssuch'uan, until at some period antecedent to the reign Yen Yu, in A.D. 1314, a combination was arranged between the functions of the local god and those of the stellar patron of literature. Imperial sanction was obtained for this stroke of priestly cunning; and notwithstanding protests continually repeated by orthodox sticklers for accuracy in the religious canon, the composite deity has maintained his claims intact, and an inseparable connexion between the God of Literature created by imperial patent and the spirit lodged among the stars of Ursa Major is fully recognized in the State ceremonial of the present day." A temple dedicated to this divinity by the State exists in every city of China, besides others erected as private benefactions or speculations. Wherever Wên Ch'ang is worshipped there will also be found a separate representation of K'uei Hsing, showing that while the official deity has been allowed to 'borrow glory' from the popular god, and even to assume his personality, the independent existence of the stellar spirit is nevertheless sedulously maintained. The place of the latter in the heavens above is invariably symbolized by the lodgment of his idol in an upper storey or tower, known as the K'uei Hsing Ko or K'uei Hsing Lou. Here students worship the patron of their profession with incense and prayers. Thus the ancient stellar divinity still largely monopolizes the popular idea of a guardian of literature and study, notwithstanding that the deified recluse of Tzu T'ung has been added in this capacity to the State pantheon for more than five hundred years. Heaven-deaf and Earth-dumb The popular representations of Wên Ch'ang depict the god himself and four other figures. The central and largest is the demure portrait of the god, clothed in blue and holding a sceptre in his left hand. Behind him stand two youthful attendants. They are the servant and groom who always accompany him on his journeys (on which he rides a white horse). Their names are respectively Hsüan T'ung-tzu and Ti-mu, 'Sombre Youth' and 'Earth-mother'; more commonly they are called T'ien-lung, 'Deaf Celestial,' and Ti-ya, 'Mute Terrestrial,' or 'Deaf as Heaven' and 'Mute as Earth.' Thus they cannot divulge the secrets of their master's administration as he distributes intellectual gifts, literary skill, etc. Their cosmogonical connexion has already been referred to in a previous chapter. Image of K'uei Hsing In front of Wên Ch'ang, on his left, stands K'uei Hsing. He is represented as of diminutive stature, with the visage of a demon, holding a writing-brush in his right hand and a _tou_ in his left, one of his legs kicking up behind--the figure being obviously intended as an impersonation of the character _k'uei_ (2). [16] He is regarded as the distributor of literary degrees, and was invoked above all in order to obtain success at the competitive examinations. His images and temples are found in all towns. In the temples dedicated to Wên Ch'ang there are always two secondary altars, one of which is consecrated to his worship. Mr Redcoat The other is dedicated to Chu I, 'Mr Redcoat.' He and K'uei Hsing are represented as the two inseparable companions of the God of Literature. The legend related of Chu I is as follows: During the T'ang dynasty, in the reign-period Chien Chung (A.D. 780-4) of the Emperor Tê Tsung, the Princess T'ai Yin noticed that Lu Ch'i, a native of Hua Chou, had the bones of an Immortal, and wished to marry him. Ma P'o, her neighbour, introduced him one day into the Crystal Palace for an interview with his future wife. The Princess gave him the choice of three careers: to live in the Dragon Prince's Palace, with the guarantee of immortal life, to enjoy immortality among the people on the earth, or to have the honour of becoming a minister of the Empire. Lu Ch'i first answered that he would like to live in the Crystal Palace. The young lady, overjoyed, said to him: "I am Princess T'ai Yin. I will at once inform Shang Ti, the Supreme Ruler." A moment later the arrival of a celestial messenger was announced. Two officers bearing flags preceded him and conducted him to the foot of the flight of steps. He then presented himself as Chu I, the envoy of Shang Ti. Addressing himself to Lu Ch'i, he asked: "Do you wish to live in the Crystal Palace?" The latter did not reply. T'ai Yin urged him to give his answer, but he persisted in keeping silent. The Princess in despair retired to her apartment, and brought out five pieces of precious cloth, which she presented to the divine envoy, begging him to have patience a little longer and wait for the answer. After some time, Chu I repeated his question. Then Lu Ch'i in a firm voice answered: "I have consecrated my life to the hard labour of study, and wish to attain to the dignity of minister on this earth." T'ai Yin ordered Ma P'o to conduct Lu Ch'i from the palace. From that day his face became transformed: he acquired the lips of a dragon, the head of a panther, the green face of an Immortal, etc. He took his degree, and was promoted to be Director of the Censorate. The Emperor, appreciating the good sense shown in his advice, appointed him a minister of the Empire. From this legend it would seem that Chu I is the purveyor of official posts; however, in practice, he is more generally regarded as the protector of weak candidates, as the God of Good Luck for those who present themselves at the examinations with a somewhat light equipment of literary knowledge. The special legend relating to this _rôle_ is known everywhere in China. It is as follows: Mr Redcoat nods his Head An examiner, engaged in correcting the essays of the candidates, after a superficial scrutiny of one of the essays, put it on one side as manifestly inferior, being quite determined not to pass the candidate who had composed it. The essay, moved by some mysterious power, was replaced in front of his eyes, as if to invite him to examine it more attentively. At the same time a reverend old man, clothed in a red garment, suddenly appeared before him, and by a nod of his head gave him to understand that he should pass the essay. The examiner, surprised at the novelty of the incident, and fortified by the approval of his supernatural visitor, admitted the author of the essay to the literary degree. Chu I, like K'uei Hsing, is invoked by the _literati_ as a powerful protector and aid to success. When anyone with but a poor chance of passing presents himself at an examination, his friends encourage him by the popular saying: "Who knows but that Mr Redcoat will nod his head?" Mr Golden Cuirass Chu I is sometimes accompanied by another personage, named Chin Chia, 'Mr Golden Cuirass.' Like K'uei Hsing and Chu I he has charge of the interests of scholars, but differs from them in that he holds a flag, which he has only to wave in front of a house for the family inhabiting it to be assured that among their descendants will be some who will win literary honours and be promoted to high offices under the State. Though Chin Chia is the protector of scholars, he is also the redoubtable avenger of their evil actions: his flag is saluted as a good omen, but his sword is the terror of the wicked. The God of War Still another patron deity of literature is the God of War. "How," it may be asked, "can so peaceful a people as the Chinese put so peaceful an occupation as literature under the patronage of so warlike a deity as the God of War?" But that question betrays ignorance of the character of the Chinese Kuan Ti. He is not a cruel tyrant delighting in battle and the slaying of enemies: he is the god who can _avert war and protect the people from its horrors_. A youth, whose name was originally Chang-shêng, afterward changed to Shou-chang, and then to Yün-chang, who was born near Chieh Liang, in Ho Tung (now the town of Chieh Chou in Shansi), and was of an intractable nature, having exasperated his parents, was shut up in a room from which he escaped by breaking through the window. In one of the neighbouring houses he heard a young lady and an old man weeping and lamenting. Running to the foot of the wall of the compound, he inquired the reason of their grief. The old man replied that though his daughter was already engaged, the uncle of the local official, smitten by her beauty, wished to make her his concubine. His petitions to the official had only been rejected with curses. Beside himself with rage, the youth seized a sword and went and killed both the official and his uncle. He escaped through the T'ung Kuan, the pass to Shensi. Having with difficulty avoided capture by the barrier officials, he knelt down at the side of a brook to wash his face; when lo! his appearance was completely transformed. His complexion had become reddish-grey, and he was absolutely unrecognizable. He then presented himself with assurance before the officers, who asked him his name. "My name is Kuan," he replied. It was by that name that he was thereafter known. The Meat-seller's Challenge One day he arrived at Chu-chou, a dependent sub-prefecture of Peking, in Chihli. There Chang Fei, a butcher, who had been selling his meat all the morning, at noon lowered what remained into a well, placed over the mouth of the well a stone weighing twenty-five pounds, and said with a sneer: "If anyone can lift that stone and take my meat, I will make him a present of it!" Kuan Yü, going up to the edge of the well, lifted the stone with the same ease as he would a tile, took the meat, and made off. Chang Fei pursued him, and eventually the two came to blows, but no one dared to separate them. Just then Liu Pei, a hawker of straw shoes, arrived, interposed, and put a stop to the fight. The community of ideas which they found they possessed soon gave rise to a firm friendship between the three men. The Oath in the Peach-orchard Another account represents Liu Pei and Chang Fei as having entered a village inn to drink wine, when a man of gigantic stature pushing a wheelbarrow stopped at the door to rest. As he seated himself, he hailed the waiter, saying: "Bring me some wine quickly, because I have to hasten to reach the town to enlist in the army." Liu Pei looked at this man, nine feet in height, with a beard two feet long. His face was the colour of the fruit of the jujube-tree, and his lips carmine. Eyebrows like sleeping silkworms shaded his phoenix eyes, which were a scarlet red. Terrible indeed was his bearing. "What is your name?" asked Liu Pei. "My family name is Kuan, my own name is Yü, my surname Yün Chang," he replied. "I am from the Ho Tung country. For the last five or six years I have been wandering about the world as a fugitive, to escape from my pursuers, because I killed a powerful man of my country who was oppressing the poor people. I hear that they are collecting a body of troops to crush the brigands, and I should like to join the expedition." Chang Fêi, also named Chang I Tê, is described as eight feet in height, with round shining eyes in a panther's head, and a pointed chin bristling with a tiger's beard. His voice resembled the rumbling of thunder. His ardour was like that of a fiery steed. He was a native of Cho Chün, where he possessed some fertile farms, and was a butcher and wine-merchant. Liu Pei, surnamed Hsüan Tê, otherwise Hsien Chu, was the third member of the group. The three men went to Chang Fei's farm, and on the morrow met together in his peach-orchard, and sealed their friendship with an oath. Having procured a black ox and a white horse, with the various accessories to a sacrifice, they immolated the victims, burnt the incense of friendship, and after twice prostrating themselves took this oath: "We three, Liu Pei, Kuan Yû, and Chang Fei, already united by mutual friendship, although belonging to different clans, now bind ourselves by the union of our hearts, and join our forces in order to help each other in times of danger. "We wish to pay to the State our debt of loyal citizens and give peace to our black-haired compatriots. We do not inquire if we were born in the same year, the same month, or on the same day, but we desire only that the same year, the same month, and the same day may find us united in death. May Heaven our King and Earth our Queen see clearly our hearts! If any one of us violate justice or forget benefits, may Heaven and Man unite to punish him!" The oath having been formally taken, Liu Pei was saluted as elder brother, Kuan Yü as the second, and Chang Fei as the youngest. Their sacrifice to Heaven and earth ended, they killed an ox and served a feast, to which the soldiers of the district were invited to the number of three hundred or more. They all drank copiously until they were intoxicated. Liu Pei enrolled the peasants; Chang Fei procured for them horses and arms; and then they set out to make war on the Yellow Turbans (Huang Chin Tsei). Kuan Yü proved himself worthy of the affection which Liu Pei showed him; brave and generous, he never turned aside from danger. His fidelity was shown especially on one occasion when, having been taken prisoner by Ts'ao Ts'ao, together with two of Liu Pei's wives, and having been allotted a common sleeping-apartment with his fellow-captives, he preserved the ladies' reputation and his own trustworthiness by standing all night at the door of the room with a lighted lantern in his hand. Into details of the various exploits of the three Brothers of the Peach-orchard we need not enter here. They are written in full in the book of the _Story of the Three Kingdoms_, a romance in which every Chinese who can read takes keen delight. Kuan Yü remained faithful to his oath, even though tempted with a marquisate by the great Ts'ao Ts'ao, but he was at length captured by Sun Ch'üan and put to death (A.D. 219). Long celebrated as the most renowned of China's military heroes, he was ennobled in A.D. 1120 as Faithful and Loyal Duke. Eight years later he had conferred on him by letters patent the still more glorious title of Magnificent Prince and Pacificator. The Emperor Wên (A.D. 1330-3) of the Yüan dynasty added the appellation Warrior Prince and Civilizer, and, finally, the Emperor Wan Li of the Ming dynasty, in 1594, conferred on him the title of Faithful and Loyal Great _Ti_, Supporter of Heaven and Protector of the Kingdom. He thus became a god, a _ti_, and has ever since received worship as Kuan Ti or Wu Ti, the God of War. Temples (1600 State temples and thousands of smaller ones) erected in his honour are to be seen in all parts of the country. He is one of the most popular gods of China. During the last half-century of the Manchu Period his fame greatly increased. In 1856 he is said to have appeared in the heavens and successfully turned the tide of battle in favour of the Imperialists. His portrait hangs in every tent, but his worship is not confined to the officials and the army, for many trades and professions have elected him as a patron saint. The sword of the public executioner used to be kept within the precincts of his temple, and after an execution the presiding magistrate would stop there to worship for fear the ghost of the criminal might follow him home. He knew that the spirit would not dare to enter Kuan Ti's presence. Thus the Chinese have no fewer than three gods of literature--perhaps not too many for so literary a people. A fourth, a Taoist god, will be mentioned later. Buddhism in China Buddhism and its mythology have formed an important part of Chinese thought for nearly two thousand years. The religion was brought to China about A.D. 65, ready-made in its Mahayanistic form, in consequence of a dream of the Emperor Ming Ti (A.D. 58-76) of the Eastern Han dynasty in or about the year 63; though some knowledge of Buddha and his doctrines existed as early as 217 B.C. As Buddha, the chief deity of Buddhism, was a man and became a god, the religion originated, like the others, in ancestor-worship. When a man dies, says this religion, his other self reappears in one form or another, "from a clod to a divinity." The way for Buddhism in China was paved by Taoism, and Buddhism reciprocally affected Taoism by helpful development of its doctrines of sanctity and immortalization. Buddhism also, as it has been well put by Dr De Groot, [17] "contributed much to the ceremonial adornment of ancestor-worship. Its salvation work on behalf of the dead saved its place in Confucian China; for of Confucianism itself, piety and devotion towards parents and ancestors, and the promotion of their happiness, were the core, and, consequently, their worship with sacrifices and ceremonies was always a sacred duty." It was thus that it was possible for the gods of Buddhism to be introduced into China and to maintain their special characters and fulfil their special functions without being absorbed into or submerged by the existing native religions. The result was, as we have seen, in the end a partnership rather than a relation of master and servant; and I say 'in the end' because, contrary to popular belief, the Chinese have not been tolerant of foreign religious faiths, and at various times have persecuted Buddhism as relentlessly as they have other rivals to orthodox Confucianism. Buddha, the Law, and the Priesthood At the head of the Buddhist gods in China we find the triad known as Buddha, the Law, and the Church, or Priesthood, which are personified as Shih-chia Fo (Shâkya), O-mi-t'o Fo (Amita), and Ju-lai Fo (Tathagata); otherwise Fo Pao, Fa Pao, and Sêng Pao (the _San Pao_, 'Three Precious Ones')--that is, Buddha, the prophet who came into the world to teach the Law, Dharma, the Law Everlasting, and Samgha, its mystical body, Priesthood, or Church. Dharma is an entity underived, containing the spiritual elements and material constituents of the universe. From it the other two evolve: Buddha (Shâkyamuni), the creative energy, Samgha, the totality of existence and of life. To the people these are three personal Buddhas, whom they worship without concerning themselves about their origin. To the priests they are simply the Buddha, past, present, or future. There are also several other of these groups or triads, ten or more, composed of different deities, or sometimes containing one or two of the triad already named. Shâkyamuni heads the list, having a place in at least six. The legend of the Buddha belongs rather to Indian than to Chinese mythology, and is too long to be reproduced here. [18] The principal gods of Buddhism are Jan-têng Fo, the Light-lamp Buddha, Mi-lo Fo (Maitrêya), the expected Messiah of the Buddhists, O-mi-t'o Fo (Amitabha or Amita), the guide who conducts his devotees to the Western Paradise, Yüeh-shih Fo, the Master-physician Buddha, Ta-shih-chih P'u-sa (Mahastama), companion of Amitabha, P'i-lu Fo (Vairotchana), the highest of the Threefold Embodiments, Kuan Yin, the Goddess of Mercy, Ti-tsang Wang, the God of Hades, Wei-t'o (Vihârapâla), the Dêva protector of the Law of Buddha and Buddhist temples, the Four Diamond Kings of Heaven, and Bodhidharma, the first of the six Patriarchs of Eastern or Chinese Buddhism. Diamond Kings of Heaven On the right and left sides of the entrance hall of Buddhist temples, two on each side, are the gigantic figures of the four great _Ssu Ta Chin-kang_ or _T'ien-wang_, the Diamond Kings of Heaven, protectors or governors of the continents lying in the direction of the four cardinal points from Mount Sumêru, the centre of the world. They are four brothers named respectively Mo-li Ch'ing (Pure), or Tsêng Chang, Mo-li Hung (Vast), or Kuang Mu, Mo-li Hai (Sea), or To Wên, and Mo-li Shou (Age), or Ch'ih Kuo. The _Chin kuang ming_ states that they bestow all kinds of happiness on those who honour the Three Treasures, Buddha, the Law, and the Priesthood. Kings and nations who neglect the Law lose their protection. They are described and represented as follows: Mo-li Ch'ing, the eldest, is twenty-four feet in height, with a beard the hairs of which are like copper wire. He carries a magnificent jade ring and a spear, and always fights on foot. He has also a magic sword, 'Blue Cloud,' on the blade of which are engraved the characters _Ti, Shui, Huo, Fêng_ (Earth, Water, Fire, Wind). When brandished, it causes a black wind, which produces tens of thousands of spears, which pierce the bodies of men and turn them to dust. The wind is followed by a fire, which fills the air with tens of thousands of golden fiery serpents. A thick smoke also rises out of the ground, which blinds and burns men, none being able to escape. Mo-li Hung carries in his hand an umbrella, called the Umbrella of Chaos, formed of pearls possessed of spiritual properties. Opening this marvellous implement causes the heavens and earth to be covered with thick darkness, and turning it upside down produces violent storms of wind and thunder and universal earthquakes. Mo-li Hai holds a four-stringed guitar, the twanging of which supernaturally affects the earth, water, fire, or wind. When it is played all the world listens, and the camps of the enemy take fire. Mo-li Shou has two whips and a panther-skin bag, the home of a creature resembling a white rat, known as Hua-hu Tiao. When at large this creature assumes the form of a white winged elephant, which devours men. He sometimes has also a snake or other man-eating creature, always ready to obey his behests. Legend of the Diamond Kings The legend of the Four Diamond Kings given in the _Fêng shên yen i_ is as follows: At the time of the consolidation of the Chou dynasty in the twelfth and eleventh centuries B.C., Chiang Tzu-ya, chief counsellor to Wên Wang, and General Huang Fei-hu were defending the town and mountain of Hsi-ch'i. The supporters of the house of Shang appealed to the four genii Mo, who lived at Chia-mêng Kuan, praying them to come to their aid. They agreed, raised an army of 100,000 celestial soldiers, and traversing towns, fields, and mountains arrived in less than a day at the north gate of Hsi-ch'i, where Mo-li Ch'ing pitched his camp and entrenched his soldiers. Hearing of this, Huang Fei-hu hastened to warn Chiang Tzu-ya of the danger which threatened him. "The four great generals who have just arrived at the north gate," he said, "are marvellously powerful genii, experts in all the mysteries of magic and use of wonderful charms. It is much to be feared that we shall not be able to resist them." Many fierce battles ensued. At first these went in favour of the _Chin-kang_, thanks to their magical weapons and especially to Mo-li Shou's Hua-hu Tiao, who terrorized the enemy by devouring their bravest warriors. Hua-hu Tiao devours Yang Chien Unfortunately for the _Chin-kang_, the brute attacked and swallowed Yang Chien, the nephew of Yü Huang. This genie, on entering the body of the monster, rent his heart asunder and cut him in two. As he could transform himself at will, he assumed the shape of Hua-hu Tiao, and went off to Mo-li Shou, who unsuspectingly put him back into his bag. The Four Kings held a festival to celebrate their triumph, and having drunk copiously gave themselves over to sleep. During the night Yang Chien came out of the bag, with the intention of possessing himself of the three magical weapons of the _Chin-kang_. But he succeeded only in carrying off the umbrella of Mo-li Hung. In a subsequent engagement No-cha, the son of Vadjrâ-pani, the God of Thunder, broke the jade ring of Mo-li Ch'ing. Misfortune followed misfortune. The _Chin-kang_, deprived of their magical weapons, began to lose heart. To complete their discomfiture, Huang T'ien Hua brought to the attack a matchless magical weapon. This was a spike 7 1/2 inches long, enclosed in a silk sheath, and called 'Heart-piercer.' It projected so strong a ray of light that eyes were blinded by it. Huang T'ien Hua, hard pressed by Mo-li Ch'ing, drew the mysterious spike from its sheath, and hurled it at his adversary. It entered his neck, and with a deep groan the giant fell dead. Mo-li Hung and Mo-li Hai hastened to avenge their brother, but ere they could come within striking distance of Huang Ti'en Hua his redoubtable spike reached their hearts, and they lay prone at his feet. The one remaining hope for the sole survivor was in Hua-hu Tiao. Mo-li Shou, not knowing that the creature had been slain, put his hand into the bag to pull him out, whereupon Yang Chien, who had re-entered the bag, bit his hand off at the wrist, so that there remained nothing but a stump of bone. In this moment of intense agony Mo-li Shou fell an easy prey to Huang T'ien Hua, the magical spike pierced his heart, and he fell bathed in his blood. Thus perished the last of the _Chin-kang_. The Three Pure Ones Turning to the gods of Taoism, we find that the triad or trinity, already noted as forming the head of that hierarchy, consists of three Supreme Gods, each in his own Heaven. These three Heavens, the _San Ch'ing_, 'Three Pure Ones' (this name being also applied to the sovereigns ruling in them), were formed from the three airs, which are subdivisions of the one primordial air. The first Heaven is Yü Ch'ing. In it reigns the first member of the Taoist triad. He inhabits the Jade Mountain. The entrance to his palace is named the Golden Door. He is the source of all truth, as the sun is the source of all light. Various authorities give his name differently--Yüan-shih T'ien-tsun, or Lo Ching Hsin, and call him T'ien Pao, 'the Treasure of Heaven,' Some state that the name of the ruler of this first Heaven is Yü Huang, and in the popular mind he it is who occupies this supreme position. The Three Pure Ones are above him in rank, but to him, the Pearly Emperor, is entrusted the superintendence of the world. He has all the power of Heaven and earth in his hands. He is the correlative of Heaven, or rather Heaven itself. The second Heaven, Shang Ch'ing, is ruled by the second person of the triad, named Ling-pao T'ien-tsun, or Tao Chün. No information is given as to his origin. He is the custodian of the sacred books. He has existed from the beginning of the world. He calculates time, dividing it into different epochs. He occupies the upper pole of the world, and determines the movements and interaction, or regulates the relations of the _yin_ and the _yang_, the two great principles of nature. In the third Heaven, T'ai Ch'ing, the Taoists place Lao Tzu, the promulgator of the true doctrine drawn up by Ling-pao T'ien-tsun. He is alternatively called Shên Pao, 'the Treasure of the Spirits,' and T'ai-shang Lao-chûn, 'the Most Eminent Aged Ruler.' Under various assumed names he has appeared as the teacher of kings and emperors, the reformer of successive generations. This three-storied Taoist Heaven, or three Heavens, is the result of the wish of the Taoists not to be out-rivalled by the Buddhists. For Buddha, the Law, and the Priesthood they substitute the _Tao_, or Reason, the Classics, and the Priesthood. As regards the organization of the Taoist Heavens, Yü Huang has on his register the name of eight hundred Taoist divinities and a multitude of Immortals. These are all divided into three categories: Saints (_Shêng-jên_), Heroes (_Chên-jên_), and Immortals (_Hsien-jên_), occupying the three Heavens respectively in that order. The Three Causes Connected with Taoism, but not exclusively associated with that religion, is the worship of the Three Causes, the deities presiding over three departments of physical nature, Heaven, earth, and water. They are known by various designations: _San Kuan_, 'the Three Agents'; _San Yüan_, 'the Three Origins'; _San Kuan Ta Ti_, 'the Three Great Emperor Agents'; and _T'ai Shang San Kuan_, 'the Three Supreme Agents.' This worship has passed through four chief phases, as follows: The first comprises Heaven, earth, and water, _T'ien, Ti, Shui_, the sources of happiness, forgiveness of sins, and deliverance from evil respectively. Each of these is called King-emperor. Their names, written on labels and offered to Heaven (on a mountain), earth (by burial), and water (by immersion), are supposed to cure sickness. This idea dates from the Han dynasty, being first noted about A.D. 172. The second, _San Yüan_ dating from A.D. 407 under the Wei dynasty, identified the Three Agents with three dates of which they were respectively made the patrons. The year was divided into three unequal parts: the first to the seventh moon; the seventh to the tenth; and the tenth to the twelfth. Of these, the fifteenth day of the first, seventh, and tenth moons respectively became the three principal dates of these periods. Thus the Agent of Heaven became the principal patron of the first division, honoured on the fifteenth day of the first moon, and so on. The third phase, _San Kuan_, resulted from the first two being found too complicated for popular favour. The _San Kuan_ were the three sons of a man, Ch'ên Tzu-ch'un, who was so handsome and intelligent that the three daughters of Lung Wang, the Dragon-king, fell in love with him and went to live with him. The eldest girl was the mother of the Superior Cause, the second of the Medium Cause, and the third of the Inferior Cause. All these were gifted with supernatural powers. Yüan-shih T'ien-tsun canonized them as the Three Great Emperor Agents of Heaven, earth, and water, governors of all beings, devils or gods, in the three regions of the universe. As in the first phase, the _T'ien Kuan_ confers happiness, the _Ti Kuan_ grants remission of sins, and the _Shui Kuan_ delivers from evil or misfortune. The fourth phase consisted simply in the substitution by the priests for the abstract or time-principles of the three great sovereigns of ancient times, Yao, Shun, and Yü. The _literati_, proud of the apotheosis of their ancient rulers, hastened to offer incense to them, and temples, _San Yüan Kung_, arose in very many parts of the Empire. A variation of this phase is the canonization, with the title of _San Yüan_ or Three Causes, of _Wu-k'o San Chên Chün_, 'the Three True Sovereigns, Guests of the Kingdom of Wu.' They were three Censors who lived in the reign of King Li (Li Wang, 878-841 B.C.) of the Chou dynasty. Leaving the service of the Chou on account of Li's dissolute living, they went to live in Wu, and brought victory to that state in its war with the Ch'u State, then returned to their own country, and became pillars of the Chou State under Li's successor. They appeared to protect the Emperor Chên Tsung when he was offering the _Fêng-shan_ sacrifices on T'ai Shan in A.D. 1008, on which occasion they were canonized with the titles of Superior, Medium, and Inferior Causes, as before, conferring upon them the regencies of Heaven, earth, and water respectively. Yüan-shih T'ien-tsun Yüan-shih T'ien-tsun, or the First Cause, the Highest in Heaven, generally placed at the head of the Taoist triad, is said never to have existed but in the fertile imagination of the Lao Tzuist sectarians. According to them Yüan-shih T'ien-tsun had neither origin nor master, but is himself the cause of all beings, which is why he is called the First Cause. As first member of the triad, and sovereign ruler of the First Heaven, Yü Ch'ing, where reign the saints, he is raised in rank above all the other gods. The name assigned to him is Lo Ching Hsin. He was born before all beginnings; his substance is imperishable; it is formed essentially of uncreated air, air _a se_, invisible and without perceptible limits. No one has been able to penetrate to the beginnings of his existence. The source of all truth, he at each renovation of the worlds--that is, at each new _kalpa_--gives out the mysterious doctrine which confers immortality. All who reach this knowledge attain by degrees to life eternal, become refined like the spirits, or instantly become Immortals, even while upon earth. Originally, Yüan-shih T'ien-tsun was not a member of the Taoist triad. He resided above the Three Heavens, above the Three Pure Ones, surviving the destructions and renovations of the universe, as an immovable rock in the midst of a stormy sea. He set the stars in motion, and caused the planets to revolve. The chief of his secret police was Tsao Chün, the Kitchen-god, who rendered to him an account of the good and evil deeds of each family. His executive agent was Lei Tsu, the God of Thunder, and his subordinates. The seven stars of the North Pole were the palace of his ministers, whose offices were on the various sacred mountains. Nowadays, however, Yüan-shih T'ien-tsun is generally neglected for Yü Huang. An Avatar of P'an Ku According to the tradition of Chin Hung, the God of T'ai Shan of the fifth generation from P'an Ku, this being, then called Yüan-shih T'ien-wang, was an avatar of P'an Ku. It came about in this wise. In remote ages there lived on the mountains an old man, Yüan-shih T'ien-wang, who used to sit on a rock and preach to the multitude. He spoke of the highest antiquity as if from personal experience. When Chin Hung asked him where he lived, he just raised his hand toward Heaven, iridescent clouds enveloped his body, and he replied: "Whoso wishes to know where I dwell must rise to impenetrable heights." "But how," said Chin Hung, "was he to be found in this immense emptiness?" Two genii, Ch'ih Ching-tzu and Huang Lao, then descended on the summit of T'ai Shan and said: "Let us go and visit this Yüan-shih. To do so, we must cross the boundaries of the universe and pass beyond the farthest stars." Chin Hung begged them to give him their instructions, to which he listened attentively. They then ascended the highest of the sacred peaks, and thence mounted into the heavens, calling to him from the misty heights: "If you wish to know the origin of Yüan-shih, you must pass beyond the confines of Heaven and earth, because he lives beyond the limits of the worlds. You must ascend and ascend until you reach the sphere of nothingness and of being, in the plains of the luminous shadows." Having reached these ethereal heights, the two genii saw a bright light, and Hsüan-hsüan Shang-jên appeared before them. The two genii bowed to do him homage and to express their gratitude. "You cannot better show your gratitude," he replied, "than by making my doctrine known among men. You desire," he added, "to know the history of Yüan-shih. I will tell it you. When P'an Ku had completed his work in the primitive Chaos, his spirit left its mortal envelope and found itself tossed about in empty space without any fixed support. 'I must,' it said, 'get reborn in visible form; until I can go through a new birth I shall remain empty and unsettled,' His soul, carried on the wings of the wind, reached Fu-yü T'ai. There it saw a saintly lady named T'ai Yüan, forty years of age, still a virgin, and living alone on Mount Ts'u-o. Air and variegated clouds were the sole nourishment of her vital spirits. An hermaphrodite, at once both the active and the passive principle, she daily scaled the highest peak of the mountain to gather there the flowery quintessence of the sun and the moon. P'an Ku, captivated by her virgin purity, took advantage of a moment when she was breathing to enter her mouth in the form of a ray of light. She was _enceinte_ for twelve years, at the end of which period the fruit of her womb came out through her spinal column. From its first moment the child could walk and speak, and its body was surrounded by a five-coloured cloud. The newly-born took the name of Yüan-shih T'ien-wang, and his mother was generally known as T'ai-yüan Shêng-mu, 'the Holy Mother of the First Cause.'" Yü Huang Yü Huang means 'the Jade Emperor,' or 'the Pure August One,' jade symbolizing purity. He is also known by the name Yü-huang Shang-ti, 'the Pure August Emperor on High.' The history of this deity, who later received many honorific titles and became the most popular god, a very Chinese Jupiter, seems to be somewhat as follows: The Emperor Ch'êng Tsung of the Sung dynasty having been obliged in A.D. 1005 to sign a disgraceful peace with the Tunguses or Kitans, the dynasty was in danger of losing the support of the nation. In order to hoodwink the people the Emperor constituted himself a seer, and announced with great pomp that he was in direct communication with the gods of Heaven. In doing this he was following the advice of his crafty and unreliable minister Wang Ch'in-jo, who had often tried to persuade him that the pretended revelations attributed to Fu Hsi, Yü Wang, and others were only pure inventions to induce obedience. The Emperor, having studied his part well, assembled his ministers in the tenth moon of the year 1012, and made to them the following declaration: "In a dream I had a visit from an Immortal, who brought me a letter from Yü Huang, the purport of which was as follows: 'I have already sent you by your ancestor Chao [T'ai Tsu] two celestial missives. Now I am going to send him in person to visit you.'" A little while after his ancestor T'ai Tsu, the founder of the dynasty, came according to Yü Huang's promise, and Ch'êng Tsung hastened to inform his ministers of it. This is the origin of Yü Huang. He was born of a fraud, and came ready-made from the brain of an emperor. The Cask of Pearls Fearing to be admonished for the fraud by another of his ministers, the scholar Wang Tan, the Emperor resolved to put a golden gag in his mouth. So one day, having invited him to a banquet, he overwhelmed him with flattery and made him drunk with good wine. "I would like the members of your family also to taste this wine," he added, "so I am making you a present of a cask of it." When Wang Tan returned home, he found the cask filled with precious pearls. Out of gratitude to the Emperor he kept silent as to the fraud, and made no further opposition to his plans, but when on his death-bed he asked that his head be shaved like a priest's and that he be clothed in priestly robes so that he might expiate his crime of feebleness before the Emperor. K'ang Hsi, the great Emperor of the Ch'ing dynasty, who had already declared that if it is wrong to impute deceit to a man it is still more reprehensible to impute a fraud to Heaven, stigmatized him as follows: "Wang Tan committed two faults: the first was in showing himself a vile flatterer of his Prince during his life; the second was in becoming a worshipper of Buddha at his death." The Legend of Yü Huang So much for historical record. The legend of Yü Huang relates that in ancient times there existed a kingdom named Kuang Yen Miao Lo Kuo, whose king was Ching Tê, his queen being called Pao Yüeh. Though getting on in years, the latter had no son. The Taoist priests were summoned by edict to the palace to perform their rites. They recited prayers with the object of obtaining an heir to the throne. During the ensuing night the Queen had a vision. Lao Chün appeared to her, riding a dragon, and carrying a male child in his arms. He floated down through the air in her direction. The Queen begged him to give her the child as an heir to the throne. "I am quite willing," he said. "Here it is." She fell on her knees and thanked him. On waking she found herself _enceinte_. At the end of a year the Prince was born. From an early age he showed himself compassionate and generous to the poor. On the death of his father he ascended the throne, but after reigning only a few days abdicated in favour of his chief minister, and became a hermit at P'u-ming, in Shensi, and also on Mount Hsiu Yen, in Yünnan. Having attained to perfection, he passed the rest of his days in curing sickness and saving life; and it was in the exercise of these charitable deeds that he died. The emperors Ch'êng Tsung and Hui Tsung, of the Sung dynasty, loaded him with all the various titles associated with his name at the present day. Both Buddhists and Taoists claim him as their own, the former identifying him with Indra, in which case Yü Huang is a Buddhist deity incorporated into the Taoist pantheon. He has also been taken to be the subject of a 'nature myth.' The Emperor Ching Tê, his father, is the sun, the Queen Pao Yüeh the moon, and the marriage symbolizes the rebirth of the vivifying power which clothes nature with green plants and beautiful flowers. T'ung-t'ien Chiao-chu In modern Taoism T'ung-t'ien Chiao-chu is regarded as the first of the Patriarchs and one of the most powerful genii of the sect. His master was Hung-chün Lao-tsu. He wore a red robe embroidered with white cranes, and rode a _k'uei niu_, a monster resembling a buffalo, with one long horn like a unicorn. His palace, the Pi Yu Kung, was situated on Mount Tzu Chih Yai. This genie took the part of Chou Wang and helped him to resist Wu Wang's armies. First, he sent his disciple To-pao Tao-jên to Chieh-p'ai Kuan. He gave him four precious swords and the plan of a fort which he was to construct and to name Chu-hsien Chên, 'the Citadel of all the Immortals.' To-pao Tao-jên carried out his orders, but he had to fight a battle with Kuang Ch'êng-tzu, and the latter, armed with a celestial seal, struck his adversary so hard that he fell to the ground and had to take refuge in flight. T'ung-t'ien Chiao-chu came to the defence of his disciple and to restore the morale of his forces. Unfortunately, a posse of gods arrived to aid Wu Wang's powerful general, Chiang Tzu-ya. The first who attacked T'ung-t'ien Chiao-chu was Lao Tzu, who struck him several times with his stick. Then came Chun T'i, armed with his cane. The buffalo of T'ung-t'ien Chiao-chu stamped him under foot, and Chun T'i was thrown to the earth, and only just had time to rise quickly and mount into the air amid a great cloud of dust. There could be no doubt that the fight was going against T'ung-t'ien Chiao-chu; to complete his discomfiture Jan-têng Tao-jên cleft the air and fell upon him unexpectedly. With a violent blow of his 'Fix-sea' staff he cast him down and compelled him to give up the struggle. T'ung-t'ien Chiao-chu then prepared plans for a new fortified camp beyond T'ung Kuan, and tried to take the offensive again, but again Lao Tzu stopped him with a blow of his stick. Yüan-shih T'ien-tsun wounded his shoulder with his precious stone Ju-i, and Chun-t'i Tao-jên waved his 'Branch of the Seven Virtues.' Immediately the magic sword of T'ung-t'ien Chiao-chu was reduced to splinters, and he saved himself only by flight. Hung-chün Lao-tsu, the master of these three genii, seeing his three beloved disciples in the _mêlée_, resolved to make peace between them. He assembled all three in a tent in Chiang Tzu-ya's camp, made them kneel before him, then reproached T'ung-t'ien Chiao-chu at length for having taken the part of the tyrant Chou, and recommended them in future to live in harmony. After finishing his speech, he produced three pills, and ordered each of the genii to swallow one. When they had done so, Hung-chün Lao-tsu said to them: "I have given you these pills to ensure an inviolable truce among you. Know that the first who entertains a thought of discord in his heart will find that the pill will explode in his stomach and cause his instant death." Hung-chün Lao-tsu then took T'ung-t'ien Chiao-chu away with him on his cloud to Heaven. Immortals, Heroes, Saints An Immortal, according to Taoist lore, is a solitary man of the mountains. He appears to die, but does not. After 'death' his body retains all the qualities of the living. The body or corpse is for him only a means of transition, a phase of metamorphosis--a cocoon or chrysalis, the temporary abode of the butterfly. To reach this state a hygienic regimen both of the body and mind must be observed. All luxury, greed, and ambition must be avoided. But negation is not enough. In the system of nourishment all the elements which strengthen the essence of the constituent _yin_ and _yang_ principles must be found by means of medicine, chemistry, gymnastic exercises, etc. When the maximum vital force has been acquired the means of preserving it and keeping it from the attacks of death and disease must be discovered; in a word, he must spiritualize himself--render himself completely independent of matter. All the experiments have for their object the storing in the pills of immortality the elements necessary for the development of the vital force and for the constitution of a new spiritual and super-humanized being. In this ascending perfection there are several grades: (1) The Immortal (_Hsien_). The first stage consists in bringing about the birth of the superhuman in the ascetic's person, which reaching perfection leaves the earthly body, like the grasshopper its sheath. This first stage attained, the Immortal travels at will throughout the universe, enjoys all the advantages of perfect health without dreading disease or death, eats and drinks copiously--nothing is wanting to complete his happiness. (2) The Perfect Man, or Hero (_Chên-jên_). The second stage is a higher one. The whole body is spiritualized. It has become so subtile, so spiritual, that it can fly in the air. Borne on the wings of the wind, seated on the clouds of Heaven, it travels from one world to another and fixes its habitation in the stars. It is freed from all laws of matter, but is, however, not completely changed into pure spirit. (3) The Saint (_Shêng-jên_). The third stage is that of the superhuman beings or saints. They are those who have attained to extraordinary intelligence and virtue. The God of the Immortals Mu Kung or Tung Wang Kung, the God of the Immortals, was also called I Chün Ming and Yü Huang Chün, the Prince Yü Huang. The primitive vapour congealed, remained inactive for a time, and then produced living beings, beginning with the formation of Mu Kung, the purest substance of the Eastern Air, and sovereign of the active male principle _yang_ and of all the countries of the East. His palace is in the misty heavens, violet clouds form its dome, blue clouds its walls. Hsien T'ung, 'the Immortal Youth,' and Yü Nü, 'the Jade Maiden,' are his servants. He keeps the register of all the Immortals, male and female. Hsi Wang Mu Hsi Wang Mu was formed of the pure quintessence of the Western Air, in the legendary continent of Shên Chou. She is often called the Golden Mother of the Tortoise. Her family name is variously given as Hou, Yang, and Ho. Her own name was Hui, and first name Wan-chin. She had nine sons and twenty-four daughters. As Mu Kung, formed of the Eastern Air, is the active principle of the male air and sovereign of the Eastern Air, so Hsi Wang Mu, born of the Western Air, is the passive or female principle (_yin_) and sovereign of the Western Air. These two principles, co-operating, engender Heaven and earth and all the beings of the universe, and thus become the two principles of life and of the subsistence of all that exists. She is the head of the troop of genii dwelling on the K'un-lun Mountains (the Taoist equivalent of the Buddhist Sumêru), and from time to time holds intercourse with favoured imperial votaries. The Feast of Peaches Hsi Wang Mu's palace is situated in the high mountains of the snowy K'un-lun. It is 1000 _li_ (about 333 miles) in circuit; a rampart of massive gold surrounds its battlements of precious stones. Its right wing rises on the edge of the Kingfishers' River. It is the usual abode of the Immortals, who are divided into seven special categories according to the colour of their garments--red, blue, black, violet, yellow, green, and 'nature-colour.' There is a marvellous fountain built of precious stones, where the periodical banquet of the Immortals is held. This feast is called P'an-t'ao Hui, 'the Feast of Peaches.' It takes place on the borders of the Yao Ch'ih, Lake of Gems, and is attended by both male and female Immortals. Besides several superfine meats, they are served with bears' paws, monkeys' lips, dragons' liver, phoenix marrow, and peaches gathered in the orchard, endowed with the mystic virtue of conferring longevity on all who have the good luck to taste them. It was by these peaches that the date of the banquet was fixed. The tree put forth leaves once every three thousand years, and it required three thousand years after that for the fruit to ripen. These were Hsi Wang Mu's birthdays, when all the Immortals assembled for the great feast, "the occasion being more festive than solemn, for there was music on invisible instruments, and songs not from mortal tongues." The First Taoist Pope Chang Tao-ling, the first Taoist pope, was born in A.D. 35, in the reign of the Emperor Kuang Wu Ti of the Han dynasty. His birthplace is variously given as the T'ien-mu Shan, 'Eye of Heaven Mountain,' in Lin-an Hsien, in Chekiang, and Fêng-yang Fu, in Anhui. He devoted himself wholly to study and meditation, declining all offers to enter the service of the State. He preferred to take up his abode in the mountains of Western China, where he persevered in the study of alchemy and in cultivating the virtues of purity and mental abstraction. From the hands of Lao Tzu he received supernaturally a mystic treatise, by following the instructions in which he was successful in his search for the elixir of life. One day when he was engaged in experimenting with the 'Dragon-tiger elixir' a spiritual being appeared to him and said: "On Po-sung Mountain is a stone house in which are concealed the writings of the Three Emperors of antiquity and a canonical work. By obtaining these you may ascend to Heaven, if you undergo the course of discipline they prescribe." Chang Tao-ling found these works, and by means of them obtained the power of flying, of hearing distant sounds, and of leaving his body. After going through a thousand days of discipline, and receiving instruction from a goddess, who taught him to walk about among the stars, he proceeded to fight with the king of the demons, to divide mountains and seas, and to command the wind and thunder. All the demons fled before him. On account of the prodigious slaughter of demons by this hero the wind and thunder were reduced to subjection, and various divinities came with eager haste to acknowledge their faults. In nine years he gained the power to ascend to Heaven. The Founder of Modern Taoism Chang Tao-ling may rightly be considered as the true founder of modern Taoism. The recipes for the pills of immortality contained in the mysterious books, and the invention of talismans for the cure of all sorts of maladies, not only exalted him to the high position he has since occupied in the minds of his numerous disciples, but enabled them in turn to exploit successfully this new source of power and wealth. From that time the Taoist sect began to specialize in the art of healing. Protecting or curing talismans bearing the Master's seal were purchased for enormous sums. It is thus seen that he was after all a deceiver of the people, and unbelievers or rival partisans of other sects have dubbed him a 'rice-thief'--which perhaps he was. He is generally represented as clothed in richly decorated garments, brandishing with his right hand his magic sword, holding in his left a cup containing the draught of immortality, and riding a tiger which in one paw grasps his magic seal and with the others tramples down the five venomous creatures: lizard, snake, spider, toad, and centipede. Pictures of him with these accessories are pasted up in houses on the fifth day of the fifth moon to forfend calamity and sickness. The Peach-gathering It is related of him that, not wishing to ascend to Heaven too soon, he partook of only half of the pill of immortality, dividing the other half among several of his admirers, and that he had at least two selves or personalities, one of which used to disport itself in a boat on a small lake in front of his house. The other self would receive his visitors, entertaining them with food and drink and instructive conversation. On one occasion this self said to them: "You are unable to quit the world altogether as I can, but by imitating my example in the matter of family relations you could procure a medicine which would prolong your lives by several centuries. I have given the crucible in which Huang Ti prepared the draught of immortality to my disciple Wang Ch'ang. Later on, a man will come from the East, who also will make use of it. He will arrive on the seventh day of the first moon." Exactly on that day there arrived from the East a man named Chao Shêng, who was the person indicated by Chang Tao-ling. He was recognized by a manifestation of himself he had caused to appear in advance of his coming. Chang then led all his disciples, to the number of three hundred, to the highest peak of the Yün-t'ai. Below them they saw a peach-tree growing near a pointed rock, stretching out its branches like arms above a fathomless abyss. It was a large tree, covered with ripe fruit. Chang said to his disciples: "I will communicate a spiritual formula to the one among you who will dare to gather the fruit of that tree." They all leaned over to look, but each declared the feat to be impossible. Chao Shêng alone had the courage to rush out to the point of the rock and up the tree stretching out into space. With firm foot he stood and gathered the peaches, placing them in the folds of his cloak, as many as it would hold, but when he wished to climb back up the precipitous slope, his hands slipped on the smooth rock, and all his attempts were in vain. Accordingly, he threw the peaches, three hundred and two in all, one by one up to Chang Tao-ling, who distributed them. Each disciple ate one, as also did Chang, who reserved the remaining one for Chao Shêng, whom he helped to climb up again. To do this Chang extended his arm to a length of thirty feet, all present marvelling at the miracle. After Chao had eaten his peach Chang stood on the edge of the precipice, and said with a laugh: "Chao Shêng was brave enough to climb out to that tree and his foot never tripped. I too will make the attempt. If I succeed I will have a big peach as a reward." Having spoken thus, he leapt into space, and alighted in the branches of the peach-tree. Wang Ch'ang and Chao Shêng also jumped into the tree and stood one on each side of him. There Chang communicated to them the mysterious formula. Three days later they returned to their homes; then, having made final arrangements, they repaired once more to the mountain peak, whence, in the presence of the other disciples, who followed them with their eyes until they had completely disappeared from view, all three ascended to Heaven in broad daylight. Chang Tao-ling's Great Power The name of Chang Tao-ling, the Heavenly Teacher, is a household word in China. He is on earth the Vicegerent of the Pearly Emperor in Heaven, and the Commander-in-Chief of the hosts of Taoism. He, the chief of the wizards, the 'true [_i.e._ ideal] man,' as he is called, wields an immense spiritual power throughout the land. The present pope boasts of an unbroken line for three-score generations. His family obtained possession of the Dragon-tiger Mountain in Kiangsi about A.D. 1000. "This personage," says a pre-Republican writer, "assumes a state which mimics the imperial. He confers buttons like an emperor. Priests come to him from various cities and temples to receive promotion, whom he invests with titles and presents with seals of office." Kings of Heaven The Four Kings of Heaven, Ssu Ta T'ien-wang, reside on Mount Sumêru (Hsü-mi Shan), the centre of the universe. It is 3,360,000 _li_--that is, about a million miles--high. [19] Its eastern slope is of gold, its western of silver, its south-eastern of crystal, and its north-eastern of agate. The Four Kings appear to be the Taoist reflection of the four _Chin-kang_ of Buddhism already noticed. Their names are Li, Ma, Chao, and Wên. They are represented as holding a pagoda, sword, two swords, and spiked club respectively. Their worship appears to be due to their auspicious appearance and aid on various critical occasions in the dynastic history of the T'ang and Sung Periods. T'ai I Temples are found in various parts dedicated to T'ai I, the Great One, or Great Unity. When Emperor Wu Ti (140-86 B.C.) of the Han dynasty was in search of the secret of immortality, and various suggestions had proved unsatisfactory, a Taoist priest, Miao Chi, told the Emperor that his want of success was due to his omission to sacrifice to T'ai I, the first of the celestial spirits, quoting the classical precedent of antiquity found in the _Book of History_. The Emperor, believing his word, ordered the Grand Master of Sacrifices to re-establish this worship at the capital. He followed carefully the prescriptions of Miao Chi. This enraged the _literati_, who resolved to ruin him. One day, when the Emperor was about to drink one of his potions, one of the chief courtiers seized the cup and drank the contents himself. The Emperor was about to have him slain, when he said: "Your Majesty's order is unnecessary; if the potion confers immortality, I cannot be killed; if, on the other hand, it does not, your Majesty should recompense me for disproving the pretensions of the Taoist priest." The Emperor, however, was not convinced. One account represents T'ai I as having lived in the time of Shên Nung, the Divine Husbandman, who visited him to consult with him on the subjects of diseases and fortune. He was Hsien Yüan's medical preceptor. His medical knowledge was handed down to future generations. He was one of those who, with the Immortals, was invited to the great Peach Assembly of the Western Royal Mother. As the spirit of the star T'ai I he resides in the Eastern Palace, listening for the cries of sufferers in order to save them. For this purpose he assumes numberless forms in various regions. With a boat of lotus-flowers of nine colours he ferries men over to the shore of salvation. Holding in his hand a willow-branch, he scatters from it the dew of the doctrine. T'ai I is variously represented as the Ruler of the Five Celestial Sovereigns, Cosmic Matter before it congealed into concrete shapes, the Triune Spirit of Heaven, earth, and T'ai I as three separate entities, an unknown Spirit, the Spirit of the Pole Star, etc., but practically the Taoists confine their T'ai I to T'ai-i Chên-jên, in which Perfect Man they personify the abstract philosophical notions. [20] Goddess of the North Star Tou Mu, the Bushel Mother, or Goddess of the North Star, worshipped by both Buddhists and Taoists, is the Indian Maritchi, and was made a stellar divinity by the Taoists. She is said to have been the mother of the nine Jên Huang or Human Sovereigns of fabulous antiquity, who succeeded the lines of Celestial and Terrestrial Sovereigns. She occupies in the Taoist religion the same relative position as Kuan Yin, who may be said to be the heart of Buddhism. Having attained to a profound knowledge of celestial mysteries, she shone with heavenly light, could cross the seas, and pass from the sun to the moon. She also had a kind heart for the sufferings of humanity. The King of Chou Yü, in the north, married her on hearing of her many virtues. They had nine sons. Yüan-shih T'ien-tsun came to earth to invite her, her husband, and nine sons to enjoy the delights of Heaven. He placed her in the palace Tou Shu, the Pivot of the Pole, because all the other stars revolve round it, and gave her the title of Queen of the Doctrine of Primitive Heaven. Her nine sons have their palaces in the neighbouring stars. Tou Mu wears the Buddhist crown, is seated on a lotus throne, has three eyes, eighteen arms, and holds various precious objects in her numerous hands, such as a bow, spear, sword, flag, dragon's head, pagoda, five chariots, sun's disk, moon's disk, etc. She has control of the books of life and death, and all who wish to prolong their days worship at her shrine. Her devotees abstain from animal food on the third and twenty-seventh day of every month. Of her sons, two are the Northern and Southern Bushels; the latter, dressed in red, rules birth; the former, in white, rules death. "A young Esau once found them on the South Mountain, under a tree, playing chess, and by an offer of venison his lease of life was extended from nineteen to ninety-nine years." Snorter and Blower At the time of the overthrow of the Shang and establishment of the Chou dynasty in 1122 B.C. there lived two marshals, Chêng Lung and Ch'ên Ch'i. These were Hêng and Ha, the Snorter and Blower respectively. The former was the chief superintendent of supplies for the armies of the tyrant emperor Chou, the Nero of China. The latter was in charge of the victualling department of the same army. From his master, Tu O, the celebrated Taoist magician of the K'un-lun Mountains, Hêng acquired a marvellous power. When he snorted, his nostrils, with a sound like that of a bell, emitted two white columns of light, which destroyed his enemies, body and soul. Thus through him the Chou gained numerous victories. But one day he was captured, bound, and taken to the general of Chou. His life was spared, and he was made general superintendent of army stores as well as generalissimo of five army corps. Later on he found himself face to face with the Blower. The latter had learnt from the magician how to store in his chest a supply of yellow gas which, when he blew it out, annihilated anyone whom it struck. By this means he caused large gaps to be made in the ranks of the enemy. Being opposed to each other, the one snorting out great streaks of white light, the other blowing streams of yellow gas, the combat continued until the Blower was wounded in the shoulder by No-cha, of the army of Chou, and pierced in the stomach with a spear by Huang Fei-hu, Yellow Flying Tiger. The Snorter in turn was slain in this fight by Marshal Chin Ta-shêng, 'Golden Big Pint,' who was an ox-spirit and endowed with the mysterious power of producing in his entrails the celebrated _niu huang_, ox-yellow, or bezoar. Facing the Snorter, he spat in his face, with a noise like thunder, a piece of bezoar as large as a rice-bowl. It struck him on the nose and split his nostrils. He fell to the earth, and was immediately cut in two by a blow from his victor's sword. After the Chou dynasty had been definitely established Chiang Tzu-ya canonized the two marshals Hêng and Ha, and conferred on them the offices of guardians of the Buddhist temple gates, where their gigantic images may be seen. Blue Dragon and White Tiger The functions discharged by Hêng and Ha at the gates of Buddhist temples are in Taoist temples discharged by Blue Dragon and White Tiger. The former, the Spirit of the Blue Dragon Star, was Têng Chiu-kung, one of the chief generals of the last emperor of the Yin dynasty. He had a son named Têng Hsiu, and a daughter named Ch'an-yü. The army of Têng Chiu-kung was camped at San-shan Kuan, when he received orders to proceed to the battle then taking place at Hsi Ch'i. There, in standing up to No-cha and Huang Fei-hu, he had his left arm broken by the former's magic bracelet, but, fortunately for him, his subordinate, T'u Hsing-sun, a renowned magician, gave him a remedy which quickly healed the fracture. His daughter then came on the scene to avenge her father. She had a magic weapon, the Five-fire Stone, which she hurled full in the face of Yang Chien. But the Immortal was not wounded; on the other hand, his celestial dog jumped at Ch'an-yü and bit her neck, so that she was obliged to flee. T'u Hsing-sun, however, healed the wound. After a banquet, Têng Chiu-kung promised his daughter in marriage to T'u Hsing-sun if he would gain him the victory at Hsi Ch'i. Chiang Tzu-ya then persuaded T'u's magic master, Chü Liu-sun, to call his disciple over to his camp, where he asked him why he was fighting against the new dynasty. "Because," he replied, "Chiu-kung has promised me his daughter in marriage as a reward of success." Chiang Tzu-ya thereupon promised to obtain the bride, and sent a force to seize her. As a result of the fighting that ensued, Chiu-kung was beaten, and retreated in confusion, leaving Ch'an-yü in the hands of the victors. During the next few days the marriage was celebrated with great ceremony in the victor's camp. According to custom, the bride returned for some days to her father's house, and while there she earnestly exhorted Chiu-kung to submit. Following her advice, he went over to Chiang Tzu-ya's party. In the ensuing battles he fought valiantly on the side of his former enemy, and killed many famous warriors, but he was eventually attacked by the Blower, from whose mouth a column of yellow gas struck him, throwing him from his steed. He was made prisoner, and executed by order of General Ch'iu Yin. Chiang Tzu-ya conferred on him the kingdom of the Blue Dragon Star. The Spirit of the White Tiger Star is Yin Ch'êng-hsiu. His father, Yin P'o-pai, a high courtier of the tyrant Chou Wang, was sent to negotiate peace with Chiang Tzu-ya, but was seized and put to death by Marquis Chiang Wên-huan. His son, attempting to avenge his father's murder, was pierced by a spear, and his head was cut off and carried in triumph to Chiang Tzu-ya. As compensation he was, though somewhat tardily, canonized as the Spirit of the White Tiger Star. Apotheosized Philosophers The philosophers Lieh Tzu, Huai-nan Tzu, Chuang Tzu, Mo Tzu, etc., have also been apotheosized. Nothing very remarkable is related of them. Most of them had several reincarnations and possessed supernatural powers. The second, who was a king, when taken by the Eight Immortals to the genii's Heaven forgot now and then to address them as superiors, and but for their intercession with Yü Ti, the Pearly Emperor, would have been reincarnated. In order to humiliate himself, he thereafter called himself Huai-nan Tzu, 'the Sage of the South of the Huai.' The third, Chuang Tzu, Chuang Shêng, or Chuang Chou, was a disciple of Lao Tzu. Chuang Tzu was in the habit of sleeping during the day, and at night would transform himself into a butterfly, which fluttered gaily over the flowers in the garden. On waking, he would still feel the sensation of flying in his shoulders. On asking Lao Tzu the reason for this, he was told: "Formerly you were a white butterfly which, having partaken of the quintessence of flowers and of the _yin_ and the _yang_, should have been immortalized; but one day you stole some peaches and flowers in Wang Mu Niang-niang's garden. The guardian of the garden slew you, and that is how you came to be reincarnated." At this time he was fifty years of age. Fanning the Grave One of the tales associated with him describes how he saw a young woman in mourning vigorously fanning a newly made grave. On his asking her the reason of this strange conduct, she replied: "I am doing this because my husband begged me to wait until the earth on his tomb was dry before I remarried!" Chuang Tzu offered to help her, and as soon as he waved the fan once the earth was dry. The young widow thanked him and departed. On his return home, Chuang Shêng related this incident to his wife. She expressed astonishment at such conduct on the part of a wife. "There's nothing to be surprised at," rejoined the husband; "that's how things go in this world." Seeing that he was poking fun at her, she protested angrily. Some little time after this Chuang Shêng died. His wife, much grieved, buried him. Husband and Wife A few days later a young man named Ch'u Wang-sun arrived with the intention, as he said, of placing himself under the instruction of Chuang Shêng. When he heard that he was dead he went and performed prostrations before his tomb, and afterward took up his abode in an empty room, saying that he wished to study. After half a month had elapsed, the widow asked an old servant who had accompanied Wang-sun if the young man was married. On his replying in the negative, she requested the old servant to propose a match between them. Wang-sun made some objections, saying that people would criticize their conduct. "Since my husband is dead, what can they say?" replied the widow. She then put off her mourning-garments and prepared for the wedding. Wang-sun took her to the grave of her husband, and said to her: "The gentleman has returned to life!" She looked at Wang-sun and recognized the features of her husband. She was so overwhelmed with shame that she hanged herself. Chuang Shêng buried her in an empty tomb, and then began to sing. He burnt his house, went away to P'u-shui, in Hupei, and occupied himself in fishing. From there he went on to Chung-t'iao Shan, where he met Fêng Hou and her teacher Hsüan Nü, the Mother of Heaven. In their company he visited the palaces of the stars. One day, when he was attending a banquet at the palace of Wang-mu, Shang Ti gave him as his kingdom the planet Jupiter, and assigned to him as his palace the ancient abode of Mao Mêng, the stellar god reincarnated during the Chou dynasty. He had not yet returned, and had left his palace empty. Shang Ti had cautioned him never to absent himself without his permission. Canonized Generalissimos A large number of military men also have been canonized as celestial generalissimos. A few will serve as examples of the rest. The Three Musical Brothers There were three brothers: T'ien Yüan-shuai, the eldest; T'ien Hung-i, the second; and T'ien Chih-piao, the youngest. They were all musicians of unsurpassed talent. In the K'ai-yüan Period (A.D. 713-42) the Emperor Hsüan Tsung, of the T'ang dynasty, appointed them his music masters. At the sound of their wonderful flute the clouds in the sky stopped in their courses; the harmony of their songs caused the odoriferous _la mei_ flower to open in winter. They excelled also in songs and dances. The Emperor fell sick. He saw in a dream the three brothers accompanying their singing on a mandolin and violin. The harmony of their songs charmed his ear, and on waking he found himself well again. Out of gratitude for this benefit he conferred on each the title of marquis. The Grand Master of the Taoists was trying to stay the ravages of a pestilence, but he could not conquer the devils which caused it. Under these circumstances he appealed to the three brothers and asked their advice as to what course to adopt. T'ien Yüan-shuai had a large boat built, called 'Spirit-boat.' He assembled in it a million spirits, and ordered them to beat drums. On hearing this tumult all the demons of the town came out to listen. T'ien Yüan-shuai, seizing the opportunity, captured them all and, with the help of the Grand Master, expelled them from the town. Besides the canonization of the three T'ien brothers, all the members of their families received posthumous titles. The Dragon-boat Festival This is said to be the origin of the dragon-boats which are to be seen on all the waterways of China on the fifth day of the fifth moon. [21] The Festival of the Dragon-boats, held on that day, was instituted in memory of the statesman-poet Ch'ü Yüan (332-296 B.C.), who drowned himself in the Mi-lo River, an affluent of the Tung-t'ing Lake, after having been falsely accused by one of the petty princes of the State. The people, out of pity for the unfortunate courtier, sent out these boats in search of his body. Chiang Tzu-ya In the wars which resulted in the overthrow of the tyrant Chou Wang and his dynasty and the establishment of the great Chou dynasty, the most influential generalissimo was Chiang Tzu-ya. His family name was Chiang, and his own name Shang, but owing to his descent from one of the ministers of the ancient King Yao, whose heirs owned the fief of Lü, the family came to be called by that name, and he himself was known as Lü Shang. His honorific title was T'ai Kung Wang, 'Hope of T'ai Kung,' given him by Wên Wang, who recognized in the person of Chiang Tzu-ya the wise minister whom his father T'ai Kung had caused him to expect before his death. The Battle of Mu Yeh Chiang Tzu-ya was originally in the service of the tyrant Chou Wang, but transferred his services to the Chou cause, and by his wonderful skill enabled that house finally to gain the victory. The decisive battle took place at Mu Yeh, situated to the south of Wei-hui Fu, in 1122 B.C. The soldiers of Yin, 700,000 in number, were defeated, and Chou, the tyrant, shut himself up in his magnificent palace, set it alight, and was burned alive with all his possessions. For this achievement Chiang Tzu-ya was granted by Wu Wang the title of Father and Counsellor, and was appointed Prince of Ch'i, with perpetual succession to his descendants. A Legend of Chiang Tzu-ya The _Feng shên yen i_ contains many chapters describing in detail the various battles which resulted in the overthrow of the last tyrant of the Shang dynasty and the establishment of the illustrious Chou dynasty on the throne of China. This legend and the following one are epitomized from that work. No-cha defeats Chang Kuei-fang The redoubtable No-cha having, by means of his Heaven-and-earth Bracelet, vanquished Fêng Lin, a star-god and subordinate officer of Chang Kuei-fang, in spite of the black smoke-clouds which he blew out of his nostrils, the defeated warrior fled and sought the aid of his chief, who fought No-cha in some thirty to forty encounters without succeeding in dislodging him from his Wind-fire Wheel, which enabled him to move about rapidly and to perform prodigious feats, such as causing hosts of silver flying dragons like clouds of snow to descend upon his enemy. During one of these fights No-cha heard his name called three times, but paid no heed. Finally, with his Heaven-and-earth Bracelet he broke Chang Kuei-fang's left arm, following this up by shooting out some dazzling rays of light which knocked him off his horse. When he returned to the city to report his victory to Tzu-ya, the latter asked him if during the battle Kuei-fang had called his name. "Yes," replied No-cha, "he called, but I took no heed of him." "When Kuei-fang calls," said Tzu-ya, "the _hun_ and the _p'o_ [_anima_ and _umbra_] become separated, and so the body falls apart." "But," replied No-cha, "I had changed myself into a lotus-flower, which has neither _hun_ nor _p'o_, so he could not succeed in getting me off my magic wheel." Tzu-ya goes to K'un-lun Tzu-ya, however, still uncertain in mind about the finality of No-cha's victories, went to consult Wu Wang (whose death had not yet taken place at this time). After the interview Tzu-ya informed Wu Wang of his wish to visit K'un-lun Mountain. Wu Wang warned him of the danger of leaving the kingdom with the enemy so near the capital; but Tzu-ya obtained his consent by saying he would be absent only three days at most. So he gave instructions regarding the defence to No-cha, and went off in his spirit chariot to K'un-lun. On his arrival at the Unicorn Precipice he was much enraptured with the beautiful scenery, the colours, flowers, trees, bridges, birds, deer, apes, blue lions, white elephants, etc., all of which seemed to make earth surpass Heaven in loveliness. He receives the List of Immortals From the Unicorn Precipice he went on to the Jade Palace of Abstraction. Here he was presented to Yüan-shih. From him he received the List of Promotions to Immortals, which Nan-chi Hsien-wêng, 'Ancient Immortal of the South Pole,' had brought, and was told to go and erect a Fêng Shên T'ai (Spirits' Promotion Terrace) on which to exhibit it. Yüan-shih also warned him that if anyone called him while he was on the way he was to be most careful not to answer. On reaching the Unicorn Precipice on his way back, he heard some one call: "Chiang Tzu-ya!" This happened three times without his paying any heed. Then the voice was heard to say: "Now that you are Prime Minister, how devoid of feeling and forgetful of bygone benefits you must be not to remember one who studied with you in the Jade Palace of Abstraction!" Tzu-ya could not but turn his head and look. He then saw that it was Shên Kung-pao. He said: "Brother, I did not know it was you who were calling me, and I did not heed you as Shih-tsun told me on no account to reply." Shên Kung-pao said: "What is that you hold in your hand?" He told him it was the List of Promotions to Immortals. Shên Kung-pao then tried to entice Tzu-ya from his allegiance to Chou. Among Shên's tactics was that of convincing Tzu-ya of the superiority of the magical arts at the disposal of the supporters of Chou Wang. "You," he said, "can drain the sea, change the hills, and suchlike things, but what are those compared with my powers, who can take off my head, make it mount into space, travel 10,000,000 _li_, and return to my neck just as complete as before and able to speak? Burn your List of Promotions to Immortals and come with me." Tzu-ya, thinking that a head which could travel 10,000,000 _li_ and be the same as before was exceedingly rare, said: "Brother, you take your head off, and if in reality it can do as you say, rise into space and return and be as before, I shall be willing to burn the List of Promotions to Immortals and return with you to Chao Ko." Shên Kung-pao said: "You will not go back on your word?" Tzu-ya said: "When your elder brother has spoken his word is as unchangeable as Mount T'ai, How can there be any going back on my word?" The Soaring Head Shên Kung-pao then doffed his Taoist cap, seized his sword, with his left hand firmly grasped the blue thread binding his hair, and with his right cut off his head. His body did not fall down. He then took his head and threw it up into space. Tzu-ya gazed with upturned face as it continued to rise, and was sorely puzzled. But the Ancient Immortal of the South Pole had kept a watch on the proceedings. He said: "Tzu-ya is a loyal and honest man; it looks as if he has been deceived by this charlatan." He ordered White Crane Youth to assume quickly the form of a crane and fetch Shên Kung-pao's head. The Ancient Immortal saves the Situation Tzu-ya was still gazing upward when he felt a slap on his back and, turning round, saw that it was the Ancient Immortal of the South Pole. Tzu-ya quickly asked: "My elder brother, why have you returned?" Hsien-wêng said: "You are a fool. Shên Kung-pao is a man of unholy practices. These few small tricks of his you take as realities. But if the head does not return to the neck within an hour and three-quarters the blood will coagulate and he will die. Shih-tsun ordered you not to reply to anyone; why did you not hearken to his words? From the Jade Palace of Abstraction I saw you speaking together, and knew you had promised to burn the List of Promotions to Immortals. So I ordered White Crane Youth to bring me the head. After an hour and three-quarters Shên Kung-pao will be recompensed." Tzu-ya said: "My elder brother, since you know all you can pardon him. In the Taoist heart there is no place where mercy cannot be exercised. Remember the many years during which he has faithfully followed the Path." Eventually the Ancient Immortal was persuaded, but in the meantime Shên Kung-pao, finding that his head did not return, became very much troubled in mind. In an hour and three-quarters the blood would stop flowing and he would die. However, Tzu-ya having succeeded in his intercession with the Ancient Immortal, the latter signed to White Crane Youth, who was flying in space with the head in his beak, to let it drop. He did so, but when it reached the neck it was facing backward. Shên Kung-pao quickly put up his hand, took hold of an ear, and turned his head the right way round. He was then able to open his eyes, when he saw the Ancient Immortal of the South Pole. The latter arraigned him in a loud voice saying: "You as-good-as-dead charlatan, who by means of corrupt tricks try to deceive Tzu-ya and make him burn the List of Immortals and help Chou Wang against Chou, what do you mean by all this? You should be taken to the Jade Palace of Abstraction to be punished!" Shên Kung-pao, ashamed, could not reply; mounting his tiger, he made off; but as he left he hurled back a threat that the Chou would yet have their white bones piled mountains high at Hsi Ch'i. Subsequently Tzu-ya, carefully preserving the precious List, after many adventures succeeded in building the Fêng Shên T'ai, and posted the List up on it. Having accomplished his mission, he returned in time to resist the capture of Hsi Ch'i by Chang Kuei-fang, whose troops were defeated with great slaughter. Ch'iung Hsiao's Magic Scissors In another of the many conflicts between the two rival states Lao Tzu entered the battle, whereupon Ch'iung Hsiao, a goddess who fought for the house of Shang (Chou), hurled into the air her gold scaly-dragon scissors. As these slowly descended, opening and closing in a most ominous manner, Lao Tzu waved the sleeve of his jacket and they fell into the sea and became absolutely motionless. Many similar tricks were used by the various contestants. The Gold Bushel of Chaotic Origin succumbed to the Wind-fire Sphere, and so on. Ch'iung Hsiao resumed the attack with some magic two-edged swords, but was killed by a blow from White Crane Youth's Three-precious Jade Sceptre, hurled at her by Lao Tzu's orders. Pi Hsiao, her sister, attempted to avenge her death, but Yüan-shih, producing from his sleeve a magical box, threw it into the air and caught Pi Hsiao in it. When it was opened it was found that she had melted into blood and water. Chiang Tzu-ya defeats Wên Chung After this Lao Tzu rallied many of the skilful spirits to help Chiang Tzu-ya in his battle with Wên Chung, providing them with the Ancient Immortal of the South Pole's Sand-blaster and an earth-conquering light which enabled them to travel a thousand _li_ in a day. From the hot sand used the contest became known as the Red Sand Battle. Jan Têng, on P'êng-lai Mountain, in consultation with Tzu-ya, also arranged the plan of battle. The Red Sand Battle The fight began with a challenge from the Ancient Immortal of the South Pole to Chang Shao. The latter, riding his deer, dashed into the fray, and aimed a terrific blow with his sword at Hsien-wêng's head, but White Crane Youth warded it off with his Three-precious Jade Sceptre. Chang then produced a two-edged sword and renewed the attack, but, being disarmed, dismounted from his deer and threw several handfuls of hot sand at Hsien-wêng. The latter, however, easily fanned them away with his Five-fire Seven-feathers Fan, rendering them harmless. Chang then fetched a whole bushel of the hot sand and scattered it over the enemy, but Hsien-wêng counteracted the menace by merely waving his fan. White Crane Youth struck Chang Shao with his jade sceptre, knocking him off his horse, and then dispatched him with his two-edged sword. After this battle Wu Wang was found to be already dead. Jan Têng on learning this ordered Lei Chên-tzu to take the corpse to Mount P'êng and wash it. He then dissolved a pill in water and poured the solution into Wu Wang's mouth, whereupon he revived and was escorted back to his palace. Further Fighting Preparations were then made for resuming the attack on Wên Chung. While the latter was consulting with Ts'ai-yün Hsien-tzu and Han Chih-hsien, he heard the sound of the Chou guns and the thunder of their troops. Wên Chung, mounting his black unicorn, galloped like a whiff of smoke to meet Tzu-ya, but was stopped by blows from two silver hammers wielded by Huang T'ien-hua. Han Chih-hsien came to Wên's aid, but was opposed by Pi Hsiang-yang. Ts'ai-yün Hsien-tzu dashed into the fray, but No-cha stepped on to his Wind-fire Wheel and opposed him. From all sides other Immortals joined in the terrific battle, which was a turmoil of longbows and crossbows, iron armour and brass mail, striking whips and falling hammers, weapons cleaving mail and mail resisting weapons. In this fierce contest, while Tzu-ya was fighting Wên Chung, Han Chih-hsien released a black wind from his magic wind-bag, but he did not know that the Taoist Barge of Mercy (which transports departed souls to the land of bliss), sent by Kuan Yin, the Goddess of Mercy, had on board the Stop-wind Pearl, by which the black storm was immediately quelled. Thereupon Tzu-ya quickly seized his Vanquish-spirits Whip and struck Han Chih-hsien in the middle of the skull, so that the brain-fluid gushed forth and he died. No-cha then slew Ts'ai-yün Hsien-tzu with a spear-thrust. Thus the stern fight went on, until finally Tzu-ya, under cover of night, attacked Wên Chung's troops simultaneously on all four sides. The noise of slaughter filled the air. Generals and rank and file, lanterns, torches, swords, spears, guns, and daggers were one confused _mêlée_; Heaven could scarcely be distinguished from earth, and corpses were piled mountains high. Tzu-ya, having broken through seven lines of the enemy's ranks, forced his way into Wên Chung's camp. The latter mounted his unicorn, and brandishing his magic whip dashed to meet him. Tzu-ya drew his sword and stopped his onrush, being aided by Lung Hsü-hu, who repeatedly cast a rain of hot stones on to the troops. In the midst of the fight Tzu-ya brought out his great magic whip, and in spite of Wên Chung's efforts to avoid it succeeded in wounding him in the left arm. The Chou troops were fighting like dragons lashing their tails and pythons curling their bodies. To add to their disasters, the Chou now saw flames rising behind the camp, and knew that their provisions were being burned by Yang Chien. The Chou armies, with gongs beating and drums rolling, advanced for a final effort, the slaughter being so great that even the devils wept and the spirits wailed. Wên Chung was eventually driven back seventy _li_ to Ch'i Hill. His troops could do nothing but sigh and stumble along. He made for Peach-blossom Range, but as he approached it he saw a yellow banner hoisted, and under it was Kuang Ch'êng-tzu. Being prevented from escaping in that direction he joined battle, but by use of red-hot sand, his two-edged sword, and his Turn-heaven Seal Kuang Ch'êng-tzu put him to flight. He then made off toward the west, followed by Têng Chung. His design was to make for Swallow Hill, which he reached after several days of weary marching. Here he saw another yellow banner flying, and Ch'ih Ching-tzu informed him that Jan Têng had forbidden him to stop at Swallow Hill or to go through the Five Passes. This led to another pitched battle, Wên Chung using his magic whip and Ch'ih his spiritual two-edged sword. After several bouts Ch'ih brought out his _yin-yang_ mirror, by use of which irresistible weapon Wên was driven to Yellow Flower Hill and Blue Dragon Pass, and so on from battle to battle, until he was drawn up to Heaven from the top of Dead-dragon Mountain. Thousand-li Eye and Favourable-wind Ear Ch'ien-li Yen, 'Thousand-_li_ Eye,' and Shun-fêng Êrh, 'Favourable-wind Ear,' were two brothers named Kao Ming and Kao Chio. On account of their martial bearing they found favour with the tyrant emperor Chou Wang, who appointed them generals, and sent them to serve with Generalissimo Yüan Hung (who was a monkey which had taken human form) at Mêng-ching. Kao Ming was very tall, with a blue face, flaming eyes, a large mouth, and prominent teeth like those of a rhinoceros. Kao Chio had a greenish face and skin, two horns on his head, a red beard, and a large mouth with teeth shaped like swords. One of their first encounters was with No-cha, who hurled at them his mystic bracelet, which struck Kao Chio on the head, but did not leave even a scratch. When, however, he seized his fire-globe the brothers thought it wiser to retreat. Finding no means of conquering them, Yang Chien, Chiang Tzu-ya, and Li Ching took counsel together and decided to have recourse to Fu Hsi's trigrams, and by smearing them with the blood of a fowl and a dog to destroy their spiritual power. But the two brothers were fully informed of what was designed. Thousand-_li_ Eye had seen and Favourable-wind Ear had heard everything, so that all their preparations proved unavailing. Yang Chien then went to Chiang Tzu-ya and said to him: "These two brothers are powerful devils; I must take more effectual measures." "Where will you go for aid?" asked Chiang Tzu-ya. "I cannot tell you, for they would hear," replied Yang. He then left. Favourable-wind Ear heard this dialogue, and Thousand-_li_ Eye saw him leave. "He did not say where he was going," they said to each other, "but we fear him not." Yang Chien went to Yü-ch'üan Shan, where lived Yü-ting Chên-jên, 'Hero Jade-tripod.' He told him about their two adversaries, and asked him how they were to conquer them. "These two genii," replied the Chên-jên, "are from Ch'i-p'an Shan, Chessboard Mountain. One is a spiritual peach-tree, the other a spiritual pomegranate-tree. Their roots cover an area of thirty square _li_ of ground. On that mountain there is a temple dedicated to Huang-ti, in which are clay images of two devils called Ch'ien-li Yen and Shun-fêng Êrh. The peach-tree and pomegranate-tree, having become spiritual beings, have taken up their abode in these images. One has eyes which can see objects distinctly at a distance of a thousand _li_, the other ears that can hear sounds at a like distance. But beyond that distance they can neither see nor hear. Return and tell Chiang Tzu-ya to have the roots of those trees torn up and burned, and the images destroyed; then the two genii will be easily vanquished. In order that they may neither see nor hear you during your conversation with Chiang Tzu-ya, wave flags about the camp and order the soldiers to beat tom-toms and drums." How the Brothers were Defeated Yang Chien returned to Chiang Tzu-ya. "What have you been doing?" asked the latter. Before replying Yang Chien went to the camp and ordered soldiers to wave large red flags and a thousand others to beat the tom-toms and drums. The air was so filled with the flags and the noise that nothing else could be either seen or heard. Under cover of this device Yang Chien then communicated to Chiang Tzu-ya the course advised by the Chên-jên. Accordingly Li Ching at the head of three thousand soldiers proceeded to Ch'i-p'an Shan, pulled up and burned the roots of the two trees, and broke the images to pieces. At the same time Lei Chên-tzu was ordered to attack the two genii. Thousand-_li_ Eye and Favourable-wind Ear could neither see nor hear: the flags effectually screened the horizon and the infernal noise of the drums and gongs deadened all other sound. They did not know how to stop them. The following night Yüan Hung decided to take the camp of Chiang Tzu-ya by assault, and sent the brothers in advance. They were, however, themselves surprised by Wu Wang's officers, who surrounded them. Chiang Tzu-ya then threw into the air his 'devil-chaser' whip, which fell on the two scouts and cleft their skulls in twain. Celestial Ministries The dualistic idea, already referred to, of the Otherworld being a replica of this one is nowhere more clearly illustrated than in the celestial Ministries or official Bureaux or Boards, with their chiefs and staffs functioning over the spiritual hierarchies. The Nine Ministries up aloft doubtless had their origin in imitation of the Six, Eight, or Nine Ministries or Boards which at various periods of history have formed the executive part of the official hierarchy in China. But their names are different and their functions do not coincide. Generally, the functions of the officers of the celestial Boards are to protect mankind from the evils represented in the title of the Board, as, for example, thunder, smallpox, fire, etc. In all cases the duties seem to be remedial. As the God of War was, as we saw, the god who protects people from the evils of war, so the vast hierarchy of these various divinities is conceived as functioning for the good of mankind. Being too numerous for inclusion here, an account of them is given under various headings in some of the following chapters. Protectors of the People Besides the gods who hold definite official posts in these various Ministries, there are a very large number who are also protecting patrons of the people; and, though _ex officio_, in many cases quite as popular and powerful, if not more so. Among the most important are the following: Shê-chi, Gods of the Soil and Crops; Shên Nung, God of Agriculture; Hou-t'u, Earth-mother; Ch'êng-huang, City-god; T'u-ti, Local Gods; Tsao Chün, Kitchen-god; T'ien-hou and An-kung, Goddess and God of Sailors; Ts'an Nü, Goddess of Silkworms; Pa-ch'a, God of Grasshoppers; Fu Shên, Ts'ai Shên, and Shou Hsing, Gods of Happiness, Wealth, and Longevity; Mên Shên, Door-gods; and Shê-mo Wang, etc., the Gods of Serpents. The Ch'êng-huang Ch'êng-huang is the Celestial Mandarin or City-god. Every fortified city or town in China is surrounded by a wall, _ch'êng_, composed usually of two battlemented walls, the space between which is filled with earth. This earth is dug from the ground outside, making a ditch, or _huang_, running parallel with the _ch'êng_. The Ch'êng-huang is the spiritual official of the city or town. All the numerous Ch'êng-huang constitute a celestial Ministry of Justice, presided over by a Ch'êng-huang-in-chief. The origin of the worship of the Ch'êng-huang dates back to the time of the great Emperor Yao (2357 B.C.), who instituted a sacrifice called Pa Cha in honour of eight spirits, of whom the seventh, Shui Yung, had the meaning of, or corresponded to, the dyke and rampart known later as Ch'êng-huang. Since the Sung dynasty sacrifices have been offered to the Ch'êng-huang all over the country, though now and then some towns have adopted another or special god as their Ch'êng-huang, such as Chou Hsin, adopted as the Ch'êng-huang of Hangchou, the capital of Chekiang Province. Concerning Chou Hsin, who had a "face of ice and iron," and was so much dreaded for his severity that old and young fled at his approach, it is related that once when he was trying a case a storm blew some leaves on to his table. In spite of diligent search the tree to which this kind of leaf belonged could not be found anywhere in the neighbourhood, but was eventually discovered in a Buddhist temple a long way off. The judge declared that the priests of this temple must be guilty of murder. By his order the tree was felled, and in its trunk was found the body of a woman who had been assassinated, and the priests were convicted of the murder. The Kitchen-god Tsao Chün is a Taoist invention, but is universally worshipped by all families in China--about sixty millions of pictures of him are regularly worshipped twice a month--at new and full moon. "His temple is a little niche in the brick cooking-range; his palace is often filled with smoke; and his Majesty sells for one farthing." He is also called 'the God of the Stove.' The origin of his worship, according to the legend, is that a Taoist priest, Li Shao-chün by name, of the Ch'i State, obtained from the Kitchen-god the double favour of exemption from growing old and of being able to live without eating. He then went to the Emperor Hsiao Wu-ti (140-86 B.C.) of the Han dynasty, and promised that credulous monarch that he should benefit by the powers of the god provided that he would consent to patronize and encourage his religion. It was by this means, he added, that the Emperor Huang Ti obtained his knowledge of alchemy, which enabled him to make gold. The Emperor asked the priest to bring him his divine patron, and one night the image of Tsao Chün appeared to him. Deceived by this trick, dazzled by the ingots of gold which he too should obtain, and determined to risk everything for the pill of immortality which was among the benefits promised, the Emperor made a solemn sacrifice to the God of the Kitchen. This was the first time that a sacrifice had been officially offered to this new deity. Li Shao-chün gradually lost the confidence of the Emperor and, at his wits' end, conceived the plan of writing some phrases on a piece of silk and then causing them to be swallowed by an ox. This done, he announced that a wonderful script would be found in the animal's stomach. The ox being killed, the script was found there as predicted, but Li's unlucky star decreed that the Emperor should recognize his handwriting, and he was forthwith put to death. Nevertheless, the worship of the Kitchen-god continued and increased, and exists in full vigour down to the present day. This deity has power over the lives of the members of each family under his supervision, distributes riches and poverty at will, and makes an annual report to the Supreme Being on the conduct of the family during the year, for which purpose he is usually absent for from four to seven days. Some hold that he also makes these reports once or twice or several times each month. Various ceremonies are performed on seeing him off to Heaven and welcoming him back. One of the former, as we saw, is to regale him with honey, so that only sweet words, if any, may be spoken by him while up aloft! Ts'an Nü In the kingdom of Shu (modern Ssuch'uan), in the time of Kao Hsing Ti, a band of robbers kidnapped the father of Ts'an Nü. A whole year elapsed, and the father's horse still remained in the stable as he had left it. The thought of not seeing her father again caused Ts'an Nü such grief that she would take no nourishment. Her mother did what she could to console her, and further promised her in marriage to anyone who would bring back her father. But no one was found who could do this. Hearing the offer, the horse stamped with impatience, and struggled so much that at length he broke the halter by which he was tied up. He then galloped away and disappeared. Several days later, his owner returned riding the horse. From that time the horse neighed incessantly, and refused all food. This caused the mother to make known to her husband the promise she had made concerning her daughter. "An oath made to men," he replied, "does not hold good for a horse. Is a human being meant to live in marital relations with a horse?" Nevertheless, however good and abundant food they offered him, the horse would not eat. When he saw the young lady he plunged and kicked furiously. Losing his temper, the father discharged an arrow and killed him on the spot; then he skinned him and spread the skin on the ground outside the house to dry. As the young lady was passing the spot the skin suddenly moved, rose up, enveloped her, and disappeared into space. Ten days later it was found at the foot of a mulberry-tree; Ts'an Nü changed into a silkworm, was eating the mulberry-leaves, and spinning for herself a silken garment. The parents of course were in despair. But one day, while they were overwhelmed with sad thoughts, they saw on a cloud Ts'an Nü riding the horse and attended by several dozens of servants. She descended toward her parents, and said to them: "The Supreme Being, as a reward for my martyrdom in the cause of filial piety and my love of virtue, has conferred on me the dignity of Concubine of the Nine Palaces. Be reassured as to my fate, for in Heaven I shall live for ever." Having said this she disappeared into space. In the temples her image is to be seen covered with a horse's skin. She is called Ma-t'ou Niang, 'the Lady with the Horse's Head,' and is prayed to for the prosperity of mulberry-trees and silkworms. The worship continues even in modern times. The goddess is also represented as a stellar divinity, the star T'ien Ssu; as the first man who reared silkworms, in this character bearing the same name as the God of Agriculture, Pasture, and Fire; and as the wife of the Emperor Huang Ti. The God of Happiness The God of Happiness, Fu Shên, owes his origin to the predilection of the Emperor Wu Ti (A.D. 502-50) of the Liang dynasty for dwarfs as servants and comedians in his palace. The number levied from the Tao Chou district in Hunan became greater and greater, until it seriously prejudiced the ties of family relations. When Yang Ch'êng, _alias_ Yang Hsi-chi, was Criminal Judge of Tao Chou he represented to the Emperor that, according to law, the dwarfs were his subjects but not his slaves. Being touched by this remark, the Emperor ordered the levy to be stopped. Overjoyed at their liberation from this hardship, the people of that district set up images of Yang and offered sacrifices to him. Everywhere he was venerated as the Spirit of Happiness. It was in this simple way that there came into being a god whose portraits and images abound everywhere throughout the country, and who is worshipped almost as universally as the God of Riches himself. Another person who attained to the dignity of God of Happiness (known as Tsêng-fu Hsiang-kung, 'the Young Gentleman who Increases Happiness') was Li Kuei-tsu, the minister of Emperor Wên Ti of the Wei dynasty, the son of the famous Ts'ao Ts'ao, but in modern times the honour seems to have passed to Kuo Tzu-i. He was the saviour of the T'ang dynasty from the depredations of the Turfans in the reign of the Emperor Hsüan Tsung. He lived A.D. 697-781, was a native of Hua Chou, in Shensi, and one of the most illustrious of Chinese generals. He is very often represented in pictures clothed in blue official robes, leading his small son Kuo Ai to Court. The God of Wealth As with many other Chinese gods, the proto-being of the God of Wealth, Ts'ai Shên, has been ascribed to several persons. The original and best known until later times was Chao Kung-ming. The accounts of him differ also, but the following is the most popular. When Chiang Tzu-ya was fighting for Wu Wang of the Chou dynasty against the last of the Shang emperors, Chao Kung-ming, then a hermit on Mount Ô-mei, took the part of the latter. He performed many wonderful feats. He could ride a black tiger and hurl pearls which burst like bombshells. But he was eventually overcome by the form of witchcraft known in Wales as _Ciurp Creadh_. Chiang Tzu-ya made a straw image of him, wrote his name on it, burned incense and worshipped before it for twenty days, and on the twenty-first shot arrows made of peach-wood into its eyes and heart. At that same moment Kung-ming, then in the enemy's camp, felt ill and fainted, and uttering a cry gave up the ghost. Later on Chiang Tzu-ya persuaded Yüan-shih T'ien-tsun to release from the Otherworld the spirits of the heroes who had died in battle, and when Chao Kung-ming was led into his presence he praised his bravery, deplored the circumstances of his death, and canonized him as President of the Ministry of Riches and Prosperity. The God of Riches is universally worshipped in China; images and portraits of him are to be seen everywhere. Talismans, trees of which the branches are strings of cash, and the fruits ingots of gold, to be obtained merely by shaking them down, a magic inexhaustible casket full of gold and silver--these and other spiritual sources of wealth are associated with this much-adored deity. He himself is represented in the guise of a visitor accompanied by a crowd of attendants laden with all the treasures that the hearts of men, women, and children could desire. The God of Longevity The God of Longevity, Shou Hsing, was first a stellar deity, later on represented in human form. It was a constellation formed of the two star-groups Chio and K'ang, the first two on the list of twenty-eight constellations. Hence, say the Chinese writers, because of this precedence, it was called the Star of Longevity. When it appears the nation enjoys peace, when it disappears there will be war. Ch'in Shih Huang-ti, the First Emperor, was the first to offer sacrifices to this star, the Old Man of the South Pole, at Shê Po, in 246 B.C. Since then the worship has been continued pretty regularly until modern times. But desire for something more concrete, or at least more personal, than a star led to the god's being represented as an old man. Connected with this is a long legend which turns on the point that after the father of Chao Yen had been told by the celebrated physiognomist Kuan Lo that his son would not live beyond the age of nineteen, the transposition from _shih-chiu_, nineteen, to _chiu-shih_, ninety, was made by one of two gamblers, who turned out to be the Spirit of the North Pole, who fixes the time of decease, as the Spirit of the South Pole does that of birth. The deity is a domestic god, of happy mien, with a very high forehead, usually spoken of as Shou Hsing Lao T'ou Tzu, 'Longevity Star Old-pate,' and is represented as riding a stag, with a flying bat above his head. He holds in his hand a large peach, and attached to his long staff are a gourd and a scroll. The stag and the bat both indicate _fu_, happiness. The peach, gourd, and scroll are symbols of longevity. The Door-gods An old legend relates that in the earliest times there grew on Mount Tu Shuo, in the Eastern Sea, a peach-tree of fabulous size whose branches covered an area of several thousand square _li_. The lowest branches, which inclined toward the north-east, formed the Door of the Devils (_kuei_), through which millions of them passed in and out. Two spirits, named Shên Shu (or Shu Yü) and Yü Lü, had been instructed to guard this passage. Those who had done wrong to mankind were immediately bound by them and given over to be devoured by tigers. When Huang Ti heard of this he had the portraits of the two spirits painted on peach-wood tablets and hung above the doors to keep off evil spirits. This led to the suspension of the small figures or plaques on the doors of the people generally. Gradually they were supplanted by paintings on paper pasted on the doors, showing the two spirits armed with bows, arrows, spears, etc., Shên Shu on the left, Yü Lü on the right. In later times, however, these Door-gods were supplanted in popular favour by two ministers of the Emperor T'ai Tsung of the T'ang dynasty, by name Ch'in Shu-pao and Hu Ching-tê. T'ai Tsung had fallen sick, and imagined that he heard demons rampaging in his bedroom. The ministers of State, on inquiring as to the nature of the malady, were informed by the physician that his Majesty's pulse was feverish, that he seemed nervous and saw visions, and that his life was in danger. The ministers were in great fear. The Empress summoned other physicians to a consultation, and after the sick Emperor had informed them that, though all was quiet during the daytime, he was sure he saw and heard demons during the night, Ch'in Shu-pao and Hu Ching-tê stated that they would sit up all night and watch outside his door. Accordingly they posted themselves, fully armed, outside the palace gate all night, and the Emperor slept in peace. Next day the Emperor thanked them heartily, and from that time his sickness diminished. The two ministers, however, continued their vigils until the Emperor informed them that he would no longer impose upon their readiness to sacrifice themselves. He ordered them to paint their portraits in full martial array and paste these on the palace doors to see if that would not have the same effect. For some nights all was peace; then the same commotion was heard at the back gates of the palace. The minister Wei Chêng offered to stand guard at the back gates in the same way that his colleagues had done at the front gates. The result was that in a few days the Emperor's health was entirely restored. Thus it is that Wei Chêng is often associated with the other two Door-gods, sometimes with them, sometimes in place of them. Pictures of these _mên shên_, elaborately coloured, and renewed at the New Year, are to be seen on almost every door in China. Chinese Polytheism That the names of the gods of China are legion will be readily conceded when it is said that, besides those already described, those still to be mentioned, and many others to whom space will not permit us to refer, there are also gods, goddesses, patrons, etc., of wind, rain, snow, frost, rivers, tides, caves, trees, flowers, theatres, horses, oxen, cows, sheep, goats, dogs, pigs, scorpions, locusts, gold, tea, salt, compass, archery, bridges, lamps, gems, wells, carpenters, masons, barbers, tailors, jugglers, nets, wine, bean-curd, jade, paper-clothing, eye, ear, nose, tongue, teeth, heart, liver, throat, hands, feet, skin, architecture, rain-clothes, monkeys, lice, Punch and Judy, fire-crackers, cruelty, revenge, manure, fornication, shadows, corners, gamblers, oculists, smallpox, liver complaint, stomach-ache, measles, luck, womb, midwives, hasteners of child-birth, brigands, butchers, furnishers, centipedes, frogs, stones, beds, candle-merchants, fishermen, millers, wig-merchants, incense-merchants, spectacle-makers, cobblers, harness-makers, seedsmen, innkeepers, basket-makers, chemists, painters, perfumers, jewellers, brush-makers, dyers, fortune-tellers, strolling singers, brothels, varnishers, combs, etc., etc. There is a god of the light of the eye as well as of the eye itself, of smallpox-marks as well as of smallpox, of 'benign' measles as well as of measles. After reading a full list of the gods of China, those who insist that the religion of China was or is a monotheism may be disposed to revise their belief. CHAPTER V Myths of the Stars Astrological Superstitions According to Chinese ideas, the sun, moon, and planets influence sublunary events, especially the life and death of human beings, and changes in their colour menace approaching calamities. Alterations in the appearance of the sun announce misfortunes to the State or its head, as revolts, famines, or the death of the emperor; when the moon waxes red, or turns pale, men should be in awe of the unlucky times thus fore-omened. The sun is symbolized by the figure of a raven in a circle, and the moon by a hare on its hind-legs pounding rice in a mortar, or by a three-legged toad. The last refers to the legend of Ch'ang Ô, detailed later. The moon is a special object of worship in autumn, and moon-cakes dedicated to it are sold at this season. All the stars are ranged into constellations, and an emperor is installed over them, who resides at the North Pole; five monarchs also live in the five stars in Leo, where is a palace called Wu Ti Tso, or 'Throne of the Five Emperors.' In this celestial government there are also an heir-apparent, empresses, sons and daughters, and tribunals, and the constellations receive the names of men, animals, and other terrestrial objects. The Great Bear, or Dipper, is worshipped as the residence of the Fates, where the duration of life and other events relating to mankind are measured and meted out. Fears are excited by unusual phenomena among the heavenly bodies. Both the sun and the moon are worshipped by the Government in appropriate temples on the east and west sides of Peking. Various Star-gods Some of the star-gods, such as the God of Literature, the Goddess of the North Star, the Gods of Happiness, Longevity, etc., are noticed in other parts of this work. The cycle-gods are also star-gods. There are sixty years in a cycle, and over each of these presides a special star-deity. The one worshipped is the one which gave light on the birthday of the worshipper, and therefore the latter burns candles before that particular image on each succeeding anniversary. These cycle-gods are represented by most grotesque images: "white, black, yellow, and red; ferocious gods with vindictive eyeballs popping out, and gentle faces as expressive as a lump of putty; some looking like men and some like women." In one temple one of the sixty was in the form of a hog, and another in that of a goose. "Here is an image with arms protruding out of his eye-sockets, and eyes in the palms of his hands, looking downward to see the secret things within the earth. See that rabbit, Minerva-like, jumping from the divine head; again a mud-rat emerges from his occipital hiding-place, and lo! a snake comes coiling from the brain of another god--so the long line serves as models for an artist who desires to study the fantastic." Shooting the Heavenly Dog In the family sleeping-apartments in Chinese houses hang pictures of Chang Hsien, a white-faced, long-bearded man with a little boy by his side, and in his hand a bow and arrow, with which he is shooting the Heavenly Dog. The dog is the Dog-star, and if the 'fate' of the family is under this star there will be no son, or the child will be short-lived. Chang Hsien is the patron of child-bearing women, and was worshipped under the Sung dynasty by women desirous of offspring. The introduction of this name into the Chinese pantheon is due to an incident in the history of Hua-jui Fu-jên, a name given to Lady Fei, concubine of Mêng Ch'ang, the last ruler of the Later Shu State, A.D. 935-964. When she was brought from Shu to grace the harem of the founder of the Sung dynasty, in A.D. 960, she is said to have preserved secretly the portrait of her former lord, the Prince of Shu, whose memory she passionately cherished. Jealously questioned by her new consort respecting her devotion to this picture, she declared it to be the representation of Chang Hsien, the divine being worshipped by women desirous of offspring. Opinions differ as to the origin of the worship. One account says that the Emperor Jên Tsung, of the Sung dynasty, saw in a dream a beautiful young man with white skin and black hair, carrying a bow in his hand. He said to the Emperor: "The star T'ien Kou, Heavenly Dog, in the heavens is hiding the sun and moon, and on earth devouring small children. It is only my presence which keeps him at bay." On waking, the Emperor at once ordered the young man's portrait to be painted and exhibited, and from that time childless families would write the name Chang Hsien on tablets and worship them. Another account describes Chang Hsien as the spirit of the star Chang. In the popular representations Chang Hsien is seen in the form of a distinguished personage drawing a bow. The spirit of the star Chang is supposed to preside over the kitchen of Heaven and to arrange the banquets given by the gods. The Sun-king The worship of the sun is part of the State religion, and the officials make their offerings to the sun-tablet. The moon also is worshipped. At the harvest moon, the full moon of the eighth month, the Chinese bow before the heavenly luminary, and each family burns incense as an offering. Thus "100,000 classes all receive the blessings of the icy-wheel in the Milky Way along the heavenly street, a mirror always bright." In Chinese illustrations we see the moon-palace of Ch'ang O, who stole the pill of immortality and flew to the moon, the fragrant tree which one of the genii tried to cut down, and a hare pestling medicine in a mortar. This refers to the following legend. The sun and the moon are both included by the Chinese among the stars, the spirit of the former being called T'ai-yang Ti-chün, 'the Sun-king,' or Jih-kung Ch'ih-chiang, 'Ch'ih-chiang of the Solar Palace,' that of the latter T'ai-yin Huang-chün, 'the Moon-queen,' or Yüeh-fu Ch'ang O, 'Ch'ang O of the Lunar Palace.' Ch'ih-chiang Tzu-yü lived in the reign of Hsien-yüan Huang-ti, who appointed him Director of Construction and Furnishing. When Hsien-yüan went on his visit to Ô-mei Shan, a mountain in Ssuch'uan, Ch'ih-chiang Tzu-yü obtained permission to accompany him. Their object was to be initiated into the doctrine of immortality. The Emperor was instructed in the secrets of the doctrine by T'ai-i Huang-jên, the spirit of this famous mountain, who, when he was about to take his departure, begged him to allow Ch'ih-chiang Tzu-yü to remain with him. The new hermit went out every day to gather the flowering plants which formed the only food of his master, T'ai-i Huang-jên, and he also took to eating these flowers, so that his body gradually became spiritualized. The Steep Summit One day T'ai-i Huang-jên sent him to cut some bamboos on the summit of Ô-mei Shan, distant more than three hundred _li_ from the place where they lived. When he reached the base of the summit, all of a sudden three giddy peaks confronted him, so dangerous that even the monkeys and other animals dared not attempt to scale them. But he took his courage in his hands, climbed the steep slope, and by sheer energy reached the summit. Having cut the bamboos, he tried to descend, but the rocks rose like a wall in sharp points all round him, and he could not find a foothold anywhere. Then, though laden with the bamboos, he threw himself into the air, and was borne on the wings of the wind. He came to earth safe and sound at the foot of the mountain, and ran with the bamboos to his master. On account of this feat he was considered advanced enough to be admitted to instruction in the doctrine. The Divine Archer The Emperor Yao, in the twelfth year of his reign (2346 B.C.), one day, while walking in the streets of Huai-yang, met a man carrying a bow and arrows, the bow being bound round with a piece of red stuff. This was Ch'ih-chiang Tzu-yü. He told the Emperor he was a skilful archer and could fly in the air on the wings of the wind. Yao, to test his skill, ordered him to shoot one of his arrows at a pine-tree on the top of a neighbouring mountain. Ch'ih shot an arrow which transfixed the tree, and then jumped on to a current of air to go and fetch the arrow back. Because of this the Emperor named him Shên I, 'the Divine Archer,' attached him to his suite, and appointed him Chief Mechanician of all Works in Wood. He continued to live only on flowers. Vanquishes the Wind-spirit At this time terrible calamities began to lay waste the land. Ten suns appeared in the sky, the heat of which burnt up all the crops; dreadful storms uprooted trees and overturned houses; floods overspread the country. Near the Tung-t'ing Lake a serpent, a thousand feet long, devoured human beings, and wild boars of enormous size did great damage in the eastern part of the kingdom. Yao ordered Shên I to go and slay the devils and monsters who were causing all this mischief, placing three hundred men at his service for that purpose. Shên I took up his post on Mount Ch'ing Ch'iu to study the cause of the devastating storms, and found that these tempests were released by Fei Lien, the Spirit of the Wind, who blew them out of a sack. As we shall see when considering the thunder myths, the ensuing conflict ended in Fei Lien suing for mercy and swearing friendship to his victor, whereupon the storms ceased. Dispels the Nine False Suns After this first victory Shên I led his troops to the banks of the Hsi Ho, West River, at Lin Shan. Here he discovered that on three neighbouring peaks nine extraordinary birds were blowing out fire and thus forming nine new suns in the sky. Shên I shot nine arrows in succession, pierced the birds, and immediately the nine false suns resolved themselves into red clouds and melted away. Shên I and his soldiers found the nine arrows stuck in nine red stones at the top of the mountain. Marries the Sister of the Water-spirit Shên I then led his soldiers to Kao-liang, where the river had risen and formed an immense torrent. He shot an arrow into the water, which thereupon withdrew to its source. In the flood he saw a man clothed in white, riding a white horse and accompanied by a dozen attendants. He quickly discharged an arrow, striking him in the left eye, and the horseman at once took to flight. He was accompanied by a young woman named Hêng O [22], the younger sister of Ho Po, the Spirit of the Waters. Shên I shot an arrow into her hair. She turned and thanked him for sparing her life, adding: "I will agree to be your wife." After these events had been duly reported to the Emperor Yao, the wedding took place. Slays Various Dangerous Creatures Three months later Yao ordered Shên I to go and kill the great Tung-t'ing serpent. An arrow in the left eye laid him out stark and dead. The wild boars also were all caught in traps and slain. As a reward for these achievements Yao canonized Shên I with the title of Marquis Pacifier of the Country. Builds a Palace for Chin Mu About this time T'ai-wu Fu-jên, the third daughter of Hsi Wang Mu, had entered a nunnery on Nan-min Shan, to the north of Lo-fou Shan, where her mother's palace was situated. She mounted a dragon to visit her mother, and all along the course left a streak of light in her wake. One day the Emperor Yao, from the top of Ch'ing-yün Shan, saw this track of light, and asked Shên I the cause of this unusual phenomenon. The latter mounted the current of luminous air, and letting it carry him whither it listed, found himself on Lo-fou Shan, in front of the door of the mountain, which was guarded by a great spiritual monster. On seeing Shên I this creature called together a large number of phoenixes and other birds of gigantic size and set them at Shên I. One arrow, however, settled the matter. They all fled, the door opened, and a lady followed by ten attendants presented herself. She was no other than Chin Mu herself. Shên I, having saluted her and explained the object of his visit, was admitted to the goddess's palace, and royally entertained. "I have heard," said Shên I to her, "that you possess the pills of immortality; I beg you to give me one or two." "You are a well-known architect," replied Chin Mu; "please build me a palace near this mountain." Together they went to inspect a celebrated site known as Pai-yü-kuei Shan, 'White Jade-tortoise Mountain,' and fixed upon it as the location of the new abode of the goddess. Shên I had all the spirits of the mountain to work for him. The walls were built of jade, sweet-smelling woods were used for the framework and wainscoting, the roof was of glass, the steps of agate. In a fortnight's time sixteen palace buildings stretched magnificently along the side of the mountain. Chin Mu gave to the architect a wonderful pill which would bestow upon him immortality as well as the faculty of being able at will to fly through the air. "But," she said, "it must not be eaten now: you must first go through a twelve months' preparatory course of exercise and diet, without which the pill will not have all the desired results." Shên I thanked the goddess, took leave of her, and, returning to the Emperor, related to him all that had happened. Kills Chisel-tooth On reaching home, the archer hid his precious pill under a rafter, lest anyone should steal it, and then began the preparatory course in immortality. At this time there appeared in the south a strange man named Tso Ch'ih, 'Chisel-tooth.' He had round eyes and a long projecting tooth. He was a well-known criminal. Yao ordered Shên I and his small band of brave followers to deal with this new enemy. This extraordinary man lived in a cave, and when Shên I and his men arrived he emerged brandishing a padlock. Shên I broke his long tooth by shooting an arrow at it, and Tso Ch'ih fled, but was struck in the back and laid low by another arrow from Shên I. The victor took the broken tooth with him as a trophy. Hêng Ô flies to the Moon Hêng Ô, during her husband's absence, saw a white light which seemed to issue from a beam in the roof, while a most delicious odour filled every room. By the aid of a ladder she reached up to the spot whence the light came, found the pill of immortality, and ate it. She suddenly felt that she was freed from the operation of the laws of gravity and as if she had wings, and was just essaying her first flight when Shên I returned. He went to look for his pill, and, not finding it, asked Hêng Ô what had happened. The young wife, seized with fear, opened the window and flew out. Shên I took his bow and pursued her. The moon was full, the night clear, and he saw his wife flying rapidly in front of him, only about the size of a toad. Just when he was redoubling his pace to catch her up a blast of wind struck him to the ground like a dead leaf. Hêng Ô continued her flight until she reached a luminous sphere, shining like glass, of enormous size, and very cold. The only vegetation consisted of cinnamon-trees. No living being was to be seen. All of a sudden she began to cough, and vomited the covering of the pill of immortality, which was changed into a rabbit as white as the purest jade. This was the ancestor of the spirituality of the _yin_, or female, principle. Hêng Ô noticed a bitter taste in her mouth, drank some dew, and, feeling hungry, ate some cinnamon. She took up her abode in this sphere. As to Shên I, he was carried by the hurricane up into a high mountain. Finding himself before the door of a palace, he was invited to enter, and found that it was the palace of Tung-hua Ti-chün, otherwise Tung Wang Kung, the husband of Hsi Wang Mu. The Sun-palace and the Bird of Dawn The God of the Immortals said to Shên I: "You must not be annoyed with Hêng Ô. Everybody's fate is settled beforehand. Your labours are nearing an end, and you will become an Immortal. It was I who let loose the whirlwind that brought you here. Hêng O, through having borrowed the forces which by right belong to you, is now an Immortal in the Palace of the Moon. As for you, you deserve much for having so bravely fought the nine false suns. As a reward you shall have the Palace of the Sun. Thus the _yin_ and the _yang_ will be united in marriage." This said, Tung-hua Ti-chün ordered his servants to bring a red Chinese sarsaparilla cake, with a lunar talisman. "Eat this cake," he said; "it will protect you from the heat of the solar hearth. And by wearing this talisman you will be able at will to visit the lunar palace of Hêng O; but the converse does not hold good, for your wife will not have access to the solar palace." This is why the light of the moon has its birth in the sun, and decreases in proportion to its distance from the sun, the moon being light or dark according as the sun comes and goes. Shên I ate the sarsaparilla cake, attached the talisman to his body, thanked the god, and prepared to leave. Tung Wang Kung said to him: "The sun rises and sets at fixed times; you do not yet know the laws of day and night; it is absolutely necessary for you to take with you the bird with the golden plumage, which will sing to advise you of the exact times of the rising, culmination, and setting of the sun." "Where is this bird to be found?" asked Shên I. "It is the one you hear calling _Ia! Ia!_ It is the ancestor of the spirituality of the _yang_, or male, principle. Through having eaten the active principle of the sun, it has assumed the form of a three-footed bird, which perches on the _fu-sang_ tree [a tree said to grow at the place where the sun rises] in the middle of the Eastern Sea. This tree is several thousands of feet in height and of gigantic girth. The bird keeps near the source of the dawn, and when it sees the sun taking his morning bath gives vent to a cry that shakes the heavens and wakes up all humanity. That is why I ordered Ling Chên-tzu to put it in a cage on T'ao-hua Shan, Peach-blossom Hill; since then its cries have been less harsh. Go and fetch it and take it to the Palace of the Sun. Then you will understand all the laws of the daily movements." He then wrote a charm which Shên I was to present to Ling Chên-tzu to make him open the cage and hand the golden bird over to him. The charm worked, and Ling Chên-tzu opened the cage. The bird of golden plumage had a sonorous voice and majestic bearing. "This bird," he said, "lays eggs which hatch out nestlings with red combs, who answer him every morning when he starts crowing. He is usually called the cock of heaven, and the cocks down here which crow morning and evening are descendants of the celestial cock." Shên I visits the Moon Shên I, riding on the celestial bird, traversed the air and reached the disk of the sun just at mid-day. He found himself carried into the centre of an immense horizon, as large as the earth, and did not perceive the rotatory movement of the sun. He then enjoyed complete happiness without care or trouble. The thought of the happy hours passed with his wife Hêng O, however, came back to memory, and, borne on a ray of sunlight, he flew to the moon. He saw the cinnamon-trees and the frozen-looking horizon. Going to a secluded spot, he found Hêng O there all alone. On seeing him she was about to run away, but Shên I took her hand and reassured her. "I am now living in the solar palace," he said; "do not let the past annoy you." Shên I cut down some cinnamon-trees, used them for pillars, shaped some precious stones, and so built a palace, which he named Kuang-han Kung, 'Palace of Great Cold.' From that time forth, on the fifteenth day of every moon, he went to visit her in her palace. That is the conjunction of the _yang_ and _yin_, male and female principles, which causes the great brilliancy of the moon at that epoch. Shên I, on returning to his solar kingdom, built a wonderful palace, which he called the Palace of the Lonely Park. From that time the sun and moon each had their ruling sovereign. This _régime_ dates from the forty-ninth year (2309 B.C.) of Yao's reign. When the old Emperor was informed that Shên I and his wife had both gone up to Heaven he was much grieved to lose the man who had rendered him such valuable service, and bestowed upon him the posthumous title of Tsung Pu, 'Governor of Countries.' In the representations of this god and goddess the former is shown holding the sun, the latter the moon. The Chinese add the sequel that Hêng O became changed into a toad, whose outline is traceable on the moon's surface. Star-worship The star-deities are adored by parents on behalf of their children; they control courtship and marriage, bring prosperity or adversity in business, send pestilence and war, regulate rainfall and drought, and command angels and demons; so every event in life is determined by the 'star-ruler' who at that time from the shining firmament manages the destinies of men and nations. The worship is performed in the native homes either by astrologers engaged for that purpose or by Taoist priests. In times of sickness, ten paper star-gods are arranged, five good on one side and five bad on the other; a feast is placed before them, and it is supposed that when the bad have eaten enough they will take their flight to the south-west; the propitiation of the good star-gods is in the hope that they will expel the evil stars, and happiness thus be obtained. The practical effect of this worship is seen in the following examples taken from the Chinese list of one hundred and twenty-nine lucky and unlucky stars, which, with the sixty cycle-stars and the twenty-eight constellations, besides a vast multitude of others, make up the celestial galaxy worshipped by China's millions: the Orphan Star enables a woman to become a man; the Star of Pleasure decides on betrothals, binding the feet of those destined to be lovers with silver cords; the Bonepiercing Star produces rheumatism; the Morning Star, if not worshipped, kills the father or mother during the year; the Balustrade Star promotes lawsuits; the Three-corpse Star controls suicide, the Peach-blossom Star lunacy; and so on. The Herdsman and the Weaver-girl In the myths and legends which have clustered about the observations of the stars by the Chinese there are subjects for pictorial illustration without number. One of these stories is the fable of Aquila and Vega, known in Chinese mythology as the Herdsman and the Weaver-girl. The latter, the daughter of the Sun-god, was so constantly busied with her loom that her father became worried at her close habits and thought that by marrying her to a neighbour, who herded cattle on the banks of the Silver Stream of Heaven (the Milky Way), she might awake to a brighter manner of living. No sooner did the maiden become wife than her habits and character utterly changed for the worse. She became not only very merry and lively, but quite forsook loom and needle, giving up her nights and days to play and idleness; no silly lover could have been more foolish than she. The Sun-king, in great wrath at all this, concluded that the husband was the cause of it, and determined to separate the couple. So he ordered him to remove to the other side of the river of stars, and told him that hereafter they should meet only once a year, on the seventh night of the seventh month. To make a bridge over the flood of stars, the Sun-king called myriads of magpies, who thereupon flew together, and, making a bridge, supported the poor lover on their wings and backs as if on a roadway of solid land. So, bidding his weeping wife farewell, the lover-husband sorrowfully crossed the River of Heaven, and all the magpies instantly flew away. But the two were separated, the one to lead his ox, the other to ply her shuttle during the long hours of the day with diligent toil, and the Sun-king again rejoiced in his daughter's industry. At last the time for their reunion drew near, and only one fear possessed the loving wife. What if it should rain? For the River of Heaven is always full to the brim, and one extra drop causes a flood which sweeps away even the bird-bridge. But not a drop fell; all the heavens were clear. The magpies flew joyfully in myriads, making a way for the tiny feet of the little lady. Trembling with joy, and with heart fluttering more than the bridge of wings, she crossed the River of Heaven and was in the arms of her husband. This she did every year. The husband stayed on his side of the river, and the wife came to him on the magpie bridge, save on the sad occasions when it rained. So every year the people hope for clear weather, and the happy festival is celebrated alike by old and young. These two constellations are worshipped principally by women, that they may gain cunning in the arts of needlework and making of fancy flowers. Water-melons, fruits, vegetables, cakes, etc., are placed with incense in the reception-room, and before these offerings are performed the kneeling and the knocking of the head on the ground in the usual way. The Twenty-eight Constellations Sacrifices were offered to these spirits by the Emperor on the marble altar of the Temple of Heaven, and by the high officials throughout the provinces. Of the twenty-eight the following are regarded as propitious--namely, the Horned, Room, Tail, Sieve, Bushel, House, Wall, Mound, Stomach, End, Bristling, Well, Drawn-bow, and Revolving Constellations; the Neck, Bottom, Heart, Cow, Female, Empty, Danger, Astride, Cock, Mixed, Demon, Willow, Star, Wing, are unpropitious. The twenty-eight constellations seem to have become the abodes of gods as a result of the defeat of a Taoist Patriarch T'ung-t'ien Chiao-chu, who had espoused the cause of the tyrant Chou, when he and all his followers were slaughtered by the heavenly hosts in the terrible catastrophe known as the Battle of the Ten Thousand Immortals. Chiang Tzu-ya as a reward conferred on them the appanage of the twenty-eight constellations. The five planets, Venus, Jupiter, Mercury, Mars, and Saturn, are also the abodes of stellar divinities, called the White, Green, Black, Red, and Yellow Rulers respectively. Stars good and bad are all likewise inhabited by gods or demons. A Victim of Ta Chi Concerning Tzu-wei Hsing, the constellation Tzu-wei (north circumpolar stars), of which the stellar deity is Po I-k'ao, the following legend is related in the _Fêng shên yen i_. Po I-k'ao was the eldest son of Wên Wang, and governed the kingdom during the seven years that the old King Was detained as a prisoner of the tyrant Chou. He did everything possible to procure his father's release. Knowing the tastes of the cruel King, he sent him for his harem ten of the prettiest women who could be found, accompanied by seven chariots made of perfumed wood, and a white-faced monkey of marvellous intelligence. Besides these he included in his presents a magic carpet, on which it was necessary only to sit in order to recover immediately from the effects of drunkenness. Unfortunately for Po I-k'ao, Chou's favourite concubine, Ta Chi, conceived a passion for him and had recourse to all sorts of ruses to catch him in her net; but his conduct was throughout irreproachable. Vexed by his indifference, she tried slander in order to bring about his ruin. But her calumnies did not at first have the result she expected. Chou, after inquiry, was convinced of the innocence of Po. But an accident spoiled everything. In the middle of an amusing _séance_ the monkey which had been given to the King by Po perceived some sweets in the hand of Ta Chi, and, jumping on to her body, snatched them from Her. The King and his concubine were furious, Chou had the monkey killed forthwith, and Ta Chi accused Po I-k'ao of having brought the animal into the palace with the object of making an attempt on the lives of the King and herself. But the Prince explained that the monkey, being only an animal, could not grasp even the first idea of entering into a conspiracy. Shortly after this Po committed an unpardonable fault which changed the goodwill of the King into mortal enmity. He allowed himself to go so far as to suggest to the King that he should break off his relations with this infamous woman, the source of all the woes which were desolating the kingdom, and when Ta Chi on this account grossly insulted him he struck her with his lute. For this offence Ta Chi caused him to be crucified in the palace. Large nails were driven through his hands and feet, and his flesh was cut off in pieces. Not content with ruining Po I-k'ao, this wretched woman wished also to ruin Wen Wang. She therefore advised the King to have the flesh of the murdered man made up into rissoles and sent as a present to his father. If he refused to eat the flesh of his own son he was to be accused of contempt for the King, and there would thus be a pretext for having him executed. Wen Wang, being versed in divination and the science of the _pa kua_, Eight Trigrams, knew that these rissoles contained the flesh of his son, and to avoid the snare spread for him he ate three of the rissoles in the presence of the royal envoys. On their return the latter reported this to the King, who found himself helpless on learning of Wen Wang's conduct. Po I-k'ao was canonized by Chiang Tzu-ya, and appointed ruler of the constellation Tzu-wei of the North Polar heavens. Myths of Time T'ai Sui is the celestial spirit who presides over the year. He is the President of the Ministry of Time. This god is much to be feared. Whoever offends against him is sure to be destroyed. He strikes when least expected to. T'ai Sui is also the Ministry itself, whose members, numbering a hundred and twenty, are set over time, years, months, and days. The conception is held by some writers to be of Chaldeo-Assyrian origin. The god T'ai Sui is not mentioned in the T'ang and Sung rituals, but in the Yüan dynasty (A.D. 1280-1368) sacrifices were offered to him in the College of the Grand Historiographer whenever any work of importance was about to be undertaken. Under this dynasty the sacrifices were offered to T'ai Sui and to the ruling gods of the months and of the days. But these sacrifices were not offered at regular times: it was only at the beginning of the Ch'ing (Manchu) dynasty (1644-1912) that it was decided to offer the sacrifices at fixed periods. The Planet Jupiter T'ai Sui corresponds to the planet Jupiter. He travels across the sky, passing through the twelve sidereal mansions. He is a stellar god. Therefore an altar is raised to him and sacrifices are offered on it under the open sky. This practice dates from the beginning of the Ming dynasty, when the Emperor T'ai Tsu ordered sacrifices to this god to be made throughout the Empire. According to some authors, he corresponds to the god of the twelve sidereal mansions. He is also variously represented as the moon, which turns to the left in the sky, and the sun, which turns to the right. The diviners gave to T'ai Sui the title of Grand Marshal, following the example of the usurper Wang Mang (A.D. 9-23) of the Western Han dynasty, who gave that title to the year-star. Legend of T'ai Sui The following is the legend of T'ai Sui. T'ai Sui was the son of the Emperor Chou, the last of the Yin dynasty. His mother was Queen Chiang. When he was born he looked like a lump of formless flesh. The infamous Ta Chi, the favourite concubine of this wicked Emperor, at once informed him that a monster had been born in the palace, and the over-credulous sovereign ordered that it should immediately be cast outside the city. Shên Chên-jên, who was passing, saw the small abandoned one, and said: "This is an Immortal who has just been born." With his knife he cut open the caul which enveloped it, and the child was exposed. His protector carried him to the cave Shui Lien, where he led the life of a hermit, and entrusted the infant to Ho Hsien-ku, who acted as his nurse and brought him up. The child's hermit-name was Yin Ting-nu, his ordinary name Yin No-cha, but during his boyhood he was known as Yin Chiao, _i.e._ 'Yin the Deserted of the Suburb,' When he had reached an age when he was sufficiently intelligent, his nurse informed him that he was not her son, but really the son of the Emperor Chou, who, deceived by the calumnies of his favourite Ta Chi, had taken him for an evil monster and had him cast out of the palace. His mother had been thrown down from an upper storey and killed. Yin Chiao went to his rescuer and begged him to allow him to avenge his mother's death. The Goddess T'ien Fei, the Heavenly Concubine, picked out two magic weapons from the armoury in the cave, a battle-axe and club, both of gold, and gave them to Yin Chiao. When the Shang army was defeated at Mu Yeh, Yin Chiao broke into a tower where Ta Chi was, seized her, and brought her before the victor, King Wu, who gave him permission to split her head open with his battle-axe. But Ta Chi was a spiritual hen-pheasant (some say a spiritual vixen). She transformed herself into smoke and disappeared. To reward Yin Chiao for his filial piety and bravery in fighting the demons, Yü Ti canonized him with the title T'ai Sui Marshal Yin. According to another version of the legend, Yin Chiao fought on the side of the Yin against Wu Wang, and after many adventures was caught by Jan Têng between two mountains, which he pressed together, leaving only Yin Chiao's head exposed above the summits. The general Wu Chi promptly cut it off with a spade. Chiang Tz[u)]-ya subsequently canonized Yin Chiao. Worship of T'ai Sui The worship of T'ai Sui seems to have first taken place in the reign of Shên Tsung (A.D. 1068-86) of the Sung dynasty, and was continued during the remainder of the Monarchical Period. The object of the worship is to avert calamities, T'ai Sui being a dangerous spirit who can do injury to palaces and cottages, to people in their houses as well as to travellers on the roads. But he has this peculiarity, that he injures persons and things not in the district in which he himself is, but in those districts which adjoin it. Thus, if some constructive work is undertaken in a region where T'ai Sui happens to be, the inhabitants of the neighbouring districts take precautions against his evil influence. This they generally do by hanging out the appropriate talisman. In order to ascertain in what region T'ai Sui is at any particular time, an elaborate diagram is consulted. This consists of a representation of the twelve terrestrial branches or stems, _ti chih_> and the ten celestial trunks, _t'ien kan,_ indicating the cardinal points and the intermediate points, north-east, north-west, south-east, and south-west. The four cardinal points are further verified with the aid of the Five Elements, the Five Colours, and the Eight Trigrams. By using this device, it is possible to find the geographical position of T'ai Sui during the current year, the position of threatened districts, and the methods to be employed to provide against danger. CHAPTER VI Myths of Thunder, Lightning, Wind, and Rain The Ministry of Thunder and Storms As already noted, affairs in the Otherworld are managed by official Bureaux or Ministries very similar to those on earth. The _Fêng shên yen i_ mentions several of these, and gives full details of their constitution. The first is the Ministry of Thunder and Storms. This is composed of a large number of officials. The principal ones are Lei Tsu, the Ancestor of Thunder, Lei Kung, the Duke of Thunder, Tien Mu, the Mother of Lightning, Feng Po, the Count of Wind, and Y['u] Shih, the Master of Rain. These correspond to the Buddhist Asuras, the "fourth class of sentient beings, the mightiest of all demons, titanic enemies of the Dêvas," and the Vedic Maruta, storm-demons. In the temples Lei Tsu is placed in the centre with the other four to right and left. There are also sometimes represented other gods of rain, or attendants. These are Hsing T'ien Chün and T'ao T'ien Chün, both officers of Wen Chung, or Lei Tsu, Ma Yüan-shuai, Generalissimo Ma, whose exploits are referred to later, and others. The President of the Ministry of Thunder This divinity has three eyes, one in the middle of his forehead, from which, when open, a ray of white light proceeds to a distance of more than two feet. Mounted on a black unicorn, he traverses millions of miles in the twinkling of an eye. His origin is ascribed to a man named Wên Chung, generally known as Wên Chung T'ai-shih, 'the Great Teacher Wên Chung,' He was a minister of the tyrant king Chou (1154-1122 B.C.), and fought against the armies of the Chou dynasty. Being defeated, he fled to the mountains of Yen, Yen Shan, where he met Ch'ih Ching-tzu, one of the alleged discoverers of fire, and joined battle with him; the latter, however, flashed his _yin-yang_ mirror at the unicorn, and put it out of action. Lei Chên-tzu, one of Wu Wang's marshals, then struck the animal with his staff, and severed it in twain. Wên Chung escaped in the direction of the mountains of Chüeh-lung Ling, where another marshal, Yün Chung-tzu, barred his way. Yün's hands had the power of producing lightning, and eight columns of mysterious fire suddenly came out of the earth, completely enveloping Wên Chung. They were thirty feet high and ten feet in circumference. Ninety fiery dragons came out of each and flew away up into the air. The sky was like a furnace, and the earth shook with the awful claps of thunder. In this fiery prison Wên Chung died. When the new dynasty finally proved victorious, Chiang Tzu-ya, by order of Yüan-shih T'ien-tsun, conferred on Wên Chung the supreme direction of the Ministry of Thunder, appointing him celestial prince and plenipotentiary defender of the laws governing the distribution of clouds and rain. His full title was Celestial and Highly-honoured Head of the Nine Orbits of the Heavens, Voice of the Thunder, and Regulator of the Universe. His birthday is celebrated on the twenty-fourth day of the sixth moon. The Duke of Thunder The Spirit of Thunder, for whom Lei Tsu is often mistaken, is represented as an ugly, black, bat-winged demon, with clawed feet, monkey's head, and eagle's beak, who holds in one hand a steel chisel, and in the other a spiritual hammer, with which he beats numerous drums strung about him, thus producing the terrific noise of thunder. According to Chinese reasoning it is the sound of these drums, and not the lightning, which causes death. A. Gruenwedel, in his _Guide to the Lamaist Collection of Prince Uchtomsky,_ p. 161, states that the Chino-Japanese God of Thunder, Lei Kung, has the shape of the Indian divine bird Garuda. Are we to suppose, then, that the Chinese Lei Kung is of Indian origin? In modern pictures the God of Thunder is depicted with a cock's head and claws, carrying in one hand the hammer, in the other the chisel. We learn, however, from Wang Ch'ung's _Lun Hêng_ that in the first century B.C., when Buddhism was not yet introduced into China, the 'Thunderer' was represented as a strong man, not as a bird, with one hand dragging a cluster of drums, and with the other brandishing a hammer. Thus Lei Kung existed already in China when the latter received her first knowledge of India. Yet his modern image may well owe its wings to the Indian rain-god Vajrapani, who in one form appears with Garuda wings. Lei Kung P'u-sa, the avatar of Lei Kung (whose existence as the Spirit of Thunder is denied by at least one Chinese writer), has made various appearances on the earth. One of these is described below. Lei Kung in the Tree A certain Yeh Ch'ien-chao of Hsin Chou, when a youth, used to climb the mountain Chien-ch'ang Shan for the purpose of cutting firewood and collecting medicinal herbs. One day when he had taken refuge under a tree during a rain-storm there was a loud clap of thunder, and he saw a winged being, with a blue face, large mouth, and bird's claws, caught in a cleft of the tree. This being addressed Yeh, saying: "I am Lei Kung. In splitting this tree I got caught in it; if you will free me I will reward you handsomely." The woodcutter opened the cleft wider by driving in some stones as wedges, and liberated the prisoner. "Return to this spot to-morrow," said the latter, "and I will reward you." The next day the woodcutter kept the appointment, and received from Lei Kung a book. "If you consult this work," he explained, "you will be able at will to bring thunder or rain, cure sickness, or assuage sorrow. We are five brothers, of whom I am the youngest. When you want to bring rain call one or other of my brothers; but call me only in case of pressing necessity, because I have a bad character; but I will come if it is really necessary." Having said these words, he disappeared. Yeh Ch'ien-chao, by means of the prescriptions contained in the mysterious book, could cure illnesses as easily as the sun dissipates the morning mist. One day, when he was intoxicated and had gone to bed in the temple of Chi-chou Ssu, the magistrate wished to arrest and punish him. But when he reached the steps of the _yamên_, Ch'ien-chao called Lei Kung to his aid. A terrible clap of thunder immediately resounded throughout the district. The magistrate, nearly dead with fright, at once dismissed the case without punishing the culprit. The four brothers never failed to come to his aid. By the use of his power Ch'ien-chao saved many regions from famine by bringing timely rain. The Mysterious Bottle Another legend relates that an old woman living in Kiangsi had her arm broken through being struck by lightning, when a voice from above was heard saying: "I have made a mistake." A bottle fell out of space, and the voice again said: "Apply the contents and you will be healed at once." This being done, the old woman's arm was promptly mended. The villagers, regarding the contents of the bottle as divine medicine, wished to take it away and hide it for future use, but several of them together could not lift it from the ground. Suddenly, however, it rose up and disappeared into space. Other persons in Kiangsi were also struck, and the same voice was heard to say: "Apply some grubs to the throat and they will recover." After this had been done the victims returned to consciousness none the worse for their experience. The worship of Lei Kung seems to have been carried on regularly from about the time of the Christian era. Lei Chên-tzu Another Son of Thunder is Lei Chên-tzu, mentioned above, whose name when a child was Wên Yü, who was hatched from an egg after a clap of thunder and found by the soldiers of Wên Wang in some brushwood near an old tomb. The infant's chief characteristic was its brilliant eyes. Wên Wang, who already had ninety-nine children, adopted it as his hundredth, but gave it to a hermit named Yün Chung-tzu to rear as his disciple. The hermit showed him the way to rescue his adopted father from the tyrant who held him prisoner. In seeking for some powerful weapon the child found on the hillside two apricots, and ate them both. He then noticed that wings had grown on his shoulders, and was too much ashamed to return home. But the hermit, who knew intuitively what had taken place, sent a servant to seek him. When they met the servant said: "Do you know that your face is completely altered?" The mysterious fruit had not only caused Lei Chên-tzu to grow wings, known as Wings of the Wind and Thunder, but his face had become green, his nose long and pointed, and two tusks protruded horizontally from each side of his mouth, while his eyes shone like mirrors. Lei Chên-tzu now went and rescued Wên Wang, dispersing his enemies by means of his mystical power and bringing the old man back on his shoulders. Having placed him in safety he returned to the hermit. The Mother of Lightning This divinity is represented as a female figure, gorgeously apparelled in blue, green, red, and white, holding in either hand a mirror from which proceed two broad streams or flashes of light. Lightning, say the Chinese, is caused by the rubbing together of the _yin_ and the _yang_, just as sparks of fire may be produced by the friction of two substances. The Origin of the Spirit of Lightning Tung Wang Kung, the King of the Immortals, was playing at pitch-pot [23] with Yü Nü. He lost; whereupon Heaven smiled, and from its half-open mouth a ray of light came out. This was lightning; it is regarded as feminine because it is supposed to come from the earth, which is of the _yin_, or female, principle. The God of the Wind Fêng Po, the God of the Wind, is represented as an old man with a white beard, yellow cloak, and blue and red cap. He holds a large sack, and directs the wind which comes from its mouth in any direction he pleases. There are various ideas regarding the nature of this deity. He is regarded as a stellar divinity under the control of the star Ch'i, [24] because the wind blows at the time when the moon leaves that celestial mansion. He is also said to be a dragon called Fei Lien, at first one of the supporters of the rebel Ch'ih Yu, who was defeated by Huang Ti. Having been transformed into a spiritual monster, he stirred up tremendous winds in the southern regions. The Emperor Yao sent Shên I with three hundred soldiers to quiet the storms and appease Ch'ih Yu's relatives, who were wreaking their vengeance on the people. Shên I ordered the people to spread a long cloth in front of their houses, fixing it with stones. The wind, blowing against this, had to change its direction. Shên I then flew on the wind to the top of a high mountain, whence he saw a monster at the base. It had the shape of a huge yellow and white sack, and kept inhaling and exhaling in great gusts. Shên I, concluding that this was the cause of all these storms, shot an arrow and hit the monster, whereupon it took refuge in a deep cave. Here it turned on Shên I and, drawing a sword, dared him to attack the Mother of the Winds. Shên I, however, bravely faced the monster and discharged another arrow, this time hitting it in the knee. The monster immediately threw down its sword and begged that its life might be spared. Fei Lien is elsewhere described as a dragon who was originally one of the wicked ministers of the tyrant Chou, and could walk with unheard-of swiftness. Both he and his son Ô Lai, who was so strong that he could tear a tiger or rhinoceros to pieces with his hands, were killed when in the service of Chou Wang. Fei Lien is also said to have the body of a stag, about the size of a leopard, with a bird's head, horns, and a serpent's tail, and to be able to make the wind blow whenever he wishes. The Master of Rain Yü Shih, the Master of Rain, clad in yellow scale-armour, with a blue hat and yellow busby, stands on a cloud and from a watering-can pours rain upon the earth. Like many other gods, however, he is represented in various forms. Sometimes he holds a plate, on which is a small dragon, in his left hand, while with his right he pours down the rain. He is obviously the Parjanya of Vedism. According to a native account, the God of Rain is one Ch'ih Sung-tzu, who appeared during a terrible drought in the reign of Shên Nung (2838-2698 B.C.), and owing to his reputed magical power was requested by the latter to bring rain from the sky. "Nothing is easier," he replied; "pour a bottleful of water into an earthen bowl and give it to me." This being done, he plucked from a neighbouring mountain a branch of a tree, soaked it in the water, and with it sprinkled the earth. Immediately clouds gathered and rain fell in torrents, filling the rivers to overflowing. Ch'ih Sung-tzu was then honoured as the God of Rain, and his images show him holding the mystic bowl. He resides in the K'un-lun Mountains, and has many extraordinary peculiarities, such as the power to go through water without getting wet, to pass through fire without being burned, and to float in space. This Rain-god also assumes the form of a silkworm chrysalis in another account. He is there believed to possess a concubine who has a black face, holds a serpent in each hand, and has other serpents, red and green, reposing on her right and left ears respectively; also a mysterious bird, with only one leg, the _shang yang_, which can change its height at will and drink the seas dry. The following legend is related of this bird. The One-legged Bird At the time when Hsüan-ming Ta-jên instructed Fei Lien in the secrets of magic, the latter saw a wonderful bird which drew in water with its beak and blew it out again in the shape of rain. Fei lien tamed it, and would take it about in his sleeve. Later on a one-legged bird was seen in the palace of the Prince of Ch'i walking up and down and hopping in front of the throne. Being much puzzled, the Prince sent a messenger to Lu to inquire of Confucius concerning this strange behaviour. "This bird is a _shang yang_" said Confucius; "its appearance is a sign of rain. In former times the children used to amuse themselves by hopping on one foot, knitting their eyebrows, and saying: 'It will rain, because the _shang yang_ is disporting himself.' Since this bird has gone to Ch'i, heavy rain will fall, and the people should be told to dig channels and repair the dykes, for the whole country will be inundated." Not only Ch'i, but all the adjacent kingdoms were flooded; all sustained grievous damage except Ch'i, where the necessary precautions had been taken. This caused Duke Ching to exclaim: "Alas! how few listen to the words of the sages!" Ma Yüan-shuai Ma Yüan-shuai is a three-eyed monster condemned by Ju Lai to reincarnation for excessive cruelty in the extermination of evil spirits. In order to obey this command he entered the womb of Ma Chin-mu in the form of five globes of fire. Being a precocious youth, he could fight when only three days old, and killed the Dragon-king of the Eastern Sea. From his instructor he received a spiritual work dealing with wind, thunder, snakes, etc., and a triangular piece of stone which he could at will change into anything he liked. By order of Yü Ti he subdued the Spirits of the Wind and Fire, the Blue Dragon, the King of the Five Dragons, and the Spirit of the Five Hundred Fire Ducks, all without injury to himself. For these and many other enterprises he was rewarded by Yü Ti with various magic articles and with the title of Generalissimo of the West, and is regarded as so successful an interceder with Yü Ti that he is prayed to for all sorts of benefits. CHAPTER VII Myths of the Waters The Dragons The dragons are spirits of the waters. "The dragon is a kind of being whose miraculous changes are inscrutable." In a sense the dragon is the type of a man, self-controlled, and with powers that verge upon the supernatural. In China the dragon, except as noted below, is not a power for evil, but a beneficent being producing rain and representing the fecundating principle in nature. He is the essence of the _yang_, or male, principle. "He controls the rain, and so holds in his power prosperity and peace." The evil dragons are those introduced by the Buddhists, who applied the current dragon legends to the _nagas_ inhabiting the mountains. These mountain _nagas_, or dragons (perhaps originally dreaded mountain tribes), are harmful, those inhabiting lakes and rivers friendly and helpful. The dragon, the "chief of the three hundred and sixty scaly reptiles," is most generally represented as having the head of a horse and the tail of a snake, with wings on its sides. It has four legs. The imperial dragon has five claws on each foot, other dragons only four. The dragon is also said to have nine 'resemblances': "its horns resemble those of a deer, its head that of a camel, its eyes those of a devil, its neck that of a snake, its abdomen that of a large cockle, its scales those of a carp, its claws those of an eagle, the soles of its feet those of a tiger, its ears those of an ox;" but some have no ears, the organ of hearing being said to be in the horns, or the creature "hears through its horns." These various properties are supposed to indicate the "fossil remnants of primitive worship of many animals." The small dragon is like the silk caterpillar. The large dragon fills the Heaven and the earth. Before the dragon, sometimes suspended from his neck, is a pearl. This represents the sun. There are azure, scaly, horned, hornless, winged, etc., dragons, which apparently evolve one out of the other: "a horned dragon," for example, "in a thousand years changes to a flying dragon." The dragon is also represented as the father of the great emperors of ancient times. His bones, teeth, and saliva are employed as a medicine. He has the power of transformation and of rendering himself visible or invisible at pleasure. In the spring he ascends to the skies, and in the autumn buries himself in the watery depths. Some are wingless, and rise into the air by their own inherent power. There is the celestial dragon, who guards the mansions of the gods and supports them so that they do not fall; the divine dragon, who causes the winds to blow and produces rain for the benefit of mankind; the earth-dragon, who marks out the courses of rivers and streams; and the dragon of the hidden treasures, who watches over the wealth concealed from mortals. The Buddhists count their dragons in number equal to the fish of the great deep, which defies arithmetical computation, and can be expressed only by their sacred numerals. The people have a more certain faith in them than in most of their divinities, because they see them so often; every cloud with a curious configuration or serpentine tail is a dragon. "We see him," they say. The scattering of the cloud is his disappearance. He rules the hills, is connected with _fêng-shui_ (geomancy), dwells round the graves, is associated with the Confucian worship, is the Neptune of the sea, and appears on dry land. The Dragon-kings The Sea-dragon Kings live in gorgeous palaces in the depths of the sea, where they feed on pearls and opals. There are five of these divinities, the chief being in the centre, and the other four occupying the north, the west, the south, and the east. Each is a league in length, and so bulky that in shifting its posture it tosses one mountain against another. It has five feet, one of them being in the middle of its belly, and each foot is armed with five sharp claws. It can reach into the heavens, and stretch itself into all quarters of the sea. It has a glowing armour of yellow scales, a beard under its long snout, a hairy tail, and shaggy legs. Its forehead projects over its blazing eyes, its ears are small and thick, its mouth gaping, its tongue long, and its teeth sharp. Fish are boiled by the blast of its breath, and roasted by the fiery exhalations of its body. When it rises to the surface the whole ocean surges, waterspouts foam, and typhoons rage. When it flies, wingless, through the air, the winds howl, torrents of rain descend, houses are unroofed, the firmament is filled with a din, and whatever lies along its route is swept away with a roar in the hurricane created by the speed of its passage. The five Sea-dragon Kings are all immortal. They know each other's thoughts, plans, and wishes without intercommunication. Like all the other gods they go once a year to the superior Heavens, to make an annual report to the Supreme Ruler; but they go in the third month, at which time none of the other gods dare appear, and their stay above is but brief. They generally remain in the depths of the ocean, where their courts are filled with their progeny, their dependents, and their attendants, and where the gods and genii sometimes visit them. Their palaces, of divers coloured transparent stones, with crystal doors, are said to have been seen in the early morning by persons gazing into the deep waters. The Foolish Dragon The part of the great Buddha legend referring to the dragon is as follows: In years gone by, a dragon living in the great sea saw that his wife's health was not good. He, seeing her colour fade away, said: "My dear, what shall I get you to eat?" Mrs Dragon was silent. Just tell me and I will get it," pleaded the affectionate husband. "You cannot do it; why trouble?" quoth she. "Trust me, and you shall have your heart's desire," said the dragon. "Well, I want a monkey's heart to eat." "Why, Mrs Dragon, the monkeys live in the mountain forests! How can I get one of their hearts?" "Well, I am going to die; I know I am." Forthwith the dragon went on shore, and, spying a monkey on the top of a tree, said: "Hail, shining one, are you not afraid you will fall?" "No, I have no such fear." "Why eat of one tree? Cross the sea, and you will find forests of fruit and flowers." "How can I cross?" "Get on my back." The dragon with his tiny load went seaward, and then suddenly dived down. "Where are you going?" said the monkey, with the salt water in his eyes and mouth. "Oh! my dear sir! my wife is very sad and ill, and has taken a fancy to your heart." "What shall I do?" thought the monkey. He then spoke, "Illustrious friend, why did not you tell me? I left my heart on the top of the tree; take me back, and I will get it for Mrs Dragon." The dragon returned to the shore. As the monkey was tardy in coming down from the tree, the dragon said: "Hurry up, little friend, I am waiting." Then the monkey thought within himself, "What a fool this dragon is!" Then Buddha said to his followers: "At this time I was the monkey." The Ministry of Waters In the spirit-world there is a Ministry which controls all things connected with the waters on earth, salt or fresh. Its main divisions are the Department of Salt Waters, presided over by four Dragon-kings--those of the East, South, West, and North--and the Department of Sweet Waters, presided over by the Four Kings (_Ssu Tu_) of the four great rivers--the Blue (Chiang), Yellow (Ho), Huai, and Ch'i--and the Dragon-spirits who control the Secondary Waters, the rivers, springs, lakes, pools, rapids. Into the names and functions of the very large number of officials connected with these departments it is unnecessary to enter. It will be sufficient here to refer only to those whose names are connected with myth or legend. An Unauthorized Portrait One of these legends relates to the visit of Ch'in Shih Huang-ti, the First Emperor, to the Spirit of the Sea, Yang Hou, originally a marquis (_bou_) of the State Yang, who became a god through being drowned in the sea. Po Shih, a Taoist priest, told the Emperor that an enormous oyster vomited from the sea a mysterious substance which accumulated in the form of a tower, and was known as 'the market of the sea' (Chinese for 'mirage'). Every year, at a certain period, the breath from his mouth was like the rays of the sun. The Emperor expressed a wish to see it, and Po Shih said he would write a letter to the God of the Sea, and the next day the Emperor could behold the wonderful sight. The Emperor then remembered a dream he had had the year before in which he saw two men fighting for the sun. The one killed the other, and carried it off. He therefore wished to visit the country where the sun rose. Po Shih said that all that was necessary was to throw rocks into the sea and build a bridge across them. Thereupon he rang his magic bell, the earth shook, and rocks began to rise up; but as they moved too slowly he struck them with his whip, and blood came from them which left red marks in many places. The row of rocks extended as far as the shore of the sun-country, but to build the bridge across them was found to be beyond the reach of human skill. So Po Shih sent another messenger to the God of the Sea, requesting him to raise a pillar and place a beam across it which could be used as a bridge. The submarine spirits came and placed themselves at the service of the Emperor, who asked for an interview with the god. To this the latter agreed on condition that no one should make a portrait of him, he being very ugly. Instantly a stone gangway 100,000 feet long rose out of the sea, and the Emperor, mounting his horse, went with his courtiers to the palace of the god. Among his followers was one Lu Tung-shih, who tried to draw a portrait of the god by using his foot under the surface of the water. Detecting this manoeuvre, the god was incensed, and said to the Emperor: "You have broken your word; did you bring Lu here to insult me? Retire at once, or evil will befall you." The Emperor, seeing that the situation was precarious, mounted his horse and galloped off. As soon as he reached the beach, the stone cause-way sank, and all his suite perished in the waves. One of the Court magicians said to the Emperor: "This god ought to be feared as much as the God of Thunder; then he could be made to help us. To-day a grave mistake has been made." For several days after this incident the waves beat upon the beach with increasing fury. The Emperor then built a temple and a pagoda to the god on Chih-fu Shan and Wên-têng Shan respectively; by which act of propitiation he was apparently appeased. The Shipwrecked Servant Once the Eight Immortals (see Chapter XI) were on their way to Ch'ang-li Shan to celebrate the birthday anniversary of Hsien Wêng, the God of Longevity. They had with them a servant who bore the presents they intended to offer to the god. When they reached the seashore the Immortals walked on the waves without any difficulty, but Lan Ts'ai-ho remarked that the servant was unable to follow them, and said that a means of transport must be found for him. So Ts'ao Kuo-chiu took a plank of cypress-wood and made a raft. But when they were in mid-ocean a typhoon arose and upset the raft, and servant and presents sank to the bottom of the sea. Regarding this as the hostile act of a water-devil, the Immortals said they must demand an explanation from the Dragon-king, Ao Ch'in. Li T'ieh-kuai took his gourd, and, directing the mouth toward the bottom of the sea, created so brilliant a light that it illuminated the whole palace of the Sea-king. Ao Ch'in, surprised, asked where this powerful light originated, and deputed a courier to ascertain its cause. To this messenger the Immortals made their complaint. "All we want," they added, "is that the Dragon-king shall restore to us our servant and the presents." On this being reported to Ao Ch'in he suspected his son of being the cause, and, having established his guilt, severely reprimanded him. The young Prince took his sword, and, followed by an escort, went to find those who had made the complaint to his father. As soon as he caught sight of the Immortals he began to inveigh against them. A Battle and its Results Han Hsiang Tzu, not liking this undeserved abuse, changed his flute into a fishing-line, and as soon as the Dragon-prince was within reach caught him on the hook, with intent to retain him as a hostage. The Prince's escort returned in great haste and informed Ao Ch'in of what had occurred. The latter declared that his son was in the wrong, and proposed to restore the shipwrecked servant and the presents. The Court officers, however, held a different opinion. "These Immortals," they said, "dare to hold captive your Majesty's son merely on account of a few lost presents and a shipwrecked servant. This is a great insult, which we ask permission to avenge." Eventually they won over Ao Ch'in, and the armies of the deep gathered for the fray. The Immortals called to their aid the other Taoist Immortals and Heroes, and thus two formidable armies found themselves face to face. Several attempts were made by other divinities to avert the conflict, but without success. The battle was a strenuous one. Ao Ch'in received a ball of fire full on his head, and his army was threatened with disaster when Tz'u-hang Ta-shih appeared with his bottle of lustral water. He sprinkled the combatants with this magic fluid, using a willow-branch for the purpose, thus causing all their magic powers to disappear. Shui Kuan, the Ruler of the Watery Elements, then arrived, and reproached Ao Ch'in; he assured him that if the matter were to come to the knowledge of Shang Ti, the Supreme Ruler, he would not only be severely punished, but would risk losing his post. Ao Ch'in expressed penitence, restored the servant and the presents, and made full apology to the Eight Immortals. The Dragon in the Pond One day Chang Tao-ling, the 'father of modern Taoism,' was on Ho-ming Shan with his disciple Wang Ch'ang. "See," he said, "that shaft of white light on Yang Shan yonder! There are undoubtedly some bad spirits there. Let us go and bring them to reason." When they reached the foot of the mountain they met twelve women who had the appearance of evil spirits. Chang Tao-ling asked them whence came the shaft of white light. They answered that it was the _yin_, or female, principle of the earth. "Where is the source of the salt water?" he asked again. "That pond in front of you," they replied, "in which lives a very wicked dragon." Chang Tao-ling tried to force the dragon to come out, but without success. Then he drew a phoenix with golden wings on a charm and hurled it into the air over the pond. Thereupon the dragon took fright and fled, the pond immediately drying up. After that Chang Tao-ling took his sword and stuck it in the ground, whereupon a well full of salt water appeared on the spot. The Spirits of the Well The twelve women each offered Chang Tao-ling a jade ring, and asked that they might become his wives. He took the rings, and pressing them together in his hands made of them one large single ring. "I will throw this ring into the well," he said, "and the one of you who recovers it shall be my wife." All the twelve women jumped into the well to get the ring; whereupon Chang Tao-ling put a cover over it and fastened it down, telling them that henceforth they should be the spirits of the well and would never be allowed to come out. Shortly after this Chang Tao-ling met a hunter. He exhorted him not to kill living beings, but to change his occupation to that of a salt-burner, instructing him how to draw out the salt from salt-water wells. Thus the people of that district were advantaged both by being able to obtain the salt and by being no longer molested by the twelve female spirits. A temple, called Temple of the Prince of Ch'ing Ho, was built by them, and the territory of Ling Chou was given to Chang Tao-ling in recognition of the benefits he had conferred upon the people. The Dragon-king's Daughter A graduate named Liu I, in the reign-period I Fêng (A.D. 676-679) of the Emperor Kao Tsung of the T'ang dynasty, having failed in his examination for his licentiate's degree, when passing through Ching-yang Hsien, in Ch'ang-an, Shensi, on his way home, saw a young woman tending goats by the roadside. She said to him: "I am the youngest daughter of the Dragonking of the Tung-t'ing Lake. My parents married me to the son of the God of the River Ching, but my husband, misled by the slanders of the servants, repudiated me. I have heard that you are returning to the Kingdom of Wu, which is quite close to my native district, so I want to ask you to take this letter to my father. To the north of the Tung-t'ing Lake you will find a large orange-tree, called by the natives Protector of the Soil. Strike it three times with your girdle and some one will appear." Some months later the graduate went to the spot, found the orange-tree, and struck it three times, whereupon a warrior arose from the lake and, saluting him, asked what he wanted. "I wish to see your great King," the graduate replied. The warrior struck the waters, opening a passage for Liu I, and led him to a palace. "This," he said, "is the palace of Ling Hsü." In a few minutes there appeared a person dressed in violet-coloured clothes and holding in his hand a piece of jade. "This is our King," said the warrior. "I am your Majesty's neighbour," replied Liu I. "I spent my youth in Ch'u and studied in Ch'in. I have just failed in my licentiate examination. On my way home I saw your daughter tending some goats; she was all dishevelled, and in so pitiable a condition that it hurt me to see her, She has sent you this letter." Golden Dragon Great Prince On reading the letter the King wept, and all the courtiers followed his example. "Stop wailing," said the King, "lest Ch'ien-t'ang hear." "Who is Ch'ien-t'ang?" asked Liu I. "He is my dear brother," replied the King; "formerly he was one of the chief administrators of the Ch'ien-t'ang River; now he is the chief God of Rivers." "Why are you so afraid that he might hear what I have just told you?" "Because he has a terrible temper. It was he who, in the reign of Yao, caused a nine-years flood." Before he had finished speaking, a red dragon, a thousand feet long, with red scales, mane of fire, bloody tongue, and eyes blazing like lightning, passed through the air with rapid flight and disappeared. Barely a few moments had elapsed when it returned with a young woman whom Liu I recognized as the one who had entrusted him with the letter. The Dragon-king, overjoyed, said to him: "This is my daughter; her husband is no more, and she offers you her hand." Liu did not dare to accept, since it appeared that they had just killed her husband. He took his departure, and married a woman named Chang, who soon died. He then married another named Han, who also died. He then went to live at Nanking, and, his solitude preying upon his spirits, he decided to marry yet again. A middleman spoke to him of a girl of Fang Yang, in Chihli, whose father, Hao, had been Magistrate of Ch'ing Liu, in Anhui. This man was always absent on his travels, no one knew whither. The girl's mother, Cheng, had married her two years before to a man named Chang of Ch'ing Ho, in Chihli, who had just died. Distressed at her daughter being left a widow so young, the mother wished to find another husband for her. Liu I agreed to marry this young woman, and at the end of a year they had a son. She then said to her husband: "I am the daughter of the King of the Tung-t'ing Lake. It was you who saved me from my miserable plight on the bank of the Ching, and I swore I would reward you. Formerly you refused to accept my hand, and my parents decided to marry me to the son of a silk-merchant. I cut my hair, and never ceased to hope that I might some time or other be united to you in order that I might show you my gratitude." In A.D. 712, in the reign-period K'ai-yüan of the Emperor Hsüan Tsung of the T'ang dynasty, they both returned to the Tung-t'ing Lake; but the legend says nothing further with regard to them. Shang Ti, the Supreme Ruler, conferred on Liu I the title of Chin Lung Ta Wang, 'Golden Dragon Great Prince.' The Old Mother of the Waters The Old Mother of the Waters, Shul-mu Niang-niang, is the legendary spirit of Ssu-chou, in Anhui. To her is popularly ascribed the destruction of the ancient city of Ssu-chou, which was completely submerged by the waters of the Hung-tsê Lake in A.D. 1574. One author states that this Goddess of the Waters is the younger sister of the White Spiritual Elephant, a guardian of the Door of Buddha. This elephant is the "subtle principle of metamorphosed water." In his _Recherches sur Us Superstitions en Chine_, Père Henri Doré, S.J., relates the legends he had heard with regard to this deity. One of these is as follows: Shui-mu Niang-niang inundated the town of Ssu-chou almost every year. A report was presented to Yu Huang, Lord of the Skies, begging him to put an end to the scourge which devastated the country and cost so many lives. The Lord of the Skies commanded the Great Kings of the Skies and their generals to raise troops and take the field in order to capture this goddess and deprive her of the power of doing further mischief. But her tricks triumphed over force, and the city continued to be periodically devastated by inundations. One day Shui-mu Niang-niang was seen near the city gate carrying two buckets of water. Li Lao-chün suspected some plot, but, an open attack being too risky, he preferred to adopt a ruse. He went and bought a donkey, led it to the buckets of water, and let it drink their contents. Unfortunately the animal could not drink all the water, so that a little remained at the bottom of the buckets. Now these magical buckets contained the sources of the five great lakes, which held enough water to inundate the whole of China. Shui-mu Niang-niang with her foot overturned one of the buckets, and the water that had remained in it was enough to cause a formidable flood, which submerged the unfortunate town, and buried it for ever under the immense sheet of water called the Lake of Hung-tsê. So great a crime deserved an exemplary punishment, and accordingly Yü Huang sent reinforcements to his armies, and a pursuit of the goddess was methodically organized. The Magic Vermicelli Sun Hou-tzu, the Monkey Sun, [25] the rapid courier, who in a single skip could traverse 108,000 _li_ (36,000 miles), started in pursuit and caught her up, but the astute goddess was clever enough to slip through his fingers. Sun Hou-tzu, furious at this setback, went to ask Kuan-yin P'u-sa to come to his aid. She promised to do so. As one may imagine, the furious race she had had to escape from her enemy had given Shui-mu Niang-niang a good appetite. Exhausted with fatigue, and with an empty stomach, she caught sight of a woman selling vermicelli, who had just prepared two bowls of it and was awaiting customers. Shui-mu Niang-niang went up to her and began to eat the strength-giving food with avidity. No sooner had she eaten half of the vermicelli than it changed in her stomach into iron chains, which wound round her intestines. The end of the chain protruded from her mouth, and the contents of the bowl became another long chain which welded itself to the end which stuck out beyond her lips. The vermicelli-seller was no other than Kuan-yin P'u-sa herself, who had conceived this stratagem as a means of ridding herself of this evil-working goddess. She ordered Sun Hou-tzu to take her down a deep well at the foot of a mountain in Hsü-i Hsien and to fasten her securely there. It is there that Shui-mu Niang-niang remains in her liquid prison. The end of the chain is to be seen when the water is low. Hsü, the Dragon-slayer Hsü Chên-chün was a native either of Ju-ning Fu in Honan, or of Nan-ch'ang Fu in Kiangsi. His father was Hsü Su. His personal name was Ching-chih, and his ordinary name Sun. At forty-one years of age, when he was Magistrate of Ching-yang, near the modern Chih-chiang Hsien, in Hupei, during times of drought he had only to touch a piece of tile to turn it into gold, and thus relieve the people of their distress. He also saved many lives by curing sickness through the use of talismans and magic formulæ. During the period of the dynastic troubles he resigned and joined the famous magician Kuo P'o. Together they proceeded to the minister Wang Tun, who had risen against the Eastern Chin dynasty. Kuo P'o's remonstrances only irritated the minister, who cut off his head. Hsü Sun then threw his chalice on the ridgepole of the room, causing it to be whirled into the air. As Wang Tun was watching the career of the chalice, Hsü disappeared and escaped. When he reached Lu-chiang K'ou, in Anhui, he boarded a boat, which two dragons towed into the offing and then raised into the air. In an instant they had borne it to the Lü Shan Mountains, to the south of Kiukiang, in Kiangsi. The perplexed boatman opened the window of his boat and took a furtive look out. Thereupon the dragons, finding themselves discovered by an infidel, set the boat down on the top of the mountain and fled. The Spiritual Alligator In this country was a dragon, or spiritual alligator, which transformed itself into a young man named Shên Lang, and married Chia Yü, daughter of the Chief Judge of T'an Chou (Ch'ang-sha Fu, capital of Hunan). The young people lived in rooms below the official apartments. During spring and summer Shên Lang, as dragons are wont to do, roamed in the rivers and lakes. One day Hsü Chên-chün met him, recognized him as a dragon, and knew that he was the cause of the numerous floods which were devastating Kiangsi Province. He determined to find a means of getting rid of him. Shên Lang, aware of the steps being taken against him, changed himself into a yellow ox and fled. Hsü Chên-chün at once transformed himself into a black ox and started in pursuit. The yellow ox jumped down a well to hide, but the black ox followed suit. The yellow ox then jumped out again, and escaped to Ch'ang-sha, where he reassumed a human form and lived with Ms wife in the home of his father-in-law, Hsü Sun, returning to the town, hastened to the _yamên,_ and called to Shên Lang to come out and show himself, addressing him in a severe tone of voice as follows: "Dragon, how dare you hide yourself there under a borrowed form?" Shên Lang then reassumed the form of a spiritual alligator, and Hsü Sun ordered the spiritual soldiers to kill him. He then commanded his two sons to come out of their abode. By merely spurting a mouthful of water on them he transformed them into young dragons. Chia Yü was told to vacate the rooms with all speed, and in the twinkling of an eye the whole _yamên_ sank beneath the earth, and there remained nothing but a lake where it had been. Hsü Chên-chün, after his victory over the dragon, assembled the members of his family, to the number of forty-two, on Hsi Shan, outside the city of Nan-ch'ang Fu, and all ascended to Heaven in full daylight, taking with them even the dogs and chickens. He was then 133 years old. This took place on the first day of the eighth moon of the second year (A.D. 374) of the reign-period Ning-K'ang of the reign of the Emperor Hsiao Wu Ti of the Eastern Chin dynasty. Subsequently a temple was erected to him, and in A.D. 1111 he was canonized as Just Prince, Admirable and Beneficent. The Great Flood The repairing of the heavens by Nü Kua, elsewhere alluded to, is also attributed to the following incident. Before the Chinese Empire was founded a noble and wonderful queen fought with the chief of the tribes who inhabited the country round about Ô-mei Shan. In a fierce battle the chief and his followers met defeat; raging with anger at being beaten by a woman, he rushed up the mountain-side; the Queen pursued him with her army, and overtook him at the summit; finding no place to hide himself, he attempted in desperation both to wreak vengeance upon his enemies and to end his own life by beating his head violently against the cane of the Heavenly Bamboo which grew there. By his mad battering he at last succeeded in knocking down the towering trunk of the tree, and as he did so its top tore great rents in the canopy of the sky, through which poured great floods of water, inundating the whole earth and drowning all the inhabitants except the victorious Queen and her soldiers. The floods had no power to harm her or her followers, because she herself was an all-powerful divinity and was known as the 'Mother of the Gods,' and the 'Defender of the Gods.' From the mountain-side she gathered together stones of a kind having five colours, and ground them into powder; of this she made a plaster or mortar, with which she repaired the tears in the heavens, and the floods immediately ceased. The Marriage of the River-god In Yeh Hsien there was a witch and some official attendants who collected money from the people yearly for the marriage of the River-god. The witch would select a pretty girl of low birth, and say that she should be the Queen of the River-god. The girl was bathed, and clothed in a beautiful dress of gay and costly silk. She was then taken to the bank of the river, to a monastery which was beautifully decorated with scrolls and banners. A feast was held, and the girl was placed on a bed which was floated out upon the tide till it disappeared under the waters. Many families having beautiful daughters moved to distant places, and gradually the city became deserted. The common belief in Yeh was that if no queen was offered to the River-god a flood would come and drown the people. One day Hsi-mên Pao, Magistrate of Yeh Hsien, said to his attendants: "When the marriage of the River-god takes place I wish to say farewell to the chosen girl." Accordingly Hsi-mên Pao was present to witness the ceremony. About three thousand people had come together. Standing beside the old witch were ten of her female disciples, "Call the girl out," said Hsi-mên Pao. After seeing her, Hsi-mên Pao said to the witch: "She is not fair. Go you to the River-god and tell him that we will find a fairer maid and present her to him later on." His attendants then seized the witch and threw her into the river. After a little while Hsi-mên Pao said: "Why does she stay so long? Send a disciple to call her back." One of the disciples was thrown into the river. Another and yet another followed. The magistrate then said:" The witches are females and therefore cannot bring me a reply." So one of the official attendants of the witch was thrown into the river. Hsi-mên Pao stood on the bank for a long time, apparently awaiting a reply. The spectators were alarmed. Hsi-mên Pao then bade his attendants send the remaining disciples of the witch and the other official attendants to recall their mistress. The wretches threw themselves on their knees and knocked their heads on the ground, which was stained with the blood from their foreheads, and with tears confessed their sin. "The River-god detains his guest too long," said Hsi-mên Pao at length. "Let us adjourn." Thereafter none dared to celebrate the marriage of the River-god. Legend of the Building of Peking When the Mongol Yüan dynasty had been destroyed, and the Emperor Hung Wu had succeeded in firmly establishing that of the Great Ming, Ta Ming, he made Chin-ling, the present Nanking, his capital, and held his Court there with great splendour, envoys from every province within the 'Four Seas' (the Chinese Empire) assembling there to witness his greatness and to prostrate themselves before the Dragon Throne. The Emperor had many sons and daughters by his different consorts and concubines, each mother, in her inmost heart, fondly hoping that her own son would be selected by his father to succeed him. Although the Empress had a son, who was the heir-apparent, yet she felt envious of those ladies who had likewise been blessed with children, for fear one of the princes should supplant her son in the affection of the Emperor and in the succession. This envy displayed itself on every occasion; she was greatly beloved by the Emperor, and exerted all her influence with him, as the other young princes grew up, to get them removed from Court. Through her means most of them were sent to the different provinces as governors; those provinces under their government being so many principalities or kingdoms. Chu-ti One of the consorts of Hung Wu, the Lady Wêng, had a son named Chu-ti. This young prince was very handsome and graceful in his deportment; he was, moreover, of an amiable disposition. He was the fourth son of the Emperor, and his pleasing manner and address had made him a great favourite, not only with his father, but with every one about the Court. The Empress noticed the evident affection the Emperor evinced for this prince, and determined to get him removed from the Court as soon as possible. By a judicious use of flattery and cajolery, she ultimately persuaded the Emperor to appoint the prince governor of the Yen country, and thenceforth he was styled Yen Wang, Prince of Yen. The Sealed Packet The young Prince, shortly after, taking an affectionate leave of the Emperor, left Chin-ling to proceed to his post. Ere he departed, however, a Taoist priest, called Liu Po-wên, who had a great affection for the Prince, put a sealed packet into his hand, and told him to open it when he found himself in difficulty, distress, or danger; the perusal of the first portion that came to his hand would invariably suggest some remedy for the evil, whatever it was. After doing so, he was again to seal the packet, without further looking into its contents, till some other emergency arose necessitating advice or assistance, when he would again find it. The Prince departed on his journey, and in the course of time, without meeting with any adventures worth recording, arrived safely at his destination. A Desolate Region The place where Peking now stands was originally called Yu Chou; in the T'ang dynasty it was called Pei-p'ing Fu; and afterward became known as Shun-t'ien Fu--but that was after the city now called Peking was built. The name of the country in which this place was situated was Yen. It was a mere barren wilderness, with very few inhabitants; these lived in huts and scattered hamlets, and there was no city to afford protection to the people and to check the depredations of robbers. When the Prince saw what a desolate-looking place he had been appointed to, and thought of the long years he was probably destined to spend there, he grew very melancholy, and nothing his attendants essayed to do in hope of alleviating his sorrow succeeded. The Prince opens the Sealed Packet All at once the Prince bethought himself of the packet which the old Taoist priest had given him; he forthwith proceeded to make search for it--for in the bustle and excitement of travelling he had forgotten all about it--in hope that it might suggest something to better the prospects before him. Having found the packet, he hastily broke it open to see what instructions it contained; taking out the first paper which came to hand, he read the following: "When you reach Pei-p'ing Fu you must build a city there and name it No-cha Ch'êng, the City of No-cha. [26] But, as the work will be costly, you must issue a proclamation inviting the wealthy to subscribe the necessary funds for building it. At the back of this paper is a plan of the city; you must be careful to act according to the instructions accompanying it." The Prince inspected the plan, carefully read the instructions, and found even the minutest details fully explained. He was struck with the grandeur of the design of the proposed city, and at once acted on the instructions contained in the packet; proclamations were posted up, and large sums were speedily subscribed, ten of the wealthiest families who had accompanied him from Chin-ling being the largest contributors, supporting the plan not only with their purses, by giving immense sums, but by their influence among their less wealthy neighbours. The City is Founded When sufficient money had been subscribed, a propitious day was chosen on which to commence the undertaking. Trenches where the foundations of the walls were to be were first dug out, according to the plan found in the packet. The foundations themselves consisted of layers of stone quarried from the western hills; bricks of an immense size were made and burnt in the neighbourhood; the moat was dug out, and the earth from it used to fill in the centre of the walls, which, when complete, were forty-eight _li_ in circumference, fifty cubits in height, and fifty in breadth; the whole circuit of the walls having battlements and embrasures. Above each of the nine gates of the city immense three-storied towers were built, each tower being ninety-nine cubits in height. Near the front entrance of the city, facing each other, were built the Temples of Heaven and of Earth. In rear of it the beautiful 'Coal Hill' (better known as 'Prospect Hill') was raised; while in the square in front of the Great Gate of the palace was buried an immense quantity of charcoal (that and the coal being stored as a precaution in case of siege). The palace, containing many superb buildings, was built in a style of exceeding splendour; in the various enclosures were beautiful gardens and lakes; in the different courtyards, too, seventy-two wells were dug and thirty-six golden tanks placed. The whole of the buildings and grounds was surrounded by a lofty wall and a stone-paved moat, in which the lotus and other flowers bloomed in great beauty and profusion, and in the clear waters of which myriads of gold and silver fish disported themselves. The geomancy of the city was similar to that of Chin-ling, When everything was completed the Prince compared it with the plan and found that the city tallied with it in every respect. He was much delighted, and called for the ten wealthy persons who had been the chief contributors, and gave each of them a pair of 'couchant dragon' silk- or satin-embroidered cuffs, and allowed them great privileges. Up to the present time there is the common saying: "Since then the 'dragon-cuffed' gentlefolks have flourished." General Prosperity All the people were loud in praise of the beauty and strength of the newly built city. Merchants from every province hastened to Peking, attracted by the news they heard of its magnificence and the prospect there was of profitably disposing of their wares. In short, the people were prosperous and happy, food was plentiful, the troops brave, the monarch just, his ministers virtuous, and all enjoyed the blessings of peace. A Drought and its Cause While everything was thus tranquil, a sudden and untoward event occurred which spread dismay and consternation on all sides. One day when the Prince went into the hall of audience one of his ministers reported that "the wells are thirsty and the rivers dried up"--there was no water, and the people were all in the greatest alarm. The Prince at once called his counsellors together to devise some means of remedying this disaster and causing the water to return to the wells and springs, but no one could suggest a suitable plan. It is necessary to explain the cause of this scarcity of water. There was a dragon's cave outside the east gate of the city at a place called Lei-chên K'ou, 'Thunder-clap Mouth' or 'Pass' (the name of a village). The dragon had not been seen for myriads of years, yet it was well known that he lived there. In digging out the earth to build the wall the workmen had broken into this dragon's cave, little thinking of the consequences which would result. The dragon was exceedingly wroth and determined to shift his abode, but the she-dragon said: "We have lived here thousands of years, and shall we suffer the Prince of Yen to drive us forth thus? If we _do_ go we will collect all the water, place it in our _yin-yang_ baskets [used for drawing water], and at midnight we will appear in a dream to the Prince, requesting permission to retire. If he gives us permission to do so, and allows us also to take our baskets of water with us, he will fall into our trap, for we shall take the waler with his own consent," The Prince's Dream The two dragons then transformed themselves into an old man and an old woman, went to the chamber of the Prince, who was asleep, and appeared to him in a dream. Kneeling before him, they cried: "O Lord of a Thousand Years, we have come before you to beg leave to retire from this place, and to beseech you out of your great bounty to give us permission to take these two baskets of water with us." The Prince readily assented, little dreaming of the danger he was incurring. The dragons were highly delighted, and hastened out of his presence; they filled the baskets with all the water there was in Peking, and carried them off with them. When the Prince awoke he paid no attention to his dream till he heard the report of the scarcity of water, when, reflecting on the singularity of his dream, he thought there might be some hidden meaning in it. He therefore had recourse to the packet again, and discovered that his dream-visitors had been dragons, who had taken the waters of Peking away with them in their magic baskets; the packet, however, contained directions for the recovery of the water, and he at once prepared to follow them. The Pursuit of the Dragons In haste the Prince donned his armour, mounted his black steed, and, spear in hand, dashed out of the west gate of the city. He pressed on his horse, which went swift as the wind, nor did he slacken speed till he came up with the water-stealing dragons, who still retained the forms in which they had appeared to him in his dream. On a cart were the two identical baskets he had seen; in front of the cart, dragging it, was the old woman, while behind, pushing it, was the old man. An Unexpected Flood When the Prince saw them he galloped up to the cart, and, without pausing, thrust his spear into one of the baskets, making a great hole, out of which the water rushed so rapidly that the Prince was much frightened. He dashed off at full speed to save himself from being swallowed up by the waters, which in a very short time had risen more than thirty feet and had flooded the surrounding country. On galloped the Prince, followed by the roaring water, till he reached a hill, up which he urged his startled horse. When he gained the top he found that it stood out of the water like an island, completely surrounded; the water was seething and swirling round the hill in a frightful manner, but no vestige could he see of either of the dragons. The Waters Subside The Prince was very much alarmed at his perilous position, when suddenly a Buddhist priest appeared before him, with clasped hands and bent head, who bade him not be alarmed, as with Heaven's assistance he would soon disperse the water. Hereupon the priest recited a short prayer or spell, and the waters receded as rapidly as they had risen, and finally returned to their proper channels. The Origin of Chên-shui T'a The broken basket became a large deep hole, some three _mu_ (about half an English acre) in extent, in the centre of which was a fountain which threw up a vast body of clear water. From the midst of this there arose a pagoda, which rose and fell with the water, floating on the top like a vessel; the spire thrusting itself far up into the sky, and swaying about like the mast of a ship in a storm. The Prince returned to the city filled with wonder at what he had seen, and with joy at having so successfully carried out the directions contained in the packet. On all sides he was greeted by the acclamations of the people, who hailed him as the saviour of Peking. Since that time Peking has never had the misfortune to be without water. The pagoda is called the Pagoda on the Hill of the Imperial Spring (Yü Ch'üan Shan T'a; more commonly Chên-shui T'a, 'Water-repressing Pagoda'). [27] The spring is still there, and day and night, unceasingly, its clear waters bubble up and flow eastward to Peking, which would now be a barren wilderness but for Yen Wang's pursuit of the water. CHAPTER VIII Myths of Fire The Ministry of Fire The celestial organization of Fire is the fifth Ministry, and is presided over by a President, Lo Hsüan, whose titular designation is Huo-tê Hsing-chün, 'Stellar Sovereign of the Fire-virtue,' with five subordinate ministers, four of whom are star-gods, and the fifth a "celestial prince who receives fire": Chieh-huo T'ien-chün. Like so many other Chinese deities, the five were all ministers of the tyrant emperor Chou. It is related that Lo Hsüan was originally a Taoist priest known as Yen-chung Hsien, of the island Huo-lung, 'Fire-dragon.' His face was the colour of ripe fruit of the jujube-tree, his hair and beard red, the former done up in the shape of a fish-tail, and he had three eyes. He wore a red cloak ornamented with the _pa kua_; his horse snorted flames from its nostrils and fire darted from its hoofs. While fighting in the service of the son of the tyrant emperor, Lo Hsüan suddenly changed himself into a giant with three heads and six arms. In each of his hands he held a magic weapon. These were a seal which reflected the heavens and the earth, a wheel of the five fire-dragons, a gourd containing ten thousand fire-crows, and, in the other hands, two swords which floated like smoke, and a column of smoke several thousands of _li_ long enclosing swords of fire. A Conflagration Having arrived at the city of Hsi Ch'i, Lo Hsüan sent forth his smoke-column, the air was filled with swords of fire, the ten thousand fire-crows, emerging from the gourd, spread themselves over the town, and a terrible conflagration broke out, the whole place being ablaze in a few minutes. At this juncture there appeared in the sky the Princess Lung Chi, daughter of Wang-mu Niang-niang; forthwith she spread over the city her shroud of mist and dew, and the fire was extinguished by a heavy downpour of rain. All the mysterious mechanisms of Lo Hsüan lost their efficacy, and the magician took to his heels down the side of the mountain. There he was met by Li, the Pagoda-bearer, [28] who threw his golden pagoda into the air. The pagoda fell on Lo Hsüan's head and broke his skull. C'ih Ching-tzu Of the various fire-gods, Ch'ih Ching-tzu, the principle of spiritual fire, is one of the five spirits representing the Five Elements. He is Fire personified, which has its birth in the south, on Mount Shih-t'ang. He himself and everything connected with him--his skin, hair, beard, trousers, cloak of leaves, etc.--are all of the colour of fire, though he is sometimes represented with a blue cap resembling the blue tip of a flame. He appeared in the presence of Huang Lao in a fire-cloud. He it was who obtained fire from the wood of the mulberry-tree, and the heat of this fire, joined with the moisture of water, developed the germs of terrestrial beings. The Red Emperor Chu Jung, though also otherwise personified, is generally regarded as having been a legendary emperor who made his first appearance in the time of Hsien Yuan (2698-2598 B.C.). In his youth he asked Kuang-shou Lao-jên, 'Old Longevity,' to grant him immortality. "The time has not yet come," replied Old Longevity; "before it does you have to become an emperor. I will give you the means of reaching the end you desire. Give orders that after you are dead you are to be buried on the southern slope of the sacred mountain Hêng Shan; there you will learn the doctrine of Ch'ih Ching-tzu and will become immortal." The Emperor Hsien Yüan, having abdicated the throne, sent for Chu Jung, and bestowed upon him the crown. Chu Jung, having become emperor, taught the people the use of fire and the advantages to be derived therefrom. In those early times the forests were filled with venomous reptiles and savage animals; he ordered the peasants to set fire to the brushwood to drive away these dangerous neighbours and keep them at a distance. He also taught his subjects the art of purifying, forging, and welding metals by the action of fire. He was nicknamed Ch'ih Ti, 'the Red Emperor.' He reigned for more than two hundred years, and became an Immortal, His capital was the ancient city of Kuei, thirty _li_ north-east of Hsin-chêng Hsien, in the Prefecture of K'ai-fêng Fu, Honan. His tomb is on the southern slope of Heng Shan. The peak is known as Chu Jung Peak. His descendants, who went to live in the south, were the ancestors of the Directors of Fire. Hui Lu The most popular God of Fire, however, is Hui Lu, a celebrated magician who, according to the _Shên hsien t'ung chien_, lived some time before the reign of Ti K'u (2436-2366 B.C.), the father of Yao the Great, and had a mysterious bird named Pi Fang and a hundred other fire-birds shut up in a gourd. He had only to let them out to set up a conflagration which would extend over the whole country. Huang Ti ordered Chu Jung to fight Hui Lu and also to subdue the rebel Chih Yu. Chu Jung had a large bracelet of pure gold--a most wonderful and effective weapon. He hurled it into the air, and it fell on Hui Lu's neck, throwing him to the ground and rendering him incapable of moving. Finding resistance impossible, he asked mercy from his victor and promised to be his follower in the spiritual contests. Subsequently he always called himself Huo-shih Chih T'u, 'the Disciple of the Master of Fire.' The Fire-emperor Shen Nung, the God of Agriculture, also adds to his other functions those appertaining to the God of Fire, the reason being that when he succeeded the Emperor Fu Hsi on the throne he adopted fire as the emblem of his government, just as Huang Ti adopted the symbol of Earth. Thus he came to be called Huo Ti, the 'Fire-emperor.' He taught his subjects the use of fire for smelting metals and making implements and weapons, and the use of oil in lamps, etc. All the divisions of his official hierarchy were connected in some way with this element; thus, there were the Ministers of Fire generally, the officers of Fire of the North, South, etc. Becoming thus doubly the patron of fire, a second fire symbol (_huo_) was added to his name, changing it from Huo Ti, 'Fire-emperor,' to Yen Ti, 'Blazing Emperor,' CHAPTER IX Myths of Epidemics, Medicine, Exorcism, Etc. The Ministry of Epidemics The gods of epidemics, etc., belong to the sixth, ninth, second, and third celestial Ministries. The composition of the Ministry of Epidemics is arranged differently in different works as Epidemics (regarded as epidemics on earth, but as demons in Heaven) of the Centre, Spring, Summer, Autumn, and Winter, or as the marshals clothed in yellow, green, red, white, and blue respectively, or as the Officers of the East, West, South, and North, with two additional members: a Taoist who quells the plague, and the Grand Master who exhorts people to do right. With regard to the Ministry of Seasonal Epidemics, it is related that in the sixth moon of the eleventh year (A.D. 599) of the reign of Kao Tsu, founder of the Sui dynasty, five stalwart persons appeared in the air, clothed in robes of five colours, each carrying different objects in his hands: the first a spoon and earthenware vase, the second a leather bag and sword, the third a fan, the fourth a club, the fifth a jug of fire. The Emperor asked Chang Chü-jên, his Grand Historiographer, who these were and if they were benevolent or evil spirits. The official answered: "These are the five powers of the five directions. Their appearance indicates the imminence of epidemics, which will last throughout the four seasons of the year." "What remedy is there, and how am I to protect the people?" inquired the Emperor. "There is no remedy," replied the official, "for epidemics are sent by Heaven." During that year the mortality was very great. The Emperor built a temple to the five persons, and bestowed upon them the title of Marshals to the Five Spirits of the Plague. During that and the following dynasty sacrifices were offered to them on the fifth day of the fifth moon. The President of the Ministry The following particulars are given concerning the President of the Ministry, whose name was Lü Yüeh. He was an old Taoist hermit, living at Chiu-lung Tao, 'Nine-dragon Island,' who became an Immortal. The four members of the Ministry were his disciples. He wore a red garment, had a blue face, red hair, long teeth, and three eyes. His war-horse was named the Myopic Camel. He carried a magic sword, and was in the service of Chou Wang, whose armies were concentrated at Hsi Ch'i. In a duel with Mu-cha, brother of No-cha, he had his arm severed by a sword-cut. In another battle with Huang T'ien-hua, son of Huang Fei-hu, he appeared with three heads and six arms. In his many hands he held the celestial seal, plague microbes, the flag of plague, the plague sword, and two mysterious swords. His faces were green, and large teeth protruded from his mouths. Huang T'ien-hua threw his magic weapon, Huo-lung Piao, and hit him on the leg. Just at that moment Chiang Tzu-ya arrived with his goblin-dispelling whip and felled him with a blow. He was able, however, to rise again, and took to flight. The Plague-disseminating Umbrellas Resolved to avenge his defeat, he joined General Hsü Fang, who was commanding an army corps at Ch'uan-yün Kuan. Round the mountain he organized a system of entrenchments and of infection against their enemies. Yang Chien released his celestial hound, which bit Lü Yüeh on the crown of his head. Then Yang Jên, armed with his magic fan, pursued Lü Yüeh and compelled him to retreat to his fortress. Lü Yüeh mounted the central raised part of the embattled wall and opened all his plague-disseminating umbrellas, with the object of infecting Yang Jên, but the latter, simply by waving his fan, reduced all the umbrellas to dust, and also burned the fort, and with it Lü Yüeh. Similar wonderful achievements are related in short notices in the _Fêng shên yen i_ of the four other officers of the Ministry. Li P'ing, the sixth officer of the Ministry, met a like fate to that of Lü Yüeh after having failed to induce the latter to abandon the cause of the Shang dynasty for that of Chou. The Five Graduates In Père Henri Doré's _Recherches sur les Superstitions en Chine_ is given an interesting legend concerning five other gods of epidemics. These gods are called the Wu Yüeh, 'Five Mountains,' and are worshipped in the temple San-i Ko at Ju-kao, especially in outbreaks of contagious diseases and fevers. A sufferer goes to the temple and promises offerings to the gods in the event of recovery. The customary offering is five small wheaten loaves, called _shao ping_, and a pound of meat. The Wu Yüeh are stellar devils whom Yü Huang sent to be reincarnated on earth. Their names were T'ien Po-hsüeh, Tung Hung-wên, Ts'ai Wên-chü, Chao Wu-chên, and Huang Ying-tu, and they were reincarnated at Nan-ch'ang Fu, Chien-ch'ang Fu, Yen-mên Kuan, Yang Chou, and Nanking respectively. They were all noted for their brilliant intellects, and were clever scholars who passed their graduate's examination with success. When Li Shih-min ascended the throne, in A.D. 627, he called together all the _literati_ of the Empire to take the Doctor's Examination in the capital. Our five graduates started for the metropolis, but, losing their way, were robbed by brigands, and had to beg help in order to reach the end of their journey. By good luck they all met in the temple San-i Ko, and related to each other the various hardships they had undergone. But when they eventually reached the capital the examination was over, and they were out in the streets without resources. So they took an oath of brotherhood for life and death. They pawned some of the few clothes they possessed, and buying some musical instruments formed themselves into a band of strolling musicians. The first bought a drum, the second a seven-stringed guitar, the third a mandolin, the fourth a clarinet, and the fifth and youngest composed songs. Thus they went through the streets of the capital giving their concerts, and Fate decreed that Li Shih-min should hear their melodies. Charmed with the sweet sounds, he asked Hsü Mao-kung whence came this band of musicians, whose skill was certainly exceptional. Having made inquiries, the minister related their experiences to the Emperor. Li Shih-min ordered them to be brought into his presence, and after hearing them play and sing appointed them to his private suite, and henceforth they accompanied him wherever he went. The Emperors Strategy The Emperor bore malice toward Chang T'ien-shih, the Master of the Taoists, because he refused to pay the taxes on his property, and conceived a plan to bring about his destruction. He caused a spacious subterranean chamber to be dug under the reception-hall of his palace. A wire passed through the ceiling to where the Emperor sat. He could thus at will give the signal for the music to begin or stop. Having stationed the five musicians in this subterranean chamber, he summoned the Master of the Taoists to his presence and invited him to a banquet. During the course of this he pulled the wire, and a subterranean babel began. The Emperor pretended to be terrified, and allowed himself to fall to the ground. Then, addressing himself to the T'ien-shih, he said: "I know that you can at will catch the devilish hobgoblins which molest human beings. You can hear for yourself the infernal row they make in my palace. I order you under penalty of death to put a stop to their pranks and to exterminate them." The Musicians are Slain Having spoken thus, the Emperor rose and left. The Master of the Taoists brought his projecting mirror, and began to seek for the evil spirits. In vain he inspected the palace and its precincts; he could discover nothing. Fearing that he was lost, he in despair threw his mirror on the floor of the reception-hall. A minute later, sad and pensive, he stooped to pick it up; what was his joyful surprise when he saw reflected in it the subterranean room and the musicians! At once he drew five talismans on yellow paper, burned them, and ordered his celestial general, Chao Kung-ming, to take his sword and kill the five musicians. The order was promptly executed, and the T'ien-shih informed the Emperor, who received the news with ridicule, not believing it to be true. He went to his seat and pulled the wire, but all remained silent. A second and third time he gave the signal, but without response. He then ordered his Grand Officer to ascertain what had happened. The officer found the five graduates bathed in their blood, and lifeless. The Emperor, furious, reproached the Master of the Taoists. "But," replied the T'ien-shih, "was it not your Majesty who ordered me under pain of death to exterminate the authors of this pandemonium?" Li Shih-min could not reply. He dismissed the Master of the Taoists and ordered the five victims to be buried. The Emperor Tormented After the funeral ceremonies, apparitions appeared at night in the place where they had been killed, and the palace became a babel. The spirits threw bricks and broke the tiles on the roofs. The Emperor ordered his uncomfortable visitors to go to the T'ien-shih who had murdered them. They obeyed, and, seizing the garments of the Master of the Taoists, swore not to allow him any rest if he would not restore them to life. To appease them the Taoist said: "I am going to give each of you a wonderful object. You are then to return and spread epidemics among wicked people, beginning in the imperial palace and with the Emperor himself, with the object of forcing him to canonize you." One received a fan, another a gourd filled with fire, the third a metallic ring to encircle people's heads, the fourth a stick made of wolves' teeth, and the fifth a cup of lustral water. The spirit-graduates left full of joy, and made their first experiment on Li Shih-min. The first gave him feverish chills by waving his fan, the second burned him with the fire from his gourd, the third encircled his head with the ring, causing him violent headache, the fourth struck him with his stick, and the fifth poured out his cup of lustral water on his head. The same night a similar tragedy took place in the palace of the Empress and the two chief imperial concubines. T'ai-po Chin-hsing, however, informed Yü Huang what had happened, and, touched with compassion, he sent three Immortals with pills and talismans which cured the Empress and the ladies of the palace. The Graduates Canonized Li Shih-min, having also recovered his health, summoned the five deceased graduates and expressed his regret for the unfortunate issue of his design against the T'ien-shih. He proceeded: "To the south of the capital is the temple San-i Ko. I will change its name to Hsiang Shan Wu Yüeh Shên, 'Fragrant Hill of the Five Mountain Spirits.' On the twenty-eighth day of the ninth moon betake yourselves to that temple to receive the seals of your canonization." He conferred upon them the title of Ti, 'Emperor.' The Ministry of Medicine The celestial Ministry of Medicine is composed of three main divisions comprising: (1) the Ancestral Gods of the Chinese race; (2) the King of Remedies, Yao Wang; and (3) the Specialists. There is a separate Ministry of Smallpox. This latter controls and cures smallpox, and the establishment of a separate celestial Ministry is significant of the prevalence and importance of the affliction. The ravages of smallpox in China, indeed, have been terrific: so much so, that, until recent years, it was considered as natural and inevitable for a child to have smallpox as for it to cut its teeth. One of the ceremonial questions addressed by a visitor to the parent of a child was always _Ch'u la hua'rh mei yu_? "Has he had the smallpox?" and a child who escaped the scourge was often, if not as a rule, regarded with disfavour and, curiously enough, as a weakling. Probably the train of thought in the Chinese mind was that, as it is the fittest who survive, those who have successfully passed through the process of "putting out the flowers" have proved their fitness in the struggle for existence. Nowadays vaccination is general, and the number of pockmarked faces seen is much smaller than it used to be--in fact, the pockmarked are now the exception. But, as far as I have been able to ascertain, the Ministry of Smallpox has not been abolished, and possibly its members, like those of some more mundane ministries, continue to draw large salaries for doing little or no work. The Medicine-gods The chief gods of medicine are the mythical kings P'an Ku, Fu Hsi, Shên Nung, and Huang Ti. The first two, being by different writers regarded as the first progenitor or creator of the Chinese people, are alternatives, so that Fu Hsi, Shên Nung, and Huang Ti may be said to be a sort of ancestral triad of medicine-gods, superior to the actual God or King of Medicine, Yao Wang. Of P'an Ku we have spoken sufficiently in Chapter III, and with regard to Fu Hsi, also called T'ien Huang Shih, 'the Celestial Emperor,' the mythical sovereign and supposed inventor of cooking, musical instruments, the calendar, hunting, fishing, etc., the chief interest for our present purpose centres in his discovery of the _pa kua_, or Eight Trigrams. It is on the strength of these trigrams that Fu Hsi is regarded as the chief god of medicine, since it is by their mystical power that the Chinese physicians influence the minds and maladies of their patients. He is represented as holding in front of him a disk on which the signs are painted. The Ministry of Exorcism The Ministry of Exorcism is a Taoist invention and is composed of seven chief ministers, whose duty is to expel evil spirits from dwellings and generally to counteract the annoyances of infernal demons. The two gods usually referred to in the popular legends are P'an Kuan and Chung K'uei. The first is really the Guardian of the Living and the Dead in the Otherworld, Fêng-tu P'an Kuan (Fêng-tu or Fêng-tu Ch'êng being the region beyond the tomb). He was originally a scholar named Ts'ui Chio, who became Magistrate of Tz'u Chou, and later Minister of Ceremonies. After his death he was appointed to the spiritual post above mentioned. His best-known achievement is his prolongation of the life of the Emperor T'ai Tsung of the T'ang dynasty by twenty years by changing _i_, 'one,' into _san_, 'three,' in the life-register kept by the gods. The term P'an Kuan is, however, more generally used as the designation of an officer or civil or military attendant upon a god than of any special individual, and the original P'an Kuan, 'the Decider of Life in Hades,' has been gradually supplanted in popular favour by Chung K'uei, 'the Protector against Evil Spirits.' The Exorcism of 'Emptiness and Devastation' The Emperor Ming Huang of the T'ang dynasty, also known as T'ang Hsüan Tsung, in the reign-period K'ai Yüan (A.D. 712-742), after an expedition to Mount Li in Shensi, was attacked by fever. During a nightmare he saw a small demon fantastically dressed in red trousers, with a shoe on one foot but none on the other, and a shoe hanging from his girdle. Having broken through a bamboo gate, he took possession of an embroidered box and a jade flute, and then began to make a tour of the palace, sporting and gambolling. The Emperor grew angry and questioned him. "Your humble servant," replied the little demon, "is named Hsü Hao, 'Emptiness and Devastation,'" "I have never heard of such a person," said the Emperor. The demon rejoined, "Hsü means to desire Emptiness, because in Emptiness one can fly just as one wishes; Hao, 'Devastation,' changes people's joy to sadness. "The Emperor, irritated by this flippancy, was about to call his guard, when suddenly a great devil appeared, wearing a tattered head-covering and a blue robe, a horn clasp on his belt, and official boots on his feet. He went up to the sprite, tore out one of his eyes, crushed it up, and ate it. The Emperor asked the newcomer who he was. "Your humble servant," he replied, "is Chung K'uei, Physician of Tung-nan Shan in Shensi. In the reign-period Wu Tê (A.D. 618-627) of the Emperor Kao Tsu of the T'ang dynasty I was ignominiously rejected and unjustly defrauded of a first class in the public examinations. Overwhelmed with shame, I committed suicide on the steps of the imperial palace. The Emperor ordered me to be buried in a green robe [reserved for members of the imperial clan], and out of gratitude for that favour I swore to protect the sovereign in any part of the Empire against the evil machinations of the demon Hsü Hao." At these words the Emperor awoke and found that the fever had left him. His Majesty called for Wu Tao-tzu (one of the most celebrated Chinese artists) to paint the portrait of the person he had seen in his dream. The work was so well done that the Emperor recognized it as the actual demon he had seen in his sleep, and rewarded the artist with a hundred taels of gold. The portrait is said to have been still in the imperial palace during the Sung dynasty. Another version of the legend says that Chung K'uefs essay was recognized by the examiners as equal to the work of the best authors of antiquity, but that the Emperor rejected him on account of his extremely ugly features, whereupon he committed suicide in his presence, was honoured by the Emperor and accorded a funeral as if he had been the successful first candidate, and canonized with the title of Great Spiritual Chaser of Demons for the Whole Empire. CHAPTER X The Goddess of Mercy The Guardian Angel of Buddhism As Mary is the guiding spirit of Rome, so is Kuan Yin of the Buddhist faith. According to a beautiful Chinese legend, Kuan Yin. when about to enter Heaven, heard a cry of anguish rising from the earth beneath her, and, moved by pity, paused as her feet touched the glorious threshold. Hence her name 'Kuan (Shih) Yin' (one who notices or hears the cry, or prayer, of the world). Kuan Yin was at one time always represented as a man; but in the T'ang dynasty and Five Dynasties we find him represented as a woman, and he has been generally, though not invariably, so represented since that time. In old Buddhism Shâkyamuni was the chief god, and in many temples he still nominally occupies the seat of honour, but he is completely eclipsed by the God or Goddess of Mercy. "The men love her, the children adore her, and the women chant her prayers. Whatever the temple may be, there is nearly always a chapel for Kuan Yin within its precincts; she lives in many homes, and in many, many hearts she sits enshrined. She is the patron goddess of mothers, and when we remember the relative value of a son in Chinese estimation we can appreciate the heartiness of the worship. She protects in sorrow, and so millions of times the prayer is offered, 'Great mercy, great pity, save from sorrow, save from suffering,' or, as it is in the books, 'Great mercy, great pity, save from misery, save from evil, broad, great, efficacious, responsive Kuan Yin Buddha,' She saves the tempest-tossed sailor, and so has eclipsed the Empress of Heaven, who, as the female Neptune, is the patroness of seamen; in drought the mandarins worship the Dragon and the Pearly Emperor, but if they fail the bronze Goddess of Mercy from the hills brings rain. Other gods are feared, she is loved; others have black, scornful faces, her countenance is radiant as gold, and gentle as the moon-beam; she draws near to the people and the people draw near to her. Her throne is upon the Isle of Pootoo [P'u T'o], to which she came floating upon a water-lily. She is the model of Chinese beauty, and to say a lady or a little girl is a 'Kuan Yin' is the highest compliment that can be paid to grace and loveliness. She is fortunate in having three birthdays, the nineteenth of the second, sixth, and ninth moons." There are many metamorphoses of this goddess. The Buddhist Saviour "She is called Kuan Yin because at any cry of misery she 'hears the voice and removes the sorrow.' Her appellation is 'Taking-away-fear Buddha,' If in the midst of the fire the name of Kuan Yin is called, the fire cannot burn; if tossed by mountain billows, call her name, and shallow waters will be reached. If merchants go across the sea seeking gold, silver, pearls, and precious stones, and a storm comes up and threatens to carry the crew to the evil devil's kingdom, if one on board calls on the name of Kuan Yin, the ship will be saved. If one goes into a conflict and calls on the name of Kuan Yin, the sword and spear of the enemy fall harmless. If the three thousand great kingdoms are visited by demons, call on her name, and these demons cannot with an evil eye look on a man. If, within, you have evil thoughts, only call on Kuan Yin, and your heart will be purified, Anger and wrath may be dispelled by calling on the name of Kuan Yin. A lunatic who prays to Kuan Yin will become sane. Kuan Yin gives sons to mothers, and if the mother asks for a daughter she will be beautiful. Two men--one chanting the names of the 6,200,000 Buddhas, in number like the sands of the Ganges, and the other simply calling on Kuan Yin--have equal merit. Kuan Yin may take the form of a Buddha, a prince, a priest, a nun, a scholar, any form or shape, go to any kingdom, and preach the law throughout the earth." Miao Chuang desires an Heir In the twenty-first year of the reign of Ta Hao, the Great Great One, of the Golden Heavenly Dynasty, a man named P'o Chia, whose first name was Lo Yü, an enterprising kinglet of Hsi Yii, seized the throne for twenty years, after carrying on a war for a space of three years. His kingdom was known as Hsing Lin, and the title of his reign as Miao Chuang. The kingdom of Hsing Lin was, so says the Chinese writer, situated between India on the west, the kingdom of T'ien Cheng on the south, and the kingdom of Siam on the north, and was 3000 _li_ in length. The boundaries differ according to different authors. Of this kingdom the two pillars of State were the Grand Minister Chao Chen and the General Ch'u Chieh. The Queen Pao Tê, whose maiden name was Po Ya, and the King Miao Chuang had lived nearly half a century without having any male issue to succeed to the throne. This was a source of great grief to them. Po Ya suggested to the King that the God of Hua Shan, the sacred mountain in the west, had the reputation of being always willing to help; and that if he prayed to him and asked his pardon for having shed so much blood during the wars which preceded his accession to the throne he might obtain an heir. Welcoming this suggestion, the King sent for Chao Chên and ordered him to dispatch to the temple of Hua Shan the two Chief Ministers of Ceremonies, Hsi Hêng-nan and Chih Tu, with instructions to request fifty Buddhist and Taoist priests to pray for seven days and seven nights in order that the King might obtain a son. When that period was over, the King and Queen would go in person to offer sacrifices in the temple. Prayers to the Gods The envoys took with them many rare and valuable presents, and for seven days and seven nights the temple resounded with the sound of drums, bells, and all kinds of instruments, intermingled with the voices of the praying priests. On their arrival the King and Queen offered sacrifices to the god of the sacred mountain. But the God of Hua Shan knew that the King had been deprived of a male heir as a punishment for the bloody hecatombs during his three years' war. The priests, however, interceded for him, urging that the King had come in person to offer the sacrifices, wherefore the God could not altogether reject his prayer. So he ordered Ch'ien-li Yen, 'Thousand-_li_ Eye,' and Shun-fêng Erh, 'Favourable-wind Ear,' [29] to go quickly and ascertain if there were not some worthy person who was on the point of being reincarnated into this world. The two messengers shortly returned, and stated that in India, in the Chiu Ling Mountains, in the village of Chih-shu Yüan, there lived a good man named Shih Ch'in-ch'ang, whose ancestors for three generations had observed all the ascetic rules of the Buddhists. This man was the father of three children, the eldest Shih Wên, the second Shih Chin, and the third Shih Shan, all worthy followers of the great Buddha. The Murder of the Tais Wang Chê, a brigand chief, and thirty of his followers, finding themselves pursued and harassed by the Indian soldiers, without provisions or shelter, dying of hunger, went to Shih Wên and begged for something to eat. Knowing that they were evildoers, Shih Wên and his two brothers refused to give them anything; if they starved, they said, the peasants would no longer suffer from their depredations. Thereupon the brigands decided that it was a case of life for life, and broke into the house of a rich family of the name of Tai, burning their home, killing a hundred men, women, and children, and carrying off everything they possessed. The local _t'u-ti_ at once made a report to Yü Huang. "This Shih family," replied the god, "for three generations has given itself up to good works, and certainly the brigands were not deserving of any pity. However, it is impossible to deny that the three brothers Shih, in refusing them food, morally compelled them to loot the Tai family's house, putting all to the sword or flames. Is not this the same as if they had committed the crime themselves? Let them be arrested and put in chains in the celestial prison, and let them never see the light of the sun again." "Since," said the messenger to the God of Hua Shan, "your gratitude toward Miao Chuang compels you to grant him an heir, why not ask Yü Huang to pardon their crime and reincarnate them in the womb of the Queen Po Ya, so that they may begin a new terrestrial existence and give themselves up to good works?" As a result, the God of Hua Shan called the Spirit of the Wind and gave him a message for Yü Huang. A Message for Yü Huang The message was as follows: "King Miao Chuang has offered sacrifice to me and begged me to grant him an heir. But since by his wars he has caused the deaths of a large number of human beings, he does not deserve to have his request granted. Now these three brothers Shih have offended your Majesty by constraining the brigand Wang Che to be guilty of murder and robbery. I pray you to take into account their past good works and pardon their crime, giving them an opportunity of expiating it by causing them all three to be reborn, but of the female sex, in the womb of Po Ya the Queen. [30] In this way they will be able to atone for their crime and save many souls." Yü Huang was pleased to comply, and he ordered the Spirit of the North Pole to release the three captives and take their souls to the palace of King Miao Chuang, where in three years' time they would be changed into females in the womb of Queen Po Ya. Birth of the Three Daughters The King, who was anxiously expecting day by day the birth of an heir, was informed one morning that a daughter had been born to him. She was named Miao Ch'ing. A year went by, and another daughter was born. This one was named Miao Yin. When, at the end of the third year, another daughter was born, the King, beside himself with rage, called his Grand Minister Chao Chên and, all disconsolate, said to him, "I am past fifty, and have no male child to succeed me on the throne. My dynasty will therefore become extinct. Of what use have been all my labours and all my victories?" Chao Chen tried to console him, saying, "Heaven has granted you three daughters: no human power can change this divine decree. When these princesses have grown up, we will choose three sons-in-law for your Majesty, and you can elect your successor from among them. Who will dare to dispute his right to the throne?" The King named the third daughter Miao Shan. She became noted for her modesty and many other good qualities, and scrupulously observed all the tenets of the Buddhist doctrines. Virtuous living seemed, indeed, to be to her a second nature. Miao Shan's Ambition One day, when the three sisters were playing in the palace garden of Perpetual Spring, Miao Shan, with a serious mien, said to her sisters, "Riches and glory are like the rain in spring or the morning dew; a little while, and all is gone. Kings and emperors think to enjoy to the end the good fortune which places them in a rank apart from other human beings; but sickness lays them low in their coffins, and all is over. Where are now all those powerful dynasties which have laid down the law to the world? As for me, I desire nothing more than a peaceful retreat on a lone mountain, there to attempt the attainment of perfection. If some day I can reach a high degree of goodness, then, borne on the clouds of Heaven, I will travel throughout the universe, passing in the twinkling of an eye from east to west. I will rescue my father and mother, and bring them to Heaven; I will save the miserable and afflicted on earth; I will convert the spirits which do evil, and cause them to do good. That is my only ambition." Her Sisters Marry No sooner had she finished speaking than a lady of the Court came to announce that the King had found sons-in-law to his liking for his two elder daughters. The wedding-feast was to be the very next day. "Be quick," she added, "and prepare your presents, your dresses, and so forth, for the King's order is imperative." The husband chosen for Miao Ch'ing was a First Academician named Chao K'uei. His personal name was Tê Ta, and he was the son of a celebrated minister of the reigning dynasty. Miao Yin's husband-elect was a military officer named Ho Fêng, whose personal name was Ch'ao Yang. He had passed first in the examination for the Military Doctorate. The marriage ceremonies were of a magnificent character. Festivity followed festivity; the newly-wed were duly installed in their palaces, and general happiness prevailed. Miao Shan's Renunciation There now remained only Miao Shan. The King and Queen wished to find for her a man famous for knowledge and virtue, capable of ruling the kingdom, and worthy of being the successor to the throne. So the King called her and explained to her all his plans regarding her, and how all his hopes rested on her. "It is a crime," she replied, "for me not to comply with my father's wishes; but you must pardon me if my ideas differ from yours." "Tell me what your ideas are," said the King. "I do not wish to marry," she rejoined. "I wish to attain to perfection and to Buddhahood. Then I promise that I will not be ungrateful to you." "Wretch of a daughter," cried the King in anger, "you think you can teach me, the head of the State and ruler of so great a people! Has anyone ever known a daughter of a king become a nun? Can a good woman be found in that class? Put aside all these mad ideas of a nunnery, and tell me at once if you will marry a First Academician or a Military First Graduate." "Who is there," answered the girl, "who does not love the royal dignity?--what person who does not aspire to the happiness of marriage? However, I wish to become a nun. With respect to the riches and glory of this world, my heart is as cold as a dead cinder, and I feel a keen desire to make it ever purer and purer." The King rose in fury, and wished to cast her out from his presence. Miao Shan, knowing she could not openly disobey his orders, took another course. "If you absolutely insist upon my marrying," she said, "I will consent; only I must marry a physician." "A physician!" growled the King. "Are men of good family and talents wanting in my kingdom? What an absurd idea, to want to marry a physician!" "My wish is," said Miao Shan, "to heal humanity of all its ills; of cold, heat, lust, old age, and all infirmities. I wish to equalize all classes, putting rich and poor on the same footing, to have community of goods, without distinction of persons. If you will grant me my wish, I can still in this way become a Buddha, a Saviour of Mankind. There is no necessity to call in the diviners to choose an auspicious day. I am ready to be married now." She is Exiled to the Garden At these words the King was mad with rage. "Wicked imbecile!" he cried, "what diabolical suggestions are these that you dare to make in my presence?" Without further ado he called Ho T'ao, who on that day was officer of the palace guard. When he had arrived and kneeled to receive the King's commands, the latter said: "This wicked nun dishonours me. Take from her her Court robes, and drive her from my presence. Take her to the Queen's garden, and let her perish there of cold: that will be one care less for my troubled heart." Miao Shan fell on her face and thanked the King, and then went with the officer to the Queen's garden, where she began to lead her retired hermit life, with the moon for companion and the wind for friend, content to see all obstacles overthrown on her way to Nirvana, the highest state of spiritual bliss, and glad to exchange the pleasures of the palace for the sweetness of solitude. The Nunnery of the White Bird After futile attempts to dissuade her from her purpose by the Court ladies, her parents, and sisters, the King and Queen next deputed Miao Hung and Ts'ui Hung to make a last attempt to bring their misguided daughter to her senses. Miao Shan, annoyed at this renewed solicitation, in a haughty manner ordered them never again to come and torment her with their silly prattle. "I have found out," she added, "that there is a well-known temple at Ju Chou in Lung-shu Hsien. This Buddhist temple is known as the Nunnery of the White Bird, Po-ch'iao Ch'an-ssu. In it five hundred nuns give themselves up to the study of the true doctrine and the way of perfection. Go then and ask the Queen on my behalf to obtain the King's permission for me to retire thither. If you can procure me this favour, I will not fail to reward you later." Miao Chuang summoned the messengers and inquired the result of their efforts. "She is more unapproachable than ever," they replied; "she has even ordered us to ask the Queen to obtain your Majesty's permission to retire to the Nunnery of the White Bird in Lung-shu Hsien." The King gave his permission, but sent strict orders to the nunnery, instructing the nuns to do all in their power to dissuade the Princess when she arrived from carrying out her intention to remain. Her Reception at the Nunnery This Nunnery of the White Bird had been built by Huang Ti, and the five hundred nuns who lived in it had as Superior a lady named I Yu, who was remarkable for her virtue. On receipt of the royal mandate, she had summoned Chêng Chêng-ch'ang, the choir-mistress, and informed her that Princess Miao Shan, owing to a disagreement with her father, would shortly arrive at the temple. She requested her to receive the visitor courteously, but at the same time to do all she could to dissuade her from adopting the life of a nun. Having given these instructions, the Superior, accompanied by two novices, went to meet Miao Shan at the gate of the temple. On her arrival they saluted her. The Princess returned the salute, but said: "I have just left the world in order to place myself under your orders: why do you come and salute me on my arrival? I beg you to be so good as to take me into the temple, in order that I may pay my respects to the Buddha." I Yu led her into the principal hall, and instructed the nuns to light incense-sticks, ring the bells, and beat the drums. The visit to the temple finished, she went into the preaching-hall, where she greeted her instructresses. The latter obeyed the King's command and endeavoured to persuade the Princess to return to her home, but, as none of their arguments had any effect, it was at length decided to give her a trial, and to put her in charge of the kitchen, where she could prepare the food for the nunnery, and generally be at the service of all. If she did not give satisfaction they could dismiss her. She makes Offering to the Buddha Miao Shan joyfully agreed, and proceeded to make her humble submission to the Buddha. She knelt before Ju Lai, and made offering to him, praying as follows: "Great Buddha, full of goodness and mercy, your humble servant wishes to leave the world. Grant that I may never yield to the temptations which will be sent to try my faith." Miao Shan further promised to observe all the regulations of the nunnery and to obey the superiors. Spiritual Aid This generous self-sacrifice touched the heart of Yü Huang, the Master of Heaven, who summoned the Spirit of the North Star and instructed him as follows: "Miao Shan, the third daughter of King Miao Chuang, has renounced the world in order to devote herself to the attainment of perfection. Her father has consigned her to the Nunnery of the White Bird. She has undertaken without grumbling the burden of all the work in the nunnery. If she is left without help, who is there who will be willing to adopt the virtuous life? Do you go quickly and order the Three Agents, the Gods of the Five Sacred Peaks, the Eight Ministers of the Heavenly Dragon, Ch'ieh Lan, and the _t'u-ti_ to send her help at once. Tell the Sea-dragon to dig her a well near the kitchen, a tiger to bring her firewood, birds to collect vegetables for the inmates of the nunnery, and all the spirits of Heaven to help her in her duties, that she may give herself up without disturbance to the pursuit of perfection. See that my commands are promptly obeyed." The Spirit of the North Star complied without delay. The Nunnery on Fire Seeing all these gods arrive to help the novice, the Superior, I Yu, held consultation with the choir-mistress, saying: "We assigned to the Princess the burdensome work of the kitchen because she refused to return to the world; but since she has entered on her duties the gods of the eight caves of Heaven have come to offer her fruit, Ch'ieh Lan sweeps the kitchen, the dragon has dug a well, the God of the Hearth and the tiger bring her fuel, birds collect vegetables for her, the nunnery bell every evening at dusk booms of itself, as if struck by some mysterious hand. Obviously miracles are being performed. Hasten and fetch the King, and beg his Majesty to recall his daughter." Chêng Chêng-ch'ang started on her way, and, on arrival, informed the King of all that had taken place. The King called Hu Pi-li, the chief of the guard, and ordered him to go to the sub-prefecture of Lung-shu Hsien at the head of an army corps of 5000 infantry and cavalry. He was to surround the Nunnery of the White Bird and burn it to the ground, together with the nuns. When he reached the place the commander surrounded the nunnery with his soldiers, and set fire to it. The five hundred doomed nuns invoked the aid of Heaven and earth, and then, addressing Miao Shan, said: "It is you who have brought upon us this terrible disaster." "It is true," said Miao Shan. "I alone am the cause of your destruction." She then knelt down and prayed to Heaven: "Great Sovereign of the Universe, your servant is the daughter of King Miao Chuang; you are the grandson of King Lun. Will you not rescue your younger sister? You have left your palace; I also have left mine. You in former times betook yourself to the snowy mountains to attain perfection; I came here with the same object. Will you not save us from this fiery destruction?" Her prayer ended, Miao Shan took a bamboo hairpin from her hair, pricked the roof of her mouth with it, and spat the flowing blood toward Heaven. Immediately great clouds gathered in all parts of the sky and sent down inundating showers, which put out the fire that threatened the nunnery. The nuns threw themselves on their knees and thanked her effusively for having saved their lives. Hu Pi-li retired, and went in haste to inform the King of this extraordinary occurrence. The King, enraged, ordered him to go back at once, bring his daughter in chains, and behead her on the spot. The Execution of Miao Shan But the Queen, who had heard of this new plot, begged the King to grant her daughter a last chance. "If you will give permission," she said, "I will have a magnificent pavilion built at the side of the road where Miao Shan will pass in chains on the way to her execution, and will go there with our two other daughters and our sons-in-law. As she passes we will have music, songs, feasting, everything likely to impress her and make her contrast our luxurious life with her miserable plight. This will surely bring her to repentance." "I agree," said the King, "to counter-order her execution until your preparations are complete." Nevertheless, when the time came, Miao Shan showed nothing but disdain for all this worldly show, and to all advances replied only: "I love not these pompous vanities; I swear that I prefer death to the so-called joys of this world." She was then led to the place of execution. All the Court was present. Sacrifices were made to her as to one already dead. A Grand Minister pronounced the sacrificial oration. In the midst of all this the Queen appeared, and ordered the officials to return to their posts, that she might once more exhort her daughter to repent. But Miao Shan only listened in silence with downcast eyes. The King felt great repugnance to shedding his daughter's blood, and ordered her to be imprisoned in the palace, in order that he might make a last effort to save her. "I am the King," he said; "my orders cannot be lightly set aside. Disobedience to them involves punishment, and in spite of my paternal love for you, if you persist in your present attitude, you will be executed to-morrow in front of the palace gate." The _t'u-ti_, hearing the King's verdict, went with all speed to Yü Huang, and reported to him the sentence which had been pronounced against Miao Shan. Yü Huang exclaimed: "Save Buddha, there is none in the west so noble as this Princess. To-morrow, at the appointed hour, go to the scene of execution, break the swords, and splinter the lances they will use to kill her. See that she suffers no pain. At the moment of her death transform yourself into a tiger, and bring her body to the pine-wood. Having deposited it in a safe place, put a magic pill in her mouth to arrest decay. Her triumphant soul on its return from the lower regions must find it in a perfect state of preservation in order to be able to re-enter it and animate it afresh. After that, she must betake herself to Hsiang Shan on P'u T'o Island, where she will reach the highest state of perfection." On the day appointed, Commander Hu Pi-li led the condemned Princess to the place of execution. A body of troops had been stationed there to maintain order. The _t'u-ti_ was in attendance at the palace gates. Miao Shan was radiant with joy. "To-day," she said, "I leave the world for a better life. Hasten to take my life, but beware of mutilating my body." The King's warrant arrived, and suddenly the sky became overcast and darkness fell upon the earth. A bright light surrounded Miao Shan, and when the sword of the executioner fell upon the neck of the victim it was broken in two. Then they thrust at her with a spear, but the weapon fell to pieces. After that the King ordered that she be strangled with a silken cord. A few moments later a tiger leapt into the execution ground, dispersed the executioners, put the inanimate body of Miao Shan on his back, and disappeared into the pine-forest. Hu Pi-li rushed to the palace, recounted to the King full details of all that had occurred, and received a reward of two ingots of gold. Miao Shan visits the Infernal Regions Meantime, Miao Shan's soul, which remained unhurt, was borne on a cloud; when, waking as from a dream, she lifted her head and looked round, she could not see her body. "My father has just had me strangled," she sighed. "How is it that I find myself in this place? Here are neither mountains, nor trees, nor vegetation; no sun, moon, nor stars; no habitation, no sound, no cackling of a fowl nor barking of a dog. How can I live in this desolate region?" Suddenly a young man dressed in blue, shining with a brilliant light, and carrying a large banner, appeared and said to her: "By order of Yen Wang, the King of the Hells, I come to take you to the eighteen infernal regions." "What is this cursed place where I am now?" asked Miao Shan. "This is the lower world, Hell," he replied. "Your refusal to marry, and the magnanimity with which you chose an ignominious death rather than break your resolutions, deserve the recognition of Yü Huang, and the ten gods of the lower regions, impressed and pleased at your eminent virtue, have sent me to you. Fear nothing and follow me." Thus Miao Shan began her visit to all the infernal regions. The Gods of the Ten Hells came to congratulate her. "Who am I," asked Miao Shan, "that you should deign to take the trouble to show me such respect?" "We have heard," they replied, "that when you recite your prayers all evil disappears as if by magic. We should like to hear you pray." "I consent," replied Miao Shan, "on condition that all the condemned ones in the ten infernal regions be released from their chains in order to listen to me." At the appointed time the condemned were led in by Niu T'ou ('Ox-head') and Ma Mien ('Horse-face'), the two chief constables of Hell, and Miao Shan began her prayers. No sooner had she finished than Hell was suddenly transformed into a paradise of joy, and the instruments of torture into lotus-flowers. Hell a Paradise P'an Kuan, the keeper of the Register of the Living and the Dead, presented a memorial to Yen Wang stating that since Miao Shan's arrival there was no more pain in Hell; and all the condemned were beside themselves with happiness. "Since it has always been decreed," he added, "that, in justice, there must be both a Heaven and a Hell, if you do not send this saint back to earth, there will no longer be any Hell, but only a Heaven." "Since that is so," said Yen Wang, "let forty-eight flag-bearers escort her across the Styx Bridge [Nai-ho Ch'iao], that she may be taken to the pine-forest to reenter her body, and resume her life in the upper world." The King of the Hells having paid his respects to her, the youth in blue conducted her soul back to her body, which she found lying under a pine-tree. Having reentered it, Miao Shan found herself alive again. A bitter sigh escaped from her lips. "I remember," she said, "all that I saw and heard in Hell. I sigh for the moment which will find me free of all impediments, and yet my soul has re-entered my body. Here, without any lonely mountain on which to give myself up to the pursuit of perfection, what will become of me?" Great tears welled from her eyes. A Test of Virtue Just then Ju Lai Buddha appeared. "Why have you come to this place?" he asked. Miao Shan explained why the King had put her to death, and how after her descent into Hell her soul had re-entered her body. "I greatly pity your misfortune," Ju Lai said, "but there is no one to help you. I also am alone. Why should we not marry? We could build ourselves a hut, and pass our days in peace. What say you?" "Sir," she replied, "you must not make impossible suggestions. I died and came to life again. How can you speak so lightly? Do me the pleasure of withdrawing from my presence." "Well," said the visitor, "he to whom you are speaking is no other than the Buddha of the West. I came to test your virtue. This place is not suitable for your devotional exercises; I invite you to come to Hsiang Shan." Miao Shan threw herself on her knees and said: "My bodily eyes deceived me. I never thought that your Majesty would come to a place like this. Pardon my seeming want of respect. Where is this Hsiang Shan?" "Hsiang Shan is a very old monastery," Ju Lai replied, "built in the earliest historical times. It is inhabited by Immortals. It is situated in the sea, on P'u T'o Island, a dependency of the kingdom of Annam. There you will be able to reach the highest perfection." "How far off is this island?" Miao Shan asked. "More than three thousand _li_," Ju Lai replied. "I fear," she said, "I could not bear the fatigue of so long a journey." "Calm yourself," he rejoined. "I have brought with me a magic peach, of a kind not to be found in any earthly orchard. Once you have eaten it, you will experience neither hunger nor thirst; old age and death will have no power over you: you will live for ever." Miao Shan ate the magic peach, took leave of Ju Lai, and started on the way to Hsiang Shan. From the clouds the Spirit of the North Star saw her wending her way painfully toward P'u T'o. He called the Guardian of the Soil of Hsiang Shan and said to him: "Miao Shan is on her way to your country; the way is long and difficult. Do you take the form of a tiger, and carry her to her journey's end." The _t'u-ti_ transformed himself into a tiger and stationed himself in the middle of the road along which Miao Shan must pass, giving vent to ferocious roars. "I am a poor girl devoid of filial piety," said Miao Shan when she came up. "I have disobeyed my father's commands; devour me, and make an end of me." The tiger then spoke, saying: "I am not a real tiger, but the Guardian of the Soil of Hsiang Shan. I have received instructions to carry you there. Get on my back." "Since you have received these instructions," said the girl, "I will obey, and when I have attained to perfection I will not forget your kindness." The tiger went off like a flash of lightning, and in the twinkling of an eye Miao Shan found herself at the foot of the rocky slopes of P'u T'o Island. Miao Shan attains to Perfection After nine years in this retreat Miao Shan had reached the acme of perfection. Ti-tsang Wang then came to Hsiang Shan, and was so astonished at her virtue that he inquired of the local _t'u-ti_ as to what had brought about this wonderful result. "With the exception of Ju Lai, in all the west no one equals her in dignity and perfection. She is the Queen of the three thousand P'u-sa's and of all the beings on earth who have skin and blood. We regard her as our sovereign in all things. Therefore, on the nineteenth day of the eleventh moon we will enthrone her, that the whole world may profit by her beneficence." The _t'u-ti_ sent out his invitations for the ceremony. The Dragon-king of the Western Sea, the Gods of the Five Sacred Mountains, the Emperor-saints to the number of one hundred and twenty, the thirty-six officials of the Ministry of Time, the celestial functionaries in charge of wind, rain, thunder, and lightning, the Three Causes, the Five Saints, the Eight Immortals, the Ten Kings of the Hells--all were present on the appointed day. Miao Shan took her seat on the lotus-throne, and the assembled gods proclaimed her sovereign of Heaven and earth, and a Buddha. Moreover, they decided that it was not meet that she should remain alone at Hsiang Shan; so they begged her to choose a worthy young man and a virtuous damsel to serve her in the temple. The _t'u-ti_ was entrusted with the task of finding them. While making search, he met a young priest named Shan Ts'ai. After the death of his parents he had become a hermit on Ta-hua Shan, and was still a novice in the science of perfection. Miao Shan ordered him to be brought to her. "Who are you?" she asked. "I am a poor orphan priest of no merit," he replied. "From my earliest youth I have led the life of a hermit. I have been told that your power is equalled only by your goodness, so I have ventured to come to pray you to show me how to attain to perfection." "My only fear," replied Miao Shan, "is that your desire for perfection may not be sincere." "I have now no parents," the priest continued, "and I have come more than a thousand _li_ to find you. How can I be wanting in sincerity?" "What special degree of ability have you attained during your course of perfection?" asked Miao Shan. "I have no skill," replied Shan Ts'ai, "but I rely for everything on your great pity, and under your guidance I hope to reach the required ability." "Very well," said Miao Shan, "take up your station on the top of yonder peak, and wait till I find a means of transporting you." A Ruse Miao Shan called the _t'u-ti_ and bade him go and beg all the Immortals to disguise themselves as pirates and to besiege the mountain, waving torches, and threatening with swords and spears to kill her. "Then I will seek refuge on the summit, and thence leap over the precipice to prove Shan Ts'ai's fidelity and affection." A minute later a horde of brigands of ferocious aspect rushed up to the temple of Hsiang Shan. Miao Shan cried for help, rushed up the steep incline, missed her footing, and rolled down into the ravine. Shan Ts'ai, seeing her fall into the abyss, without hesitation flung himself after her in order to rescue her. When he reached her, he asked: "What have you to fear from the robbers? You have nothing for them to steal; why throw yourself over the precipice, exposing yourself to certain death?" Miao Shan saw that he was weeping, and wept too. "I must comply with the wish of Heaven," she said. The Transformation of Shan Ts'ai Shan Ts'ai, inconsolable, prayed Heaven and earth to save his protectress. Miao Shan said to him: "You should not have risked your life by throwing yourself over the precipice, I have not yet transformed you. But you did a brave thing, and I know that you have a good heart. Now, look down there." "Oh," said he, "if I mistake not, that is a corpse." "Yes," she replied, "that is your former body. Now you are transformed you can rise at will and fly in the air." Shan Ts'ai bowed low to thank his benefactress, who said to him: "Henceforth you must say your prayers by my side, and not leave me for a single day." 'Brother and Sister' With her spiritual sight Miao Shan perceived at the bottom of the Southern Sea the third son of Lung Wang, who, in carrying out his father's orders, was cleaving the waves in the form of a carp. While doing so, he was caught in a fisherman's net, taken to the market at Yüeh Chou, and offered for sale. Miao Shan at once sent her faithful Shan Ts'ai, in the guise of a servant, to buy him, giving him a thousand cash to purchase the fish, which he was to take to the foot of the rocks at P'u T'o and set free in the sea. The son of Lung Wang heartily thanked his deliverer, and on his return to the palace related to his father what had occurred. The King said: "As a reward, make her a present of a luminous pearl, so that she may recite her prayers by its light at night-time." Lung Nü, the daughter of Lung Wang's third son, obtained her grandfather's permission to take the gift to Miao Shan and beg that she might be allowed to study the doctrine of the sages under her guidance. After having proved her sincerity, she was accepted as a pupil. Shan Ts'ai called her his sister, and Lung Nü reciprocated by calling him her dear brother. Both lived as brother and sister by Miao Shan's side. The King's Punishment After King Miao Chuang had burned the Nunnery of the White Bird and killed his daughter, Ch'ieh Lan Buddha presented a petition to Yü Huang praying that the crime be not allowed to go unpunished. Yü Huang, justly irritated, ordered P'an Kuan to consult the Register of the Living and the Dead to see how long this homicidal King had yet to live. P'an Kuan turned over the pages of his register, and saw that according to the divine ordinances the King's reign on the throne of Hsing Lin should last for twenty years, but that this period had not yet expired. [31] "That which has been decreed is immutable," said Yü Huang, "but I will punish him by sending him illness." He called the God of Epidemics, and ordered him to afflict the King's body with ulcers, of a kind which could not be healed except by remedies to be given him by his daughter Miao Shan. The order was promptly executed, and the King could get no rest by day or by night. His two daughters and their husbands spent their time in feasting while he tossed about in agony on his sick-bed. In vain the most famous physicians were called in; the malady only grew worse, and despair took hold of the patient. He then caused a proclamation to be made that he would grant the succession to the throne to any person who would provide him with an effectual remedy to restore him to health. The Disguised Priest-doctor Miao Shan had learnt by revelation at Hsiang Shan all that was taking place at the palace. She assumed the form of a priest-doctor, clothed herself in a priest's gown, with the regulation headdress and straw shoes, and attached to her girdle a gourd containing pills and other medicines. In this apparel she went straight to the palace gate, read the royal edict posted there, and tore it down. Some members of the palace guard seized her, and inquired angrily: "Who are you that you should dare to tear down the royal proclamation?" "I, a poor priest, am also a doctor," she replied. "I read the edict posted on the palace gates. The King is inquiring for a doctor who can heal him. I am a doctor of an old cultured family, and propose to restore him to health." "If you are of a cultured family, why did you become a priest?" they asked. "Would it not have been better to gain your living honestly in practising your art than to shave your head and go loafing about the world? Besides, all the highest physicians have tried in vain to cure the King; do you imagine that you will be more skilful than all the aged practitioners?" "Set your minds at ease," she replied. "I have received from my ancestors the most efficacious remedies, and I guarantee that I shall restore the King to health," The palace guard then consented to transmit her petition to the Queen, who informed the King, and in the end the pretended priest was admitted. Having reached the royal bed-chamber, he sat still awhile in order to calm himself before feeling the pulse, and to have complete control of all his faculties while examining the King. When he felt quite sure of himself, he approached the King's bed, took the King's hand, felt his pulse, carefully diagnosed the nature of the illness, and assured himself that it was easily curable. Strange Medicine One serious difficulty, however, presented itself, and that was that the right medicine was almost impossible to procure. The King showed his displeasure by saying: "For every illness there is a medical prescription, and for every prescription a specific medicine; how can you say that the diagnosis is easy, but that there is no remedy?" "Your Majesty," replied the priest, "the remedy for your illness is not to be found in any pharmacy, and no one would agree to sell it." The King became angry, believed that he was being imposed upon, and ordered those about him to drive away the priest, who left smiling. The following night the King saw in a dream an old man who said to him: "This priest alone can cure your illness, and if you ask him he himself will give you the right remedy." The King awoke as soon as these words had been uttered, and begged the Queen to recall the priest. When the latter had returned, the King related his dream, and begged the priest to procure for him the remedy required. "What, after all, is this remedy that I must have in order to be cured?" he asked. "There must be the hand and eye of a living person, from which to compound the ointment which alone can save you," answered the priest. The King called out in indignation: "This priest is fooling me! Who would ever give his hand or his eye? Even if anyone would, I could never have the heart to make use of them." "Nevertheless," said the priest, "there is no other effective remedy." "Then where can I procure this remedy?" asked the King. "Your Majesty must send your ministers, who must observe the Buddhist rules of abstinence, to Hsiang Shan, where they will be given what is required." "Where is Hsiang Shan, and how far from here?" "About three thousand or more _li_, but I myself will indicate the route to be followed; in a very short time they will return." The King, who was suffering terribly, was more contented when he heard that the journey could be rapidly accomplished. He called his two ministers, Chao Chên and Liu Ch'in, and instructed them to lose no time in starting for Hsiang Shan and to observe scrupulously the Buddhist rules of abstinence. He ordered the Minister of Ceremonies to detain the priest in the palace until their return. A Conspiracy that Failed The two sons-in-law of the King, Ho Fêng and Chao K'uei, who had already made secret preparations to succeed to the throne as soon as the King should breathe his last, learned with no little surprise that the priest had hopes of curing the King's illness, and that he was waiting in the palace until the saving remedy was brought to him. Fearing that they might be disappointed in their ambition, and that after his recovery the King, faithful to his promise, would give the crown to the priest, they entered into a conspiracy with an unscrupulous courtier named Ho Li. They were obliged to act quickly, because the ministers were travelling by forced marches, and would soon be back. That same night Ho Li was to give to the King a poisoned drink, composed, he would say, by the priest with the object of assuaging the King's pain until the return of his two ministers. Shortly after, an assassin, Su Ta, was to murder the priest. Thus at one stroke both the King and the priest would meet their death, and the kingdom would pass to the King's two sons-in-law. Miao Shan had returned to Hsiang Shan, leaving in the palace the bodily form of the priest. She saw the two traitors Ho Fêng and Chao K'uei preparing the poison, and was aware of their wicked intentions. Calling the spirit Yu I, who was on duty that day, she told him to fly to the palace and change into a harmless soup the poison about to be administered to the King and to bind the assassin hand and foot. At midnight Ho Li, carrying in his hand the poisoned drink, knocked at the door of the royal apartment, and said to the Queen that the priest had prepared a soothing potion while awaiting the return of the ministers. "I come," he said, "to offer it to his Majesty." The Queen took the bowl in her hands and was about to give it to the King, when Yu I arrived unannounced. Quick as thought he snatched the bowl from the Queen and poured the contents on the ground; at the same moment he knocked over those present in the room, so that they all rolled on the floor. At the time this was happening the assassin Su Ta entered the priest's room, and struck him with his sword. Instantly the assassin, without knowing how, found himself enwrapped in the priest's robe and thrown to the ground. He struggled and tried to free himself, but found that his hands had been rendered useless by some mysterious power, and that flight was impossible. The spirit Yu I, having fulfilled the mission entrusted to him, now returned to Hsiang Shan and reported to Miao Shan. A Confession and its Results Next morning, the two sons-in-law of the King heard of the turn things had taken during the night. The whole palace was in a state of the greatest confusion. When he was informed that the priest had been killed, the King called Ch'u Ting-lieh and ordered him to have the murderer arrested. Su Ta was put to the torture and confessed all that he knew. Together with Ho Li he was condemned to be cut into a thousand pieces. The two sons-in-law were seized and ordered to instant execution, and it was only on the Queen's intercession that their wives were spared. The infuriated King, however, ordered that his two daughters should be imprisoned in the palace. The Gruesome Remedy Meantime Chao Chên and Liu Ch'in had reached Hsiang Shan. When they were brought to Miao Shan the ministers took out the King's letter and read it to her. "I, Miao Chuang, King of Hsing Lin, have learned that there dwells at Hsiang Shan an Immortal whose power and compassion have no equal in the whole world. I have passed my fiftieth year, and am afflicted with ulcers that all remedies have failed to cure. To-day a priest has assured me that at Hsiang Shan I can obtain the hand and eye of a living person, with which he will prepare an ointment able to restore me to my usual state of health. Relying upon his word and upon the goodness of the Immortal to whom he has directed me, I venture to beg that those two parts of a living body necessary to heal my ulcers be sent to me. I assure you of my everlasting gratitude, fully confident that my request will not be refused." The next morning Miao Shan bade the ministers take a knife and cut off her left hand and gouge out her left eye. Liu Ch'in took the knife offered him, but did not dare to obey the order. "Be quick," urged the Immortal; "you have been commanded to return as soon as possible; why do you hesitate as if you were a young girl?" Liu Ch'in was forced to proceed. He plunged in the knife, and the red blood flooded the ground, spreading an odour like sweet incense. The hand and eye were placed on a golden plate, and, having paid their grateful respects to the Immortal, the envoys hastened to return. When they had left, Miao Shan, who had transformed herself in order to allow the envoys to remove her hand and eye, told Shan Ts'ai that she was now going to prepare the ointment necessary for the cure of the King. "Should the Queen," she added, "send for another eye and hand, I will transform myself again, and you can give them to her." No sooner had she finished speaking than she mounted a cloud and disappeared in space. The two ministers reached the palace and presented to the Queen the gruesome remedy which they had brought from the temple. She, overcome with gratitude and emotion, wept copiously. "What Immortal," she asked, "can have been so charitable as to sacrifice a hand and eye for the King's benefit?" Then suddenly her tears gushed forth with redoubled vigour, and she uttered a great cry, for she recognized the hand of her daughter by a black scar which was on it. Half-measures "Who else, in fact, but his child," she continued amid her sobs, "could have had the courage to give her hand to save her father's life?" "What are you saying?" said the King. "In the world there are many hands like this." While they thus reasoned, the priest entered the King's apartment. "This great Immortal has long devoted herself to the attainment of perfection," he said. "Those she has healed are innumerable. Give me the hand and eye." He took them and shortly produced an ointment which, he told the King, was to be applied to his left side. No sooner had it touched his skin than the pain on his left side disappeared as if by magic; no sign of ulcers was to be seen on that side, but his right side remained swollen and painful as before. "Why is it," asked the King, "that this remedy, which is so efficacious for the left side, should not be applied to the right?" "Because," replied the priest, "the left hand and eye of the saint cures only the left side. If you wish to be completely cured, you must send your officers to obtain the right eye and right hand also." The King accordingly dispatched his envoys anew with a letter of thanks, and begging as a further favour that the cure should be completed by the healing also of his right side. The King Cured On the arrival of the envoys Shan Ts'ai met them in the mutilated form of Miao Shan, and he bade them cut off his right hand, pluck out his right eye, and put them on a plate. At the sight of the four bleeding wounds Liu Ch'in could not refrain from calling out indignantly: "This priest is a wicked man, thus to make a martyr of a woman in order to obtain the succession!" Having thus spoken, he left with his companion for the kingdom of Hsing Lin. On their return the King was overwhelmed with joy. The priest quickly prepared the ointment, and the King, without delay, applied it to his right side. At once the ulcers disappeared like the darkness of night before the rising sun. The whole Court congratulated the King and eulogized the priest. The King conferred upon the latter the title Priest of the Brilliant Eye. He fell on his face to return thanks, and added: "I, a poor priest, have left the world, and have only one wish, namely, that your Majesty should govern your subjects with justice and sympathy and that all the officials of the realm should prove themselves men of integrity. As for me, I am used to roaming about. I have no desire for any royal estate. My happiness exceeds all earthly joys." Having thus spoken, the priest waved the sleeve of his cloak, a cloud descended from Heaven, and seating himself upon it he disappeared in the sky. From the cloud a note containing the following words was seen to fall: "I am one of the Teachers of the West. I came to cure the King's illness, and so to glorify the True Doctrine." The King's Daughter All who witnessed this miracle exclaimed with one voice: "This priest is the Living Buddha, who is going back to Heaven!" The note was taken to King Miao Chuang, who exclaimed: "Who am I that I should deserve that one of the rulers of Heaven should deign to descend and cure me by the sacrifice of hands and eyes?" "What was the face of the saintly person like who gave you the remedy?" he then asked Chao Chên. "It was like unto that of your deceased daughter, Miao Shan," he replied. "When you removed her hands and eyes did she seem to suffer?" "I saw a great flow of blood, and my heart failed, but the face of the victim seemed radiant with happiness." "This certainly must be my daughter Miao Shan, who has attained to perfection," said the King. "Who but she would have given hands and eyes? Purify yourselves and observe the rules of abstinence, and go quickly to Hsiang Shan to return thanks to the saint for this inestimable favour. I myself will ere long make a pilgrimage thither to return thanks in person." The King and Queen taken Prisoners Three years later the King and Queen, with the grandees of their Court, set out to visit Hsiang Shan, but on the way the monarchs were captured by the Green Lion, or God of Fire, and the White Elephant, or Spirit of the Water, the two guardians of the Temple of Buddha, who transported them to a dark cavern in the mountains. A terrific battle then took place between the evil spirits on the one side and some hosts of heavenly genii, who had been summoned to the rescue, on the other. While its issue was still uncertain, reinforcements under the Red Child Devil, who could resist fire, and the Dragon-king of the Eastern Sea, who could subdue water, finally routed the enemy, and the prisoners were released. The King's Repentance The King and Queen now resumed their pilgrimage, and Miao Shan instructed Shan Ts'ai to receive the monarchs when they arrived to offer incense. She herself took up her place on the altar, her eyes torn out, her hands cut off, and her wrists all dripping with blood. The King recognized his daughter, and bitterly reproached himself; the Queen fell swooning at her feet. Miao Shan then spoke and tried to comfort them. She told them of all that she had experienced since the day when she had been executed, and how she had attained to immortal perfection. She then went on: "In order to punish you for having caused the deaths of all those who perished in the wars preceding your accession to the throne, and also to avenge the burning of the Nunnery of the White Bird, Yü Huang afflicted you with those grievous ulcers. It was then that I changed myself into a priest in order to heal you, and gave my eyes and hands, with which I prepared the ointment that cured you. It was I, moreover, who procured your liberty from Buddha when you were imprisoned in the cave by the Green Lion and the White Elephant." Sackcloth and Ashes At these words the King threw himself with his face on the ground, offered incense, worshipped Heaven, earth, the sun, and the moon, saying with a voice broken by sobs: "I committed a great crime in killing my daughter, who has sacrificed her eyes and hands in order to cure my sickness." No sooner were these words uttered than Miao Shan reassumed her normal form, and, descending from the altar, approached her parents and sisters. Her body had again its original completeness; and in the presence of its perfect beauty, and at finding themselves reunited as one family, all wept for joy. "Well," said Miao Shan to her father, "will you now force me to marry and prevent my devoting myself to the attainment of perfection?" "Speak no more of that," replied the King. "I was in the wrong. If you had not reached perfection, I should not now be alive. I have made up my mind to exchange my sceptre for the pursuit of the perfect life, which I wish to lead henceforth together with you." The King renounces the Throne Then, in the presence of all, he addressed his Grand Minister Chao Chên, saying: "Your devotion to the service of the State has rendered you worthy to wear the crown: I surrender it to you." The Court proclaimed Chao Chên King of Hsing Lin, bade farewell to Miao Chuang, and set out for their kingdom accompanied by their new sovereign. Pardon of the Green Lion and the White Elephant Buddha had summoned the White Elephant and the Green Lion, and was on the point of sentencing them to eternal damnation when the compassionate Miao Shan interceded for them. "Certainly you deserve no forgiveness," he said, "but I cannot refuse a request made by Miao Shan, whose clemency is without limit. I give you over to her, to serve and obey her in everything. Follow her." Miao Shan becomes a Buddha The guardian spirit on duty that day then announced the arrival of a messenger from Yü Huang. It was T'ai-po Chin-hsing, who was the bearer of a divine decree, which he handed to Miao Shan. It read as follows: "I, the august Emperor, make known to you this decree: Miao Chuang, King of Hsing Lin, forgetful alike of Heaven and Hell, the six virtues, and metempsychosis, has led a blameworthy life; but your nine years of penitence, the filial piety which caused you to sacrifice your own body to effect his cure, in short, all your virtues, have redeemed his faults. Your eyes can see and your ears can hear all the good and bad deeds and words of men. You are the object of my especial regard. Therefore I make proclamation of this decree of canonization. "Miao Shan will have the title of Very Merciful and Very Compassionate P'u-sa, Saviour of the Afflicted, Miraculous and Always Helpful Protectress of Mortals. On your lofty precious lotus-flower throne, you will be the Sovereign of the Southern Seas and of P'u T'o Isle. "Your two sisters, hitherto tainted with earthly pleasures, will gradually progress till they reach true perfection. "Miao Ch'ing will have the title of Very Virtuous P'u-sa, the Completely Beautiful, Rider of the Green Lion. "Miao Yin will be honoured with the title of Very Virtuous and Completely Resplendent P'u-sa, Rider of the White Elephant. "King Miao Chuang is raised to the dignity of Virtuous Conquering P'u-sa, Surveyor of Mortals. "Queen Po Ya receives the title of P'u-sa of Ten Thousand Virtues, Surveyor of Famous Women. "Shan Ts'ai has bestowed upon him the title of Golden Youth. "Lung Nü has the title of Jade Maiden. "During all time incense is to be burned before all the members of this canonized group." CHAPTER XI The Eight Immortals Pa Hsien Either singly or in groups the Eight Immortals, Pa Hsien, of the Taoist religion are one of the most popular subjects of representation in China; their portraits are to be seen everywhere--on porcelain vases, teapots, teacups, fans, scrolls, embroidery, etc. Images of them are made in porcelain, earthenware, roots, wood, metals. The term 'Eight Immortals' is figuratively used for happiness. The number eight has become lucky in association with this tradition, and persons or things eight in number are graced accordingly. Thus we read of reverence shown to the 'Eight Genii Table' (_Pa Hsien Cho_), the 'Eight Genii Bridge' (_Pa Hsien Ch'iao_), 'Eight Genii Vermicelli' (_Pa Hsien Mien_), the 'Eight Genii of the Wine-cup' (_Tin Chung Pa Hsien_)--wine-bibbers of the T'ang dynasty celebrated by Tu Fu, the poet. They are favourite subjects of romance, and special objects of adoration. In them we see "the embodiment of the ideas of perfect but imaginary happiness which possess the minds of the Chinese people." Three of them (Chung-li Ch'üan, Chang Kuo, and Lü Yen) were historical personages; the others are mentioned only in fables or romances. They represent all kinds of people--old, young, male, female, civil, military, rich, poor, afflicted, cultured, noble. They are also representative of early, middle, and later historical periods. The legend of the Eight Immortals is certainly not older than the time of the Sung dynasty (A.D. 960-1280), and is probably to be assigned to that of the Yüan dynasty (1280-1368). But some, if not all, of the group seem to have been previously celebrated as Immortals in the Taoist legends. Their biographies are usually arranged in the order of their official eminence or seniority in age. Here I follow that adopted in _Hsiu hsiang Pa Hsien tung yu chi_ [32] in which they are described in the order in which they became Immortals. Li T'ieh-kuai Li T'ieh-kuai, depicted always with his crutch and gourd full of magic medicines, was of the family name of Li, his own name being Li Yüan (Hs'üan, now read Yüan). He is also known as K'ung-mu. Hsi Wang Mu cured him of an ulcer on the leg and taught him the art of becoming immortal. He was canonized as Rector of the East. He is said to have been of commanding stature and dignified mien, devoting himself solely to the study of Taoist lore. Hsi Wang Mu made him a present of an iron crutch, and sent him to the capital to teach the doctrine of immortality to Han Chung-li. He is also identified with Li Ning-yang, to whom Lao Tzu descended from Heaven in order to instruct him in the wisdom of the gods. Soon after he had completed his course of instruction his soul left his body to go on a visit to Hua Shan. Some say he was summoned by Lao Tzu, others that Lao Tzu engaged him as escort to the countries of Hsi Yü. He left his disciple Lang Ling in charge of his body, saying that if he did not return within seven days he was to have the body cremated. Unfortunately, when only six days had elapsed the disciple was called away to the death-bed of his mother. In order to be able to leave at once he cremated the body forthwith, and when the soul returned it found only a heap of ashes. Some say the body was not cremated, but only became devitalized through neglect or through being uninhabited for so long a time. The object of the setting of the watch was not only to prevent injury to or theft of the body, but also to prevent any other soul from taking up its abode in it. In a forest near by a beggar had just died of hunger. Finding this corpse untenanted, the wandering spirit entered it through the temples, and made off. When he found that his head was long and pointed, his face black, his beard and hair woolly and dishevelled, his eyes of gigantic size, and one of his legs lame, he wished to get out of this vile body; but Lao Tzu advised him not to make the attempt and gave him a gold band to keep his hair in order, and an iron crutch to help his lame leg. On lifting his hand to his eyes, he found they were as large as buckles. That is why he was called Li K'ung-mu, 'Li Hollow Eyes.' Popularly he is known as Li T'ieh-kuai, 'Li with the Iron Crutch.' No precise period seems to be assigned to his career on earth, though one tradition places him in the Yüan dynasty. Another account says that he was changed into a dragon, and in that form ascended to Heaven. Elsewhere it is related that T'ieh-kuai, after entering the body of the lame beggar, benevolently proceeded to revive the mother of Yang, his negligent disciple. Leaning on his iron staff and carrying a gourd of medicines on his back he went to Yang's house, where preparations were being made for the funeral. The contents of the gourd, poured into the mouth, revived the dead woman. He then made himself known, and, giving Yang another pill, vanished in a gust of wind. Two hundred years later he effected the immortalization of his disciple. During his peregrinations on earth he would hang a bottle on the wall at night and jump into it, emerging on the following morning. He frequently returned to earth, and at times tried to bring about the transmigration of others. An example is the case of Ch'ao Tu, the watchman. T'ieh-kuai walked into a fiery furnace and bade Ch'ao follow. The latter, being afraid of imitating an act evidently associated with the supernatural world of evil spirits, refused to do so. T'ieh-kuai then told Ch'ao to step on to a leaf floating on the surface of the river, saying that it was a boat that would bear him across safely. Again the watchman refused, whereupon T'ieh-kuai, remarking that the cares of this world were evidently too weighty for him to be able to ascend to immortality, stepped on to the leaf himself and vanished. Chung-li Ch'üan Regarding the origin and life of this Immortal several different accounts are given. One states that his family name was Chung-li, and that he lived in the Han dynasty, being therefore called Han Chung-li. His cognomen was Ch'üan, his literary appellation Chi Tao, and his pseudonyms Ho-ho Tzu and Wang-yang Tzu; his style Yün-fang. He was born in the district of Hsien-yang Hsien (a sub-prefecture of the ancient capital Hsi-an Fu) in Shensi. He became Marshal of the Empire in the cyclic year 2496. In his old age he became a hermit on Yang-chio Shan, thirty _li_ north-east of I-ch'êng Hsien in the prefecture of P'ing-yang Fu in Shansi. He is referred to by the title of King-emperor of the True Active Principle. Another account describes Chung-li Ch'üan as merely a vice-marshal in the service of Duke Chou Hsiao. He was defeated in battle, and escaped to Chung-nan Shan, where he met the Five Heroes, the Flowers of the East, who instructed him in the doctrine of immortality. At the end of the T'ang dynasty Han Chung-li taught this same science of immortality to Lü Tung-pin (see p. 297), and took the pompous title of the Only Independent One Under Heaven. Other versions state that Han Chung-li is not the name of a person, but of a country; that he was a Taoist priest Chung Li-tzu; and that he was a beggar, Chung-li by name, who gave to one Lao Chih a pill of immortality. No sooner had the latter swallowed it than he went mad, left his wife, and ascended to Heaven. During a great famine he transmuted copper and pewter into silver by amalgamating them with some mysterious drug. This treasure he distributed among the poor, and thousands of lives were thus saved. One day, while he was meditating, the stone wall of his dwelling in the mountains was rent asunder, and a jade casket exposed to view. This was found to contain secret information as to how to become an Immortal. When he had followed these instructions for some time, his room was filled with many-coloured clouds, music was heard, and a celestial stork came and bore him away on its back to the regions of immortality. He is sometimes represented holding his feather-fan, Yü-mao Shan; at other times the peach of immortality. Since his admission to the ranks of the gods, he has appeared on earth at various times as the messenger of Heaven. On one of these occasions he met Lü Yen, as narrated on p. 297. Lan Ts'ai-ho Lan Ts'ai-ho is variously stated to have been a woman and an hermaphrodite. She is the strolling singer or mountebank of the Immortals. Usually she plays a flute or a pair of cymbals. Her origin is unknown, but her personal name is said to have been Yang Su, and her career is assigned to the period of the T'ang dynasty. She wandered abroad clad in a tattered blue gown held by a black wooden belt three inches wide, with one foot shoeless and the other shod, wearing in summer an undergarment of wadded material, and in winter sleeping on the snow, her breath rising in a brilliant cloud like the steam from a boiling cauldron. In this guise she earned her livelihood by singing in the streets, keeping time with a wand three feet long. Though taken for a lunatic, the doggerel verse she sang disproved the popular slanders. It denounced this fleeting life and its delusive pleasures. When given money, she either strung it on a cord and waved it to the time of her song or scattered it on the ground for the poor to pick up. One day she was found to have become intoxicated in an inn at Fêng-yang Fu in Anhui, and while in that state disappeared on a cloud, having thrown down to earth her shoe, robe, belt, and castanets. According to popular belief, however, only one of the Eight Immortals, namely, Ho Hsien-ku, was a woman, Lan Ts'ai-ho being represented as a young person of about sixteen, bearing a basket of fruit. According to the _Hsiu hsiang Pa Hsien tung yu chi_, he was 'the Red-footed Great Genius,' Ch'ih-chiao Ta-hsien incarnate. Though he was a man, adds the writer, he could not understand how to be a man (which is perhaps the reason why he has been supposed to be a woman). Chang Kuo The period assigned to Chang Kuo is the middle or close of the seventh to the middle of the eighth century A.D. He lived as a hermit on Chung-t'iao Shan, in the prefecture of P'ing-yang Fu in Shansi. The Emperors T'ai Tsung and Kao Tsung of the T'ang dynasty frequently invited him to Court, but he persistently refused to go. At last, pressed once more by the Empress Wu (A.D. 684-705), he consented to leave his retreat, but was struck down by death at the gate of the Temple of the Jealous Woman. His body began to decay and to be eaten by worms, when lo! he was seen again, alive and well, on the mountains of Hêng Chou in P'ing-yang Fu. He rode on a white mule, which carried him thousands of miles in a day, and which, when the journey was finished, he folded up like a sheet of paper and put away in his wallet. When he again required its services, he had only to spurt water upon the packet from his mouth and the animal at once assumed its proper shape. At all times he performed wonderful feats of necromancy, and declared that he had been Grand Minister to the Emperor Yao (2357-2255 B.C.) during a previous existence. In the twenty-third year (A.D. 735) of the reign-period K'ai Yüan of the Emperor Hsüan Tsung of the T'ang dynasty, he was called to Lo-yang in Honan, and elected Chief of the Imperial Academy, with the honourable title of Very Perspicacious Teacher. It was just at this time that the famous Taoist Yeh Fa-shan, thanks to his skill in necromancy, was in great favour at Court. The Emperor asked him who this Chang Kuo Lao (he usually has the epithet Lao, 'old,' added to his name) was. "I know," replied the magician; "but if I were to tell your Majesty I should fall dead at your feet, so I dare not speak unless your Majesty will promise that you will go with bare feet and bare head to ask Chang Kuo to forgive you, in which case I should immediately revive." Hsüan Tsung having promised, Fa-shan then said: "Chang Kuo is a white spiritual bat which came out of primeval chaos." No sooner had he spoken than he dropped dead at the Emperor's feet. Hsüan Tsung, with bare head and feet, went to Chang Kuo as he had promised, and begged forgiveness for his indiscretion. The latter then sprinkled water on Fa-shan's face and he revived. Soon after Chang fell sick and returned to die in the Hêng Chou Mountains during the period A.D. 742-746. When his disciples opened his tomb, they found it empty. He is usually seen mounted on his white mule, sometimes facing its head, sometimes its tail. He carries a phoenix-feather or a peach of immortality. At his interviews with the Emperor Ming Huang in A.D. 723 (when he was alive still) Chang Kuo "entertained the Emperor with a variety of magical tricks, such as rendering himself invisible, drinking off a cup of aconite, and felling birds or flowers by pointing at them. He refused the hand of an imperial princess, and also declined to have his portrait placed in the Hall of Worthies." A picture of Chang Kuo sitting on a donkey and offering a descendant to the newly married couple is often found in the nuptial chamber. It seems somewhat incongruous that an old ascetic should be associated with matrimonial happiness and the granting of offspring, but the explanation may possibly be connected with his performance of wonderful feats of necromancy, though he is said not to have given encouragement to others in these things during his lifetime. Ho Hsien Ku A maiden holding in her hand a magic lotus-blossom, the flower of open-heartedness, or the peach of immortality given her by Lü Tung-pin in the mountain-gorge as a symbol of identity, playing at times the _shêng_ or reed-organ, or drinking wine--this is the picture the Chinese paint of the Immortal Ho Hsien Ku. She was the daughter of Ho T'ai, a native of Tsêng-ch'êng Hsien in Kuangtung. Others say her father was a shopkeeper at Ling-ling in Hunan. She lived in the time of the usurping empress Wu (A.D. 684-705) of the T'ang dynasty. At her birth six hairs were found growing on the crown of her head, and the account says she never had any more, though the pictures represent her with a full head of hair. She elected to live on Yün-mu Ling, twenty _li_ west of Tsêng-ch'êng Hsien. On that mountain was found a stone called _yün-mu shih_, 'mother-of-pearl.' In a dream she saw a spirit who ordered her to powder and eat one of these stones, by doing which she could acquire both agility and immortality. She complied with this injunction, and also vowed herself to a life of virginity. Her days were thenceforth passed in floating from one peak to another, bringing home at night to her mother the fruits she collected on the mountain. She gradually found that she had no need to eat in order to live. Her fame having reached the ears of the Empress, she was invited to Court, but while journeying thither suddenly disappeared from mortal view and became an Immortal. She is said to have been seen again in A.D. 750 floating upon a cloud of many colours at the temple of Ma Ku, the famous female Taoist magician, and again, some years later, in the city of Canton. She is represented as an extremely beautiful maiden, and is remarkable as occupying so prominent a position in a cult in which no system of female asceticism is developed. Lü Tung-pin Lü Tung-pin's family name was Lü; his personal name Tung-pin; also Yen; and his pseudonym Shun Yang Tzu. He was born in A.D. 798 at Yung-lo Hsien, in the prefecture of Ho-chung Fu in Shansi, a hundred and twenty _li_ south-east of the present sub-prefecture of Yung-chi Hsien (P'u Chou). He came of an official family, his grandfather having been President of the Ministry of Ceremonies, and his father Prefect of Hai Chou. He was 5 feet 2 inches in height, and at twenty was still unmarried. At this time he made a journey to Lu Shan in Kiangsi, where he met the Fire-dragon, who presented him with a magic sword, which enabled him at will to hide himself in the heavens. During his visit to the capital, Ch'ang-an in Shensi, he met the Immortal Han Chung-li, who instructed him in the mysteries of alchemy and the elixir of life. When he revealed himself as Yün-fang Hsien-shêng, Lü Yen expressed an ardent desire to aid in converting mankind to the true doctrine, but was first exposed to a series of ten temptations. These being successfully overcome, he was invested with supernatural power and magic weapons, with which he traversed the Empire, slaying dragons and ridding the earth of divers kinds of evils, during a period of upward of four hundred years. Another version says that Han Chung-li was in an inn, heating a jug of rice-wine. Here Lü met him, and going to sleep dreamed that he was promoted to a very high office and was exceptionally favoured by fortune in every way. This had gone on for fifty years when unexpectedly a serious fault caused him to be condemned to exile, and his family was exterminated. Alone in the world, he was sighing bitterly, when he awoke with a start. All had taken place in so short a space of time that Han Chung-li's wine was not yet hot. This is the incident referred to in Chinese literature in the phrase 'rice-wine dream.' Convinced of the hollowness of worldly dignities, he followed Han Chung-li to the Ho Ling Mountains at Chung-nan in Shensi, where he was initiated into the divine mysteries, and became an Immortal. In A.D. 1115 the Emperor Hui Tsung conferred on him the title of Hero of Marvellous Wisdom; and later he was proclaimed King-emperor and Strong Protector. There are various versions of the legend of Lü Tung-pin. One of these adds that in order to fulfil his promise made to Chung-li to do what he could to aid in the work of converting his fellow-creatures to the true doctrine, he went to Yüch Yang in the guise of an oil-seller, intending to immortalize all those who did not ask for additional weight to the quantity of oil purchased. During a whole year he met only selfish and extortionate customers, with the exception of one old lady who alone did not ask for more than was her due. So he went to her house, and seeing a well in the courtyard threw a few grains of rice into it. The water miraculously turned into wine, from the sale of which the dame amassed great wealth. He was very skilful in fencing, and is always represented with his magic Excalibur named Chan-yao Kuai, 'Devil-slaying Sabre,' and in one hand holds a fly-whisk, Yün-chou, or 'Cloud-sweeper,' a symbol common in Taoism of being able to fly at will through the air and to walk on the clouds of Heaven. Like Kuan Kung, he is shown bearing in his arms a male child--indicating a promise of numerous progeny, including _literati_ and famous officials. Consequently he is one of the spiritual beings honoured by the _literati_. Han Hsiang Tzu Han Hsiang Tzu, who is depicted with a bouquet of flowers or a basket of peaches of immortality, is stated to have been a grand-nephew of Han Yü (A.D. 768-824), the great statesman, philosopher, and poet of the T'ang dynasty, and an ardent votary of transcendental study. His own name was Ch'ing Fu. The child was entrusted to his uncle to be educated and prepared for the public examinations. He excelled his teacher in intelligence and the performance of wonderful feats, such as the production from a little earth in a flower-pot of some marvellous flowering plants, on the leaves of which were written in letters of gold some verses to this effect: The clouds hide Mount Ch'in Ling. Where is your abode? The snow is deep on Lan Kuan; Your horse refuses to advance. "What is the meaning of these verses?" asked Han Yü. "You will see," replied Han Hsiang Tzu. Some time afterward Han Yü was sent in disgrace to the prefecture of Ch'ao-chou Fu in Kuangtung. When he reached the foot of Lan Kuan the snow was so deep that he could not go on. Han Hsiang Tzu appeared, and, sweeping away the snow, made a path for him. Han Yü then understood the prophecy in his pupil's verses. When Han Hsiang Tzu was leaving his uncle, he gave him the following in verse: Many indeed are the eminent men who have served their country, but which of them surpasses you in his knowledge of literature? When you have reached a high position, you will be buried in a damp and foggy land. Han Yü also gave his pupil a farewell verse: How many here below allow themselves to be inebriated by the love of honours and pelf! Alone and watchful you persevere in the right path. But a time will come when, taking your flight to the sky, you will open in the ethereal blue a luminous roadway. Han Yü was depressed at the thought of the damp climate of his place of exile. "I fear there is no doubt," he said, "that I shall die without seeing my family again." Han Hsiang Tzu consoled him, gave him a prescription, and said: "Not only will you return in perfect health to the bosom of your family, but you will be reinstated in your former offices." All this took place exactly as he had predicted. Another account states that he became the disciple of Lü Tung-pin, and, having been carried up to the supernatural peach-tree of the genii, fell from its branches, but during his descent attained to the state of immortality. Still another version says that he was killed by the fall, was transformed, and then underwent the various experiences with Han Yü already related. Ts'ao Kuo-chiu Ts'ao Kuo-chiu was connected with the imperial family of the Sungs, and is shown with the tablet of admission to Court in his hand. He became one of the Eight Immortals because the other seven, who occupied seven of the eight grottos of the Upper Spheres, wished to see the eighth inhabited, and nominated him because "his disposition resembled that of a genie." The legend relates that the Empress Ts'ao, wife of the Emperor Jên Tsung (A.D. 1023-64), had two younger brothers. The elder of the two, Ching-hsiu, did not concern himself with the affairs of State; the younger, Ching-chih, was notorious for his misbehaviour. In spite of all warnings he refused to reform, and being at last guilty of homicide was condemned to death. His brother, ashamed at what had occurred, went and hid in the mountains, where he clothed his head and body with wild plants, resolved to lead the life of a hermit. One day Han Chung-li and Lü Tung-pin found him in his retreat, and asked him what he was doing. "I am engaged in studying the Way," he replied. "What way, and where is it?" they asked. He pointed to the sky. "Where is the sky?" they went on. He pointed to his heart. The two visitors smiled and said: "The heart is the sky, and the sky is the Way; you understand the origin of things." They then gave him a recipe for perfection, to enable him to take his place among the Perfect Ones. In a few days only he had reached this much-sought-after condition. In another version we find fuller details concerning this Immortal. A graduate named Yüan Wên-chêng of Ch'ao-yang Hsien, in the sub-prefecture of Ch'ao-chou Fu in Kuangtung, was travelling with his wife to take his examinations at the capital. Ts'ao Ching-chih, the younger brother of the Empress, saw the lady, and was struck with her beauty. In order to gratify his passion he invited the graduate and his young wife to the palace, where he strangled the husband and tried to force the wife to cohabit with him. She refused obstinately, and as a last resort he had her imprisoned in a noisome dungeon. The soul of the graduate appeared to the imperial Censor Pao Lao-yeh, and begged him to exact vengeance for the execrable crime. The elder brother, Ching-hsiu, seeing the case put in the hands of the upright Pao Lao-yeh, and knowing his brother to be guilty of homicide, advised him to put the woman to death, in order to cut off all sources of information and so to prevent further proceedings. The young voluptuary thereupon caused the woman to be thrown down a deep well, but the star T'ai-po Chin-hsing, in the form of an old man, drew her out again. While making her escape, she met on the road an official procession which she mistook for that of Pao Lao-yeh, and, going up to the sedan chair, made her accusation. This official was no other than the elder brother of the murderer. Ching-hsiu, terrified, dared not refuse to accept the charge, but on the pretext that the woman had not placed herself respectfully by the side of the official chair, and thus had not left a way clear for the passage of his retinue, he had her beaten with iron-spiked whips, and she was cast away for dead in a neighbouring lane. This time also she revived, and ran to inform Pao Lao-yeh. The latter immediately had Ts'ao Ching-hsiu arrested, cangued, and fettered. Without loss of time he wrote an invitation to the second brother, Ts'ao Ching-chih, and on his arrival confronted him with the graduate's wife, who accused him to his face. Pao Lao-yeh had him put in a pit, and remained deaf to all entreaties of the Emperor and Empress on his behalf. A few days later the murderer was taken to the place of execution, and his head rolled in the dust. The problem now was how to get Ts'ao Ching-hsiu out of the hands of the terrible Censor. The Emperor Jên Tsung, to please the Empress, had a universal amnesty proclaimed throughout the Empire, under which all prisoners were set free. On receipt of this edict, Pao Lao-yeh liberated Ts'ao Ching-hsiu from the cangue, and allowed him to go free. As one risen from the dead, he gave himself up to the practice of perfection, became a hermit, and, through the instruction of the Perfect Ones, became one of the Eight Immortals. Pa Hsien Kuo Hai The phrase _Pa Hsien kuo hai_, 'the Eight Immortals crossing the sea,' refers to the legend of an expedition made by these deities. Their object was to behold the wondrous things of the sea not to be found in the celestial sphere. The usual mode of celestial locomotion--by taking a seat on a cloud--was discarded at the suggestion of Lü Yen who recommended that they should show the infinite variety of their talents by placing things on the surface of the sea and stepping on them. Li T'ieh-kuai threw down his crutch, and scudded rapidly over the waves. Chung-li Ch'üan used his feather-fan, Chang Kuo his paper mule, Lü Tung-pin his sword, Han Hsiang Tzu his flower-basket, Ho Hsien Ku her lotus-flower, Lan Ts'ai-ho his musical instrument, and Ts'ao Kuo-chiu his tablet of admission to Court. The popular pictures often represent most of these articles changed into various kinds of sea-monsters. The musical instrument was noticed by the son of the Dragon-king of the Eastern Sea. This avaricious prince conceived the idea of stealing the instrument and imprisoning its owner. The Immortals thereupon declared war, the details of which are described at length by the Chinese writers, the outcome being that the Dragon-king was utterly defeated. After this the Eight Immortals continued their submarine exploits for an indefinite time, encountering numberless adventures; but here the author travels far into the fertile region of romance, beyond the frontiers of our present province. CHAPTER XII The Guardian of the Gate of Heaven Li, the Pagoda-bearer In Buddhist temples there is to be seen a richly attired figure of a man holding in his hand a model of a pagoda. He is Li, the Prime Minister of Heaven and father of No-cha. He was a general under the tyrant Chou and commander of Ch'ên-t'ang Kuan at the time when the bloody war was being waged which resulted in the extinction of the Yin dynasty. No-cha is one of the most frequently mentioned heroes in Chinese romance; he is represented in one account as being Yü Huang's shield-bearer, sixty feet in height, his three heads with nine eyes crowned by a golden wheel, his eight hands each holding a magic weapon, and his mouth vomiting blue clouds. At the sound of his Voice, we are told, the heavens shook and the foundations of the earth trembled. His duty was to bring into submission all the demons which desolated the world. His birth was in this wise. Li Ching's wife, Yin Shih, bore him three sons, the eldest Chin-cha, the second Mu-cha, and the third No-cha, generally known as 'the Third Prince.' Yin Shih dreamed one night that a Taoist priest entered her room. She indignantly exclaimed: "How dare you come into my room in this indiscreet manner?" The priest replied: "Woman, receive the child of the unicorn!" Before she could reply the Taoist pushed an object to her bosom. Yin Shih awoke in a fright, a cold sweat all over her body. Having awakened her husband, she told him what she had dreamed. At that moment she was seized with the pains of childbirth. Li Ching withdrew to an adjoining room, uneasy at what seemed to be inauspicious omens. A little later two servants ran to him, crying out: "Your wife has given birth to a monstrous freak!" An Avatar of the Intelligent Pearl Li Ching seized his sword and went into his wife's room, which he found filled with a red light exhaling a most extraordinary odour. A ball of flesh was rolling on the floor like a wheel; with a blow of his sword he cut it open, and a babe emerged, surrounded by a halo of red light. Its face was very white, a gold bracelet was on its right wrist, and it wore a pair of red silk trousers, from which proceeded rays of dazzling golden light. The bracelet was 'the horizon of Heaven and earth,' and the two precious objects belonged to the cave Chin-kuang Tung of T'ai-i Chên-jên, the priest who had bestowed them upon him when he appeared to his mother during her sleep. The child itself was an avatar of Ling Chu-tzu, 'the Intelligent Pearl.' On the morrow T'ai-i Chên-jên returned and asked Li Ching's permission to see the new-born babe. "He shall be called No-cha," he said, "and will become my disciple." A Precocious Youth At seven years of age No-cha was already six feet in height. One day he asked his mother if he might go for a walk outside the town. His mother granted him permission on condition that he was accompanied by a servant. She also counselled him not to remain too long outside the wall, lest his father should become anxious. It was in the fifth moon: the heat was excessive. No-cha had not gone a _li_ before he was in a profuse perspiration. Some way ahead he saw a clump of trees, to which he hastened, and, settling himself in the shade, opened his coat, and breathed with relief the fresher air. In front of him he saw a stream of limpid green water running between two rows of willows, gently agitated by the movement of the wind, and flowing round a rock. The child ran to the banks of the stream, and said to his guardian: "I am covered with perspiration, and will bathe from the rock." "Be quick," said the servant; "if your father returns home before you he will be anxious." No-cha stripped himself, took his red silk trousers, several feet long, and dipped them in the water, intending to use them as a towel. No sooner were the magic trousers immersed in the stream than the water began to boil, and Heaven and earth trembled. The water of this river, the Chiu-wan Ho, 'Nine-bends River,' which communicated with the Eastern Sea, turned completely red, and Lung Wang's palace shook to its foundations. The Dragon-king, surprised at seeing the walls of his crystal palace shaking, called his officers and inquired: "How is it that the palace threatens to collapse? There should not be an earthquake at this time." He ordered one of his attendants to go at once and find out what evil was giving rise to the commotion. When the officer reached the river he saw that the water was red, but noticed nothing else except a boy dipping a band of silk in the stream. He cleft the water and called out angrily: "That child should be thrown into the water for making the river red and causing Lung Wang's palace to shake." "Who is that who speaks so brutally?" said No-cha. Then, seeing that the man intended to seize him, he jumped aside, took his gold bracelet, and hurled it in the air. It fell on the head of the officer, and No-cha left him dead on the rock. Then he picked up his bracelet and said smiling: "His blood has stained my precious horizon of Heaven and earth." He then washed it in the water. The Slaying of the Dragon-king's Son "How is it that the officer does not return?" inquired Lung Wang. At that moment attendants came to inform him that his retainer had been murdered by a boy. Thereupon Ao Ping, the third son of Lung Wang, placing himself at the head of a troop of marines, his trident in his hand, left the palace precincts. The warriors dashed into the river, raising on every side waves mountains high. Seeing the water rising, No-cha stood up on the rock and was confronted by Ao Ping mounted on a sea-monster. "Who slew my messenger?" cried the warrior. "I did," answered No-cha. "Who are you?" demanded Ao Ping. "I am No-cha, the third son of Li Ching of Ch'ên-t'ang Kuan. I came here to bathe and refresh myself; your messenger cursed me, and I killed him. Then--" "Rascal! do you not know that your victim was a deputy of the King of Heaven? How dare you kill him, and then boast of your crime?" So saying, Ao Ping thrust at the boy with his trident. No-cha, by a brisk move, evaded the thrust. "Who are you?" he asked in turn. "I am Ao Ping, the third son of Lung Wang." "Ah, you are a blusterer," jeered the boy; "if you dare to touch me I will skin you alive, you and your mud-eels!" "You make me choke with rage," rejoined Ao Ping, at the same time thrusting again with his trident. Furious at this renewed attack, No-cha spread his silk trousers in the air, and thousands of balls of fire flew out of them, felling Lung Wang's son. No-cha put his foot on Ao Ping's head and struck it with his magic bracelet, whereupon he appeared in his true form of a dragon. "I am now going to pull out your sinews," he said, "in order to make a belt for my father to use to bind on his cuirass." No-cha was as good as his word, and Ao Ping's escort ran and informed Lung Wang of the fate of his son. The Dragon-king went to Li Ching and demanded an explanation. Being entirely ignorant of what had taken place, Li Ching sought No-cha to question him. An Unruly Son No-cha was in the garden, occupied in weaving the belt of dragon-sinew. The stupefaction of Li Ching may be imagined. "You have brought most awful misfortunes upon us," he exclaimed. "Come and give an account of your conduct." "Have no fear," replied No-cha superciliously; "his son's sinews are still intact; I will give them back to him if he wishes." When they entered the house he saluted the Dragon-king, made a curt apology, and offered to return his son's sinews. The father, moved with grief at the sight of the proofs of the tragedy, said bitterly to Li Ching: "You have such a son and yet dare to deny his guilt, though you heard him haughtily admitting it! To-morrow I shall report the matter to Yü Huang." Having spoken thus, he departed. Li Ching was overwhelmed at the enormity of his son's crime. His wife, in an adjoining room, hearing his lamentations, went to her husband. "What obnoxious creature is this that you have brought into the world?" he said to her angrily. "He has slain two spirits, the son of Lung Wang and a steward sent by the King of Heaven. To-morrow the Dragon-king is to lodge a complaint with Yü Huang, and two or three days hence will see the end of our existence." The poor mother began to weep copiously. "What!" she sobbed, "you whom I suffered so much for, you are to be the cause of our ruin and death!" No-cha, seeing his parents so distracted, fell on his knees. "Let me tell you once for all," he said, "that I am no ordinary mortal. I am the disciple of T'ai-i Chên-jên; my magic weapons I received from him; it is they which brought upon me the undying hatred of Lung Wang. But he cannot prevail. To-day I will go and ask my master's advice. The guilty alone should suffer the penalty; it is unjust that his parents should suffer in his stead." Drastic Measures He then left for Ch'ien-yüan Shan, and entered the cave of his master T'ai-i Chên-jên, to whom he related his adventures. The master dwelt upon the grave consequences of the murders, and then ordered No-cha to bare his breast. With his finger he drew on the skin a magic formula, after which he gave him some secret instructions. "Now," he said, "go to the gate of Heaven and await the arrival of Lung Wang, who purposes to accuse you before Yü Huang. Then you must come again to consult me, that your parents may not be molested because of your misdeeds." When No-cha reached the gate of Heaven it was closed. In vain he sought for Lung Wang, but after a while he saw him approaching. Lung Wang did not see No-cha, for the formula written by T'ai-i Chên-jên rendered him invisible. As Lung Wang approached the gate No-cha ran up to him and struck him so hard a blow with his golden bracelet that he fell to the ground. Then No-cha stamped on him, cursing him vehemently. The Dragon-king now recognized his assailant and sharply reproached him with his crimes, but the only reparation he got was a renewal of kicks and blows. Then, partially lifting Lung Wang's cloak and raising his shield, No-cha tore off from his body about forty scales. Blood flowed copiously, and the Dragon-king, under stress of the pain, begged his foe to spare his life. To this No-cha consented on condition that he relinquished his purpose of accusing him before Yü Huang. "Now," went on No-cha, "change yourself into a small serpent that I may take you back without fear of your escaping." Lung Wang took the form of a small blue dragon, and followed No-cha to his father's house, upon entering which Lung Wang resumed his normal form, and accused No-cha of having belaboured him. "I will go with all the Dragon-kings and lay an accusation before Yü Huang," he said. Thereupon he transformed himself into a gust of wind, and disappeared. No-cha draws a Bow at a Venture "Things are going from bad to worse," sighed Li Ching, His son, however, consoled him: "I beg you, my father, not to let the future trouble you. I am the chosen one of the gods. My master is T'ai-i Chên-jên, and he has assured me that he can easily protect us." No-cha now went out and ascended a tower which commanded a view of the entrance of the fort. There he found a wonderful bow and three magic arrows. No-cha did not know that this was the spiritual weapon belonging to the fort. "My master informed me that I am destined to fight to establish the coming Chou dynasty; I ought therefore to perfect myself in the use of weapons. This is a good opportunity." He accordingly seized the bow and shot an arrow toward the south-west. A red trail indicated the path of the arrow, which hissed as it flew. At that moment Pi Yün, a servant of Shih-chi Niang-niang, happened to be at the foot of K'u-lou Shan (Skeleton Hill), in front of the cave of his mistress. The arrow pierced his throat, and he fell dead, bathed in his blood. Shih-chi Niang-niang came out of her cave, and examining the arrow found that it bore the inscription: "Arrow which shakes the heavens." She thus knew that it must have come from Ch'ên-t'ang Kuan, where the magic bow was kept. Another Encounter The goddess mounted her blue phoenix, flew over the fort, seized Li Ching, and carried him to her cave. There she made him kneel before her, and reminded him how she had protected him that he might gain honour and glory on earth before he attained to immortality. "It is thus that you show your gratitude--by killing my servant!" Li Ching swore that he was innocent; but the tell-tale arrow was there, and it could not but have come from the fortress. Li Ching begged the goddess to set him at liberty, in order that he might find the culprit and bring him to her. "If I cannot find him," he added, "you may take my life." Once again No-cha frankly admitted his deed to his father, and followed him to the cave of Shih-chi Niang-niang. When he reached the entrance the second servant reproached him with the crime, whereupon No-cha struck him a heavy blow. Shih-chi Niang-niang, infuriated, threw herself at No-cha, sword in hand; one after the other she wrenched from him his bracelet and magic trousers. Deprived of his magic weapons, No-cha fled to his master, T'ai-i Chên-jên. The goddess followed and demanded that he be put to death. A terrible conflict ensued between the two champions, until T'ai-i Chên-jên hurled into the air his globe of nine fire-dragons, which, falling on Shih-chi Niang-niang, enveloped her in a whirlwind of flame. When this had passed it was seen that she was changed into stone. "Now you are safe," said T'ai-i Chên-jên to No-cha, "but return quickly, for the Four Dragon-kings have laid their accusation before Yü Huang, and they are going to carry off your parents. Follow my advice, and you will rescue your parents from their misfortune." No-cha commits Hara-Kiri On his return No-cha found the Four Dragon-kings on the point of carrying off his parents. "It is I," he said, "who killed Ao Ping, and I who should pay the penalty. Why are you molesting my parents? I am about to return to them what I received from them. Will it satisfy you?" Lung Wang agreed, whereupon No-cha took a sword, and before their eyes cut off an arm, sliced open his stomach, and fell unconscious. His soul, borne on the wind, went straight to the cave of T'ai-i Chên-jên, while his mother busied herself with burying his body. "Your home is not here," said his master to him; "return to Ch'ên-t'ang Kuan, and beg your mother to build a temple on Ts'ui-p'ing Shan, forty _li_ farther on. Incense will be burned to you for three years, at the end of which time you will be reincarnated." A Habitation for the Soul During the night, toward the third watch, while his mother was in a deep sleep, No-cha appeared to her in a dream and said: "My mother, pity me; since my death, my soul, separated from my body, wanders about without a home. Build me, I pray you, a temple on Ts'ui-p'ing Shan, that I may be reincarnated." His mother awoke in tears, and related her vision to Li Ching, who reproached her for her blind attachment to her unnatural son, the cause of so much disaster. For five or six nights the son appeared to his mother, each time repeating his request. The last time he added: "Do not forget that by nature I am ferocious; if you refuse my request evil will befall you." His mother then sent builders to the mountain to construct a temple to No-cha, and his image was set up in it. Miracles were not wanting, and the number of pilgrims who visited the shrine increased daily. Li Ching destroys his Son's Statue One day Li Ching, with a troop of his soldiers, was passing this mountain, and saw the roads crowded with pilgrims of both sexes. "Where are these people going?" he asked. "For six months past," he was told, "the spirit of the temple on this mountain has continued to perform miracles. People come from far and near to worship and supplicate him." "What is the name of this spirit?" inquired Li Ching. "No-cha," they replied. "No-cha!" exclaimed the father. "I will go and see him myself." In a rage Li Ching entered the temple and examined the statue, which was a speaking image of his son. By its side were images of two of his servants. He took his whip and began to beat the statue, cursing it all the while. "It is not enough, apparently, for you to have been a source of disaster to us," he said; "but even after your death you must deceive the multitude." He whipped the statue until it fell to pieces; he then kicked over the images of the servants, and went back, admonishing the people not to worship so wicked a man, the shame and ruin of his family. By his orders the temple was burnt to the ground. When he reached Ch'ên-t'ang Kuan his wife came to him, but he received her coldly. "You gave birth to that cursed son," he said, "who has been the plague of our lives, and after his death you build him a temple in which he deceives the people. Do you wish to have me disgraced? If I were to be accused at Court of having instituted the worship of false gods, would not my destruction be certain? I have burned the temple, and intend that that shall settle the matter once for all; if ever you think of rebuilding it I will break off all relations with you." No-cha consults his Master At the time of his father's visit No-cha was absent from the temple. On his return he found only its smoking remnants. The spirits of his two servants ran up lamenting. "Who has demolished my temple?" he asked. "Li Ching," they replied. "In doing this he has exceeded his powers," said No-cha. "I gave him back the substance I received from him; why did he come with violence to break up my image? I will have nothing more to do with him." No-cha's soul had already begun to be spiritualised. So he determined to go to T'ai-i Chên-jên and beg for his help. "The worship rendered to you there," replied the Taoist, "had nothing in it which should have offended your father; it did not concern him. He was in the wrong. Before long Chiang Tzu-ya will descend to inaugurate the new dynasty, and since you must throw in your lot with him I will find a way to aid you." A New No-cha T'ai-i Chên-jên had two water-lily stalks and three lotus-leaves brought to him. He spread these on the ground in the form of a human being and placed the soul of No-cha in this lotus skeleton, uttering magic incantations the while. There emerged a new No-cha full of life, with a fresh complexion, purple lips, keen glance, and sixteen feet of height. "Follow me to my peach-garden," said T'ai-i Chên-jên, "and I will give you your weapons." He handed him a fiery spear, very sharp, and two wind-and-fire wheels which, placed under his feet, served as a Vehicle. A brick of gold in a panther-skin bag completed his magic armament. The new warrior, after thanking his master, mounted his wind-and-fire wheels and returned to Ch'ên-t'ang Kuan. A Battle between Father and Son Li Ching was informed that his son No-cha had returned and was threatening vengeance. So he took his weapons, mounted his horse, and went forth to meet him. Having cursed each other profusely, they joined battle, but Li Ching was worsted and compelled to flee. No-cha pursued his father, but as he was on the point of overtaking him Li Ching's second son, Mu-cha, came on the scene, and keenly reproached his brother for his unfilial conduct. "Li Ching is no longer my father," replied No-cha. "I gave him back my substance; why did he burn my temple and smash up my image?" Mu-cha thereupon prepared to defend his father, but received on his back a blow from the golden brick, and fell unconscious. No-cha then resumed his pursuit of Li Ching. His strength exhausted, and in danger of falling into the hands of his enemy, Li Ching drew his sword and was about to kill himself. "Stop!" cried a Taoist priest. "Come into my cave, and I will protect you." When No-cha came up he could not see Li Ching, and demanded his surrender from the Taoist. But he had to do with one stronger than himself, no less a being than Wên-chu T'ien-tsun, whom T'ai-i Chên-jên had sent in order that No-cha might receive a lesson. The Taoist, with the aid of his magic weapon, seized No-cha, and in a moment he found a gold ring fastened round his neck, two chains on his feet, and he was bound to a pillar of gold. Peace at the Last At this moment, as if by accident, T'ai-i Chên-jên appeared upon the scene. His master had No-cha brought before Wên-chu T'ien-tsun and Li Ching, and advised him to live at peace with his father, but he also rebuked the father for having burned the temple on Ts'ui-p'ing Shan. This done, he ordered Li Ching to go home, and No-cha to return to his cave. The latter, overflowing with anger, his heart full of vengeance, started again in pursuit of Li Ching, swearing that he would punish him. But the Taoist reappeared and prepared to protect Li Ching. No-cha, bristling like a savage cat, threw himself at his enemy and tried to pierce him with his spear, but a white lotus-flower emerged from the Taoist's mouth and arrested the course of the weapon. As No-cha continued to threaten him, the Taoist drew from his sleeve a mysterious object which rose in the air, and, falling at the feet of No-cha, enveloped him in flames. Then No-cha prayed for mercy. The Taoist exacted from him three separate promises: to live in harmony with his father, to recognize and address him as his father, and to throw himself at his, the Taoist's, feet, to indicate his reconciliation with himself. After this act of reconciliation had been performed, Wên-chu T'ien-tsun promised Li Ching that he should leave his official post to become an Immortal able to place his services at the disposal of the new Chou dynasty, shortly to come into power. In order to ensure that their reconciliation should last for ever, and to place it beyond No-cha's power to seek revenge, he gave Li Ching the wonderful object by whose agency No-cha's feet had been burned, and which had been the means of bringing him into subjection. It was a golden pagoda, which became the characteristic weapon of Li Ching, and gave rise to his nickname, Li the Pagoda-bearer. Finally, Yü Huang appointed him Generalissimo of the Twenty-six Celestial Officers, Grand Marshal of the Skies, and Guardian of the Gate of Heaven. CHAPTER XIII A Battle of the Gods Multifarious Versatile Divinities The _Fêng shên yen i_ describes at length how, during the wars which preceded the accession of the Chou dynasty in 1122 B.C., a multitude of demigods, Buddhas, Immortals, etc., took part on one side or the other, some fighting for the old, some for the new dynasty. They were wonderful creatures, gifted with marvellous powers. They could at will change their form, multiply their heads and limbs, become invisible, and create, by merely uttering a word, terrible monsters who bit and destroyed, or sent forth poison gases, or emitted flames from their nostrils. In these battles there is much lightning, thunder, flight of fire-dragons, dark clouds which vomit burning hails of murderous weapons; swords, spears, and arrows fall from the sky on to the heads of the combatants; the earth trembles, the pillars of Heaven shake. Chun T'i One of these gifted warriors was Chun T'i, a Taoist of the Western Paradise, who appeared on the scene when the armies of the rival dynasties were facing each other. K'ung Hsüan was gallantly holding the pass of the Chin-chi Ling; Chiang Tzu-ya was trying to take it by assault--so far without success. Chun T'i's mission was to take K'ung Hsüan to the abode of the blest, his wisdom and general progress having now reached the required degree of perfection. This was a means of breaking down the invincible resistance of this powerful enemy and at the same time of rewarding his brilliant talents. But K'ung Hsüan did not approve of this plan, and a fight took place between the two champions. At one moment Chun T'i was seized by a luminous bow and carried into the air, but while enveloped in a cloud of fire he appeared with eighteen arms and twenty-four heads, holding in each hand a powerful talisman. The One-eyed Peacock He put a silk cord round K'ung Hsüan's neck, touched him with his wand, and forced him to reassume his original form of a red one-eyed peacock. Chun T'i seated himself on the peacock's back, and it flew across the sky, bearing its saviour and master to the Western Paradise. Brilliantly variegated clouds marked its track through space. Arrangements for the Siege On the disappearance of its defender the defile of Chin-chi Ling was captured, and the village of Chieh-p'ai Kuan, the bulwark of the enemy's forces, reached. This place was defended by a host of genii and Immortals, the most distinguished among them being the Taoist T'ung-t'ien Chiao-chu, whose specially effective charms had so far kept the fort secure against every attempt upon it. Lao Tzu himself had deigned to descend from dwelling in happiness, together with Yüan-shih T'ien-tsun and Chieh-yin Tao-jên, to take part in the siege. But the town had four gates, and these heavenly rulers were only three in number. So Chun T'i was recalled, and each member of the quartette was entrusted with the task of capturing one of the gates. Impediments Chun T'i's duty was to take the Chüeh-hsien Mên, defended by T'ung-t'ien Chiao-chu. The warriors who had tried to enter the town by this gate had one and all paid for their temerity with their lives. The moment each had crossed the threshold a clap of thunder had resounded, and a mysterious sword, moving with lightning rapidity, had slain him. Offence and Defence As Chun T'i advanced at the head of his warriors terrible lightning rent the air and the mysterious sword descended like a thunderbolt upon his head. But Chun T'i held on high his Seven-precious Branch, whereupon there emerged from it thousands of lotus-flowers, which formed an impenetrable covering and stopped the sword in its fall. This and the other gates were then forced, and a grand assault was now directed against the chief defender of the town. T'ung-t'ien Chiao-chu, riding his ox and surrounded by his warriors, for the last time risked the chance of war and bravely faced his four terrible adversaries. With his sword held aloft, he threw himself on Chieh-yin Tao-jên, whose only weapon was his fly-whisk. But there emerged from this a five-coloured lotus-flower, which stopped the sword-thrust. While Lao Tzu struck the hero with his staff, Yüan-shih T'ien-tsun warded off the terrible sword with his jade _ju-i_. Chun T'i now called to his help the spiritual peacock, and took the form of a warrior with twenty-four heads and eighteen arms. His mysterious weapons surrounded T'ung-t'ien Chiao-chu, and Lao Tzu struck the hero so hard that fire came out from his eyes, nose, and mouth. Unable to parry the assaults of his adversaries, he next received a blow from Chun T'i's magic wand, which felled him, and he took flight in a whirlwind of dust. The defenders now offered no further resistance, and Yüan-shih T'ien-tsun thanked Chun T'i for the valuable assistance he had rendered in the capture of the village, after which the gods returned to their palace in the Western Heaven. Attempts at Revenge T'ung-t'ien Chiao-chu, vanquished and routed, swore to have his revenge. He called to his aid the spirits of the twenty-eight constellations, and marched to attack Wu Wang's army. The honour of the victory that ensued belonged to Chun T'i, who disarmed both the Immortal Wu Yün and T'ung-t'ien Chiao-chu. Wu Yün, armed with his magic sword, entered the lists against Chun T'i; but the latter opened his mouth and a blue lotus-flower came out and stopped the blows aimed at him. Other thrusts were met by similar miracles. "Why continue so useless a fight?" said Chun T'i at last. "Abandon the cause of the Shang, and come with me to the Western Paradise. I came to save you, and you must not compel me to make you resume your original form." An insulting flow of words was the reply; again the magic sword descended like lightning, and again the stroke was averted by a timely lotus-flower. Chun T'i now waved his wand, and the magic sword was broken to bits, the handle only remaining in Wu Yün's hand. The Golden-bearded Turtle Mad with rage, Wu Yün seized his club and tried to fell his enemy. But Chun T'i summoned a disciple, who appeared with a bamboo pole. This he thrust out like a fishing-rod, and on a hook at the end of the line attached to the pole dangled a large golden-bearded turtle. This was the Immortal Wu Yün, now in his original form of a spiritual turtle. The disciple seated himself on its back, and both, disappearing into space, returned to the Western Heavens. The Battle Won To conquer T'ung-t'ien Chiao-chu was more difficult, but after a long fight Chun T'i waved his Wand of the Seven Treasures and broke his adversary's sword. The latter, disarmed and vanquished, disappeared in a cloud of dust. Chun T'i did not trouble to pursue him. The battle was won. Buddhahood A disciple of T'ung-t'ien Chiao-chu, P'i-lu Hsien, 'the Immortal P'i-lu,' seeing his master beaten in two successive engagements, left the battlefield and followed Chun T'i to the Western Paradise, to become a Buddha. He is known as P'i-lu Fo, one of the principal gods of Buddhism. Chun T'i's festival is celebrated on the sixth day of the third moon. He is generally shown with eight hands and three faces, one of the latter being that of a pig. CHAPTER XIV How the Monkey Became a God The Hsi Yu Chi In dealing with the gods of China we noticed the monkey among them. Why and in what manner he attained to that exalted rank is set forth in detail in the _Hsi yu chi_ [33]--a work the contents of which have become woven into the fabric of Chinese legendary lore and are known and loved by every intelligent native. Its pages are filled with ghosts, demons, and fairies, good and bad, but "it contains no more than the average Chinese really believes to exist, and his belief in such manifestations is so firm that from the cradle to the grave he lives and moves and has his being in reference to them." Its characters are said to be allegorical, though it may be doubted whether these implications may rightly be read into the Chinese text. Thus: Hsüan (or Yüan) Chuang, or T'ang Sêng, is the pilgrim of the _Hsi yu chi_, who symbolizes conscience, to which all actions are brought for trial. The priestly garment of Hsüan Chuang symbolizes the good work of the rectified human nature. It is held to be a great protection to the new heart from the myriads of evil beings which surround it, seeking its destruction. Sun Hou-tzu, the Monkey Fairy, represents human nature, which is prone to all evil. His unreasonable vagaries moved Hsüan Chuang to compel him to wear a Head-splitting Helmet which would contract upon his head in moments of waywardness. The agonizing pressure thus caused would bring him to his senses, irrespective of his distance from his master. The iron wand of Sun Hou-tzu is said to represent the use that can be made of doctrine. It was useful for all purposes, great or small. By a word it could be made invisible, and by a word it could become long enough to span the distance between Heaven and earth. Chu Pa-chieh, the Pig Fairy, with his muck-rake, stands for the coarser passions, which are constantly at war with the conscience in their endeavours to cast off all restraint. Sha Ho-shang, Priest Sha, is a good representation of Mr Faithful in _The Pilgrim's Progress_. In the _Hsi yu chi_ he stands for the human character, which is naturally weak and which needs constant encouragement. Legend of Sun Hou-tzu The deeds of this marvellous creature, the hero of the _Hsi yu chi_, are to be met with continually in Chinese popular literature, and they are very much alive in the popular mind. In certain parts a regular worship is offered to him, and in many temples representations of or legends concerning him are to be seen or heard. Other names by which Sun Hou-tzu is referred to are: Sun Hsing-chê, Sun Wu-k'ung, Mei Hou-wang, Ch'i-t'ien Ta Shêng, and Pi-ma Wên, the last-mentioned being a title which caused him annoyance by recalling the derisive dignity conferred upon him by Yü Huang. [34] Throughout the remainder of this chapter Sun Hou-tzu will be shortly referred to as 'Sun.' Beyond the seas, in the Eastern continent, in the kingdom of Ao-lai, is the mountain Hua-kuo Shan. On the steep sides of this mountain there is a rocky point 36 feet 5 inches high and 24 feet in circumference. At the very top an egg formed, and, fructified by the breath of the wind, gave birth to a stone monkey. The newly-born saluted the four points of the horizon; from his eyes shone golden streaks of lightning, which filled the palace of the North Pole Star with light. This light subsided as soon as he was able to take nourishment. "To-day," said Yü Huang to himself, "I am going to complete the wonderful diversity of the beings engendered by Heaven and earth. This monkey will skip and gambol to the highest peaks of mountains, jump about in the waters, and, eating the fruit of the trees, will be the companion of the gibbon and the crane. Like the deer he will pass his nights on the mountain slopes, and during the day will be seen leaping on their summits or in their caverns. That will be the finest ornament of all for the mountains!" The creature's exploits soon caused him to be proclaimed king of the monkeys. He then began to try to find some means of becoming immortal. After travelling for eighteen years by land and sea he met the Immortal P'u-t'i Tsu-shih on the mountain Ling-t'ai-fang-ts'un. During his travels the monkey had gradually acquired human attributes; his face remained always as it had been originally, but dressed in human apparel he began to be civilized. His new master gave him the family name of Sun, and personal name of Wu-k'ung, 'Discoverer of Secrets.' He taught him how to fly through the air, and to change into seventy-two different forms. With one leap he could cover 108,000 _li_ (about 36,000 miles). A Rod of Iron Sun, after his return to Hua-kuo Shan, slew the demon Hun-shih Mo-wang, who had been molesting the monkeys during his long absence. Then he organized his subjects into a regular army, 47,000 all told. Thus the peace of the simian kingdom was assured. As for himself, he could not find a weapon to suit him, and went to consult Ao Kuang, the Lung Wang, or Dragon-king of the Eastern Sea, about it. It was from him that he obtained the formidable rod of iron, formerly planted in the ocean-bed by the Great Yü (Yü Wang) to regulate the level of the waters. He pulled it out, and modified it to suit his tastes. The two extremities he bound round with gold bands, and on it engraved the words: 'Gold-bound Wand of my Desires.' This magic weapon could accommodate itself to all his wishes; being able to assume the most incredible proportions or to reduce itself to the form of the finest of needles, which he kept hidden in his ear. He terrorized the Four Kings of the sea, and dressed himself at their expense. The neighbouring kings allied themselves with him. A splendid banquet with copious libations of wine sealed the alliance of friendship with the seven kings; but alas! Sun had partaken so liberally that when he was seeing his guests off, no sooner had he taken a few steps than he fell into a drunken sleep. The undertakers of Yen Wang, the King of the Hells, to whom Lung Wang had accused him as the disturber of his watery kingdom, seized his soul, put chains round its neck, and led it down to the infernal regions. Sun awoke in front of the gate of the kingdom of the dead, broke his fetters, killed his two custodians, and, armed with his magic staff, penetrated into the realm of Yen Wang, where he threatened to carry out general destruction. He called to the ten infernal gods to bring him the Register of the Living and the Dead, tore out with his own hand the page on which were written his name and those of his monkey subjects, and then told the King of the Hells that he was no longer subject to the laws of death. Yen Wang yielded, though with bad grace, and Sun returned triumphant from his expedition beyond the tomb. Before long Sun's escapades came to the knowledge of Yü Huang. Ao Kuang and Yen Wang each sent deputies to the Master of Heaven, who took note of the double accusation, and sent T'ai-po Chin-hsing to summon before him this disturber of the heavenly peace. Grand Master of the Heavenly Stables In order to keep him occupied, Sun was appointed Grand Master of the Heavenly Stables, and was entrusted with the feeding of Yü Huang's horses; his official celestial title being Pi-ma Wên. Later on, learning the object of the creation of this derisory appointment, he overturned the Master's throne, seized his staff, broke down the South Gate of Heaven, and descended on a cloud to Hua-kuo Shan. Grand Superintendent of the Heavenly Peach-garden Yü Huang in great indignation organized a siege of Hua-kuo Shan, but the Kings of Heaven and the generals with their celestial armies were repulsed several times. Sun now arrogated to himself the pompous title of Grand Saint, Governor of Heaven. He had this emblazoned on his banners, and threatened Yü Huang that he would carry destruction into his kingdom if he refused to recognize his new dignity. Yü Huang, alarmed at the result of the military operations, agreed to the condition laid down by Sun. The latter was then appointed Grand Superintendent of the Heavenly Peach-garden, the fruit of which conferred immortality, and a new palace was built for him. Double Immortality Having made minute observations on the secret properties of the peaches, Sun ate of them and was thus assured against death. The time was ripe for him to indulge in his tricks without restraint, and an opportunity soon presented itself. Deeply hurt at not having been invited to the feast of the Peach Festival, P'an-t'ao Hui, given periodically to the Immortals by Wang-mu Niang-niang, the Goddess of the Immortals, he resolved upon revenge. When the preparations for the feast were complete he cast a spell over the servants, causing them to fall into a deep sleep, and then ate up all the most juicy meats and drank the fine wines provided for the heavenly guests. Sun had, however, indulged himself too liberally; with heavy head and bleary eye he missed the road back to his heavenly abode, and came unaware to the gate of Lao Chün, who was, however, absent from his palace. It was only a matter of a few minutes for Sun to enter and swallow the pills of immortality which Lao Chün kept in five gourds. Thus Sun, doubly immortal, riding on the mist, again descended to Hua-kuo Shan. Sun Hou-tzu Captured These numerous misdeeds aroused the indignation of all the gods and goddesses. Accusations poured in upon Yü Huang, and he ordered the Four Gods of the Heavens and their chief generals to bring Sun to him. The armies laid siege to Hua-kuo Shan, a net was spread in the heavens, fantastic battles took place, but the resistance of the enemy was as strenuous and obstinate as before. Lao Chün and Êrh-lang, nephew of Yü Huang, then appeared on the scene. Sun's warriors resisted gallantly, but the forces of Heaven were too much for them, and at length they were overcome. At this juncture Sun changed his form, and in spite of the net in the sky managed to find a way out. In vain search was made everywhere, until Li T'ien-wang, by the help of his devil-finding mirror, detected the quarry and informed Êrh-lang, who rushed off in pursuit. Lao Chün hurled his magic ring on to the head of the fugitive, who stumbled and fell. Quick as lightning, the celestial dog, T'ien Kou, who was in Êrh-lang's service, threw himself on him, bit him in the calf, and caused him to stumble afresh. This was the end of the fight. Sun, surrounded on all sides, was seized and chained. The battle was won. Sun escapes from Lao Chün's Furnace The celestial armies now raised the siege, and returned to their quarters. But a new and unexpected difficulty arose. Yü Huang condemned the criminal to death, but when they went to carry out the sentence the executioners learned that he was invulnerable; swords, iron, fire, even lightning, could make no impression on his skin. Yü Huang, alarmed, asked Lao Chün the reason of this. The latter replied that there was nothing surprising about it, seeing that the knave had eaten the peaches of life in the garden of Heaven and the pills of immortality which he had composed. "Hand him over to me," he added. "I will distil him in my furnace of the Eight Trigrams, and extract from his composition the elements which render him immortal." Yü Huang ordered that the prisoner be handed over, and in the sight of all he was shut up in Lao Chün's alchemical furnace, which for forty-nine days was heated white-hot. But at an unguarded moment Sun lifted the lid, emerged in a rage, seized his magic staff, and threatened to destroy Heaven and exterminate its inhabitants. Yü Huang, at the end of his resources, summoned Buddha, who came and addressed Sun as follows: "Why do you wish to possess yourself of the Kingdom of the Heavens?" "Have I not power enough to be the God of Heaven?" was the arrogant reply. "What qualifications have you?" asked Buddha. "Enumerate them." "My qualifications are innumerable," replied Sun. "I am invulnerable, I am immortal, I can change myself into seventy-two different forms, I can ride on the clouds of Heaven and pass through the air at will, with one leap I can traverse a hundred and eight thousand _li_." "Well," replied Buddha, "have a match with me; I wager that in one leap you cannot even jump out of the palm of my hand. If you succeed I will bestow upon you the sovereignty of Heaven." Broad-jump Competition Sun rose into space, flew like lightning in the great vastness, and reached the confines of Heaven, opposite the five great red pillars which are the boundaries of the created universe. On one of them he wrote his name, as irrefutable evidence that he could reach this extreme limit; this done, he returned triumphant to demand of Buddha the coveted inheritance. "But, wretch," said Buddha, "you never went out of my hand!" "How is that?" rejoined Sun. "I went as far as the pillars of Heaven, and even took the precaution of writing my name on one of them as proof in case of need." "Look then at the words you have written," said Buddha, lifting a finger on which Sun read with stupefaction his name as he had inscribed it. Buddha then seized Sun, transported him out of Heaven, and changed his five fingers into the five elements, metal, wood, water, fire, and earth, which instantly formed five high mountains contiguous to each other. The mountains were called Wu Hsing Shan, and Buddha shut Sun up in them. Conditions of Release Thus subdued, Sun would not have been able to get out of his stone prison but for the intercession of Kuan Yin P'u-sa, who obtained his release on his solemn promise that he would serve as guide, philosopher, and friend to Hsüan Chuang, the priest who was to undertake the difficult journey of 108,000 _li_ to the Western Heaven. This promise, on the whole, he fulfilled in the service of Hsüan Chuang during the fourteen years of the long journey. Now faithful, now restive and undisciplined, he was always the one to triumph in the end over the eighty-one fantastical tribulations which beset them as they journeyed. Sha Ho-shang One of the principal of Sun's fellow-servants of the Master was Sha Ho-shang. He is depicted wearing a necklace of skulls, the heads of the nine Chinese deputies sent in former centuries to find the Buddhist canon, but whom Sha Ho-shang had devoured on the banks of Liu-sha River when they had attempted to cross it. He is also known by the name of Sha Wu-ching, and was originally Grand Superintendent of the Manufactory of Stores for Yü Huang's palace. During a great banquet given on the Peach Festival to all the gods and Immortals of the Chinese Olympus he let fall a crystal bowl, which was smashed to atoms. Yü Huang caused him to be beaten with eight hundred blows, drove him out of Heaven, and exiled him to earth. He lived on the banks of the Liu-sha Ho, where every seventh day a mysterious sword appeared and wounded him in the neck. Having no other means of subsistence, he used to devour the passers-by. Sha Ho-shang becomes Baggage-coolie When Kuan Yin passed through that region on her way to China to find the priest who was predestined to devote himself to the laborious undertaking of the quest of the sacred Buddhist books, Sha Ho-shang threw himself on his knees before her and begged her to put an end to all his woes. The goddess promised that he should be delivered by the priest, her envoy, provided he would engage himself in the service of the pilgrim. On his promising to do this, and to lead a better life, she herself ordained him priest. In the end it came about that Hsüan Chuang, when passing the Sha Ho, took him into his suite as coolie to carry his baggage. Yü Huang pardoned him in consideration of the service he was rendering to the Buddhist cause. Chu Pa-chieh Chu Pa-chieh is a grotesque, even gross, personage, with all the instincts of animalism. One day, while he was occupying the high office of Overseer-general of the Navigation of the Milky Way, he, during a fit of drunkenness, vilely assaulted the daughter of Yü Huang. The latter had him beaten with two thousand blows from an iron hammer, and exiled to earth to be reincarnated. During his transition a mistake was made, and entering the womb of a sow he was born half-man, half-pig, with the head and ears of a pig and a human body. He began by killing and eating his mother, and then devoured his little porcine brothers. Then he went to live on the wild mountain Fu-ling Shan, where, armed with an iron rake, he first robbed and then ate the travellers who passed through that region. Mao Êrh-chieh, who lived in the cave Yün-chan Tung, engaged him as carrier of her personal effects, which she afterward bequeathed to him. Yielding to the exhortations of the Goddess Kuan Yin, who, at the time of her journey to China, persuaded him to lead a less dissolute life, he was ordained a priest by the goddess herself, who gave him the name of Chu (Pig), and the religious name of Wu-nêng, 'Seeker after Strength.' This monster was knocked down by Sun when the latter was passing over the mountain accompanied by Hsüan Chuang, and he declared himself a disciple of the pilgrim priest. He accompanied him throughout the journey, and was also received in the Western Paradise as a reward for his aid to the Buddhist propaganda. Hsüan Chuang, the Master The origin of this priest was as follows: In the reign of the Emperor T'ai Tsung of the T'ang dynasty, Ch'ên Kuang-jui, a graduate of Hai Chou, in his examination for the doctor's degree came out as _chuang yüan_, first on the list. Wên Chiao (also named Man-t'ang Chiao), the daughter of the minister Yin K'ai-shan, meeting the young academician, fell in love with him, and married him. Several days after the wedding the Emperor appointed Ch'ên Kuang-jui Governor of Chiang Chou (modern Chên-chiang Fu), in Kiangsu. After a short visit to his native town he started to take up his post. His old mother and his wife accompanied him. When they reached Hung Chou his mother fell sick and they were forced to stay for a time at the Inn of Ten Thousand Flowers, kept by one Liu Hsiao-êrh. Days passed; the sickness did not leave her, and as the time for her son to take over the seals of office was drawing near, he had to proceed without her. The Released Carp Before his departure he noticed a fisherman holding in his hand a fine carp; this he bought for a small sum to give to his mother. Suddenly he noticed that the fish had a very extraordinary look, and, changing his mind, he let it go in the waters of the Hung Chiang, afterward telling his mother what he had done. She congratulated him on his action, and assured him that the good deed would not go unrewarded. The Chuang Yüan Murdered Ch'ên Kuang-jui re-entered his boat with his wife and a servant. They were stopped by the chief waterman, Liu Hung, and his assistant. Struck with the great beauty of Ch'ên Kuang-jui's wife, the former planned a crime which he carried out with the help of his assistant. At the dead of night he took the boat to a retired spot, killed Ch'ên and his servant, threw their bodies into the river, seized his official documents of title and the woman he coveted, passed himself off as the real _chuang yüan_, and took possession of the magistracy of Chiang Chou. The widow, who was with child, had two alternatives--silence or death. Meantime she chose the former. Before she gave birth to her child, T'ai-po Chin-hsing, the Spirit of the South Pole Star, appeared to her, and said he had been sent by Kuan Yin, the Goddess of Mercy, to present her with a son whose fame would fill the Empire. "Above all," he added, "take every precaution lest Liu Hung kill the child, for he will certainly do so if he can." When the child was born the mother, during the absence of Liu Hung, determined to expose it rather than see it slain. Accordingly she wrapped it up carefully in a shirt, and carried it to the bank of the Blue River. She then bit her finger, and with the blood wrote a short note stating the child's origin, and hid it in its breast. Moreover, she bit off the infant's left little toe, as an indelible mark of identity. No sooner had this been done than a gust of wind blew a large plank to the river's edge. The poor mother tied her infant firmly to this plank and abandoned it to the mercy of the waves. The waif was carried to the shore of the isle of Chin Shan, on which stands the famous monastery of Chin-shan Ssu, near Chinkiang. The cries of the infant attracted the attention of an old monk named Chang Lao, who rescued it and gave it the name of Chiang Liu, 'Waif of the River.' He reared it with much care, and treasured the note its mother had written with her blood. The child grew up, and Chang Lao made him a priest, naming him Hsüan Chuang on the day of his taking the vows. When he was eighteen years of age, having one day quarrelled with another priest, who had cursed him and reproached him with having neither father nor mother, he, much hurt, went to his protector Chang Lao. The latter said to him: "The time has come to reveal to you your origin." He then told him all, showed him the note, and made him promise to avenge his assassinated father. To this end he was made a roving priest, went to the official Court, and eventually got into touch with his mother, who was still living with the prefect Liu Hung. The letter placed in his bosom, and the shirt in which he had been wrapped, easily proved the truth of his statements. The mother, happy at having found her son, promised to go and see him at Chin Shan. In order to do this, she pretended to be sick, and told Liu Hung that formerly, when still young, she had taken a vow which she had not yet been able to fulfil. Liu Hung himself helped her to do so by sending a large gift of money to the priests, and allowed her to go with her servants to perform her devotions at Chin-shan Ssu. On this second visit, during which she could speak more freely with her son, she wished to see for herself the wound she had made on his foot. This removed the last shadow of doubt. Hsüan Chuang finds his Grandmother She told Hsüan Chuang that he must first of all go to Hung Chou and find his grandmother, formerly left at the Inn of Ten Thousand Flowers, and then on to Ch'ang-an to take to her father Yin K'ai-shan a letter, putting him in possession of the chief facts concerning Liu Hung, and praying him to avenge her. She gave him a stick of incense to take to her mother-in-law. The old lady lived the life of a beggar in a wretched hovel near the city gate, and had become blind from weeping. The priest told her of the tragic death of her son, then touched her eyes with the stick of incense, and her sight was restored. "And I," she exclaimed, "have so often accused my son of ingratitude, believing him to be still alive!" He took her back to the Inn of Ten Thousand Flowers and settled the account, then hastened to the palace of Yin K'ai-shan. Having obtained an audience, he showed the minister the letter, and informed him of all that had taken place. The Murderer Executed The following day a report was presented to the Emperor, who gave orders for the immediate arrest and execution of the murderer of Ch'ên Kuang-jui. Yin K'ai-shan went with all haste to Chên-chiang, where he arrived during the night, surrounded the official residence, and seized the culprit, whom he sent to the place where he had committed the murder. His heart and liver were torn out and sacrificed to the victim. The Carp's Gratitude Now it happened that Ch'ên Kuang-jui was not dead after all. The carp released by him was in fact no other than Lung Wang, the God of the River, who had been going through his kingdom in that guise and had been caught in the fisherman's net. On learning that his rescuer had been cast into the river, Lung Wang had saved him, and appointed him an officer of his Court. On that day, when his son, wife, and father-in-law were sacrificing the heart of his assassin to his _manes_ on the river-bank, Lung Wang ordered that he return to earth. His body suddenly appeared on the surface of the water, floated to the bank, revived, and came out full of life and health. The happiness of the family reunited under such unexpected circumstances may well be imagined. Ch'ên Kuang-jui returned with his father-in-law to Chên-chiang, where he took up his official post, eighteen years after his nomination to it. Hsüan Chuang became the Emperor's favourite priest. He was held in great respect at the capital, and had innumerable honours bestowed upon him, and in the end was chosen for the journey to the Western Paradise, where Buddha in person handed him the sacred books of Buddhism. Pai Ma, the White Horse When he left the capital, Hsüan Chuang had been presented by the Emperor with a white horse to carry him on his long pilgrimage. One day, when he reached Shê-p'an Shan, near a torrent, a dragon emerged from the deep river-bed and devoured both the horse and its saddle. Sun tried in vain to find the dragon, and at last had to seek the aid of Kuan Yin. Now Yü Lung San T'ai-tzu, son of Ao Jun, Dragonking of the Western Sea, having burnt a precious pearl on the roof of his father's palace, was denounced to Yü Huang, who had him beaten with three hundred blows and suspended in the air. He was awaiting death when Kuan Yin passed on her way to China. The unfortunate dragon requested the goddess to have pity on him, whereupon she prevailed upon Yü Huang to spare his life on condition that he served as steed for her pilgrim on the expedition to the Western Paradise. The dragon was handed over to Kuan Yin, who showed him the deep pool in which he was to dwell while awaiting the arrival of the priest. It was this dragon who had devoured Hsüan Chuang's horse, and Kuan Yin now bade him change himself into a horse of the same colour to carry the priest to his destination. He had the honour of bearing on his back the sacred books that Buddha gave to T'ai Tsung's deputy, and the first Buddhist temple built at the capital bore the name of Pai-ma Miao, 'Temple of the White Horse.' Perils by the Way It is natural to expect that numberless exciting adventures should befall such an interesting quartette, and indeed the _Hsi yu chi_, which contains a hundred chapters, is full of them. The pilgrims encountered eighty difficulties on the journey out and one on the journey home. The following examples are characteristic of the rest. The Grove of Cypress-trees The travellers were making their way westward through shining waters and over green hills, where they found endless luxuriance of vegetation and flowers of all colours in profusion. But the way was long and lonely, and as darkness came on without any sign of habitation the Priest said: "Where shall we find a resting-place for the night?" The Monkey replied: "My Master, he who has left home and become a priest must dine on the wind and lodge on the water, lie down under the moon and sleep in the forest; everywhere is his home; why then ask where shall we rest?" But Pa-chieh, who was the bearer of the pilgrim's baggage, was not satisfied with this reply, and tried to get his load transferred to the horse, but was silenced when told that the latter's sole duty was to carry the Master. However, the Monkey gave Pai Ma a blow with his rod, causing him to start forward at a great pace, and in a few minutes from the brow of a hill Hsüan Chuang espied in the distance a grove of cypress-trees, beneath the shade of which was a large enclosure. This seemed a suitable place to pass the night, so they made toward it, and as they approached observed in the enclosure a spacious and luxurious establishment. There being no indications that the place was then inhabited, the Monkey made his way inside. A Proposal of Marriage He was met by a lady of charming appearance, who came out of an inner room, and said: "Who is this that ventures to intrude upon a widow's household?" The situation was embarrassing, but the lady proved to be most affable, welcomed them all very heartily, told them how she became a widow and had been left in possession of riches in abundance, and that she had three daughters, Truth, Love, and Pity by name. She then proceeded to make a proposal of marriage, not only on behalf of herself, but of her three daughters as well. They were four men, and here were four women; she had mountain lands for fruit-trees, dry lands for grain, flooded fields for rice--more than five thousand acres of each; horses, oxen, sheep, pigs innumerable; sixty or seventy farmsteads; granaries choked with grain; storehouses full of silks and satins; gold and silver enough to last several lifetimes however extravagantly they lived. Why should the four travellers not finish their journey there, and be happy ever afterward? The temptation was great, especially as the three daughters were ladies of surpassing beauty as well as adepts at needlework and embroidery, well read, and able to sing sweetly. But Hsüan Chuang sat as if listening to frogs after rain, unmoved except by anger that she should attempt to divert him from his heavenly purpose, and in the end the lady retired in a rage, slamming the door behind her. The covetous Pa-chieh, however, expressed himself in favour of accepting the widow's terms. Finding it impossible to do so openly, he stole round to the back and secured a private interview. His personal appearance was against him, but the widow was not altogether uncompliant. She not only entertained the travellers, but agreed to Pa-chieh retiring within the household in the character of a son-in-law, the other three remaining as guests in the guest-rooms. Blind Man's Buff But a new problem now arose. If Pa-chieh were wedded to one of the three daughters, the others would feel aggrieved. So the widow proposed to blindfold him with a handkerchief, and marry him to whichever he succeeded in catching. But, with the bandage tied over his eyes, Pa-chieh only found himself groping in darkness. "The tinkling sound of female trinkets was all around him, the odour of musk was in his nostrils; like fairy forms they fluttered about him, but he could no more grasp one than he could a shadow. One way and another he ran till he was too giddy to stand, and could only stumble helplessly about." The prospective mother-in-law then unloosed the bandage, and informed Pa-chieh that it was not her daughters' 'slipperiness,' as he had called it, which prevented their capture, but the extreme modesty of each in being generous enough to forgo her claims in favour of one of her sisters. Pa-chieh thereupon became very importunate, urging his suit for any one of the daughters or for the mother herself or for all three or all four. This was beyond all conscience, but the widow was equal to the emergency, and suggested another solution. Each of her daughters wore a waistcoat embroidered in jewels and gold. Pa-chieh was to try these on in turn, and to marry the owner of the one which fitted him. Pa-chieh put one on, but as he was tying the cord round his waist it transformed itself into strong coils of rope which bound him tightly in every limb. He rolled about in excruciating agony, and as he did so the curtain of enchantment fell and the beauties and the palace disappeared. Next morning the rest of the party on waking up also found that all had changed, and saw that they had been sleeping on the ground in the cypress-grove. On making search they found Pa-chieh bound fast to a tree. They cut him down, to pursue the journey a sadder and wiser Pig, and the butt of many a quip from his fellow-travellers. The Lotus Cave When the party left the Elephant Country, seeing a mountain ahead, the Master warned his disciples to be careful. Sun said: "Master, say not so; remember the text of the Sacred Book, 'So long as the heart is right there is nothing to fear.'" After this Sun kept a close watch on Pa-chieh, who, while professing to be on guard, slept most of the time. When they arrived at Ping-ting Shan they were approached by a woodcutter, who warned them that in the mountain, which extended for 600 _li_ (200 miles), there was a Lotus Cave, inhabited by a band of demons under two chiefs, who were lying in wait to devour the travellers. The woodcutter then disappeared. Accordingly, Pa-chieh was ordered to keep watch. But, seeing some hay, he lay down and went to sleep, and the mountain demons carried him away to the Lotus Cave. On seeing Pa-chieh, the second chief said: "He is no good; you must go in search of the Master and the Monkey." All this time the Monkey, to protect his Master, was walking ahead of the horse, swinging his club up and down and to right and left. The Demon-king saw him from the top of the mountain and said to himself: "This Monkey is famous for his magic, but I will prove that he is no match for me; I will yet feast on his Master." So, descending the mountain, he transformed himself into a lame beggar and waited by the roadside. The Master, out of pity, persuaded the Monkey to carry him. While on the Monkey's back the Demon, by magic skill, threw Mount Mêru on to Sun's head, but the Monkey warded it off with his left shoulder, and walked on. Then the Demon threw Mount Ô-mei on to Sun's head, and this he warded off with his right shoulder, and walked on, much to the Demon's surprise. Lastly the Demon caused T'ai Shan to fall on to his head. This at last stunned the Monkey. Sha Ho-shang now defended the Master with his staff, which was, however, no match for the Demon's starry sword. The Demon seized the Master and carried him under one arm and Sha Ho-shang under the other to the Lotus Cave. The two Demons then planned to take their two most precious things, a yellow gourd and a jade vase, and try to bottle the Monkey. They arranged to carry them upside down and call out the Monkey's name. If he replied, then he would be inside, and they could seal him up, using the seal of the great Ancient of Days, the dweller in the mansion of T'ai Sui. [35] The Monkey under the Mountain When the Monkey found that he was being crushed under the mountain he was greatly distressed about his Master, and cried out: "Oh, Master, you delivered me from under the mountain before, and trained me in religion; how is it that you have brought me to this pass? If you must die, why should Sha Ho-shang and Pa-chieh and the Dragon-horse also suffer?" Then his tears poured down like rain. The spirits of the mountain were astonished at hearing these words. The guardian angels of the Five Religions asked: "Whose is this mountain, and who is crushed beneath it?" The local gods replied: "The mountain is ours, but who is under it we do not know." "If you do not know," the angels replied, "we will tell you. It is the Great Holy One, the Equal of Heaven, who rebelled there five hundred years ago. He is now converted, and is the disciple of the Chinese ambassador. How dare you lend your mountain to the Demon for such a purpose?" The guardian angels and local gods then recited some prayers, and the mountain was removed. The Monkey sprang up, brandishing his spear, and the spirits at once apologized, saying that they were under enforced service to the Demons. While they were speaking Sun saw a light approaching, and asked what it was. The spirits replied: "This light comes from the Demons' magic treasures. We fear they are bringing them to catch you." Sun then said: "Now we shall have some sport. Who is the Demon-chief's associate?" "He is a Taoist," they replied, "who is always occupied in preparing chemicals." The Monkey said: "Leave me, and I will catch them myself." He then transformed himself into a duplicate of the Taoist. The Magic Gourd Sun went to meet the Demons, and in conversation learnt from them that they were on their way to catch the famous Monkey, and that the magic gourd and vase were for that purpose. They showed these treasures to him, and explained that the gourd, though small, could hold a thousand people. "That is nothing," replied Sun. "I have a gourd which can contain all the heavens." At this they marvelled greatly, and made a bargain with him, according to which he was to give them his gourd, after it had been tested as to its capacity to contain the heavens, in exchange for their precious gourd and vase. Going up to Heaven, the Monkey obtained permission to extinguish the light of the sun, moon, and stars for one hour. At noon the next day there was complete darkness, and the Demons believed Sun when he stated that he had put the whole heavens into his gourd so that there could be no light. They then handed over to the Monkey their magic gourd and vase, and in exchange he gave them his false gourd. The Magic Rope On discovering that they had been deceived, the Demons made complaint to their chiefs, who informed them that Sun, by pretending to be one of the Immortals, had outwitted them. They had now lost two out of their five magic treasures. There remained three, the magic sword, the magic palm fan, and the magic rope. "Go," said they, "and invite our dear grandmother to come and dine on human flesh." Personating one of the Demons, Sun himself went on this errand. He told the old lady that he wanted her to bring with her the magic rope, with which to catch Sun. She was delighted, and set out in her chair carried by two fairies. When they had gone some few _li_, Sun killed the ladies, and then saw that they were foxes. He took the magic rope, and thus had three of the magic treasures. Having changed the dead so that they looked like living creatures, he returned to the Lotus Cave. Many small demons came running up, saying that the old lady had been slain. The Demon-king, alarmed, proposed to release the whole party. But his younger brother said: "No, let me fight Sun. If I win, we can eat them; if I fail, we can let them go." After thirty bouts Sun lost the magic rope, and the Demon lassoed him with it and carried him to the cave, and took back the magic gourd and vase. Sun now transformed himself into two false demons. One he placed instead of himself in the lasso bound to a pillar, and then went and reported to the second Demon-chief that Sun was struggling hard, and that he should be bound with a stronger rope lest he make his escape. Thus, by this strategy, Sun obtained possession of the magic rope again. By a similar trick he also got back the magic gourd and vase. The Master Rescued Sun and the Demons now began to wrangle about the respective merits of their gourds, which, each assured the other, could imprison men and make them obey their wishes. Finally, Sun succeeded in putting one of the Demons into his gourd. There ensued another fight concerning the magic sword and palm fan, during which the fan was burnt to ashes. After more encounters Sun succeeded in bottling the second Demon in the magic vase, and sealed him up with the seal of the Ancient of Days. Then the magic sword was delivered, and the Demons submitted. Sun returned to the cave, fetched his Master out, swept the cave clean of all evil spirits, and they then started again on their westward journey. On the road they met a blind man, who addressed them saying: "Whither away, Buddhist Priest? I am the Ancient of Days. Give me back my magic treasures. In the gourd I keep the pills of immortality. In the vase I keep the water of life. The sword I use to subdue demons. With the fan I stir up enthusiasm. With the cord I bind bundles. One of these two Demons had charge of the gold crucible. They stole my magic treasures and fled to the mundane sphere of mortals. You, having captured them, are deserving of great reward." But Sun replied: "You should be severely punished for allowing your servants to do this evil in the world." The Ancient of Days replied: "No, without these trials your Master and his disciples could never attain to perfection." Sun understood and said: "Since you have come in person for the magic treasures, I return them to you." After receiving them, the Ancient of Days returned to his T'ai Sui mansion in the skies. The Red Child Demon By the autumn the travellers arrived at a great mountain. They saw on the road a red cloud which the Monkey thought must be a demon. It was in fact a demon child who, in order to entrap the Master, had had himself bound and tied to the branch of a tree. The child repeatedly cried out to the passers-by to deliver him. Sun suspected that it was a trick; but the Master could no longer endure the pitiful wails; he ordered his disciples to loose the child, and the Monkey to carry him. As they proceeded on their way the Demon caused a strong whirlwind to spring up, and during this he carried off the Master. Sun discovered that the Demon was an old friend of his, who, centuries before, had pledged himself to eternal friendship. So he consoled his comrades by saying that he felt sure no harm would come to the Master. A Prospective Feast Soon Sun and his companions reached a mountain covered with pine-forests. Here they found the Demon in his cave, intent upon feasting on the Priest. The Demon refused to recognize his ancient friendship with Sun, so the two came to blows. The Demon set fire to everything, so that the Monkey might be blinded by the smoke. Thus he was unable to find his Master. In despair he said: "I must get the help of some one more skilful than myself." Pa-chieh was sent to fetch Kuan Yin. The Demon then seized a magic bag, transformed himself into the shape of Kuan Yin, and invited Pa-chieh to enter the cave. The simpleton fell into the trap and was seized and placed in the bag. Then the Demon appeared in his true form, and said: "I am the beggar child, and mean to cook you for my dinner. A fine man to protect his Master you are!" The Demon then summoned six of his most doughty generals and ordered them to accompany him to fetch his father, King Ox-head, to dine off the pilgrim. When they had gone Sun opened the bag, released Pa-chieh, and both followed the six generals. The Generals Tricked Sun thought that as the Demon had played a trick on Pa-chieh, he would play one on his generals. So he hurried on in front of them, and changed himself into the form of King Ox-head. The Demon and his generals were invited into his presence, and Red Child said: "If anyone eats of the pilgrim's flesh, his life will be prolonged indefinitely. Now he is caught and I invite you to feast on him." Sun, personifying the father, said: "No, I cannot come. I am fasting to-day. Moreover, Sun has charge of the pilgrim, and if any harm befall him it will be the worse for you, for he has seventy-two magic arts. He can make himself so big that your cave cannot contain him, and he can make himself as small as a fly, a mosquito, a bee, or a butterfly." Sun then went to Kuan Yin and appealed for help. She gave him a bottle, but he found he could not move it. "No," said Kuan Yin, "for all the forces of the ocean are stored in it." Kuan Yin lifted it with ease, and said: "This dew water is different from dragon water, and can extinguish the fire of passion. I will send a fairy with you on your boat. You need no sails. The fairy needs only to blow a little, and the boat moves along without any effort." Finally, the Red Child, having been overcome, repented and begged to be received as a disciple. Kuan Yin received him and blessed him, giving him the name of Steward. The Demons of Blackwater River One day the Master suddenly exclaimed: "What is that noise?" Sun replied: "You are afraid; you have forgotten the Heart Prayer, according to which we are to be indifferent to all the calls of the six senses--the eye, ear, nose, tongue, body, mind. These are the Six Thieves. If you cannot suppress them, how do you expect to see the Great Lord?" The Master thought a while and then said: "O disciple, when shall we see the Incarnate Model (Ju Lai) face to face?" Pa-chieh said: "If we are to meet such demons as these, it will take us a thousand years to get to the West." But Sha Ho-shang rejoined: "Both you and I are stupid; if we persevere and travel on, shoulder to shoulder, we shall reach there at last." While thus talking, they saw before them a dark river in flood, which the horse could not cross. Seeing a small boat, the Master said: "Let us engage that boat to take us across." While crossing the river in it, they discovered that it was a boat sent by the Demon of Blackwater River to entrap them in midstream, and the Master would have been slain had not Sun and the Western Dragon come to the rescue. The Slow-carts Country Having crossed the Blackwater River, they journeyed westward, facing wind and snow. Suddenly they heard a great shout as of ten thousand voices. The Master was alarmed, but Sun laughingly went to investigate. Sitting on a cloud, he rose in the air, and saw a city, outside of which there were thousands of priests and carts laden with bricks and all kinds of building materials. This was the city where Taoists were respected, and Buddhists were not wanted. The Monkey, who appeared among the people as a Taoist, was informed that the country was called the Ch'ê Ch'ih, 'Slow-carts Country,' and for twenty years had been ruled by three Taoists who could procure rain during times of drought. Their names were Tiger, Deer, and Sheep. They could also command the wind, and change stones into gold. The Monkey said to the two leading Taoists: "I wonder if I shall be so fortunate as to see your Emperor?" They replied: "We will see to that when we have attended to our business." The Monkey inquired what business the priests could have. "In former times," they said, "when our King ordered the Buddhists to pray for rain, their prayers were not answered. Then the Taoists prayed, and copious showers fell. Since then all the Buddhist priests have been our slaves, and have to carry the building materials, as you see. We must assign them their work, and then will come to you." Sun replied: "Never mind; I am in search of an uncle of mine, from whom I have not heard for many years. Perhaps he is here among your slaves." They said: "You may see if you can find him." Restraints on Freedom Sun went to look for his uncle. Hearing this, many Buddhist priests surrounded him, hoping to be recognized as his lost relative. After a while he smiled. They asked him the reason. He said: "Why do you make no progress? Life is not meant for idleness." They said: "We cannot do anything. We are terribly oppressed." "What power have your masters?" "By using their magic they can call up wind or rain." "That is a small matter," said Sun. "What else can they do?" "They can make the pills of immortality, and change stone into gold." Sun said: "These are also small matters; many can do the same. How did these Taoists deceive your King?" "The King attends their prayers night and day, expecting thereby to attain to immortality." "Why do you not leave the place?" "It is impossible, for the King has ordered pictures of us to be hung up everywhere. In all the numerous prefectures, magistracies, and market-places in Slow-carts Country are pictures of the Buddhist priests, and any official who catches a runaway priest is promoted three degrees, while every non-official receives fifty taels. The proclamation is signed by the King. So you see we are helpless." Sun then said: "You might as well die and end it all." Immortal for Suffering They replied: "A great number have died. At one time we numbered more than two thousand. But through deaths and suicides there now remain only about five hundred. And we who remain cannot die. Ropes cannot strangle us, swords cannot cut us; if we plunge into the river we cannot sink; poison does not kill us." Sun said: "Then you are fortunate, for you are all Immortals." "Alas!" said they, "we are immortal only for suffering. We get poor food. We have only sand to sleep on. But in the night hours spirits appear to us and tell us not to kill ourselves, for an Arhat will come from the East to deliver us. With him there is a disciple, the Great Holy One, the Equal of Heaven, most powerful and tender-hearted. He will put an end to these Taoists and have pity on us Buddhists." The Saviour of the Buddhists Inwardly Sun was glad that his fame had gone abroad. Returning to the city, he met the two chief Taoists. They asked him if he had found his relative. "Yes," he replied, "they are all my relatives!" They smiled and said: "How is it that you have so many relatives?" Sun said: "One hundred are my father's relatives, one hundred my mother's relatives, and the remainder my adopted relatives. If you will let all these priests depart with me, then I will enter the city with you; otherwise I will not enter." "You must be mad to speak to us in this way. The priests were given us by the King. If you had asked for a few only, we might have consented, but your request is altogether unreasonable." Sun then asked them three times if they would liberate the priests. When they finally refused, he grew very angry, took his magic spear from his ear and brandished it in the air, when all their heads fell off and rolled on the ground. Anger of the Buddhist Priests The Buddhist priests saw from a distance what had taken place, and shouted: "Murder, murder! The Taoist superintendents are being killed." They surrounded Sun, saying: "These priests are our masters; they go to the temple without visiting the King, and return home without taking leave of the King. The King is the high priest. Why have you killed his disciples? The Taoist chief priest will certainly accuse us Buddhist priests of the murders. What are we to do? If we go into the city with you they will make you pay for this with your life." Sun laughed. "My friends," he said, "do not trouble yourselves over this matter. I am not the Master of the Clouds, but the Great Holy One, a disciple of the Holy Master from China, going to the Western Paradise to fetch the sacred books, and have come to save you." "No, no," said they, "this cannot be, for we know him." Sun replied: "Having never met him, how can you know him?" They replied: "We have seen him in our dreams. The spirit of the planet Venus has described him to us and warned us not to make a mistake." "What description did he give?" asked Sun. They replied: "He has a hard head, bright eyes, a round, hairy face without cheeks, sharp teeth, prominent mouth, a hot temper, and is uglier than the Thunder-god. He has a rod of iron, caused a disturbance in Heaven itself, but later repented, and is coming with the Buddhist pilgrim in order to save mankind from calamities and misery." With mixed feelings Sun replied: "My friends, no doubt you are right in saying I am not Sun. I am only his disciple, who has come to learn how to carry out his plans. But," he added, pointing with his hand, "is not that Sun coming yonder?" They all looked in the direction in which he had pointed. Sun bestows Talismans Sun quickly changed himself from a Taoist priest, and appeared in his natural form. At this they all fell down and worshipped him, asking his forgiveness because their mortal eyes could not recognize him. They then begged him to enter the city and compel the demons to repent. Sun told them to follow him. He then went with them to a sandy place, emptied two carts and smashed them into splinters, and threw all the bricks, tiles, and timber into a heap, calling upon all the priests to disperse. "Tomorrow," he said, "I am going to see the King, and will destroy the Taoists!" Then they said: "Sir, we dare not go any farther, lest they attempt to seize you and cause trouble." "Have no fear," he replied; "but if you think so I will give you a charm to protect you." He pulled out some hairs, and gave one to each to hold firmly on the third finger. "If anyone tries to seize you," he said, "keep tight hold of it, call out 'Great Holy One, the Equal of Heaven,' and I will at once come to your rescue, even though I be ten thousand miles away." Some of them tried the charm, and, sure enough, there he was before them like the God of Thunder. In his hand he held a rod of iron, and he could keep ten thousand men and horses at bay. The Magic Circle It was now winter. The pilgrims were crossing a high mountain by a narrow pass, and the Master was afraid of wild beasts. The three disciples bade him fear not, as they were united, and were all good men seeking truth. Being cold and hungry they rejoiced to see a fine building ahead of them, but Sun said: "It is another devil's trap. I will make a ring round you. Inside that you will be safe. Do not wander outside it. I will go and look for food." Sun returned with his bowl full of rice, but found that his companions had got tired of waiting, and had disappeared. They had gone forward to the fine building, which Pa-chieh entered. Not a soul was to be seen, but on going upstairs he was terrified to see a human skeleton of immense size lying on the floor. At this moment the Demon of the house descended on them, bound the Master, and said: "We have been told that if we eat of your flesh our white hair will become black again, and our lost teeth grow anew." So he ordered the small devils who accompanied him to bind the others. This they did, and thrust the pilgrims into a cave, and then lay in wait for Sun. It was not long before the Monkey came up, when a great fight ensued. In the end, having failed, notwithstanding the exercise of numerous magic arts, to release his companions, Sun betook himself to the Spiritual Mountain and besought Ju Lai's aid. Eighteen _lohan_ were sent to help him against the Demon. When Sun renewed the attack, the _lohan_ threw diamond dust into the air, which blinded the Demon and also half buried him. But, by skilful use of his magic coil, he gathered up all the diamond dust and carried it back to his cave. The _lohan_ then advised Sun to seek the aid of the Ancient of Days. Accordingly, Sun ascended to the thirty-third Heaven, where was the palace of the god. He there discovered that the Demon was none other than one of the god's ox-spirits who had stolen the magic coil. It was, in fact, the same coil with which Sun himself had at last been subdued when he had rebelled against Heaven. Help from Ju Lai The Ancient of Days mounted a cloud and went with Sun to the cave. When the Demon saw who had come he was terrified. The Ancient of Days then recited an incantation, and the Demon surrendered the magic coil to him. On the recitation of a second incantation all his strength left him, and he appeared as a bull, and was led away by a ring in his nose. The Master and his disciples were then set at liberty, and proceeded on their journey. The Fire-quenching Fan In the autumn the pilgrims found themselves in the Ssu Ha Li Country, where everything was red--red walls, red tiles, red varnish on doors and furniture. Sixty _li_ from this place was the Flaming Mountain, which lay on their road westward. An old man they met told them that it was possible to cross the Flaming Mountain only if they had the Magic Iron Fan, which, waved once, quenched fire, waved a second time produced strong wind, and waved a third time produced rain. This magic fan was kept by the Iron-fan Princess in a cave on Ts'ui-yün Shan, 1500 _li_ distant. On hearing this, Sun mounted a cloud, and in an instant was transported to the cave. The Iron-fan Princess was one of the _lochas_ (wives and daughters of demons), and the mother of the Red Child Demon, who had become a disciple of Kuan Yin. On seeing Sun she was very angry, and determined to be revenged for the outwitting of her husband, King Ox-head, and for the carrying away of her son. The Monkey said: "If you lend me the Iron Fan I will bring your son to see you." For answer she struck him with a sword. They then fell to fighting, the contest lasting a long while, until at length, feeling her strength failing, the Princess took out the Iron Fan and waved it. The wind it raised blew Sun to a distance of 84,000 _li_, and whirled him about like a leaf in a whirlwind. But he soon returned, reinforced by further magic power lent him by the Buddhist saints. The Princess, however, deceived him by giving him a fan which increased the flames of the mountain instead of quenching them. Sun and his friends had to retreat more than 20 _li_, or they would have been burned. The local mountain-gods now appeared, bringing refreshments, and urging the pilgrims to get the Fan so as to enable them to proceed on their journey. Sun pointed to his fan and said: "Is not this the Fan?" They smiled and said: "No, this is a false one which the Princess has given you." They added: "Originally there was no Flaming Mountain, but when you upset the furnace in Heaven five hundred years ago the fire fell here, and has been burning ever since. For not having taken more care in Heaven, we have been set to guard it. The Demon-king Ox-head, though he married the _locha_ Princess, deserted her some two years ago for the only daughter of a fox-king. They live at Chi-lei Shan, some three thousand _li_ from here. If you can get the true Iron Fan through his help you will be able to extinguish the flames, take your Master to the West, save the lives of many people round here, and enable us to return to Heaven once more." Sun at once mounted a cloud and was soon at Chi-lei Shan. There he met the Fox-princess, whom he upbraided and pursued back to her cave. The Ox-demon came out and became very angry with Sun for having frightened her. Sun asked him to return with him to the _locha_ Princess and persuade her to give him the Magic Fan, This he refused to do. They then fought three battles, in all of which Sun was successful. He changed into the Ox-demon's shape and visited the _locha_ Princess. She, thinking he was the Ox-demon, gladly received him, and finally gave him the Magic Fan; he then set out to return to his Master. The Power of the Magic Fan The Ox-demon, following after Sun, saw him walking along, joyfully carrying the Magic Fan on his shoulder. Now Sun had forgotten to ask how to make it small, like an apricot leaf, as it was at first. The Ox-demon changed himself into the form of Pa-chieh, and going up to Sun he said: "Brother Sun, I am glad to see you back; I hope you have succeeded." "Yes," replied Sun, and described his fights, and how he had tricked the Ox-demon's wife into giving him the Fan. The seeming Pa-chieh said: "You must be very tired after all your efforts; let me carry the Magic Fan for you." As soon as he had got possession of it he appeared in his true form, and tried to use it to blow Sun away 84,000 _li_, for he did not know that the Great Holy One had swallowed a wind-resisting pill, and was therefore immovable. He then put the Magic Fan in his mouth and fought with his two swords. He was a match for Sun in all the magic arts, but through the aid of Pa-chieh and the help of the local gods sent by the Master the Monkey was able to prevail against him. The Ox-demon changed himself many times into a number of birds, but for each of these Sun changed himself into a swifter and stronger one. The Ox-demon then changed himself into many beasts, such as tigers, leopards, bears, elephants, and an ox 10,000 feet long. He then said to Sun, with a laugh: "What can you do to me now?" Sun seized his rod of iron, and cried: "Grow!" He immediately became 100,000 feet high, with eyes like the sun and moon. They fought till the heavens and the earth shook with their onslaughts. Defeat of the Ox-demon The Ox-demon being of so fierce and terrible a nature, both Buddha in Heaven and the Taoist Celestial Ruler sent down whole legions of celebrated warriors to help the Master's servant. The Ox-demon tried to escape in every direction, one after the other, but his efforts were in vain. Finally defeated, he was made to promise for himself and his wife to give up their evil ways and to follow the holy precepts of the Buddhist doctrine. The Magic Fan was given to Sun, who at once proceeded to test its powers. When he waved it once the fires on Flaming Mountain died out. When he waved it a second time a gentle breeze sprang up. When he waved it a third time refreshing rain fell everywhere, and the pilgrims proceeded on their way in comfort. The Lovely Women Having travelled over many mountains, the travellers came to a village. The Master said: "You, my disciples, are always very kind, taking round the begging-bowl and getting food for me. To-day I will take the begging-bowl myself." But Sun said: "That is not right; you must let us, your disciples, do this for you." But the Master insisted. When he reached the village, there was not a man to be seen, but only some lovely women. He did not think that it was right for him to speak to women. On the other hand, if he did not procure anything for their meal, his disciples would make fun of him. So, after long hesitation, he went forward and begged food of them. They invited him to their cave home, and, having learnt who he was, ordered food for him, but it was all human flesh. The Master informed them that he was a vegetarian, and rose to take his departure, but instead of letting him go they surrounded and bound him, thinking that he would be a fine meal for them next day. An Awkward Predicament Then seven of the women went out to bathe in a pool. There Sun, in search of his Master, found them and would have killed them, only he thought it was not right to kill women. So he changed himself into an eagle and carried away their clothes to his nest. This so frightened the women that they crouched in the pool and did not dare to come out. But Pa-chieh, also in search of his Master, found the women bathing. He changed himself into a fish, which the women tried to catch, chasing him hither and thither round the pool. After a while Pa-chieh leapt out of the pool and, appearing in his true form, threatened the women for having bound his Master. In their fright the women fled to a pavilion, round which they spun spiders' threads so thickly that Pa-chieh became entangled and fell. They then escaped to their cave and put on some clothes. How the Master was Rescued When Pa-chieh at length had disentangled himself from the webs, he saw Sun and Sha Ho-shang approaching. Having learnt what had happened, they feared the women might do some injury to the Master, so they ran to the cave to rescue him. On the way they were beset by the seven dwarf sons of the seven women, who transformed themselves into a swarm of dragon-flies, bees, and other insects. But Sun pulled out some hairs and, changing them into seven different swarms of flying insects, destroyed the hostile swarm, and the ground was covered a foot deep with the dead bodies. On reaching the cave, the pilgrims found it had been deserted by the women. They released the Master, and made him promise never to beg for food again. Having given the promise, he mounted his horse, and they proceeded on their journey. The Spiders and the Extinguisher When they had gone a short distance they perceived a great building of fine architecture ahead of them. It proved to be a Taoist temple. Sha Ho-shang said: "Let us enter, for Buddhism and Taoism teach the same things. They differ only in their vestments." The Taoist abbot received them with civility and ordered five cups of tea. Now he was in league with the seven women, and when the servant had made the tea they put poison in each cup. Sun, however, suspected a conspiracy, and did not drink his tea. Seeing that the rest had been poisoned, he went and attacked the sisters, who transformed themselves into huge spiders. They were able to spin ropes instead of webs with which to bind their enemies. But Sun attacked and killed them all. The Taoist abbot then showed himself in his true form, a demon with a thousand eyes. He joined battle with Sun, and a terrible contest ensued, the result being that the Demon succeeded in putting an extinguisher on his enemy. This was a new trick which Sun did not understand. However, after trying in vain to break out through the top and sides, he began to bore downward, and, finding that the extinguisher was not deep in the ground, he succeeded in effecting his escape from below. But he feared that his Master and the others would die of the poison. At this juncture, while he was suffering mental tortures on their behalf, a Bodhisattva, Lady Pi Lan, came to his rescue. By the aid of her magic he broke the extinguisher, gave his Master and fellow-disciples pills to counteract the poison, and so rescued them. Shaving a Whole City The summer had now arrived. On the road the pilgrims met an old lady and a little boy. The old lady said: "You are priests; do not go forward, for you are about to pass into the country known as the Country that exterminates Religion. The inhabitants have vowed to kill ten thousand priests. They have already slain that number all but four noted ones whose arrival they expect; then their number will be complete." This old lady was Kuan Yin, with Shên Tsai (Steward), who had come to give them warning. Sun thereupon changed himself into a candle-moth and flew into the city to examine for himself. He entered an inn, and heard the innkeeper warning his guests to look after their own clothes and belongings when they went to sleep. In order to travel safely through the city, Sun decided that they should all put on turbans and clothing resembling that of the citizens. Perceiving from the innkeeper's warning that thieving was common, Sun stole some clothing and turbans for his Master and comrades. Then they all came to the inn at dusk, Sun representing himself as a horse-dealer. Fearing that in their sleep their turbans would fall off, and their shaven heads be revealed, Sun arranged that they should sleep in a cupboard, which he asked the landlady to lock. During the night robbers came and carried the cupboard away, thinking to find in it silver to buy horses. A watchman saw many men carrying this cupboard, and became suspicious, and called out the soldiers. The robbers ran away, leaving the cupboard in the open. The Master was very angry with Sun for getting him into this danger. He feared that at daylight they would be discovered and all be executed. But Sun said: "Do not be alarmed; I will save you yet!" He changed himself into an ant, and escaped from the cupboard. Then he plucked out some hairs and changed them into a thousand monkeys like himself. To each he gave a razor and a charm for inducing sleep. When the King and all the officials and their wives had succumbed to this charm, the monkeys were to shave their heads. On the morrow there was a terrible commotion throughout the city, as all the leaders and their families found themselves shaved like Buddhists. Thus the Master was saved again. The Return to China The pilgrims having overcome the predicted eighty difficulties of their outward journey, there remained only one to be overcome on the homeward way. They were now returning upon a cloud which had been placed at their disposal, and which had been charged to bear them safely home. But alas! the cloud broke and precipitated them to the earth by the side of a wide river which they must cross. There were no ferry-boats or rafts to be seen, so they were glad to avail themselves of the kind offices of a turtle, who offered to take them across on his back. But in midstream the turtle reminded Hsüan Chuang of a promise he had made him when on his outward journey, namely, that he would intercede for him before the Ruler of the West, and ask his Majesty to forgive all past offences and allow him to resume his humanity again. The turtle asked him if he had remembered to keep his word. Hsüan Chuang replied: "I remember our conversation, but I am sorry to say that under great pressure I quite forgot to keep my promise." "Then," said the turtle, "you are at liberty to dispense with my services." He then disappeared beneath the water, leaving the pilgrims floundering in the stream with their precious books. They swam the river, and with great difficulty managed to save a number of volumes, which they dried in the sun. The Travellers Honoured The pilgrims reached the capital of their country without further difficulty. As soon as they appeared in sight the whole population became greatly excited, and cutting down branches of willow-trees went out to meet them. As a mark of special distinction the Emperor sent his own horse for Hsüan Chuang to ride on, and the pilgrims were escorted with royal honours into the city, where the Emperor and his grateful Court were waiting to receive them. Hsüan Chuang's queer trio of converts at first caused great amusement among the crowds who thronged to see them, but when they learned of Sun's superhuman achievements, and his brave defence of the Master, their amusement was changed into wondering admiration. But the greatest honours were conferred upon the travellers at a meeting of the Immortals presided over by Mi-lo Fo, the Coming Buddha. Addressing Hsüan Chuang, the Buddha said, "In a previous existence you were one of my chief disciples. But for disobedience and for lightly esteeming the great teaching your soul was imprisoned in the Eastern Land. Now a memorial has been presented to me stating that you have obtained the True Classics of Salvation, thus, by your faithfulness, completing your meritorious labours. You are appointed to the high office of Controller of Sacrifices to his Supreme Majesty the Pearly Emperor." Turning to Sun, the Buddha said, "You, Sun, for creating a disturbance in the palace of Heaven, were imprisoned beneath the Mountain of the Five Elements, until the fullness of Heaven's calamities had descended upon you, and you had repented and had joined the holy religion of Buddha. From that time you have endeavoured to suppress evil and cherish virtue. And on your journey to the West you have subjugated evil spirits, ghosts, and demons. For your services you are appointed God of Victorious Strife." For his repentance, and for his assistance to his Master, Chu Pa-chieh, the Pig Fairy, was appointed Head Altar-washer to the Gods. This was the highest office for which he was eligible, on account of his inherent greed. Sha Ho-shang was elevated to the rank of Golden Body Perpetual Saint. Pai Ma, the white horse who had patiently carried Hsüan Chuang and his burden of books, was led by a god down the Spirit Mountain to the banks of the Pool of Dragon-transformation. Pai Ma plunged in, when he changed at once into a four-footed dragon, with horns, scales, claws, and wings complete. From this time he became the chief of the celestial dragon tribe. Sun's first thought upon receiving his promotion was to get rid of the Head-splitting Helmet. Accordingly he said to his Master, "Now that I am, like yourself, a Buddha, I want you to relieve my head of the helmet you imposed upon me during the years of my waywardness." Hsüan Chuang replied, "If you have really become a Buddha, your helmet should have disappeared of itself. Are you sure it is still upon your head?" Sun raised his hand, and lo! the helmet was gone. After this the great assembly broke up, and each of the Immortals returned in peace to his own celestial abode. CHAPTER XV Fox Legends The Fox Among the many animals worshipped by the Chinese, those at times seen emerging from coffins or graves naturally hold a prominent place. They are supposed to be the transmigrated souls of deceased human beings. We should therefore expect such animals as the fox, stoat, weasel, etc., to be closely associated with the worship of ghosts, spirits, and suchlike creatures, and that they should be the subjects of, or included in, a large number of Chinese legends. This we find. Of these animals the fox is mentioned in Chinese legendary lore perhaps more often than any other. The subject of fox-lore has been dealt with exhaustively by my respected colleague, the late Mr Thomas Watters (formerly H.B.M. Consul-General at Canton, a man of vast learning and extreme modesty, insufficiently appreciated in his generation), in the _Journal of the North China Branch of the Royal Asiatic Society_, viii, 45-65, to which the reader is referred for details. Generally, the fox is a creature of ill omen, long-lived (living to eight hundred or even a thousand years), with a peculiar virtue in every part of his body, able to produce fire by striking the ground with his tail, cunning, cautious, sceptical, able to see into the future, to transform himself (usually into old men, or scholars, or pretty young maidens), and fond of playing pranks and tormenting mankind. Fox Legends Many interesting fox legends are to be found in a collection of stories entitled _Liao chai chih i_, by P'u Sung-ling (seventeenth century A.D.), part of which was translated into English many years ago by Professor H.A. Giles and appeared in two fascinating volumes called _Strange Stories from a Chinese Studio_. These legends were related to the Chinese writer by various people as their own experiences. Friendship with Foxes A certain man had an enormous stack of straw, as big as a hill, in which his servants, taking what was daily required for use, had made quite a large hole. In this hole a fox fixed his abode, and would often show himself to the master of the house under the form of an old man. One day the latter invited the master to walk into his abode; he at first declined, but accepted on being pressed; and when he got inside, lo! he saw a long suite of handsome apartments. They then sat down, and exquisitely perfumed tea and wine were brought; but the place was so gloomy that there was no difference between night and day. By and by, the entertainment being over, the guest took his leave; and on looking back the beautiful rooms and their contents had all disappeared. The old man himself was in the habit of going away in the evening and returning with the first streaks of morning; and as no one was able to follow him, the master of the house asked him one day whither he went. To this he replied that a friend invited him to take wine; and then the master begged to be allowed to accompany him, a proposal to which the old man very reluctantly consented. However, he seized the master by the arm, and away they went as though riding on the wings of the wind; and in about the time it takes to cook a pot of millet they reached a city and walked into a restaurant, where there were a number of people drinking together and making a great noise. The old man led his companion to a gallery above, from which they could look down on the feasters below; and he himself went down and brought away from the tables all kinds of nice food and wine, without appearing to be seen or noticed by any of the company. After a while a man dressed in red garments came forward and laid upon the table some dishes of cumquats; [36] the master at once requested the old man to go down and get him some of these. "Ah," replied the latter, "that is an upright man: I cannot approach him." Thereupon the master said to himself, "By thus seeking the companionship of a fox, I then am deflected from the true course. Henceforth I too will be an upright man." No sooner had he formed this resolution than he suddenly lost all control over his body, and fell from the gallery down among the revellers below. These gentlemen were much astonished by his unexpected descent; and he himself, looking up, saw there was no gallery to the house, but only a large beam upon which he had been sitting. He now detailed the whole of the circumstances, and those present made up a purse for him to pay his travelling expenses; for he was at Yü-t'ai--a thousand _li_ from home. The Marriage Lottery A certain labourer, named Ma T'ien-jung, lost his wife when he was only about twenty years of age, and was too poor to take another. One day, when out hoeing in the fields, he beheld a nice-looking young lady leave the path and come tripping across the furrows toward him. Her face was well painted, [37] and she had altogether such a refined look that Ma concluded she must have lost her way, and began to make some playful remarks in consequence. "You go along home," cried the young lady, "and I'll be with you by and by." Ma doubted this rather extraordinary promise, but she vowed and declared she would not break her word; and then Ma went off, telling her that his front door faced the north, etc. At midnight the young lady arrived, and then Ma saw that her hands and face were covered with fine hair, which made him suspect at once that she was a fox. She did not deny the accusation; and accordingly Ma said to her, "If you really are one of those wonderful creatures you will be able to get me anything I want; and I should be much obliged if you would begin by giving me some money to relieve my poverty." The young lady said she would; and next evening, when she came again, Ma asked her where the money was. "Dear me!" replied she, "I quite forgot it." When she was going away Ma reminded her of what he wanted, but on the following evening she made precisely the same excuse, promising to bring it another day. A few nights afterward Ma asked her once more for the money, and then she drew from her sleeve two pieces of silver, each weighing about five or six ounces. They were both of fine quality, with turned-up edges, [38] and Ma was very pleased, and stored them away in a cupboard. Some months after this he happened to require some money for use, and took out these pieces; but the person to whom he showed them said they were only pewter, and easily bit off a portion of one of them with his teeth. Ma was much alarmed, and put the pieces away directly, taking the opportunity when evening came of abusing the young lady roundly. "It's all your bad luck," retorted she. "Real gold would be too much for your inferior destiny." There was an end of that; but Ma went on to say, "I always heard that fox-girls were of surpassing beauty; how is it you are not?" "Oh," replied the young lady, "we always adapt ourselves to our company. Now you haven't the luck of an ounce of silver to call your own; and what would you do, for instance, with a beautiful princess? My beauty may not be good enough for the aristocracy; but among your big-footed, bent-backed rustics, [39] why, it may safely be called 'surpassing'!" A few months passed away, and then one day the young lady came and gave Ma three ounces of silver, saying, "You have often asked me for money, but in consequence of your bad luck I have always refrained from giving you any. Now, however, your marriage is at hand, and I here give you the cost of a wife, which you may also regard as a parting gift from me." Ma replied that he was not engaged, to which the young lady answered that in a few days a go-between would visit him to arrange the affair. "And what will she be like?" asked Ma. "Why, as your aspirations are for 'surpassing' beauty," replied the young lady, "of course she will be possessed of surpassing beauty." "I hardly expect that," said Ma; "at any rate, three ounces of silver will not be enough to get a wife." "Marriages," explained the young lady, "are made in the moon; [40] mortals have nothing to do with them." "And why must you be going away like this?" inquired Ma. "Because," answered she, "for us to meet only by night is not the proper thing. I had better get you another wife and have done with you." Then when morning came she departed, giving Ma a pinch of yellow powder, saying, "In case you are ill after we are separated, this will cure you." Next day, sure enough, a go-between did come, and Ma at once asked what the proposed bride was like; to which the former replied that she was very passable-looking. Four or five ounces of silver was fixed as the marriage present, Ma making no difficulty on that score, but declaring he must have a peep at the young lady. [41] The go-between said she was a respectable girl, and would never allow herself to be seen; however, it was arranged that they should go to the house together, and await a good opportunity. So off they went, Ma remaining outside while the go-between went in, returning in a little while to tell him it was all right. "A relative of mine lives in the same court, and just now I saw the young lady sitting in the hall. We have only got to pretend we are going to see my relative, and you will be able to get a glimpse of her." Ma consented, and they accordingly passed through the hall, where he saw the young lady sitting down with her head bent forward while some one was scratching her back. She seemed to be all that the go-between had said; but when they came to discuss the money it appeared that the young lady wanted only one or two ounces of silver, just to buy herself a few clothes, etc., which Ma thought was a very small amount; so he gave the go-between a present for her trouble, which just finished up the three ounces his fox-friend had provided. An auspicious day was chosen, and the young lady came over to his house; when lo! she was humpbacked and pigeon-breasted, with a short neck like a tortoise, and feet which were fully ten inches long. The meaning of his fox-friend's remarks then flashed upon him. The Magnanimous Girl At Chin-ling there lived a young man named Ku, who had considerable ability, but was very poor; and having an old mother, he was very loth to leave home. So he employed himself in writing or painting [42] for people, and gave his mother the proceeds, going on thus till he was twenty-five years of age without taking a wife. Opposite to their house was another building, which had long been untenanted; and one day an old woman and a young girl came to occupy it, but there being no gentleman with them young Ku did not make any inquiries as to who they were or whence they hailed. Shortly afterward it chanced that just as Ku was entering the house he observed a young lady come out of his mother's door. She was about eighteen or nineteen, very clever and refined-looking, and altogether such a girl as one rarely sets eyes on; and when she noticed Mr Ku she did not run away, but seemed quite self-possessed. "It was the young lady over the way; she came to borrow my scissors and measure," said his mother, "and she told me that there is only her mother and herself. They don't seem to belong to the lower classes. I asked her why she didn't get married, to which she replied that her mother was old. I must go and call on her to-morrow, and find out how the land lies. If she doesn't expect too much, you could take care of her mother for her." So next day Ku's mother went, and found that the girl's mother was deaf, and that they were evidently poor, apparently not having a day's food in the house. Ku's mother asked what their employment was, and the old lady said they trusted for food to her daughter's ten fingers. She then threw out some hints about uniting the two families, to which the old lady seemed to agree; but, on consultation with her daughter, the latter would not consent. Mrs Ku returned home and told her son, saying, "Perhaps she thinks we are too poor. She doesn't speak or laugh, is very nice-looking, and as pure as snow; truly no ordinary girl." There ended that; until one day, as Ku was sitting in his study, up came a very agreeable young fellow, who said he was from a neighbouring village, and engaged Ku to draw a picture for him. The two youths soon struck up a firm friendship and met constantly, and later it happened that the stranger chanced to see the young lady of over the way. "Who is that?" said he, following her with his eyes. Ku told him, and then he said, "She is certainly pretty, but rather stern in her appearance." By and by Ku went in, and his mother told him the girl had come to beg a little rice, as they had had nothing to eat all day. "She's a good daughter," said his mother, "and I'm very sorry for her. We must try and help them a little." Ku thereupon shouldered a peck of rice, and, knocking at their door, presented it with his mother's compliments. The young lady received the rice, but said nothing; and then she got into the habit of coming over and helping Ku's mother with her work and household affairs, almost as if she had been her daughter-in-law, for which Ku was very grateful to her, and whenever he had anything nice he always sent some of it in to her mother, though the young lady herself never once took the trouble to thank him. So things went on until Ku's mother got an abscess on her leg, and lay writhing in agony day and night. Then the young lady devoted herself to the invalid, waiting on her and giving her medicine with such care and attention that at last the sick woman cried out, "O that I could secure such a daughter-in-law as you to see this old body into its grave!" The young lady soothed her, and replied, "Your son is a hundred times more filial than I, a poor widow's only daughter." "But even a filial son makes a bad nurse," answered the patient; "besides, I am now drawing toward the evening of my life, when my body will be exposed to the mists and the dews, and I am vexed in spirit about our ancestral worship and the continuance of our line." As she was speaking Ku walked in; and his mother, weeping, said, "I am deeply indebted to this young lady; do not forget to repay her goodness." Ku made a low bow, but the young lady said, "Sir, when you were kind to my mother, I did not thank you; why then thank me?" Ku thereupon became more than ever attached to her; but could never get her to depart in the slightest degree from her cold demeanour toward himself. One day, however, he managed to squeeze her hand, upon which she told him never to do so again; and then for some time he neither saw nor heard anything of her. She had conceived a violent dislike to the young stranger above mentioned; and one evening, when he was sitting talking with Ku, the young lady appeared. After a while she got angry at something he said, and drew from her robe a glittering knife about a foot long. The young man, seeing her do this, ran out in a fright and she after him, only to find that he had vanished. She then threw her dagger up into the air, and _whish!_ a streak of light like a rainbow, and something came tumbling down with a flop. Ku got a light, and ran to see what it was; and lo! there lay a white fox, head in one place and body in another. "There is your _friend_," cried the girl; "I knew he would cause me to destroy him sooner or later." Ku dragged it into the house, and said, "Let us wait till to-morrow to talk it over; we shall then be more calm." Next day the young lady arrived, and Ku inquired about her knowledge of the black art; but she told Ku not to trouble himself about such affairs, and to keep it secret or it might be prejudicial to his happiness. Ku then entreated her to consent to their union, to which she replied that she had already been as it were a daughter-in-law to his mother, and there was no need to push the thing further. "Is it because I am poor?" asked Ku. "Well, I am not rich," answered she, "but the fact is I had rather not." She then took her leave, and the next evening when Ku went across to their house to try once more to persuade her the young lady had disappeared, and was never seen again. The Boon-companion Once upon a time there was a young man named Ch'ê, who was not particularly well off, but at the same time very fond of his wine; so much so that without his three stoups of liquor every night he was quite unable to sleep, and bottles were seldom absent from the head of his bed. One night he had woken up and was turning over and over, when he fancied some one was in the bed with him; but then, thinking it was only the clothes which had slipped off, he put out his hand to feel, and in doing so touched something silky like a cat. Striking a light, he found it was a fox, lying in a drunken sleep like a dog; and then looking at his wine bottle he saw that it had been emptied. "A boon-companion," said he, laughing, as he avoided startling the animal, and, covering it up, lay down to sleep with his arm across it, and the candle alight so as to see what transformation it might undergo. About midnight the fox stretched itself, and Ch'ê cried, "Well, to be sure, you've had a nice sleep!" He then drew off the clothes, and beheld an elegant young man in a scholar's dress; but the young man jumped up, and, making a low obeisance, returned his host many thanks for not cutting off his head. "Oh," replied Ch'ê, "I am not averse to liquor myself; in fact they say I'm too much given to it. If you have no objection, we'll be a pair of bottle-and-glass chums." So they lay down and went to sleep again, Ch'ê urging the young man to visit him often, and saying that they must have faith in each other. The fox agreed to this, but when Ch'ê awoke in the morning his bedfellow had already disappeared. So he prepared a goblet of first-rate wine in expectation of his friend's arrival, and at nightfall sure enough he came. They then sat together drinking, and the fox cracked so many jokes that Ch'ê said he regretted he had not known him before. "And truly I don't know how to repay your kindness," replied the former, "in preparing all this nice wine for me." "Oh," said Ch'ê, "what's a pint or so of wine?--nothing worth speaking of." "Well," rejoined the fox, "you are only a poor scholar, and money isn't so easily to be got. I must see if I can't secure a little wine capital for you." Next evening, when he arrived, he said to Ch'ê, "Two miles down toward the south-east you will find some silver lying by the wayside. Go early in the morning and get it." So on the morrow Ch'ê set off, and actually obtained two lumps of silver, with which he bought some choice morsels to help them out with their wine that evening. The fox now told him that there was a vault in his backyard which he ought to open; and when he did so he found therein more than a hundred strings of cash. [43] "Now then," cried Ch'ê, delighted, "I shall have no more anxiety about funds for buying wine with all this in my purse!" "Ah," replied the fox, "the water in a puddle is not inexhaustible. I must do something further for you." Some days afterward the fox said to Ch'ê, "Buckwheat is very cheap in the market just now. Something is to be done in that line." Accordingly Ch'ê bought over forty tons, and thereby incurred general ridicule; but by and by there was a bad drought, and all kinds of grain and beans were spoilt. Only buckwheat would grow, and Ch'ê sold off his stock at a profit of 1000 per cent. His wealth thus began to increase; he bought two hundred acres of rich land, and always planted his crops, corn, millet, or what not, upon the advice of the fox secretly given him beforehand. The fox looked on Ch'ê's wife as a sister, and on Ch'ê's children as his own; but when subsequently Ch'ê died it never came to the house again. The Alchemist [44] At Ch'ang-an there lived a scholar named Chia Tzu-lung, who one day noticed a very refined-looking stranger; and, on making inquiries about him, learned that he was a Mr Chên who had taken lodgings hard by. Accordingly, Chia called next day and sent in his card, but did not see Chên, who happened to be out at the time. The same thing occurred thrice; and at length Chia engaged some one to watch and let him know when Mr Chên was at home. However, even then the latter would not come forth to receive his guest, and Chia had to go in and rout him out. The two now entered into conversation, and soon became mutually charmed with each other; and by and by Chia sent off a servant to bring wine from a neighbouring wine-shop. Mr Chên proved himself a pleasant boon-companion, and when the wine was nearly finished he went to a box and took from it some wine-cups and a large and beautiful jade tankard; into the latter he poured a single cup of wine, and immediately it was filled to the brim. They then proceeded to help themselves from the tankard; but however much they took out, the contents never seemed to diminish. Chia was astonished at this, and begged Mr Chên to tell him how it was done. "Ah," replied Mr Chên, "I tried to avoid making your acquaintance solely because of your one bad quality--avarice. The art I practise is a secret known to the Immortals only: how can I divulge it to you?" "You do me wrong," rejoined Chia, "in thus attributing avarice to me. The avaricious, indeed, are always poor." Mr Chên laughed, and they separated for that day; but from that time they were constantly together, and all ceremony was laid aside between them. Whenever Chia wanted money Mr Chên would bring out a black stone, and, muttering a charm, would rub it on a tile or a brick, which was forthwith changed into a lump of silver. This silver he would give to Chia, and it was always just as much as he actually required, neither more nor less; and if ever the latter asked for more Mr Chên would rally him on the subject of avarice. Finally Chia determined to try to get possession of this stone; and one day, when Mr Chên was sleeping off the fumes of a drinking-bout, he tried to extract it from his clothes. However, Chên detected him at once, and declared that they could be friends no more, and next day he left the place altogether. About a year afterward Chia was one day wandering by the river-bank, when he saw a handsome-looking stone, marvellously like that in the possession of Mr Chên; and he picked it up at once and carried it home with him. A few days passed away, and suddenly Mr Chên presented himself at Chia's house, and explained that the stone in question possessed the property of changing anything into gold, and had been bestowed upon him long before by a certain Taoist priest whom he had followed as a disciple. "Alas!" added he, "I got tipsy and lost it; but divination told me where it was, and if you will now restore it to me I will take care to repay your kindness." "You have divined rightly," replied Chia; "the stone is with me; but recollect, if you please, that the indigent Kuan Chung [45] shared the wealth of his friend Pao Shu." At this hint Mr Chên said he would give Chia one hundred ounces of silver; to which the latter replied that one hundred ounces was a fair offer, but that he would far sooner have Mr Chên teach him the formula to utter when rubbing the stone on anything, so that he might try the thing once himself. Mr Chên was afraid to do this; whereupon Chia cried out, "You are an Immortal yourself; you must know well enough that I would never deceive a friend." So Mr Chên was prevailed upon to teach him the formula, and then Chia would have tried the art upon the immense stone washing-block [46] which was lying near at hand had not Mr Chên seized his arm and begged him not to do anything so outrageous. Chia then picked up half a brick and laid it on the washing-block, saying to Mr Chên, "This little piece is not too much, surely?" Accordingly Mr Chên relaxed his hold and let Chia proceed; which he did by promptly ignoring the half-brick and quickly rubbing the stone on the washing-block. Mr Chên turned pale when he saw him do this, and made a dash forward to get hold of the stone, but it was too late; the washing-block was already a solid mass of silver, and Chia quietly handed him back the stone. "Alas! alas!" cried Mr Chên in despair, "what is to be done now? For, having thus irregularly conferred wealth upon a mortal, Heaven will surely punish me. Oh, if you would save me, give away one hundred coffins [47] and one hundred suits of wadded clothes." "My friend," replied Chia, "my object in getting money was not to hoard it up like a miser." Mr Chên was delighted at this; and during the next three years Chia engaged in trade, taking care to fulfil always his promise to Mr Chên. At the expiration of that time Mr Chên himself reappeared, and, grasping Chia's hand, said to him, "Trustworthy and noble friend, when we last parted the Spirit of Happiness impeached me before God, [48] and my name was erased from the list of angels. But now that you have carried out my request that sentence has been rescinded. Go on as you have begun, without ceasing." Chia asked Mr Chên what office he filled in Heaven; to which the latter replied that he was only a fox who, by a sinless life, had finally attained to that clear perception of the truth which leads to immortality. Wine was then brought, and the two friends enjoyed themselves together as of old; and even when Chia had passed the age of ninety years the fox still used to visit him from time to time. CHAPTER XVI Miscellaneous Legends The Unnatural People The _Shan hai ching_, or _Hill and River Classic_, contains descriptions of some curious people supposed to inhabit the regions on the maps represented on the nine tripod vases of the Great Yü, first emperor of the Hsia dynasty. The Pygmies The pygmies inhabit many mountainous regions of the Empire, but are few in number. They are less than nine inches high, but are well formed. They live in thatched houses that resemble ants' nests. When they walk out they go in companies of from six to ten, joining hands in a line for mutual protection against birds that might carry them away, or other creatures that might attack them. Their tone of voice is too low to be distinguished by an ordinary human ear. They occupy themselves in working in wood, gold, silver, and precious stones, but a small proportion are tillers of the soil. They wear clothes of a red colour. The sexes are distinguishable by a slight beard on the men, and long tresses on the women, the latter in some cases reaching four to five inches in length. Their heads are unduly large, being quite out of proportion to their small bodies. A husband and wife usually go about hand in hand. A Hakka charcoal-burner once found three of the children playing in his tobacco-box. He kept them there, and afterward, when he was showing them to a friend, he laughed so that drops of saliva flew from his mouth and shot two of them dead. He then begged his friend to take the third and put it in a place of safety before he should laugh again. His friend attempted to lift it from the box, but it died on being touched. The Giants In the Country of the Giants the people are fifty feet in height. Their footprints are six feet in length. Their teeth are like those of a saw. Their finger-nails present the appearance of hooked claws, while their diet consists wholly of uncooked animal food. Their eyebrows are of such length as to protrude from the front of the carts in which they ride, large though it is necessary for these vehicles to be. Their bodies are covered with long black hair resembling that of the bear. They live to the advanced age of eighteen thousand years. Though cannibals, they never eat members of their own tribe, confining their indulgence in human flesh chiefly to enemies taken in battle. Their country extends some thousands of miles along certain mountain ranges in North-eastern Asia, in the passes of which they have strong iron gates, easy to close, but difficult to open; hence, though their neighbours maintain large standing armies, they have thus far never been conquered. The Headless People The Headless People inhabit the Long Sheep range, to which their ancestors were banished in the remote past for an offence against the gods. One of the said ancestors had entered into a controversy with the rulers of the heavens, and they in their anger had transformed his two breasts into eyes and his navel into a mouth, removed his head, leaving him without nose and ears, thus cutting him off from smell and sound, and banished him to the Long Sheep Mountains, where with a shield and axe, the only weapons vouchsafed to the people of the Headless Country, he and his posterity were compelled to defend themselves from their enemies and provide their subsistence. This, however, does not in the least seem to have affected their tempers, as their bodies are wreathed in perpetual smiles, except when they flourish their warlike weapons on the approach of an enemy. They are not without understanding, because, according to Chinese notions of physiology, "their bellies are full of wisdom." The Armless People In the Mountains of the Sun and Moon, which are in the Centre of the Great Waste, are the people who have no arms, but whose legs instead grow out of their shoulders. They pick flowers with their toes. They bow by raising the body horizontal with the shoulders, thus turning the face to the ground. The Long-armed and Long-legged People The Long-armed People are about thirty feet high, their arms reaching from the shoulders to the ground. Once when a company of explorers was passing through the country which borders on the Eastern Sea they inquired of an old man if he knew whether or not there were people dwelling beyond the waters. He replied that a cloth garment, in fashion and texture not unlike that of a Chinese coat, with sleeves thirty feet in length, had been found in the sea. The explorers fitted out an expedition, and the discovery of the Long-armed Country was the result. The natives subsist for the most part on fish, which they obtain by wading in the water, and taking the fish with their hands instead of with hooks or nets. The arms of the Long-legged People are of a normal length, the legs are developed to a length corresponding to that of the arms of the Long-armed People. The country of the latter borders on that of the Long-legs. The habits and food of the two are similar. The difference in their physical structure makes them of mutual assistance, those with the long arms being able to take the shellfish of the shallow waters, while those with the long legs take the surface fish from the deeper localities; thus the two gather a harvest otherwise unobtainable. The One-eyed People and Others A little to the east of the Country of the Long-legs are to be found the One-eyed People. They have but one eye, rather larger than the ordinary human eye, placed in the centre of the forehead, directly above the nose. Other clans or families have but one arm and one leg, some having a right arm and left leg, others a left arm and right leg, while still others have both on the same side, and go in pairs, like shoes. Another species not only has but one arm and one leg, but is of such fashion as to have but one eye, one nostril, and beard on but one side of the face, there being as it were rights and lefts, the two in reality being one, for it is in this way that they pair. The Long-eared People resemble Chinese in all except their ears. They live in the far West among mountains and in caves. Their pendant, flabby ears extend to the ground, and would impede their feet in walking if they did not support them on their hands. They are sensitive to the faintest sound. Still another people in this region are distinguished by having six toes on each foot. The Feathered People, etc. The Feathered People are very tall, and are covered with fluffy down. They have wings in place of arms, and can fly short distances. On the points of the wings are claws, which serve as hands. Their noses are like beaks. Gentle and timid, they do not leave their own country. They have good voices, and like to sing ballads. If one wishes to visit this people he must go far to the south-east and then inquire. There is also the Land of the People with Three Faces, who live in the centre of the Great Waste and never die; the Land of the Three-heads, east of the K'un-lun Mountains; the Three-body Country, the inhabitants of which have one head with three bodies, three arms and but two legs; and yet another where the people have square heads, broad shoulders, and three legs, and the stones on the land are all gold and jade. The People of the Punctured Bodies Another community is said to be composed of people who have holes through their chests. They can be carried about on a pole put through the orifice, or may be comfortably hung upon a peg. They sometimes string themselves on a rope, and thus walk out in file. They are harmless people, and eat snakes that they kill with bows and arrows, and they are very long-lived. The Women's Kingdom The Women's Kingdom, the country inhabited exclusively by women, is said to be surrounded by a sea of less density than ordinary water, so that ships sink on approaching the shores. It has been reached only by boats carried thither in whirlwinds, and but few of those wrecked on its rocks have survived and returned to tell of its wonders. The women have houses, gardens, and shops. Instead of money they use gems, perforated and strung like beads. They reproduce their kind by sleeping where the south wind blows upon them. The Land of the Flying Cart Situated to the north of the Plain of Great Joy, the Land of the Flying Cart joins the Country of the One-armed People on the south-west and that of the Three-bodied People on the south-east. The inhabitants have but one arm, and an additional eye of large size in the centre of the forehead, making three eyes in all. Their carts, though wheeled, do not run along the ground, but chase each other in mid-air as gracefully as a flock of swallows. The vehicles have a kind of winged framework at each end, and the one-armed occupants, each grasping a flag, talk and laugh one to another in great glee during what might be called their aerial recreation were it not for the fact that it seems to be their sole occupation. The Expectant Wife A curious legend is told regarding a solitary, weird figure which stands out, rudely weatherworn, from a hill-top in the pass called Shao-hsing Gorge, Canton Province. This point of the pass is called Lung-mên, or Dragon's Mouth, and the hill the Husband-expecting Hill. The figure itself, which is called the Expectant Wife, resembles that of a woman. Her bent head and figure down to the waist are very lifelike. The story, widely known in this and the neighbouring province, runs as follows. Centuries ago a certain poor woman was left by her husband, who went on a journey into Kwangsi, close by, but in those days considered a wild and distant region, full of dangers. He promised to return in three years. The time went slowly and sadly past, for she dearly loved her lord, but no husband appeared. He, ungrateful and unfaithful spouse, had fallen in love with a fair one in Kwangsi, a sorceress or witch, who threw a spell over him and charmed him to his destruction, turning him at length into stone. To this day his figure may be seen standing near a cave close by the river which is known by the name of the Detained Man Cave. The wife, broken by grief at her husband's failure to return, was likewise turned into a stone, and it is said that a supernatural power will one day bring the couple to life again and reward the ever-faithful wife. The legend receives entire credence from the simple boatmen sad country people. The Wild Men The wild beasts of the mountain have a king. He is a wild man, with long, thick locks, fiery red in colour, and his body is covered with hair. He is very strong: with a single blow of his huge fist, he can break large rocks to pieces; he also can pull up the trees of the forest by the root. His flesh is as hard as iron and is invulnerable to the thrusts of knife, spear, or sword. He rides upon a tiger when he leaves his home; he rules over the wolves, leopards, and tigers, and governs all their affairs. Many other wild men, like him in appearance, live in these mountains, but on account of his great strength he alone is king. These wild men kill and eat all human beings they meet, and other hill tribes live in terror of meeting them. Indeed, who of all these mountain people would have been left alive had not some men, more crafty than their fellows, devised a means of overpowering these fierce savages? This is the method referred to: On leaving his home the herb-gatherer of the mountains arms himself with two large hollow bamboo tubes which he slips over his wrists and arms; he also carries a jar of very strong wine. When he meets one of the wild men he stands still and allows the giant to grasp him by the arm. As the giant holds him fast, as he supposes, in his firm grasp, he quietly and slowly withdraws one arm from the bamboo cuff, and, taking the pot of wine from the other hand, quickly pours it down the throat of the stooping giant, whose mouth is wide open with immoderate laughter at the thought of having captured a victim so easily. The potent draught of wine acts at once, causing the victim to drop to the ground in a dead sleep, whereupon the herb-gatherer either dispatches him summarily with a thrust through the heart, or leaves the drunken tyrant to sleep off the effect of his draught, while he returns again to his work of collecting the health-restoring herbs. In this way have the numbers of these wild men become less and less, until at the present time but few remain. The Jointed Snake The people on Ô-mei Shan tell of a wonderful kind of snake that is said to live there. Part of its life is spent among the branches of the trees; if by chance it falls to the ground it breaks up into two or more pieces. These separate segments later on come together again and unite. Many other marvellous and interesting tales are related of this mountain and its inhabitants. The Casting of the Great Bell In every province of China there is a legend relating to the casting of the great bell swung in the bell tower of the chief city. These legends are curiously identical in almost every detail. The following is the one current in Peking. It was in the reign of Yung Lo, the third monarch of the Ming dynasty, that Peking first became the capital of China. Till that period the 'Son of Heaven' had held his Court at Nanking, and Peking had been of comparatively little note. Now, however, on being honoured by the 'Sacred Presence,' stately buildings arose in all directions for the accommodation of the Emperor and his courtiers. Clever men from all parts of the Empire were attracted to the capital, and such as possessed talent were sure of lucrative employment. About this time the Drum Tower and the Bell Tower were built; both of them as 'look-out' and 'alarm' towers. The Drum Tower was furnished with a monster drum, which it still possesses, of such a size that the thunder of its tones might be heard all over the city, the sound being almost enough to waken the dead. The Bell Tower had been completed some time before attempts were made to cast a bell proportionate to the size of the building. At length Yung Lo ordered Kuan Yu, a mandarin of the second grade, who was skilled in casting guns, to cast a bell the sound of which should be heard, on the least alarm, in every part of the city. Kuan Yu at once commenced the undertaking. He secured the services of a great number of experienced workmen, and collected immense quantities of material. Months passed, and at length it was announced to the Emperor that everything was ready for the casting. A day was appointed; the Emperor, surrounded by a crowd of courtiers, and preceded by the Court musicians, went to witness the ceremony. At a given signal, and to the crash of music, the melted metal rushed into the mould prepared for it. The Emperor and his Court then retired, leaving Kuan Yu and his subordinates to await the cooling of the metal, which would tell of failure or success. At length the metal was sufficiently cool to detach the mould from it. Kuan Yu, in breathless trepidation, hastened to inspect it, but to his mortification and grief discovered it to be honeycombed in many places. The circumstance was reported to the Emperor, who was naturally vexed at the expenditure of so much time, labour, and money with so unsatisfactory a result. However, he ordered Kuan Yu to try again. The mandarin hastened to obey, and, thinking the failure of the first attempt must have resulted from some oversight or omission on his part, he watched every detail with redoubled care and attention, fully determined that no neglect or remissness should mar the success of this second casting. After months of labour the mould was again prepared, and the metal poured into it, but again with the same result. Kuan Yu was distracted, not only at the loss of his reputation, but at the certain loss of the Emperor's favour. Yung Lo, when he heard of this second failure, was very wroth, and at once ordered Kuan Yu into his presence, and told him he would give him a third and last trial, and if he did not succeed this time he would behead him. Kuan Yu went home in a despairing state of mind, asking himself what crime he or any of his ancestors could have committed to have justified this calamity. Now Kuan Yu had an only daughter, about sixteen years of age, and, having no sons, the whole of his love was centred in this girl, for he had hopes of perpetuating his name and fame through her marriage with some deserving young nobleman. Truly she was worthy of being loved. She had "almond-shaped eyes, like the autumn waves, which, sparkling and dancing in the sun, seem to leap up in very joy and wantonness to kiss the fragrant reeds that grow upon the rivers' banks, yet of such limpid transparency that one's form could be seen in their liquid depths as if reflected in a mirror. These were surrounded by long silken lashes--now drooping in coy modesty, anon rising in youthful gaiety and disclosing the laughing eyes but just before concealed beneath them. Eyebrows like the willow leaf; cheeks of snowy whiteness, yet tinged with the gentlest colouring of the rose; teeth like pearls of the finest water were seen peeping from between half-open lips, so luscious and juicy that they resembled two cherries; hair of the jettiest blackness and of the silkiest texture. Her form was such as poets love to describe and painters limn; there was grace and ease in every movement; she appeared to glide rather than walk, so light was she of foot. Add to her other charms that she was skilful in verse-making, excellent in embroidery, and unequalled in the execution of her household duties, and we have but a faint description of Ko-ai, the beautiful daughter of Kuan Yu." Well might the father be proud of and love his beautiful child, and she returned his love with all the ardour of her affectionate nature; often cheering him with her innocent gaiety when he returned from his daily vocations wearied or vexed. Seeing him now return with despair depicted in his countenance, she tenderly inquired the cause, not without hope of being the means of alleviating it. When her father told her of his failures, and of the Emperor's threat, she exclaimed: "Oh, my father, be comforted! Heaven will not always be thus unrelenting. Are we not told that 'out of evil cometh good'? These two failures will but enhance the glory of your eventual success, for success _this_ time _must_ crown your efforts. I am only a girl, and cannot assist you but with my prayers; these I will daily and hourly offer up for your success; and the prayers of a daughter for a loved parent _must_ be heard." Somewhat soothed by the endearments of Ko-ai, Kuan Yu again devoted himself to his task with redoubled energy, Ko-ai meanwhile constantly praying for him in his absence, and ministering to his wants when he returned home. One day it occurred to the maiden to go to a celebrated astrologer to ascertain the cause of these failures, and to ask what means could be taken to prevent a recurrence of them. She thus learned that the next casting would also be a disappointment if the blood of a maiden were not mixed with the ingredients. She returned home full of horror at this information, yet inwardly resolving to immolate herself rather than allow her father to fail. The day for the casting at length came, and Ko-ai requested her father to allow her to witness the ceremony and "to exult in his success," as she laughingly said. Kuan Yu gave his consent, and accompanied by several servants she went, taking up a position near the mould. Everything was prepared as before. An immense concourse assembled to witness the third and final casting, which was to result either in honour or degradation and death for Kuan Yu. A dead silence prevailed through the vast assemblage as the melted metal once more rushed to its destination; this was broken by a shriek, and a cry, "For my father!" and Ko-ai was seen to throw herself headlong into the seething, hissing metal. One of her servants attempted to seize her while in the act of plunging into the boiling fluid, but succeeded only in grasping one of her shoes, which came off in his hand. The father was frantic, and had to be kept by force from following her example; he was taken home a raving maniac. The prediction of the astrologer was fulfilled, for, on uncovering the bell after it had cooled, it was found to be perfect, but not a vestige of Ko-ai was to be seen; the blood of a maiden had indeed been infused with the ingredients. After a time the bell was suspended by order of the Emperor, and expectation was at its height to hear it rung for the first time. The Emperor himself was present. The bell was struck, and far and near was heard the deep tone of its sonorous boom. This indeed was a triumph! Here was a bell surpassing in size and sound any other that had ever been cast! But--and the surrounding multitudes were horror-struck as they listened--the heavy boom of the bell was followed by a low wailing sound like the agonized cry of a woman, and the word _hsieh_ (shoe) was distinctly heard. To this day the bell, each time it is rung, after every boom appears to utter the word 'hsieh,' and people when they hear it shudder and say, "There's poor Ko-ai's voice calling for her shoe." The Cursed Temple The reign of Ch'ung Chêng, the last monarch of the Ming dynasty, was much troubled both by internal broils and by wars. He was constantly threatened by Tartar hordes from without, though these were generally beaten back by the celebrated general Wu San-kuei, and the country was perpetually in a state of anarchy and confusion, being overrun by bands of marauding rebels; indeed, so bold did these become under a chief named Li Tzu-ch'êng that they actually marched on the capital with the avowed intention of placing their leader on the Dragon Throne. Ch'ung Chêng, on the reception of this startling news, with no one that he could trust in such an emergency (for Wu San-kuei was absent on an expedition against the Tartars), was at his wits' end. The insurgents were almost in sight of Peking, and at any moment might arrive. Rebellion threatened in the city itself. If he went out boldly to attack the oncoming rebels his own troops might go over to the enemy, or deliver him into their hands; if he stayed in the city the people would naturally attribute it to pusillanimity, and probably open the gates to the rebels. In this strait he resolved to go to the San Kuan Miao, an imperial temple situated near the Ch'ao-yang Mên, and inquire of the gods as to what he should do, and decide his fate by 'drawing the slip.' If he drew a long slip, this would be a good omen, and he would boldly march out to meet the rebels, confident of victory; if a middle length one, he would remain quietly in the palace and passively await whatever might happen; but if he should unfortunately draw a short one he would take his own life rather than suffer death at the hands of the rebels. Upon arrival at the temple, in the presence of the high officers of his Court, the sacrifices were offered up, and the incense burnt, previous to drawing the slip on which hung the destiny of an empire, while Ch'ung Chêng himself remained on his knees in prayer. At the conclusion of the sacrificial ceremony the tube containing the bamboo fortune-telling sticks was placed in the Emperor's hand by one of the priests. His courtiers and the attendant priests stood round in breathless suspense, watching him as he swayed the tube to and fro; at length one fell to the ground; there was dead silence as it was raised by a priest and handed to the Emperor. _It was a short one!_ Dismay fell on every one present, no one daring to break the painful, horrible silence. After a pause the Emperor, with a cry of mingled rage and despair, dashed the slip to the ground, exclaiming: "May this temple built by my ancestors evermore be accursed! Henceforward may every suppliant be denied what he entreats, as I have been! Those who come in sorrow, may that sorrow be doubled; in happiness, may that happiness be changed to misery; in hope, may they meet despair; in health, sickness; in the pride of life and strength, death! I, Ch'ung Chêng, the last of the Mings, curse it!" Without another word he retired, followed by his courtiers, proceeded at once to the palace, and went straight to the apartments of the Empress. The next morning he and his Empress were found suspended from a tree on Prospect Hill. "In their death they were not divided." The scenes that followed; how the rebels took possession of the city and were driven out again by the Chinese general, assisted by the Tartars; how the Tartars finally succeeded in establishing the Manchu dynasty, are all matters of history. The words used by the Emperor at the temple were prophetic; he _was_ the last of the Mings. The tree on which the monarch of a mighty Empire closed his career and brought the Ming dynasty to an end was ordered to be surrounded with chains; it still exists, and is still in chains. Upward of two hundred and seventy years have passed since that time, yet the temple is standing as of old; but the halls that at one time were crowded with worshippers are now silent, no one ever venturing to worship there; it is the resort of the fox and the bat, and people at night pass it shudderingly--"It is the cursed temple!" The Maniac's Mite An interesting story is told of a lady named Ch'ên, who was a Buddhist nun celebrated for her virtue and austerity. Between the years 1628 and 1643 she left her nunnery near Wei-hai city and set out on a long journey for the purpose of collecting subscriptions for casting a new image of the Buddha. She wandered through Shantung and Chihli and finally reached Peking, and there--subscription-book in hand--she stationed herself at the great south gate in order to take toll from those who wished to lay up for themselves treasures in the Western Heaven. The first passer-by who took any notice of her was an amiable maniac. His dress was made of coloured shreds and patches, and his general appearance was wild and uncouth. "Whither away, nun?" he asked. She explained that she was collecting subscriptions for the casting of a great image of Buddha, and had come all the way from Shantung. "Throughout my life," remarked the madman, "I was ever a generous giver." So, taking the nun's subscription-book, he headed a page with his own name (in very large characters) and the amount subscribed. The amount in question was two cash, equivalent to a small fraction of a farthing. He then handed over the two small coins and went on his way. In course of time the nun returned to Wei-hai-wei with her subscriptions, and the work of casting the image was duly begun. When the time had come for the process of smelting, it was observed that the copper remained hard and intractable. Again and again the furnace was fed with fuel, but the shapeless mass of metal remained firm as a rock. The head workman, who was a man of wide experience, volunteered an explanation of the mystery. "An offering of great value must be missing," he said. "Let the collection-book be examined so that it may be seen whose subscription has been withheld." The nun, who was standing by, immediately produced the madman's money, which on account of its minute value she had not taken the trouble to hand over. "There is one cash," she said, "and there is another. Certainly the offering of these must have been an act of the highest merit, and the giver must be a holy man who will some day attain Buddhahood." As she said this she threw the two cash into the midst of the cauldron. Great bubbles rose and burst, the metal melted and ran like the sap from a tree, limpid as flowing water, and in a few moments the work was accomplished and the new Buddha successfully cast. The City-god of Yen Ch'êng The following story of the Ch'êng-huang P'u-sa of Yen Ch'êng (Salt City) is told by Helena von Poseck in the _East of Asia Magazine_, vol. iii (1904), pp. 169-171. This legend is also related of several other cities in China. The Ch'êng-huang P'u-sa is, as already noted, the tutelary god of a city, his position in the unseen world answering to that of a _chih hsien_, or district magistrate, among men, if the city under his care be a _hsien_; but if the city hold the rank of a _fu_, it has (or used to have until recently) two Ch'êng-huang P'u-sas, one a prefect, and the other a district magistrate. One part of his duty consists of sending small demons to carry off the spirits of the dying, of which spirits he afterward acts as ruler and judge. He is supposed to exercise special care over the _k'u kuei_, or spirits which have no descendants to worship and offer sacrifices to them, and on the occasion of the Seventh Month Festival he is carried round the city in his chair to maintain order among them, while the people offer food to them, and burn paper money for their benefit. He is also carried in procession at the Ch'ing Ming Festival, and on the first day of the tenth month. The Ch'êng-huang P'u-sa of the city of Yen Ch'êng is in the extremely unfortunate predicament of having no skin to his face, which fact is thus accounted for: Once upon a time there lived at Yen Ch'êng an orphan boy who was brought up by his uncle and aunt. He was just entering upon his teens when his aunt lost a gold hairpin, and accused him of having stolen it. The boy, whose conscience was clear in the matter, thought of a plan by which his innocence might be proved. "Let us go to-morrow to Ch'êng-huang P'u-sa's temple," he said, "and I will there swear an oath before the god, so that he may manifest my innocence." They accordingly repaired to the temple, and the boy, solemnly addressing the idol, said: "If I have taken my aunt's gold pin, may my foot twist, and may I fall as I go out of your temple door!" Alas for the poor suppliant! As he stepped over the threshold his foot twisted, and he fell to the ground. Of course, everybody was firmly convinced of his guilt, and what could the poor boy say when his own appeal to the god thus turned against him? After such a proof of his depravity his aunt had no room in her house for her orphan nephew, neither did he himself wish to stay with people who suspected him of theft. So he left the home which had sheltered him for years, and wandered out alone into the cold hard world. Many a hardship did he encounter, but with rare pluck he persevered in his studies, and at the age of twenty odd years became a mandarin. In course of time our hero returned to Yen Ch'êng to visit his uncle and aunt. While there he betook himself to the temple of the deity who had dealt so hardly with him, and prayed for a revelation as to the whereabouts of the lost hairpin. He slept that night in the temple, and was rewarded by a vision in which the Ch'êng-huang P'u-sa told him that the pin would be found under the floor of his aunt's house. He hastened back, and informed his relatives, who took up the boards in the place indicated, and lo! there lay the long-lost pin! The women of the house then remembered that the pin had been used in pasting together the various layers of the soles of shoes, and, when night came, had been carelessly left on the table. No doubt rats, attracted by the smell of the paste which clung to it, had carried it off to their domains under the floor. The young mandarin joyfully returned to the temple, and offered sacrifices by way of thanksgiving to the Ch'êng-huang P'u-sa for bringing his innocence to light, but he could not refrain from addressing to him what one is disposed to consider a well-merited reproach. "You made me fall down," he said, "and so led people to think I was guilty, and now you accept my gifts. Aren't you ashamed to do such a thing? _You have no face!_" As he uttered the words all the plaster fell from the face of the idol, and was smashed into fragments. From that day forward the Ch'êng-huang P'u-sa of Yen Ch'êng has had no skin on his face. People have tried to patch up the disfigured countenance, but in vain: the plaster always falls off, and the face remains skinless. Some try to defend the Ch'êng-huang P'u-sa by saying that he was not at home on the day when his temple was visited by the accused boy and his relatives, and that one of the little demons employed by him in carrying off dead people's spirits out of sheer mischief perpetrated a practical joke on the poor boy. In that case it is certainly hard that his skin should so persistently testify against him by refusing to remain on his face! The Origin of a Lake In the city of Ta-yeh Hsien, Hupei, there is a large sheet of water known as the Liang-ti Lake. The people of the district give the following account of its origin: About five hundred years ago, during the Ming dynasty, there was no lake where the broad waters now spread. A flourishing _hsien_ city stood in the centre of a populous country. The city was noted for its wickedness, but amid the wicked population dwelt one righteous woman, a strict vegetarian and a follower of all good works. In a vision of the night it was revealed to her that the city and neighbourhood would be destroyed by water, and the sign promised was that when the stone lions in front of the _yamên_ wept tears of blood, then destruction was near at hand. Like Jonah at Nineveh, the woman, known to-day simply as Niang-tzu, walked up and down the streets of the city, warning all of the coming calamity. She was laughed at and looked upon as mad by the careless people. A pork-butcher in the town, a noted wag, took some pig's blood and sprinkled it round the eyes of the stone lions. This had the desired effect, for when Niang-tzu saw the blood she fled from the city amid the jeers and laughter of the inhabitants. Before many hours had passed, however, the face of the sky darkened, a mighty earthquake shook the country-side, there was a great subsidence of the earth's surface, and the waters of the Yangtzu River flowed into the hollow, burying the city and villages out of sight. But a spot of ground on which the good woman stood, after escaping from the doomed city, remained at its normal level, and it stands to-day in the midst of the lake, an island called Niang-tzu, a place at which boats anchor at night, or to which they fly for shelter from the storms that sweep the lake. They are saved to-day because of one good woman helped by the gods so long ago. As a proof of the truth of the above story, it is asserted that on clear days traces of the buried city may be seen, while occasionally a fisherman casting his net hauls up some household utensil or relic of bygone days. Miao Creation Legends If the Miao have no written records, they have many legends in verse, which they learn to repeat and sing. The Hei Miao (or Black Miao, so called from their dark chocolate-coloured clothes) treasure poetical legends of the Creation and of a deluge. These are composed in lines of five syllables, in stanzas of unequal length, one interrogative and one responsive. They are sung or recited by two persons or two groups at feasts and festivals, often by a group of youths and a group of maidens. The legend of the Creation commences: Who made Heaven and earth? Who made insects? Who made men? Made male and made female? I who speak don't know. Heavenly King made Heaven and earth, Ziene made insects, Ziene made men and demons, Made male and made female. How is it you don't know? How made Heaven and earth? How made insects? How made men and demons? Made male and made female? I who speak don't know. Heavenly King was intelligent, Spat a lot of spittle into his hand, Clapped his hands with a noise, Produced Heaven and earth, Tall grass made insects, Stories made men and demons, Made male and made female. How is it you don't know? The legend proceeds to state how and by whom the heavens were propped up and how the sun was made and fixed in its place, but the continuation is exceedingly silly. The legend of the Flood is another very silly composition, but it is interesting to note that it tells of a great deluge. It commences: Who came to the bad disposition, To send fire and burn the hill? Who came to the bad disposition, To send water and destroy the earth? I who sing don't know. Zie did. Zie was of bad disposition, Zie sent fire and burned the hill; Thunder did. Thunder was of bad disposition, Thunder sent water and destroyed the earth. Why don't you know? In this story of the flood only two persons were saved in a large bottle gourd used as a boat, and these were A Zie and his sister. After the flood the brother wished his sister to become his wife, but she objected to this as not being proper. At length she proposed that one should take the upper and one the nether millstone, and going to opposite hills should set the stones rolling to the valley between. If these should be found in the valley properly adjusted one above the other she would be his wife, but not if they came to rest apart. The young man, considering it unlikely that two stones thus rolled down from opposite hills would be found in the valley one upon another, while pretending to accept the test suggested, secretly placed two other stones in the valley one upon the other. The stones rolled from the hills were lost in the tall wild grass, and on descending into the valley A Zie called his sister to come and see the stones he had placed. She, however, was not satisfied, and suggested as another test that each should take a knife from a double sheath and, going again to the opposite hill-tops, hurl them into the valley below. If both these knives were found in the sheath in the valley she would marry him, but if the knives were found apart they would live apart. Again the brother surreptitiously placed two knives in the sheath, and, the experiment ending as A Zie wished, his sister became his wife. They had one child, a misshapen thing without arms or legs, which A Zie in great anger killed and cut to pieces. He threw the pieces all over the hill, and next morning, on awaking, he found these pieces transformed into men and women; thus the earth was repeopled. The Dream of the South Branch The dawn of Chinese romantic literature must be ascribed to the period between the eighth and tenth centuries of our era, when the cultivation of the liberal arts received encouragement at the hands of sovereigns who had reunited the Empire under the sway of a single ruler, and whose conquests and distant embassies attracted representatives from every Asiatic nation to their splendid Court. It was during this period that the vast bulk of Indian literature was successfully attacked by a host of Buddhist translators, and that the alchemists and mechanicians of Central Asia, Persia, and the Byzantine Empire introduced their varied acquirements to the knowledge of the Chinese. With the flow of new learning which thus gained admittance to qualify the frigid and monotonous cultivation of the ancient classics and their commentators, there came also an impetus to indulgence in the licence of imagination in which it is impossible to mistake the influence of Western minds. While the Sanskrit fables, on the one hand, passed into a Chinese dress, and contributed to the colouring of the popular mythology, the legends which circulated from mouth to mouth in the lively Arabian bazaars found, in like manner, an echo in the heart of China. Side by side with the mechanical efforts of rhythmical composition which constitute the national ideal of poetry there began, during the middle period of the T'ang dynasty (A.D. 618-907), to grow up a class of romantic tales in which the kinship of ideas with those that distinguish the products of Arabian genius is too marked to be ignored. The invisible world appears suddenly to open before the Chinese eye; the relations of the sexes overstep for a moment the chilling limit imposed by the traditions of Confucian decorum; a certain degree of freedom and geniality is, in a word, for the first time and only for a brief interval infused into the intellectual expression of a nation hitherto closely cramped in the bonds of a narrow pedantry. It was at this period that the drama began to flourish, and the germs of the modern novelist's art made their first appearance. Among the works of imagination dating from the period in question which have come down to the present day there is perhaps none which better illustrates the effect of an exotic fancy upon the sober and methodical authorship of the Chinese, or which has left a more enduring mark upon the language, than the little tale which is given in translation in the following pages. The _Nan k'o mêng_, or _Dream of the South Branch_ (as the title, literally translated, should read), is the work of a writer named Li Kung-tso, who, from an incidental mention of his own experiences in Kiangsi which appears in another of his tales, is ascertained to have lived at the beginning of the ninth century of our era. The _nan k'o_, or South Branch, is the portion of a _huai_ tree (_Sophora Japdonica_, a tree well known in China, and somewhat resembling the American locust-tree) in which the adventures narrated in the story are supposed to have occurred; and from this narrative of a dream, recalling more than one of the incidents recounted in the Arabian Nights, the Chinese have borrowed a metaphor to enrich the vocabulary of their literature. The equivalent of our own phrase "the baseless fabric of a vision" is in Chinese _nan k'o chih mêng_--a dream of the south branch. Ch'un-yü Fên enters the Locust-tree Ch'un-yü Fên, a native of Tung-p'ing, was by nature a gallant who had little regard for the proprieties of life, and whose principal enjoyment was found in indulgence in wine-bibbing in the society of boon-companions. At one time he held a commission in the army, but this he lost through his dissipated conduct, and from that time he more than ever gave himself up to the pleasures of the wine-cup. One day--it was in the ninth moon of the seventh year of Chêng Yüan (A.D. 791)--after drinking heavily with a party of friends under a wide-spreading old locust-tree near his house, he had to be carried to bed and there left to recover, his friends saying that they would leave him while they went to bathe their feet. The moment he laid down his head he fell into a deep slumber. In his dream appeared to him two men clothed in purple, who kneeling down informed him that they had been sent by their master the King of Huai-an ('Locust-tree Peace') to request his presence. Unconsciously he rose, and, arranging his dress, followed his visitors to the door, where he saw a varnished chariot drawn by a white horse. On each side were ranged seven attendants, by whom he was assisted to mount, whereupon the carriage drove off, and, going out of the garden gate, passed through a hole in the trunk of the locust-tree already spoken of. Filled with astonishment, but too much afraid to speak, Ch'un-yü noticed that he was passing by hills and rivers, trees and roads, but of quite a different kind from those he was accustomed to. A few miles brought them to the walls of a city, the approach to which was lined with men and vehicles, who fell back at once the moment the order was given. Over the gate of the city was a pavilion on which was written in gold letters "The Capital of Huai-an." As he passed through, the guard turned out, and a mounted officer, shouting that the husband of the King's daughter had arrived, showed him the way into a hall where he was to rest awhile. The room contained fruits and flowers of every description, and on the tables was laid out a profuse display of refreshments. While Ch'un-yü still remained lost in astonishment, a cry was raised that the Prime Minister was coming. Ch'un-yü got up to meet him, and the two received each other with every demonstration of politeness. He marries the King's Daughter The minister, looking at Ch'un-yü, said: "The King, my master, has brought you to this remote region in order to give his daughter in marriage to you." "How could I, a poor useless wretch," replied Ch'un-yü, "have ever aspired to such honour?" With these words both proceeded toward the audience-chamber, passing through a hall lined with soldiers, among whom, to his great joy and surprise, Ch'un-yü recognized an old friend of his former drinking days, to whom he did not, however, then venture to speak; and, following the Prime Minister, he was ushered into the King's presence. The King, a man of noble bearing and imposing stature, was dressed in plain silk, a jewelled crown reposing on his head. Ch'un-yü was so awe-stricken that he was powerless even to look up, and the attendants on either side were obliged to remind him to make his prostrations. The King, addressing him, said: "Your father, small as my kingdom is, did not disdain to promise that you should marry my daughter." Ch'un-yü could not utter a word; he merely lay prostrate on the ground. After a few moments he was taken back to his apartments, and he busied his thoughts in trying to discover what all this meant. "My father," he said to himself, "fought on the northern frontier, and was taken prisoner; but whether his life was saved or not I don't know. It may be that this affair was settled while he was in those distant regions." That same night preparations were made for the marriage; and the rooms and passages were filled with damsels who passed and repassed, filling the air with the sound of their dancing and music. They surrounded Ch'un-yü and kept up a constant fire of witty remarks, while he sat there overcome by their grace and beauty, unable to say a word. "Do you remember," said one of them, coming up to Ch'un-yü, "the other day when with the Lady Ling-chi I was listening to the service in the courtyard of a temple, and while I, with all the other girls, was sitting on the window step, you came up to us, talking nonsense, and trying to get up a flirtation? Don't you remember how we tied a handkerchief on the stem of a bamboo?" Then she continued: "Another time at a temple, when I threw down two gold hairpins and an ivory box as an offering, you asked the priest to let you look at the things, and after admiring them for a long time you turned toward me, and said that neither the gifts nor the donor were of this world; and you wanted to know my name, and where I lived, but I wouldn't tell you; and then you gazed on me so tenderly, and could not take your eyes off me. You remember this, without doubt?" "I have ever treasured the recollection in my heart; how could I possibly forget it?" was Ch'un-yü's reply, whereat all the maidens exclaimed that they had never expected to see him in their midst on this joyful occasion. At this moment three men came up to Ch'un-yü and stated that they had been appointed his ministers. He stepped up to one of them and asked him if his name was not Tzu-hua. "It is," was the reply; whereupon Ch'un-yü, taking him by the hands, recalled to him their old friendship, and questioned him as to how he had found his way to this spot. He then proceeded to ask him if Chou-pien was also here. "He is," replied the other, "and holding very high office; he has often used his influence on my behalf." As they were talking, Ch'un-yü was summoned to the palace, and as he passed within, a curtain in front of him was drawn aside, disclosing a young girl of about fourteen years of age. She was known as the Princess of the Golden Stem, and her dazzling beauty was well in keeping with her matchless grace. He writes to his Father The marriage was celebrated with all magnificence, and the young couple grew fonder from day to day. Their establishment was kept up in princely style, their principal amusement being the chase, the King himself frequently inviting Ch'un-yü to join him in hunting expeditions to the Tortoise-back Hill. As they were returning one day from one of these excursions, Ch'un-yü said to the King: "On my marriage day your Majesty told me that it was my father's desire that I should espouse your daughter. My father was worsted in battle on the frontier, and for seventeen years we have had no news of him. If your Majesty knows his whereabouts, I would beg permission to go and see him." "Your father," replied the King, "is frequently heard of; you may send him a letter; it is not necessary to go to him." Accordingly a letter and some presents were got ready and sent, and in due time a reply was received, in which Ch'un-yü's father asked many questions about his relations, his son's occupation, but manifested no desire that the latter should come to him. He takes Office One day Ch'un-yü's wife asked him if he would not like to hold office. His answer was to the effect that he had always been a rolling stone, and had no experience of official affairs, but the Princess promised to give him her assistance, and found occasion to speak on the subject to her father. In consequence the King one day told Ch'un-yü that he was not satisfied with the state of affairs in the south of his territory, that the present governor was old and useless, and that he would be pleased if he would proceed thither. Ch'un-yü bowed to the King's commands, and inwardly congratulated himself that such good fortune should have befallen a rover like him. He was supplied with a splendid outfit, and farewell entertainments were given in his honour. Before leaving he acknowledged to the King that he had no great confidence in his own powers, and suggested that he should be allowed to take with him Chou-pien and Tzu-hua as commissioners of justice and finance. The King gave his consent, and issued the necessary instructions. The day of departure having arrived, both the King and the Queen came to see Ch'un-yü and his wife off, and to Ch'un-yü the King said: "The province of Nan-k'o is rich and fertile; and the inhabitants are brave and prosperous; it is by kindness that you must rule them." To her daughter the Queen said: "Your husband is violent and fond of wine. The duty of a wife is to be kind and submissive. Act well toward him, and I shall have no anxiety. Nan-k'o, it is true, is not very far--only one day's journey; still, in parting from you my tears will flow." Ch'un-yü and his bride waved a farewell, and were whirled away toward their destination, reaching Nan-k'o the same evening. Once settled in the place, Ch'un-yü set himself to become thoroughly acquainted with the manners and customs of the people, and to relieve distress. To Chou-pien and Tzu-hua he confided all questions of administration, and in the course of twenty years a great improvement was to be noticed in the affairs of the province. The people showed their appreciation by erecting a monument to his honour, while the King conferred upon him an estate and the dignity of a title, and in recognition of their services promoted Chou-pien and Tzu-hua to very high posts. Ch'un-yü's children also shared their father's rewards; the two sons were given office, while the two daughters were betrothed to members of the royal family. There remained nothing which could add to his fame and greatness. He meets with Disasters About this period the state of T'an-lo made an incursion on the province of Nan-k'o. The King at once commanded that Chou-pien should proceed at the head of 30,000 men to repel the enemy. Chou-pien, full of confidence, attacked the foe, but sustained a disastrous defeat, and, barely escaping with his life, returned to the capital, leaving the invaders to plunder the country and retire. Ch'un-yü threw Chou-pien into prison, and asked the King what punishment should be visited upon him. His Majesty granted Chou-pien his pardon; but that same month he died of disease. A few days later Ch'un-yü's wife also fell ill and died, whereupon he begged permission to resign his post and return to Court with his wife's remains. This request was granted, and Tzu-hua was appointed in his stead. As Ch'un-yü, sad and dejected, was leaving the city with the funeral _cortège_, he found the road lined with people giving loud expression to their grief, and almost ready to prevent his taking his departure. He returns Home As he neared the capital the King and Queen, dressed in mourning, were awaiting the bier in tears. The Princess, after a posthumous title had been conferred upon her, was buried with great magnificence a few miles to the east of the city, while Ch'un-yü remained in the capital, living in such state, and gaining so much influence, that he excited the King's jealousy; and when it was foretold, by means of signs in the heavens, that ruin threatened the kingdom, that its inhabitants would be swept away, and that this would be the work of an alien, the prophecy seemed to point to ambitious designs on the part of Ch'un-yü, and means were taken to keep him under restraint. Ch'un-yü, conscious that he had faithfully filled a high office for many years, felt greatly grieved by these calumnies--a result which the King could not avoid noticing. He accordingly sent for Ch'un-yü, and said: "For more than twenty years we have been connexions, although my poor daughter, unfortunately, has not been spared to be a companion to you in old age. Her mother is now taking care of her children; your own home you have not seen for many years; return to see your friends; your children will be looked after, and in three years you will see them again." "Is not this my home? Whither else am I to go?" was Ch'un-yü's reply. "My friend," the King said laughingly, "you are a human being; you don't belong to this place." At these words Ch'un-yü seemed to fall into a deep swoon, and he remained unconscious for some time, after which he began to recall some glimpses of the distant past. With tears in his eyes he begged that he might be allowed to return to his home, and, saying farewell, he departed. Outside the palace he found the same two officials in purple clothes who had led the way so many years ago. A conveyance was also there, but this time it was a mere bullock-cart, with no outriders. He took the same road as before, and noticed the same hills and streams. The two officials were by no means imposing this time, and when he asked how far was his destination they continued to hum and whistle and paid no attention to him. At last they passed through an opening, and he recognized his own village, precisely as he had left it. The two officials desired him to get down and walk up the steps before him, where, much to his horror, he saw himself lying down in the porch. He was too much bedazed with terror to advance, but the two officials called out his name several times, and upon this he awoke. The servants were bustling about the house, and his two companions were still washing their feet. Everything was as he had left it, and the lifetime he had lived in his dream had occupied only a few moments. Calling out to his two friends, he made them follow him to the locust-tree, and pointed out the opening through which he had begun his journey in dream-land. An axe was sent for, and the interior of the trunk thrown open, whereupon a series of galleries was laid bare. At the root of the tree a mound of earth was discovered, in shape like a city, and swarming with ants. This was the capital of the kingdom in which he had lived in his dream. A terrace surrounded by a guard of ants was the residence of the King and Queen, two winged insects with red heads. Twenty feet or so along another gallery was found an old tortoise-shell covered with a thick growth of moss; it was the Tortoise-back Hill of the dream. In another direction was found a small mound of earth round which was coiled a root in shape like a dragon's tongue; it was the grave of the King's daughter, Ch'un-yü's wife in the vision. As he recalled each incident of the dream he was much affected at discovering its counterpart in this nest of ants, and he refused to allow his companions to disturb it further. They replaced everything as they had found it; but that night a storm of wind and rain came, and next morning not a vestige of the ants was to be seen. They had all disappeared, and here was the fulfilment of the warning in the dream, that the kingdom would be swept away. Ch'un-yü Regenerate At this time Ch'un-yü had not seen Chou-pien and Tzu-hua for some ten days. He sent a messenger to make inquiries about them, and the news he brought back was that Chou-pien was dead and Tzu-hua lying ill. The fleeting nature of man's existence revealed itself to him as he recalled the greatness of these two men in the ant-world. From that day he became a reformed man; drink and dissipation were put aside. After three years had elapsed he died, thus giving effect to the promise of the ant-king that he should see his children once more at the end of three years. Why the Jung Tribe have Heads of Dogs The wave of conquest which swept from north to south in the earliest periods of Chinese history [49] left on its way, like small islands in the ocean, certain remnants of aboriginal tribes which survived and continued to exist despite the sustained hostile attitude of the flood of alien settlers around them. When stationed at Foochow I saw the settlements of one of these tribes which lived in the mountainous country not very many miles inland from that place. They were those of the Jung tribe, the members of which wore on their heads a large and peculiar headgear constructed of bamboo splints resting on a peg inserted in the chignon at the back of the head, the weight of the structure in front being counterbalanced by a pad, serving as a weight, attached to the end of the splints, which projected as far down as the middle of the shoulders. This framework was covered by a mantilla of red cloth which, when not rolled up, concealed the whole head and face, The following legend, related to me on the spot, explains the origin of this unusual headdress. Two Tribes at War In early times the Chief of a Chinese tribe (another version says an Emperor of China) was at war with the Chief of another tribe who came to attack his territory from the west. The Western Chief so badly defeated the Chinese army that none of the generals or soldiers could be induced to renew hostilities and endeavour to drive the enemy back to his own country. This distressed the Chinese Chief very much. As a last resort he issued a proclamation promising his daughter in marriage to anyone who would bring him the head of his enemy, the Chief of the West. The Chief's Promise The people in the palace talked much of this promise made by the Chief, and their conversation was listened to by a fine large white dog belonging to one of the generals. This dog, having pondered the matter well, waited until midnight and then stole over to the tent of the enemy Chief. The latter, as well as his guard, was asleep; or, if the guard was not, the dog succeeded in avoiding him in the darkness. Entering the tent, the dog gnawed through the Chief's neck and carried his head off in his mouth. At dawn he placed it at the Chinese Chief's feet, and waited for his reward. The Chief was soon able to verify the fact that his enemy had been slain, for the headless body had caused so much consternation in the hostile army that it had already begun to retreat from Chinese territory. A Strange Contract The dog then reminded the Chief of his promise, and asked for his daughter's hand in marriage. "But how," said the Chief, "can I possibly marry my daughter to a dog?" "Well," replied the dog, "will you agree to her marrying me if I change myself into a man?" This seemed a safe promise to make, and the Chief agreed. The dog then stipulated that he should be placed under a large bell and that no one should move it or look into it for a space of 280 days. The Chiefs Curiosity This was done, and for 279 days the bell remained unmoved, but on the 280th day the Chief could restrain his curiosity no longer, and tilting up the bell saw that the dog had changed into a man all except his head, the last day being required to complete the transformation. However, the spell was now broken, and the result was a man with a dog's head. Since it was the Chief's fault that, through his over-inquisitiveness, the dog could not become altogether a man, he was obliged to keep his promise, and the wedding duly took place, the bridegroom's head being veiled for the occasion by a red mantilla. The Origin of a Custom Unfortunately the fruit of the union took more after their father than their mother, and though comely of limb had exceedingly ugly features. [50] They were therefore obliged to continue to wear the head-covering adopted by their father at the marriage ceremony, and this became so much an integral part of the tribal costume that not only has it been worn ever since by their descendants, but a change of headgear has become synonymous with a change of husbands or a divorce. One account says that at the original bridal ceremony the bride wore the red mantilla to prevent her seeing her husband's ugly features, and that is why the headdress is worn by the women and not by the men, or more generally by the former than the latter, though others say that it was originally worn by the ugly children of both sexes. And of a Worship This legend explains the dog-worship of the Jung tribe, which now consists of four clans, with a separate surname (Lei, Chung, Lang, and Pan) to each, has a language of its own, and does not intermarry with the Foochow natives. At about the time of the old Chinese New Year (somewhere in February) they paint a large figure of a dog on a screen and worship it, saying it is their ancestor who was victorious over the Western invader. Conclusion If the greatness of nations is to be judged by the greatness of their myths (using the word 'great' in the sense of world-famous and of perennial influence), there would be few great nations, and China would not be one of them. As stated in an earlier chapter, the design has been to give an account of Chinese myth as it is, and not as it might have been under imaginary conditions. But for the Chinese philosophers we should in all probability have had more Chinese myths, but philosophy is unifying, and without it we might have had a break-up of China and perhaps no myths at all, or none specially belonging to China as a whole and separate independent nation. Had there been great, world-stirring myths there could hardly but have been also more wars, more cruelty, more wounding of the "heart that weeps and trembles," more saturating of the earth with human blood. It is not a small thing to have conquered myth with philosophy, especially at a time when the Western world was still steeped in the grossest superstition. Therefore we may be thankful that the Chinese were and are a peace-loving, sober, agricultural, industrial, non-military, non-priest-ridden, literary, and philosophical people, and that we have instead of great myths a great people. But if the real test of greatness is purity and justice, then Chinese myth must be placed among the greatest of all; for it is not obscene, and it is invariably just. The Pronunciation of Chinese Words During the course of Chinese history the restriction of intercourse due to mountain-chains or other natural obstacles between various tribes or divisions of the Chinese people led to the birth of a number of families of languages, which again became the parents of numerous local dialects. These dialects have in most cases restricted ranges, so that that of one district may be partially or wholly unintelligible to the natives of another situated at a distance of only a hundred miles or less. The Court or Government language is that spoken in Peking and the metropolitan district, and is the language of official communication throughout the country. Though neither the oldest nor the purest Chinese dialect, it seems destined more than any other to come into universal use in China. The natives of each province or district will of course continue to speak to each other in their own particular dialect, and foreign missionaries or merchants, for example, whose special duties or transactions are connected with special districts will naturally learn and use the dialects of those districts; but as a means of intercommunication generally between natives of different provinces, or between natives and foreigners, the Court language seems likely to continue in use and to spread more and more over the whole country. It is to this that the following remarks apply. The essentials of correct pronunciation of Chinese are accuracy of sound, tone, and rhythm. Sound _Vowels and Diphthongs_ _a_ as in _father_. _ai_ as in Italian _amái_. _ao_. Italian _ao_ in _Aosta_: sometimes _á-oo,_ the _au_ in _cauto_. _e_ in _eh_, _en_, as in _yet_, _lens_. _ei_. Nearly _ey_ in _grey_, but more as in Italian _lei_, _contei_. _ê_. The vowel-sound in _lurk_. _êi_. The foregoing _ê_ followed enclitically by _y_. _Money_ without the _n_ = _mêi_. _êrh._ The _urr_ in _purr_. _i_. As a single or final syllable the vowel-sound in _ease_, _tree_; in _ih_, _in_, _ing_, as in _chick_, _thing_. _ia_ generally as in the Italian _Maria_. _iai_. The _iai_ in the Italian _vecchiaia_. _iao_ as in _ia_ and _ao_, with the terminal peculiarity of the latter. _ie_ as in the Italian _siesta_. _io_. The French _io_ in _pioche_. _iu_ as a final, longer than the English _ew_. In _liu, niu_, almost _leyew, neyew_. In _chiung, hsiung, iung_, is _eeyong_ (_o_ in _roll_). _o._ Between vowel-sound in _awe_ and that in _roll_. _ou._ Really _êo_; _ou_ in _round_. _ü._ The vowel-sound in the French _tu, eût_. _üa._ Only in _üan_, which in some tones is _üen_. The _u_ as above; the _an_ as in _antic_. _üe_. The vowel-sounds in the French _tu es_. _üo_. A disputed sound, used, if at all, interchangeably with _io_ in certain syllables. _u_. The _oo_ in _too_; in _un_ and _ung_ as in the Italian _punto_. _ua_. Nearly _ooa_, in many instances contracting to _wa_. _uai_ as in the Italian _guai_. _uei._ The vowel-sounds in the French _jouer_. _uê._ Only in final _uên_ = _ú-un_; frequently _wên_ or _wun_. _ui._ The vowel-sounds in _screwy_; in some tones _uei_. _uo._ The Italian _uo_ in _fuori_; often _wo_, and at times nearly _oo_. _u._ Between the _i_ in _bit_ and the _u_ in _shut_. _Consonants_ _ch_ as in _chair_; but before _ih_ softened to _dj_. _ch'_. A strong breathing. _Mu_ch-ha_rm_ without the italicized letters = _ch'a_. _f_ as in farm. _h_ as _ch_ in Scotch _loch_. _hs_. A slight aspirate preceding and modifying the sibilant, which is, however, the stronger of the two consonants; _e.g. hsing_ = _hissing_ without the first _i_, _j_. Nearly the French _j_ in _jaune_; the English _s_ in _fusion_. _k_. _c_ in _car_, _k_ in _king_; but when following other sounds often softened to _g_ in _go, gate_. _k'_. The aspirate as in _ch'_. _Ki_ck-ha_rd_ without the italicized letters = _k'a_; and _ki_ck-he_r_ == _k'ê_. _l_ as in English. _m_ as in English. _n_ as in English. _ng_. The italicized letters in the French mo_n ga_lant = _nga_; mo_n gai_llard = _ngai_; so_n go_sier = _ngo_. _p_ as in English. _p'_ The Irish pronunciation of _p_arty, _p_arliament. _Sla_p-ha_rd_ without the italicized letters = _p'a_. _s_ as in English. _sh_ as in English. _ss_. Only in _ssu_. The object of employing _ss_ is to fix attention on the peculiar vowel-sound _u_ (see above). _t_ as in English. _t'_ The Irish _t_ in _t_orment. _Hi_t-ha_rd_ without the italicized letters = _t'a_. _ts_ as in _jetsam_; after another word softened to _ds_ in _gladsome_. _ts'._ The aspirate intervening, as in _ch'_, etc. _Be_ts-ha_rd_ without the italicized letters = _ts'a_. _tz_. Employed to mark the peculiarity of the final _u_; hardly of greater power than _ts_. _tz'_ like _ts'_. This, _tz_, and _ss_ used only before _u_. _w_ as in English; but very faint, or even non-existent, before _ü_. _y_ as in English; but very faint before _i_ or _ü_. Tone The correct pronunciation of the sound (_yin_) is not sufficient to make a Chinese spoken word intelligible. Unless the tone (_shêng_), or musical note, is simultaneously correctly given, either the wrong meaning or no meaning at all will be conveyed. The tone is the key in which the voice is pitched. Accent is a 'song added to,' and tone is emphasized accent. The number of these tones differs in the different dialects. In Pekingese there are now four. They are best indicated in transliteration by numbers added to the sound, thus: _pa_ (1) _pa_ (2) _pa_ (3) _pa_ (4) To say, for example, _pa_ (3) instead of _pa_ (1) would be as great a mistake as to say 'grasp' instead of 'trumpet.' Correctness of tone cannot be learnt except by oral instruction. Rhythm What tone is to the individual sound rhythm is to the sentence. This also, together with proper appreciation of the mutual modifications of tone and rhythm, can be correctly acquired only by oral instruction. NOTES [1] The inventions of the Chinese during a period of four thousand years may be numbered on the fingers of one hand. [2] _East of Asia Magazine_, i, 15-16. [3] _Cf_. Aristotle's belief that bugs arose spontaneously from sweat. [4] For the Buddhist account see _China Review_, xi, 80-82. [5] Compare the Japanese legend, which relates that the Sun-goddess was induced to come out of a cave by being tempted to gaze at herself in a mirror. See _Myths and Legends of Japan_, F. Hadland Davis, pp. 27-28. [6] See _Myths of the Norsemen_, by H. A. Guerber. These resemblances and the further one--namely, the dualism in the prechaotic epoch (a very interesting point in Scandinavian mythology)--illustrate the danger of inferring identity of origin from similarity of physical, intellectual, or moral results. Several remarkable parallelisms of Chinese religious and mythological beliefs with those recorded in the Hebrew scriptures may also be briefly noted. There is an age of virtue and happiness, a garden with a tree bearing 'apples of immortality,' guarded by a winged serpent (dragon), the fall of man, the beginnings of lust and war (the doctrine of original sin), a great flood, virgin-born god-men who rescue man from barbarism and endow him with superhuman attributes, discipleship, worship of a Virgin Mother, trinities, monasticism, celibacy, fasting, preaching, prayers, primeval Chaos, Paradise, etc. For details see _Chinese Repository,_ vii, 520-521. [7] _Cf._ the dwarfs in the Scandinavian myth. [8] See Legge, _Shu ching_, ii, 320, note. [9] In order to avoid misunderstanding, it is as well to note that the mention of the _t'ai chi_ in the _Canon of Changes (I ching_) no more constituted monism the philosophy of China than did the steam-driven machinery mentioned by Hero of Alexandria constitute the first century B.C. the 'age of steam.' Similarly, to take another example, the idea of the earth's rotundity, though conceived centuries before Ptolemy in the second century, did not become established before the sixteenth century. It was, in fact, from the _I ching_ that the Chinese derived their _dualistic_ (not their monistic) conception of the world. [10] "Formerly, I, Chuang Chou, dreamt that I was a butterfly, flying about and feeling that it was enjoying itself. I did not know that it was Chou. Suddenly I awoke and was myself again, the veritable Chou. I did not know whether it had formerly been Chou dreaming that he was a butterfly, or whether it was now a butterfly dreaming that it was Chou." _Chuang Tzu_, Book II. [11] See the present writer's _China of the Chinese_, chapter viii. [12] See Du Bose, pp. 282, 286, 361, 409, 410, and _Journal of the North China Branch of the Royal Asiatic Society_, xxxiv, 110-111. [13] Du Bose, p. 38. [14] He is sometimes represented as a reincarnation of Wên Chung; see p. 198. [16] See footnote, p. 107. [17] _Religion_, p. 177. [18] See _Myths of the Hindus and Buddhists_, by Sister Nivedita and Ananda Coomaraswamy. [19] The native accounts differ on this point. _Cf._ p. 16. [20] For further details concerning T'ai I see _Babylonian and Oriental Record_, vi, 145-150. [21] _Cf._ Chapter I. [22] She is the same as Ch'ang Ô, the name Hêng being changed to Ch'ang because it was the tabooed personal name of the Emperors Mu Tsung of the T'ang dynasty and Chên Tsung of the Sung dynasty. [23] See p. 45. [24] In Sagittarius, or the Sieve; Chinese constellation of the Leopard. [25] See Chapter XIV. [26] See Chapter XII. [27] This pagoda is distant about twenty _li_ (seven miles) from Peking. It is on the top of the hill, while the spring is at the foot, half a _li_ distant. The imperial family used the water from this spring, whence it was carried to Peking in carts. [28] See Chapter XII. [29] See Chapter IV. [30] This has reference to the change of Kuan Yin from the masculine to the feminine gender, already mentioned. [31] There is evidently a mistake here, since the King was twenty when he ascended the throne and fifty at the birth of Miao Shan. [32] _An Illustrated Account of the Eight Immortals' Mission to the East_. [33] A record of a journey to the Western Paradise to procure the Buddhist scriptures for the Emperor of China. The work is a dramatization of the introduction of Buddhism into China. [34] See p. 329. [35] See p. 195. [36] Literally 'golden oranges.' These are skilfully preserved by the Cantonese, and form a delicious sweetmeat for dessert. [37] Only slave-girls and women of the poorer classes and old women omit this very important part of a Chinese lady's toilet. [38] Alluding probably to the shape of the 'shoe' or ingot of silver. [39] Slave-girls do not have their feet compressed. [40] Wherein resides an old gentleman who ties together with a red cord the feet of those destined to become man and wife. From this bond there is no escape, no matter what distance may separate the affianced pair. [41] This proceeding is highly improper, but is 'winked at' in a large majority of Chinese betrothals. [42] The usual occupation of poor scholars who are ashamed to go into trade and who have not enterprise enough to start as doctors or fortune-tellers. Besides painting pictures and fans, and illustrating books, these men write fancy scrolls in the various ornamental styles so much prized by the Chinese; they keep accounts for people, and write or read business and private letters for the illiterate masses. [43] Say about £10. [44] Alchemy is first mentioned in Chinese history B.C. 133, and was widely cultivated in China during the Han dynasty by priests of the Taoist religion. [45] Kuan Chung and Pao Shu are the Chinese types of friendship. They were two statesmen of considerable ability who flourished in the seventh century B.C. [46] These are used, together with a heavy wooden _bâton_, by the Chinese washerman, the effect being most disastrous to a European wardrobe. [47] To provide coffins for poor people has ever been regarded as an act of transcendent merit. The tornado at Canton in April 1878, in which several thousand lives were lost, afforded an admirable opportunity for the exercise of this form of charity--an opportunity which was largely taken advantage of by the benevolent. [48] For usurping its prerogative by allowing Chia to obtain wealth. [49] See Chapter I. [50] Compare the legend of the tailed Miao Tzu tribes named Yao, 'mountain-dogs' or 'jackals,' living on the mountain ranges in the north-west of Kuangtung Province, related in the _Jih chi so chih_. 17002 ---- HISTORY AND ECCLESIASTICAL RELATIONS OF THE CHURCHES OF THE PRESBYTERIAL ORDER, AT AMOY, CHINA. BY REV. J.V.N. TALMAGE, MISSIONARY OF THE PROT. REF. DUTCH CHURCH. New York: WYNKOOP, HALLENBECK & THOMAS, PRINTERS, 113 FULTON ST. 1863. PREFACE. _To the Ministers, Elders, and Members of the Reformed Dutch Church_: It is proper that I give some reasons for the publication of this paper. The importance of the subject of the ecclesiastical organization of the churches gathered in heathen lands, I conceive to be a sufficient reason. Those who may differ in regard to the views set forth in this paper, will not dispute the importance of the subject. Instead of the questions involved having been settled by any of the Presbyterian Denominations of this country (the Dutch Church included among them), by experiments in India or any other heathen land, very few of the churches gathered from the heathen, by these various Denominations, have yet arrived at a stage of development sufficient for practical application of the experiment. (See foot-note, page 160.) There are, however, a few mission churches, where the subject is now becoming one of vast practical importance. The Church at Amoy stands out prominent among these. With the continuance of the divine blessing there will soon be many such. Hence the importance of the discussion, and its importance _now_. Many experiments have been made in reference to the best way of conducting the work of missions. The Church has improved by them, and has been compelled to _unlearn_ many things. We are continually returning towards the simple plan laid down in God's Word. As the Church by experiment and by discussion has thus been led to retrace some of her steps in the preliminary work of missions, should she not be ready to take advantage of experiment and discussion, in reference to the ecclesiastical organization of the mission churches, and stand ready to retrace some of her steps in this second stage of the work of missions, if need be, in order to conform more fully to the doctrines of our Presbyterial church polity? I would use the phrase _Scriptural church polity_, but I suppose it is the universal belief of our Church, that Presbyterial polity is scriptural. At any rate, it is the duty of the Church to examine the subject carefully. She has nothing to fear from such examination. She should fear to neglect it. In addition to the importance of the subject in itself considered, I have other reasons for discussing it at the present time. There are mistaken impressions abroad in the Church, concerning the views and course of your missionaries at Amoy, which must be injurious to the cause of missions in our Church. It would seem to be a plain duty to correct these impressions. I will quote an extract from a letter, I recently received, from an honored missionary of a sister Church: "I have heard much, and seen some notices in the papers of the battle you fought on the floor of Synod, and would like to hear your side of the subject from your own mouth, as the question has also been a practical one with us. * * * * * We have our own Presbytery, and manage our own business, and insist on not having too much of what they call the new science of Missionary management; a science which, I believe, has been cultivated far too assiduously. It was this, more than anything else, which kept me from going out under the A.B.C.F.M., and to Amoy. * * * * * I hear, however, from some, that what you and the brethren there had formed, was some sort of loose Congregational association. If so, I must judge against you, for I believe in the _jure divino_ of Presbytery (or Classis if you choose so to call it), and I think you and they should have been allowed to form a Presbytery there, and manage all your own affairs, and that your Boards at home should be content to consider themselves a committee to raise and send on the funds. But it is hard for the D. D's and big folk at home to come to that. They think they must manage everything, or all will go wrong; while how little it is that they can be brought to know or realize of the real nature of the work abroad; and then it is the old battle of patronage over again. Those who give the money must _govern_, and those who receive it must give up their liberty, and be no longer Christ's freemen." This is only a specimen, one of many, of the mistaken impressions abroad in the Church concerning the views and doings of your Missionaries. May we not, _must_ we not, correct them? The letter also illustrates the evils resulting from allowing mistaken impressions to remain in the Church uncorrected. There has long been an impression in our Church that the A.B.C.F.M. interfered with the ecclesiastical affairs of our missions. We have been informed that several of our young men, before our Church separated from that Board, were deterred thereby from devoting themselves to the foreign Missionary work. The writer of the above letter, probably having more of the Missionary spirit, was not willing, on that account, to give up the work, but was led to offer himself to the Board of a sister Church. The Mission at Amoy, and our Church, have thus been deprived of the benefit of his labors by means of an erroneous impression. When we learned the fact of such an impression existing in this country, we endeavored to correct it. In our letter of 1856, to General Synod, we called particular attention to the subject. Here is a part of one sentence: "It seems to us a duty, and we take this opportunity to bear testimony, that neither Dr. Anderson, nor the Prudential Committee have ever, in any communication which we have received from them, in any way, either by dictation, or by the expression of opinions, interfered in the least with our ecclesiastical relations." We failed to get that letter published, and I find the erroneous impression still prevalent, working its mischief in the churches. But to return to the subject of the mistaken impressions concerning the views of your Missionaries at Amoy. These impressions would have been partly corrected in the Church, if the report of the proceedings of Synod, in "The Christian Intelligencer," had been more correct on this subject. That paper states, that, on Friday evening, "Rev. Mr. Talmage then took the floor, and addressed the Synod for nearly two hours," but does not give a single word or idea uttered by him. It is careful to report the only _unkind words_ against the Missionaries uttered during that whole discussion, which, with this single exception, was conducted in a spirit of the utmost Christian kindness; but does not give a word of the remarks made on the Friday evening previous, on that very subject, in justification of their course. It seems to be a duty, though painful, to speak particularly on this subject. Look at the following language: "I know that we are told that the _hybrid organization_ [i.e. the Classis, _a court of the Church of Christ_, at Amoy] which now exists is every way sufficient and satisfactory; that it is the fruit of Christian love, and that to disturb it would be rending the body of Christ. Here one might ask, how it came to exist at all, seeing that this Synod spoke so plainly, and unambiguously, in 1857; and _I, for one, cordially concur in the remark of the elder, Schieffelin, that the brethren there 'deserve censure_.' We do not censure them, nor do we propose to do so; _but that they deserve it is undeniable_. But the point is, how can our disapproval of _the mongrel Classis_ mar the peace of the Amoy brethren?" This language was used by the President of Synod, after asking whether the Synod was ready for the question, "the question being about to be put," when an attempt to answer it seemed altogether out of place. In all the circumstances it seemed almost like the charge of a judge to a jury. I do not say that there is any improper spirit manifested, or opprobrious expressions employed in this language, or that the President did wrong in waiting until the discussion was over before he uttered it, or that the missionaries are not deserving of such severe censure--of all these things let the Church judge--but I do say that the spreading of such language and such charges broadcast, before the Church and before the world, demands that the missionaries be heard in self-defense, or, which is all they ask, that they be allowed to state the facts and views which guided them in their action. Doubtless it was an oversight that such a one-sided report on this subject appeared in The Christian Intelligencer. At least it was not at all designed that injustice be done to the Missionaries, but, unless they be allowed to speak for themselves, is not injustice done them? It seemed to me that a very mistaken impression concerning the views expressed by me, near the close of the session of Synod, was also conveyed by the Report. This I attempted to correct by a note to the editor, but even the right of correcting my own sentiments and language was refused, my note garbled, and, as I thought, my views again misrepresented. More than this, the _implied_ charge is published to the world that I am seeking to excite "dissension among the churches," and "opposition to the constituted authority of Synod."[1] It would therefore be great dereliction of duty to return to my field of labor, allowing my own views, and the views of my co-laborers, to be thus mistaken in the Church, and such serious charges against our course unanswered. I am not aware that any censorship of the press has been authorized by General Synod. Surely if others are allowed to be heard for us we should be allowed the right to be heard for ourselves. We were unable by writing from Amoy to get our views before the Church. I must, therefore, while in this land, endeavor to make them known. [Footnote 1: If this language seem too strong or uncalled for, see Appendix B, at the end.] I have been advised by some to delay the publication of this paper a few months, until we learn the effect of the decision of the last Synod on the Mission at Amoy, and see what course the Church there may feel compelled to adopt. I do not see the force of such advice. Whatever may be the course of the Church there, the intrinsic merits of the question will be unchanged thereby. Besides this, I cannot afford such delay. I have been looking forward to as speedy return as possible to that field of labor. Would it be right to leave the whole subject to the eve of my departure, and thus shut myself off from the possibility of defending or further explaining my views, if such defense or explanation be called for? I have been asked, Why not bring this subject before the Church through the columns of the _Christian Intelligencer_? This question, after what has been said above, need not now be answered. Doubtless the editor is responsible for what appears in his columns. The only resource left the Mission seems to be the one I have chosen. I regret the necessity of discussing the subject, since the action of the last Synod, but we could not discuss it previously without running counter to the same advice which would now restrain us. I do not at all suppose, however, that by the course I am taking I shall become guilty of disobedience "to the authority of Synod." Neither should it be the occasion of creating "dissensions in the churches." The discussion of any important subject in a proper spirit is neither opposed to the doctrines of the Sacred Scriptures, nor to the doctrines of the Dutch Church, and I am willing to leave it to those who may read the following pages to decide whether there be in them any manifestation of an improper spirit. We, and those who differ from us, are all seeking the same end, i.e. the glory of God through the advancement of his cause. All that I ask for myself and co-laborers is an _impartial hearing_. Perhaps, in order to guard against any mistaken impression, I ought to add that the relations between the Missionaries and the Board of Foreign Missions of our Church, have always been of the most pleasant character. Whatever have been their differences of opinion on this most important subject, or on any other subject, they have not caused, so far as I am aware, the least interruption of that warm Christian friendship which has always existed, or been the occasion of one unkind utterance in all their mutual correspondence. Why not so? Cannot Christians reason with each other, even on subjects of the highest moment, in such a spirit as not only to avoid animosities, but even to increase personal friendship? If this paper should prove the occasion of discussion in our Church, let me express the hope that such discussion will be carried on in such a spirit. J.V.N. TALMAGE. Bound Brook, N.J., October, 1863. HISTORY AND ECCLESIASTICAL RELATIONS OF THE CHURCHES OF THE PRESBYTERIAL ORDER, AT AMOY, CHINA. The first Protestant Missionaries at Amoy arrived there in the year 1842. They were Dr. Abeel of the American Reformed Dutch Church, and Bishop Boone of the American Episcopal Church. After these there arrived Missionaries of the London Missionary Society, of the American Presbyterian Church, of the English Presbyterian Church, and others of the American Reformed Dutch Church. Bishop Boone soon left Amoy, and no others of his Church have since then been stationed there. The American Presbyterian Mission was removed to other parts of China. At the present time there are three Missions at Amoy, viz.: the Missions of the American Reformed Dutch Church, of the London Missionary Society, and of the English Presbyterian Church. The Missionaries of the London Missionary Society are Independents or Congregationalists, and have organized their churches after the Congregational order. Thus their churches form a distinct Denomination, and nothing further need be said of them in this paper. The first Missionary of the English Presbyterian Church at Amoy was Dr. Jas. Young. He arrived in May, 1850. At that time there were two Missionaries connected with our (R.D.C.) Mission, viz.: Rev. E. Doty, on the ground, and Rev. J.V.N. Talmage, absent on a visit to the United States. There were then under our care six native church members. Five of them had been baptized by our Missionaries at Amoy. The other had been baptized in Siam, by a Congregationalist or Presbyterian Minister of the A.B.C.F.M. Dr. Young, being a physician, and not an ordained Minister, instead of commencing an independent work, inasmuch as our doctrines and order of church government did not essentially differ from those of his own Church, very naturally became more especially associated with us in our work. A school under the care of our Mission, of which Mr. Doty did not feel able to continue the charge, was passed over to his care. He also rendered medical assistance to the Missionaries, and to the Chinese, both in Amoy, and by occasional tours in the country. In his labors he was usually assisted by native Christians under our care. The first ordained Missionary of the English Presbyterian Church, at Amoy, was Rev. William C. Burns. He joined Dr. Young in July, 1851. While he rendered considerable assistance to the brethren of the London Missionary Society, being ready to preach the gospel at every opportunity, providentially he became especially associated with us, and with the native Christians under our care. A remarkable outpouring of the Spirit of God had accompanied the labors of Rev. Mr. Burns, in his native land. So the remarkable outpouring of that same Spirit in Amoy, and vicinity, occurred sometime after his arrival, and much of this good work was manifestly connected with his labors. The permanent work in the country around Amoy commenced through his instrumentality, in connection with native members of the church under our care. We desired him to take the charge of that work, and gather a church at Peh-chui-ia, under the care of the English Presbyterian Church. But, at his urgent request, we took the pastoral oversight of the work in that region, administering the sacraments to the native converts. Rev. James Johnstone, of the same Mission, arrived in December, 1853. He undertook the care of the church being gathered at Peh-chui-ia, assuming, in behalf of the English Presbyterian Church, all the expenses thereof, we continuing the pastoral oversight until such time as his knowledge of the language should be sufficient to enable him to relieve us. In consequence of the ill-health of Dr. Young, he and Mr. Burns left Amoy, in August, 1854. Mr. Johnstone, in consequence of ill-health, left in May, 1855, before he was able to relieve us fully from the pastoral care of the church at Peh-chui-ia. Rev. Carstairs Douglas, of the same Mission, arrived at Amoy in July, 1855, and immediately entered on the work of Mr. Johnstone, we continuing the pastoral oversight of the church at Peh-chui-ia, until his knowledge of the language enabled him to assume it. Before the brethren of the English Presbyterian Church were able to assume pastoral responsibility, the work spread from Peh-chui-ia to Chioh-be. It was thought best that we take the charge of that station. After the departure of Dr. Young, all the Missionaries of the English Presbyterian Church, for several years, were unmarried men. Therefore, they resolved to devote themselves more especially to work in the country, leaving to our especial care the church in the city of Amoy, and the one out-station at Chioh-be. Amoy was still necessarily their place of residence. All their work at Amoy was in connection with the church under our care. In the country we assisted them as we had opportunity, and as occasion demanded. They did the same for us. In fact, we and they have worked together as one Church, and almost as one Mission, with the exception of keeping pecuniary matters distinct. More recently the English Presbyterian Mission was reinforced by one member with a family, and it seemed a proper time for them to commence more direct work at Amoy. A very populous suburb (E-mng-kang) was selected as a suitable and promising station. They assumed the immediate care, and all the expense of it, employing, as at all the other stations, indiscriminately, members of their own or of our churches as helpers. We are not afraid that our Church will ever blame us for working thus harmoniously, and unitedly, with our English Presbyterian brethren, and we feel confident that none of her Missionaries would consent to work on any other principles. If there be any who, under similar circumstances, would refuse thus to work, this would be sufficient evidence that they had mistaken their calling. If any blame is to be attached to the course the Missionaries have pursued, it is not that they have worked thus in harmony and unison with the English Presbyterian brethren, but that they have failed to keep the churches under their care ecclesiastically distinct. Some do feel inclined to censure us for this. It must be, however, because of some great misapprehension on their part. The Synod has distinctly uttered a contrary sentiment, i.e. that the course of the Missionaries is not censurable. We do not believe that our Church, when she understands the true state of the case, will ever censure us on this account. It would not be according to the spirit of her Master. He prayed that His people might be one, but he never prayed for their separation from each other. When separation is necessary, it is a necessary _evil_. But more of this hereafter. Our Church might well have censured us, if we had adopted lower principles as her representatives in building up the Church of Christ in China. The first organization of a church at Amoy under our care, by the ordination of a Consistory, took place in 1856. The Missionaries of our Board then on the ground were Doty and Talmage. Mr. Douglas was the only Missionary of the English Presbyterian Church. (Mr. Joralmon, of our Church, arrived between the time of the election and the ordination of office-bearers.) When the time came for the organization of the Church, we felt a solemn responsibility resting on us. We supposed it to be our duty to organize the Church in China with reference simply to its own welfare, and efficiency in the work of evangelizing the heathen around. Believing (after due deliberation) that the order of our own Church in America would best secure this end, of course we adopted it. We did not suppose that we were sent out to build up the _American_ Dutch Church in China, but a Church after the same order, a purely Chinese Church. How much the growth and efficiency of our Church in this country has been promoted by retaining (rather inserting) the term "_Dutch_" in her name, I will not now attempt to discuss. I suppose the principal argument in favor thereof is found in the fact that our Church, in the first instance, was a colony from Holland. The Church in China is not a colony from Holland, or America. We must not, therefore, entail on her the double evil of both the terms "_American_" and "_Dutch_" or the single evil of either of these terms. Your Missionaries will never consent to be instrumental in causing such an evil. We had already adopted the order and customs of our Church at home, so far as they could be adopted in an unorganized Church. The English Presbyterian brethren had adopted the same. They found that there were no differences of any importance between us and them; the churches being gathered under our care and under theirs--growing out of each other and being essentially one--neither we nor they could see any sufficient reason for organizing two distinct denominations. Especially had _we_ no reason for such a course, inasmuch as they were willing even to conform to our peculiarities. We most cordially invited Mr. Douglas to unite with us in the organization of the Church, and he as cordially accepted of the invitation. In reference to this subject Mr. Douglas wrote to their Corresponding Secretary as follows: "I need hardly say that this transaction does not consist in members of one church joining another, nor in two churches uniting, but it is an attempt to build up on the soil of China, with the lively stones prepared by the great Master-builder, an ecclesiastical body holding the grand doctrines enunciated at Westminster and Dort, and the principles of Presbyterian polity embraced at the Reformation by the purest churches on the continent and in Britain; it will also be a beautiful point in the history of this infant Church that the under-builders employed in shaping and arranging the stones, were messengers of two different (though not differing,) churches in the two great nations on either side of the Atlantic." The course of Mr. Douglas met with the decided approval of their Secretary, and, as he had reason then to believe, and has since fully learned, with the approval of their Church. We also sent a communication to our Church, addressing it to General Synod. We directed it to the care of one of our prominent ministers, for a long time Secretary of the Board, with the request that it be laid before the Church, using language as follows: "You will, doubtless, receive this paper some months before the time for the next meeting of that Body [General Synod]. We would suggest therefore, that the paper be published, that the members of the next General Synod may have the matter before them, and be the better prepared to make such disposition of it as the subject may demand. We feel that the subject is one of very grave importance," &c. Our communication was laid before the Board of Foreign Missions. They designated it a _Memorial_, and decided that they had no right to publish it. Of course we had no means of publishing it ourselves. It was laid before Synod among other papers of the Board. The action of Synod on the subject was as follows (Minutes of Synod, 1857, pp. 225-227): "Among the papers submitted to the Synod is an elaborate document from the brethren at Amoy, giving the history of their work there, of its gradual progress, of their intimate connection with Missionaries from other bodies, of the formation of the Church now existing there, and expressing their views as to the propriety and feasibility of forming a Classis at that station. In reply to so much of this paper as respects the establishment of individual churches, we must say that while we appreciate the peculiar circumstances of our brethren, and sympathize with their perplexities, yet it has always been considered a matter of course that ministers, receiving their commission through our Church, and sent forth under the auspices of our Board, would, when they formed converts from the heathen into an ecclesiastical body, mould the organization into a form approaching as nearly as possible that of the Reformed Dutch Churches in our own land. Seeing that the converted heathen, when associated together, must have some form of government, and seeing that our form is, in our view, entirely consistent with, if not required by, the Scriptures, we expect it will in all cases be adopted by our Missionaries, subject, of course, to such modifications as the peculiar circumstances may for the time render necessary. The converts at Amoy, as at Arcot and elsewhere, are to be regarded as 'an integral part' of our Church, and as such are entitled to all the rights and privileges which we possess. "And so in regard to the formation of a Classis. The Church at home will undoubtedly expect the brethren to associate themselves into a regular ecclesiastical organization, just as soon as enough materials are obtained to warrant such measure with the hope that it will be permanent. We do not desire churches to be prematurely formed in order to get materials for a Classis, nor any other exercise of violent haste. But we equally deprecate unnecessary delay, believing that a regular organization will be alike useful to our brethren themselves, and to those who, under them, are training for the first office-bearers in the Christian Church on heathen ground. As to the difficulties suggested in the memorial, respecting the different Particular Synods to which the brethren belong, and the delays of carrying out a system of appellate jurisdiction covering America and China, it is enough to say:--(1) That the Presbyterian Church (O.S.) finds no insuperable difficulties in carrying into operation her system which comprehends Presbyteries and Synods in India as well as here; and (2) That whatever hindrances may at any time arise, this body will, in humble reliance upon the divine aid and blessing, undertake to meet and remove them as far as possible. The Church at home assumes the entire responsibility of this matter, and only asks the brethren abroad to carry out the policy, held steadily in view from the first moment when our Missions began. "The following resolutions are recommended: "_Resolved_, 1. That the Synod view with great pleasure the formation of churches among the converts from heathenism, organized according to the established usages of our branch of Zion. "2. That the brethren at Amoy be directed to apply to the Particular Synod of Albany to organize them into a Classis so soon as they shall have formed churches enough to render the permanency of such an organization reasonably certain." It should be noticed that, in the foregoing Report, which was adopted by Synod, the most important question--the vital question--of our communication, i.e. the _unity_ of the churches under the care of the English Presbyterian Missionaries and of us, is entirely ignored; and consequently, without the fact being stated, we were directed to divide those churches, and form a part of them into a distinct Denomination. If the English Presbyterian Church had disapproved of the course of their Missionaries in uniting with us in organizing the native churches with our peculiarities, we think even that would have been strange. It would have appeared to us as though they were sacrificing some of the essentials of Presbyterianism for the sake of non-essentials, for, in our organization, they found all that they hold essential in doctrine, order, and customs. Suppose the position of the two Missions had been reversed, they had been first on the ground, and when we arrived we found the Church being planted and beginning to grow up after their order. If we had found in the Church thus growing up _all_ that we hold essential and important, even though it had some little peculiarities which were theirs and not ours, ought not our Church to have permitted us to work with them, as they have been permitted to work with us? If such be not the true Christian spirit, than we frankly confess that we know not, and despair of ever learning from the Word of God, what the Christian spirit is on such a subject. But whether such disapproval on the part of the English Presbyterian Church would have been strange or not, it would not have been so strange as was the decision of our Church, that the churches organized by the English Presbyterian brethren and by us--all one in fact, growing out of each other, and all adopting our order, should not be organically one. Hence, when we learned from our Board the decision of Synod, we felt (correctly or incorrectly) that there must be some misapprehension. Surely our Church cannot have correct views of our position, and our course of proceeding. Hence, we returned answer to the Board as follows:--(Letter dated December 23, 1857.) After speaking of our hearty approval of the course of our Church in separating from the A.B.C.F.M., though as individuals we took our leave of that Board with feelings of sadness, we remarked: "It seems proper to us also, on the present occasion, to allude to a subject deeply affecting the interests of the little Church which God has graciously gathered by our instrumentality from among this people. This Church is now small, but we trust that, with a continuance of the Divine blessing, the 'little one' will soon 'become a thousand,' and the 'small one a strong nation.' 'The Lord will hasten it in his time.' We love this Church, and cannot but watch over her interests with jealous care. Besides this, the Great Shepherd has made us under-shepherds, and commanded us to watch over the interests of this flock. We gave a brief history of our work, and an account of the present condition and peculiar circumstances of the churches here under our care, and stated at considerable length our views in reference to the future ecclesiastical relations of these churches, in a paper prepared for the information of our Church at home, and addressed to General Synod. The facts thus communicated ought to be known by the Church. It seems to us very unfortunate that that paper was not published according to our suggestion. It stated facts of grave importance. If we could have had a representative in General Synod, the previous publication of our paper might have been unnecessary. But, without such a representative, it was hardly possible that the subject, by a single reading of so long a document, could be brought before the minds of all the members of Synod with sufficient clearness.... Therefore it is not strange that some of the important points in the paper should have been entirely overlooked, and also that certain grave misconceptions should have got abroad in the Church concerning the views expressed by us. "So far as we can judge from the report of the proceedings of Synod, as given in The Christian Intelligencer, one of the most important considerations--perhaps altogether the most important mentioned--why the Church, gathered by us here, should not be an _integral part_ of the Church in America, was entirely overlooked. That consideration relates to the _unity of Christ's Church_. Our Saviour prays: 'Holy Father, keep through thine own name those whom thou hast given me, that they may be one as we are one.' 'That they all may be one, as thou, Father, art in me, and I in thee, that they also may be one in us: that the world may believe that thou hast sent me. And the glory which thou gavest me, I have given them, that they may be one, even as we are one.' Will our Church require of us, will she _desire_ that those here who are altogether _one_--one in doctrine, one in their views of Church order, and one in mutual love--be violently separated into two Denominations? We cannot believe it. Suppose the case of two Churches originally distinct. By coming into close contact, and becoming better acquainted with each other, they find that they hold to the same doctrinal standards, and they explain them in the same manner; they have the same form of Church government, and their officers are chosen, and set apart in the same way; they have the same order of worship, and of administering the sacraments; all their customs, civil, social, and religious, are precisely alike, and they love each other dearly; should not such churches unite and form but one Denomination? Yet, such a supposition does not, and cannot, even after you allow all the likeness and unity between the two churches it is possible to conceive of, represent the circumstances of the churches gathered by us, and by our Scotch brethren of the English Presbyterian Church. Our [theirs and ours] Churches originally were one, and still are one; and the question is not whether those churches shall be united, but, shall they be separated? Possibly (not probably) the question will be asked, why were these churches allowed originally to become one? We answer, _God made them so_, and that without any plan or forethought on our part, and now we thank him for his blessing that he has made them one, and that he has blessed them because they are one. "That misconceptions have got abroad in our Church concerning our views, we have abundant evidence from various private letters. They were written with the most kindly feelings towards us, but evidently under the impression that we find difficulty in organizing our churches according to the order of the Dutch Church. We have never found any difficulty of this kind. It is true that when we were called to the solemn duty of _commencing_ a church organization in an empire containing one-third of the inhabitants of the globe, we gave the subject of church polity a more careful investigation than we had ever before given it. The result of this investigation was a cordial (and, as we think, intelligent) approval of the order and forms of our own Church. We have commenced our organization according to the order of the Dutch Church, and we expect to proceed, as fast as the providence and grace of God lead the way, after the same order; and we use the forms of our own Church. Our Presbyterian brethren unite with us in these things. "But it is not strange that such misconceptions should be spread in the Church. They are the necessary result of publishing certain remarks made in Synod concerning our paper, without publishing the paper itself. "In the Report of the Synod, Synod's Board, Board of Foreign Missions, it is said: 'It would have been well if the memorial had been placed, in a printed form, in the hands of the ministry. This they [the Missionaries] suggested, but the Board felt it was purely a Synodical matter--that they could not act in the case.' With all due respect, and with the kindest feelings, we desire to make three remarks on this subject. _First._ We do not understand the principle on which the Board felt called upon to decide whether our letter should be published or not. It was not addressed to the Board, nor sent to the care of the Board. The opinion of members of the Board as _individuals_ might have been asked, but we suppose that the Board in their official capacity had nothing to do with the paper. _Secondly._ Inasmuch as the paper emanated from us, if 'it would have been well' to have had it published, our suggestion was a sufficient warrant for its publication. The responsibility would have been ours. It had not yet become a Synodical matter. Afterwards it would have been a legitimate question for the Synod to decide whether they would entertain a paper coming before them in such a manner. This question might well have been left to General Synod. _Thirdly._ A short time previous to the writing of that paper, unless our memory is greatly at fault, a communication was received from the Arcot Mission (or Classis of Arcot), addressed to General Synod, which was thus published, according to the request of the Arcot brethren, and without the authority of Synod. "Our position is a somewhat painful one. We desire to give offense to no one, and we do not wish to appear before the Church as disputants. We have no controversy with any. We have neither the time nor inclination for controversy. We are 'doing a great work' and cannot 'come down.' Yet, our duty to these Churches here, and to the Church at home, and to our Master, demands of us imperatively, that we state fully and frankly our views. We have the utmost confidence in our Church. We have proved this by endeavoring to get our views fully known. And we feel grateful for the spirit of kindness towards us manifested in the action of Synod, and also in the letters received from fathers and brethren in the ministry, notwithstanding their misconception of our views. But, we have also learned, how easily our views may be mistaken. In our paper, addressed to General Synod, when discussing the difficulties in the way of the Synod's jurisdiction over churches so far removed in time, distance, and circumstances, we remarked:--'Will written correspondence supply the place of representation? It would place our Classis under great disadvantages. There must usually be a delay of one or two years on every subject on which there is need of a decision by either Synod. If anything is not understood, or is misunderstood, in our communications, there will be no one to explain for us. Difficulties of this kind, from want of knowledge of the civil and social circumstances of this people may frequently occur. Could we have representatives from among us, they could usually be easily explained; but without this representation, they can only be explained by a long correspondence, which may cause years of delay.' The whole of this misunderstanding, which has arisen out of our first communication, and the length of time and the amount of correspondence which may yet be necessary, before we can see 'eye to eye,' give a striking illustration of the force of these remarks." So far as the preamble and resolutions of the Synod of 1857 embody the doctrines, and what we supposed to be the policy of our Church, we heartily agreed with them. Of course we were pained to see that they implied, that, in organizing a Church at Amoy, we had not proceeded according to the order of our Church, or had found great difficulty in doing so. This was altogether a mistake, and was already producing evil results. We think there is another mistake in the preamble. It seems small, but because of this fact, and of its plausibility, it has done more, perhaps, than anything else in leading our Church into the false position which she seems now to occupy. Therefore, we should examine it with some care. It is the assumption, as a matter of course, that, "the converts at Amoy" are "an _integral part_ of our Church," in this country. What made them so? Is it because they were converted through the instrumentality of the preaching of our Missionaries? This is a new doctrine, that a convert as a matter of course belongs to the Church of the preacher through whose instrumentality he has been led unto Christ. Perhaps it was the doctrine of some of the Corinthians, when they said, "I am of Paul, and I of Apollos," &c., but it was not the doctrine of the Apostle who reproved them. Besides this, how shall we know which of them were converted through our instrumentality? The English Presbyterian brethren and ourselves have preached indiscriminately. Is it because they were baptized by our Missionaries? But many of them were baptized by the English Presbyterian brethren. They have baptized in our churches, and we in theirs. If they be an _integral part_ of the Dutch Church in America, they are also an integral part of the Presbyterian Church in England. We, it is true, baptized a majority, say two-thirds. Are they, then, two-thirds of an integral part in America, and one-third of an integral part in England? No. The whole is a fallacy. Each individual Church there is an integral part of the whole of them. All together, they form an _integer_. They might by the act of our Church, and _a correlative act on their own part_, become an integral part of the Church in America? In a similar way they might become an integral part of the Church in England. They are now an _integer_ of themselves. To make one portion of them an integral part of the Church in this country, and another portion an integral part of the Church in England, is to be guilty of causing _a violent rupture_. We felt that the consequences were so momentous, that, before we should allow ourselves to be instrumental in thus (as we supposed) rending the "Body of Christ" at Amoy, we should make another effort to get the facts before the Church. As yet, we could not, if we would, carry out the resolution of Synod, and organize a Classis in connection with the Particular Synod of Albany, for, it was not till several years after, only very recently, that we had materials "enough to render the permanency of such an organization reasonably certain." Therefore we wrote, as above, under date of December 23, 1857, and frequently wrote on the subject, as occasion offered. Although our views were not made public (the Board judging that they had no right, or that it would not be for the good of the Church, and the interests of the Mission, to publish them), still we continued to prosecute our labors, in connection with the English Presbyterian brethren, receiving and giving mutual assistance. We were encouraged thus to continue our work: 1. Because of letters we received from home, some of them written by individuals who were able advocates of the decision of the Synod of 1857. They told us that it could not be otherwise than that a separation must come between us and the brethren of the English Presbyterian Church, but they would not have us inaugurate that separation. 2. (and more important) Because a marvelous blessing from on high was attending our labors. 3. (and most important) Because we knew this harmonious and mutual assistance to be entirely in accordance with the spirit of the Gospel. In process of time a Church was organized at Chioh-be by the appointment of elders and deacons, then at Peh-chui-ia, then at Mapeng, and then the Church at Amoy was divided into two distinct organizations. Thus we had five organized churches, all of our order--the elders and deacons chosen and set apart according to our Forms, and all our Forms in use so far as there was yet occasion for them. Two of these churches were under the especial care of the English Presbyterians, and pecuniarily the work was sustained by funds collected in England and Scotland. The other three were under our especial care. The pecuniary expenses, beyond what the native churches could themselves raise, were borne by our Church at home. One of the essential principles of our Church polity is, that individual Churches are not independent of each other. They are members one of another. They are to be subject to each other. They are individual parts of a whole. Each part should be subject to the whole. Hence the necessity of higher judicatories. Thus we felt that these five churches had a right to an ecclesiastical organization, by which they might enjoy this essential principle of Presbyterianism. [I trust we shall hear no more of the charge that the Missionaries at Amoy are Congregationalists.] But we were afraid to give this organization to the native churches, lest we should give offense at home. We knew that we were misunderstood, and as yet could see no way to make the Church acquainted with our position and our views. If the Master should plainly call us to go forward, of course we must obey, and leave the results with Him. These churches, having grown out of each other, were essentially one, and were as closely united together as it was possible for them to be, without a formal organization. The first formal meeting of all these churches was held at Chioh-be (a church under _our_ care), in 1861. No ecclesiastical power was assumed. The next similar meeting was held in April, 1862, in the churches at Amoy. This was still more formal. It was composed of all the Missionaries of our own and of the English Presbyterian Church, and of one representative Elder from each of the five organized churches. This body may be called an incipient Classis. The only ecclesiastical power exercised, however, was connected with church discipline. Heretofore each individual Church, in connection with the Missionaries, had exercised the power of discipline, even to excommunication. Now certain cases of excommunication were referred by individual Consistories to, and acted on by, this body. Is it necessary to defend such acts? We felt that if each individual church could exercise such power, and the principles of our Presbyterianism be scriptural, then could a body, composed of the representatives of these churches, together with the Missionaries, with safety exercise such power. It was approaching as nearly as possible to the practice of our Church at home. We expected soon to be called to the performance of ecclesiastical acts more momentous. Already had two of the churches chosen two of the native members, who were now engaged in careful study, that in due time they might be set apart to the office of the Ministry of the Word, and ordained pastors of the churches respectively choosing them. But for reasons given above we would not go forward faster than we were plainly led by the hand of Providence. Therefore, while the Missionaries, in presence of this assembly, examined these pastors-elect, in reference to their qualifications for the office of Pastor, the body, as such, took no part in the examination. This incipient Classis met next in the autumn of the same year at Peh-chui-ia, a church under the care of the English Presbyterian brethren. At this meeting it became a real Classis, not fully developed as a Classis in a mature Church, but possessing the constituent elements and performing the functions of a Classis. Not only were there cases of discipline to act on, but a distinct application was made by one of the churches, that a pastor be ordained, and placed over them. The body decided, not only that they had the right, but that the plain call of the Great Head of the Church made it their duty to go forward in this matter. Preliminary steps were taken, other meetings of Classis were appointed and held, candidates were examined, calls presented and approved, until early in the present year the First and Second Churches at Amoy had each a native pastor ordained and installed over them. By the authority of this Classis, in the early part of this year, a third church was organized at Amoy according to our order. It is in the suburb called E-mng-kang, and is under the especial care of the English Presbyterian brethren, as mentioned in a previous part of this paper. So now there are six organized churches, all of the same order, and some others almost ready to be organized. If the Missionaries at Amoy have been guilty of any great mistake, it has been in this matter of forming such a Classis, and proceeding to the ordination and installation of native pastors, and the organization of new churches. Therefore, this subject demands a careful examination. When we commenced the work among the heathen, it was found that the Constitution of our Church had made no provision for such work beyond the simple ordaining of men as Missionaries. We might preach the gospel, but no provision was made for receiving into church fellowship, administering the sacraments, electing and ordaining office-bearers, and all the incipient steps of the organization of the Church from among the heathen. The Constitution was made for the government of a Church already organized and matured, and in America; therefore, it is not strange that such things were not provided for. Our duty seemed very plain. We must fall back on the great principles of church government taught in the Word of God. We believed these principles to be set forth in the Constitution, and other standards of our Church. When, through the instrumentality of the preached Word, men gave satisfactory evidence that they had experienced "the renewing of the Holy Ghost," without the advice of Consistories, by virtue of our office of Ministers of the Word, we administered to them the sacrament of baptism, thus admitting them into the church. Now the Lord's Supper must be administered to these believers, baptism to their infant children, and to new converts, and the discipline of God's house maintained. By virtue of that same office, and by virtue of the authority given by the Master to his Church, we felt that we had the right, aye, that it was our bounden duty, to perform such acts. We could not yet for a long time set apart a proper Consistory, but we must not therefore be "lords over God's heritage." In receiving new members, and in all acts of discipline, we must advise with the church already gathered. The church grew, and in due time a Consistory was called for; must the work stop, because the Constitution had made no provision? No. The little church had the right to choose men, and having chosen suitable men, it was our duty to ordain them. The authority we thus exercised was not usurped, but was implied in the commission we received from our Master through the Church. The same may be said of the authority of the brethren at Amoy, when, in connection with the representative elders of the various churches, they proceeded to the ordination of native pastors, and the organization of new churches. It was not necessary for the performance of every act to get a new commission from the Church. When the Church sent us out, the one commission contained all the authority necessary for the complete organization of the church. It is an absurdity to deny, on _constitutional grounds_, the right of the Missionaries to perform these last acts unless you deny their right to perform all their other acts except the simple preaching of the Gospel. Their acts were all _extra_, not _contra_ constitutional. If their authority thus to act be justified in reference to the former acts, and denied in reference to the latter, the justification and denial must be on other grounds than the Constitution of our Church. Will any one assert that the Classis thus formed at Amoy is not a Classis _de facto_? or that the native pastors ordained and installed by that body are not _scripturally_ set apart to their offices, and that its other acts are null and void? If so, then, as yet, there are no organized churches--no Consistories--at Amoy, and there have been no scriptural baptisms, for all ecclesiastical acts performed there, have been performed on the same principles, and by the same authority. No one will have the hardihood to assert such a doctrine. It will be admitted that there is a Classis _de facto_ at Amoy. Then it is competent to perform all the functions of a Classis. But it will not be contended that that Classis is a part of the Dutch Church in America. Yet it is essentially like a Classis in America, just so far as the present state of development of the Church at Amoy, and its Chinese character, render likeness possible. It is _Chinese_, not _American_. The organization of such a Church is what we always supposed required of us. We never imagined that we were sent to organize the _American_ Dutch Church in China. If your Missionaries are allowed to proceed, and are not required to repel the English Presbyterian brethren from their united labors with us, there will be but one Church at Amoy of the Presbyterian order. With the continued blessing of God on such harmonious labor, it will be _the Church_ of that region. It will be dear to both the Presbyterian Church in England, and to our Church in this land, and peculiarly dear to our Church in this country, because of its Dutch characteristics. Your Missionaries will still be your agents, responsible to the Church at home, as they have always been. The near relation to the Church in this land, which they have always held, they desire to retain. The late action of Synod contemplates the _formation of two denominations at Amoy of the Presbyterian order, giving our peculiarities to one-half instead of to the whole, thus producing rivalries, injuring the efficiency of the native churches, and making the relation of the Missionaries to the Church at home more distant, thus weakening your hold on them_, and all, as we think, without any remunerating advantages. But before we proceed to the discussion of this subject, a few other preliminaries demand some attention. The English Presbyterians, as they are accustomed to speak of all the Classes of our Church in America, call this Classis at Amoy "_a Presbytery_." Hence the question has been put to us with all sincerity and gravity, "Is it a _Classis_, or is it a _Presbytery_?" Some seem to be afraid that the Church we are forming will be half Dutch and half Presbyterian, and that it will soon be swallowed up by the Presbyterians! Are there any ministers, or elders, or intelligent members of the Dutch Church, who have yet to learn that a Classis is a Presbytery, and that the Dutch Church is a Presbyterian Church? Surely not. Why, then, such questions and suggestions? Can they be designed to prejudice the Church at home against the ecclesiastical body which has grown up at Amoy? We will not impute such a motive, and, therefore, I merely say that we are surprised at all such remarks. It is proper for the English Presbyterian brethren to speak of the _Presbytery_ at Amoy. They never speak of it as an _English_ Presbytery. They do not regard it as a part of the Church in England, but as a purely Chinese Church. They have liberality enough to assist in building up such a Church, even though it has some things peculiar to us, for it has all the essentials of their own order. Will it not seem to them that our Church is deficient in liberality, when they learn the decision of the last Synod? In connection with this subject, it is proper to speak more particularly of the liberality of the English Presbyterian Church. When it is remembered that that Church is really a branch of the Free Church of Scotland, it will not be supposed that their liberality is the result of indifference to anything which they regard essential or important. Seldom has our world witnessed such sacrifice for the sake of principle as was exhibited by that Church, when she came out from the Establishment. Their liberality is a beautiful illustration of the Christian spirit. The course of their Missionaries at the first organization of a church at Amoy, and the approval thereof, have been already alluded to. In consequence of the recent formation of a Classis, the subject naturally came up again this year. It was laid before their Synod, which met a few weeks previous to ours. In the report of their Foreign Committee, which corresponds to our Board of Foreign Missions, the following language is used in reference to the Church at Amoy: "As all the elements of Presbyterian organization thus existed [each church having native elders], a further step was taken last April [1862], when a Presbytery was constituted at Amoy by mutual consent, consisting of all the American brethren and our own, as well as representative elders from the several congregations. Its name is neither the Greek 'Presbytery' employed in this country, nor is it the Latin 'Classis,' which has long been used in Holland; but it is 'Tai Tiong-lo-hoey,' or Great Meeting of Elders, genuine Chinese, and a hopeful earnest of the facility with which our representative and consultative system of polity will find its way among a sensible and self-governing people. Of course it is not intended that this Presbytery should in any way come between the Missionaries themselves and the Committee or Board by which the respective Missions are administered at home; but for the management of local matters, for disposing of questions which may arise in the several congregations, and in regard to which a session may require counsel or control; and for the very important purpose of exemplifying in the most legitimate way ecclesiastical unity, it is essential that Missionaries and native office-bearers should come together in some such capacity. The proceedings are conducted in Chinese, which is the only language understood by all the members of Court, and it is in Chinese that the minutes are kept. Three meetings have already been held. At the last, held in January, important business was transacted affecting the 1st and 2d Congregations of Amoy, both of which are under the immediate superintendence of the American Mission. Each congregation is desirous of the settlement of a stated pastor, and each has agreed to call a minister, the one congregation promising a stipend of $14 a month, and the other $13. The calls were sustained, and the Presbytery agreed to meet on February 21st, to proceed with the 'trials' of the brethren thus elected. As these proved satisfactory, Sabbath, the 29th of last month, was appointed as the day for their ordination. "Dr. Peltz, the esteemed Corresponding Secretary of the Board of Foreign Missions of the R.P.D.C. of N.A., has apprised the Committee, that it is possible that a Presbytery of this composite character may not secure the approval of their Synod. In separating from the A.B.C.F.M., and in setting up a separate and ecclesiastically organized mission, that Synod was anxious to introduce into its different Mission fields a system of Church government which it believed to be scriptural, and adapted to all lands. Consequently, in these Mission fields it sought to form Classes or Presbyteries which should be connected with Provincial and General Synods in the same way as are the Classes on the American continent. And Dr. Peltz is apprehensive lest the General Synod in America should regard as a deviation from this plan the amalgamation in one Presbytery of their own agents with those of another Church. "We are hopeful, however, that on further consideration, our brethren in America may allow their Missionaries in China to continue the present arrangement, at least until such time as it is found that actual difficulties arise in the way of carrying it out. 'Behold how good and how pleasant it is for brethren to dwell together in unity;' and there are few brethren towards whom we feel closer affinity than the members of that Church, which was represented of old by Gomarus and Witsius, by Voet and Marck, and Bernard de Moore, and whose Synod of Dort preceded in time, and pioneered in doctrine, our own Westminster Assembly. Like them, we love that Presbyterianism and that Calvinism which we hold in common, and we wish to carry them wherever we go; but we fear that it would not be doing justice to either, and that it might compromise that name which is above every other, if, on the shores of China, we were to unfurl a separate standard. We would, therefore, not only respectfully recommend to the Synod to allow its Missionaries to unite, Presbyterially as well as practically, with the brethren of the R.D.C.; but we would express the earnest hope that the Synod of the sister Church in America may find itself at liberty to extend to its Missionaries a similar freedom." These sentiments were _unanimously_ adopted by the Synod of the English Presbyterian Church. It seems perfectly reasonable that two Churches of Christ so nearly alike, in attempting to plant the Church of Christ in the same place in a heathen land, should strive, if possible, to form their converts into one organization. The existence of different Denominations in the same place in any Christian land, at the best, is only a necessary evil. God may bring some good out of this evil, but this is not a sufficient reason why we should create such divisions, for their own sake. Hence, the liberality of the English Presbyterian Church is so manifestly in accordance with the Christian spirit, that it might have attracted no especial notice from us. But the proceedings of our own Synod, by contrast, as it seems to us, have forced it out in bold relief. _They_ were willing to support their Missionaries in laboring with ours, and building up a Chinese Church, not differing essentially from theirs, but with some characteristics peculiar to ours. _We_, though the Church thus organized has not only all the essentials but all the peculiarities of our own Church, still refuse such Christian co-operation, preferring to rend asunder the Church already formed, and organize a part of it a distinct Denomination, connected with the Church in America. I cannot yet believe that such is the sentiment of our Church. There must be some great misapprehension. But such is really the decision of the last Synod. Here is the language of the Committee which was adopted by the General Synod: "Your Committee do not see any propriety in re-enacting the law of 1857 already quoted, because it has never been repealed, and remains therefore in full force and virtue. Nor, if the reasoning in this report be correct, would they have the law repealed, believing as they do, that the maintenance of the principle contained in it is essential to the success of our Missionary operations in foreign parts, and to the wholesome liberality of the Church at home. "The Committee are not prepared, however, to recommend that any violent or coercive resolutions should be adopted for the purpose of constraining our brethren in Amoy to a course of procedure which would rudely sever the brotherly ties that unite them with the Missionaries of the English Presbyterian Church. But a Christian discretion will enable them, on the receipt of the decision of the present Synod in this matter, now under consideration, to take such initial steps as are necessary to the speedy formation of a classis. Much must be left to their discretion, prudence, and judgment. But of the wish and expectation of this Synod to have their action conform, as soon as may be, to the resolutions of 1857, your Committee think the brethren at Amoy should be distinctly informed. They therefore offer the following: "1. _Resolved_, that the General Synod, having adopted and tested its plan of conducting Foreign Missions, can see no reason for abolishing it, but, on the contrary, believe it to be adapted to the promotion of the best interests of the Foreign Missionary Churches, and of the denomination supporting them. "2. That the Board of Foreign Missions be, and hereby is, instructed to send to our Missionaries a copy or copies of this report, as containing the well-considered deliverance of the Synod respecting their present relations and future duty. "3. That the Secretary of the Foreign Board be, and hereby is, directed to send to the Rev. Dr. Hamilton, of London, Convener of the Presbyterian Committee, a copy of this Report, with a copy of the action of 1857, and that he inform him by letter of the wishes and expectations of the Synod respecting the ecclesiastical relations which this body desires its churches in Amoy to sustain to it." The above is only an extract from the close of the Report of the Committee, and contains the result at which they arrived. In reference to it we would make three remarks. (1). It (Res. 3) seems rather a cavalier answer to the fraternal wish of the Synod of the English Presbyterian Church, as expressed in their action. (2.) The action of Synod is made to rest (Res. 1) on the fact that Synod had "tested" this "plan of conducting Foreign Missions." If this be so, and the plan had been found by experiment unobjectionable, the argument is not without force. But how and where has this test been applied, and found so satisfactory? Our Church has three Missions among the heathen: one in India, one in China, and one in Japan. Has it been tested in Japan? No. They have not yet a single _native_ Church. Has it been tested in China? If so, the Missionaries were not aware of it. The test applied there has been of an opposite character, and has been wonderfully successful. The test has only been applied in India, and has only _begun_ to be applied even there. There, as yet, there is but one native pastor. Their Classis is more American than Indian. We must wait until they have a native Classis, before the test can be pronounced at all satisfactory. True, that Mission has been very successful since they formed what is called a Classis in connection with the Synod in America. But has it been more successful than the Mission at Amoy? Compare the amount of labor and the money expended on the two Missions, and then look at the results, and thus decide about the tests. It is in no spirit of vainglory that we call for such a comparison. Studiously have we avoided it, and the responsibility must rest on those who compel us to it. (3.) No consideration is had for the feelings, wishes, or opinions of the native Churches. Some consideration is shown for the feelings of the English Presbyterian Missionaries. This is as it ought to be. Yet it is a matter of _comparatively_ little importance. _The inalienable rights of the native churches, their relation to each other, their absolute unity--things of the utmost consequence_--are not at all regarded, are entirely ignored! It would have occupied too much space to have quoted the whole of the Report of the Committee. The preceding part of it occupies nearly six pages of the Minutes of Synod. Yet we may not pass that part over in silence, for, while with much of its contents we have no dispute, it contains some grave mistakes of fact, and, as we think, some very grave errors of doctrine. It grieves me to say thus much, and also to feel compelled to add the following strictures. But, in order to discuss this subject, duty required the careful examination of the whole of the Report, and, finding in it such errors, the clear statement of them. It might be easy, perhaps, to account for the fact, that mistakes, in a report, unprinted, and of such length, should escape the notice of Synod, but an attempt to apologize for that body might give occasion to infer more disrespect than simply to point out the mistakes. After some introductory remarks, chiefly concerning the difficulty of their task, the Committee "begin with the assertion of principles." These they make three in number. The sum of the first principle is that _a Church, by divine arrangement, has government_. The essential idea of their second principle, so far as we can understand it, is, that _the Dutch Church has a clearly defined government_. The Missionaries at Amoy, as well as the ministers in this country, admit both these principles fully. But they do not affect the question in dispute. Not so with the third principle of the Committee. Lest I might be supposed to misrepresent, I will quote their own language: "No government can, voluntarily, relinquish its powers, and abnegate its authority without thereby inviting disorder, disquietude, and, in the end, its destruction." Is this, indeed, as the Committee assert, one of the "admitted principles" of our Church? one of the "convictions in the mind of our Church, hardly separable in idea from its very existence?" one of the "old truths maintained through blood and flame?" If the doctrine be true, the Church in Holland had no right to relinquish its authority over the Church in America. If this doctrine be a "principle" of our Church, never, _never_ could your Missionaries consent to be instrumental in bringing the Church in China, which now has liberty in Christ Jesus, into such _perpetual_ bondage. Once bring the Chinese churches under the authority of the Church in America, and it matters not how great may be their growth, and how many centuries may pass away, the Church in America can never relinquish her authority over them! But this is not an "admitted principle" of our Church. The Dutch Church is _protestant_, not _papal_. Instead of the principle being one of the "_old truths_ maintained through blood and flame" by her, it is an _old error of the Papacy_, for rejecting which she poured out her blood so freely, and would do the same to-day. Yet in the Report of the Committee this error of Romanism, guilty of the blood of thousands upon thousands of the saints of the Most High, is made to lie at the basis of the action of the last Synod! The Committee next proceed to the statement of "certain historic facts." As with the "admitted principles," so with the "historic facts." With some of them we have no dispute. But when they come to describe the present condition and relations of the churches at Amoy, their language, to say the least, is very unfortunate. "These six Churches," say they, "have grown up together under such an interchange and community of labor on the part of our own Missionaries, and on the part of those belonging to the English Presbyterian Church, that all are said to have a two-fold ecclesiastical relation--one with England--one with America, and still a third, and economical and domestic relation among themselves, which is covered and controlled by what is styled 'The Great Presbyterial or Classical Council of Amoy.'" We do not know by whom these native Churches "are said" to have a two-fold or three-fold _ecclesiastical_ relation. It is not so said by the Missionaries. They contend that the native churches are neither English, nor American, but _Chinese_ churches. They are ecclesiastically related to each other, and ought to remain so. But the effort is now made to sever this ecclesiastical relation to each other, and bring half of them into ecclesiastical relationship with the Church in America, making them the Protestant Reformed Dutch Church of _North America, in China_! At present the native churches have an intimate, but not an _ecclesiastical_, relation to both the Church in England and America. From the above mistaken statement the Committee have drawn out three "_particulars_" which they seem to think especially worthy of note. "1st. That while this Chinese Presbyterial or Classical Council is itself an autonomy--having the right to ordain ministers, exercise discipline, and do whatever else a 'self-regulating Classis' or Presbytery can or may do, still the whole in England is claimed to be the Presbytery of Amoy, and to this Synod it is reported as the Classis of Amoy." How dreadful! English Presbyterians call the body at Amoy a _Presbytery_, and American Dutchmen call it a _Classis_! If this language is also meant to imply that the Classis at Amoy is usurping authority, it is answered in other parts of this paper. The next "particular" of the Committee is: "2d. The Missionaries, while they are members of this Grand Presbyterial or Classical Council, exercising full ministerial functions in it, are, at the same time, members either of Classes in America, or of Presbyteries in Great Britain." The meaning of this second "particular" is, that the Missionaries have a two-fold ecclesiastical relation. Is there anything contrary to Scripture doctrine, or to Presbyterian principles, or to common sense, that ecclesiastical relations should correspond to fact?--that the Missionaries should have some sort of an ecclesiastical relation, both to the Church at home and to the Church in China? They have a peculiar relationship to both these Churches. Why forget or ignore the fact that they are _Evangelists_ and _not Pastors_? Why object to an ecclesiastical relationship exactly corresponding to, and required by, their office and position? The two parts of this relationship do not contradict each other. They are altogether correlative. The Missionaries are still agents of the Church which sent them out. Their ecclesiastical relation to it should be direct, that they may be controlled by it, independent of any intermediate body. The Church at home cannot afford to cut off her Missionaries from this immediate relationship so long as they remain her agents. This does not conflict with, but requires some sort of a corresponding relationship to the Churches planted and growing up through their instrumentality. Their relationship to those Churches must have reference especially to local matters, for the proper organization, and control, and development of the native churches, not at all to be controlled by them. When they cease to be agents of the Church at home, and become the proper _pastors_ of the native churches, then will be the proper time to put themselves under the control of the native churches, instead of the Church at home. We must not confound _evangelization_ with _colonization_. Does any one imagine that Paul and Barnabas, and Timothy and Titus, or any of them (for they were not all apostles), had connection with the Church which sent them out, _only_ through the churches and ecclesiastical bodies organized by them? or that they were in any sense under the control of those bodies? The next and last "particular" of the Committee is "3d. That while the Churches, three at least, are organized under and according to the Constitution of our Church, it is, nevertheless, claimed that the members of said Churches are not more members of the Reformed Dutch Church here, than they are members of the Presbyterian Church of England." The words of this third "particular" are almost (not quite) accurate. Yet they appear to us like special pleading. They would have been strictly correct if they had run as follows: "These Churches are _all_ (why say, '_three at least_'?) organized according to (not '_under_'--see pages 28-30) the Constitution of our Church. Therefore it is claimed that they form a Church of our order in China, but that the members thereof are neither members of the Reformed Dutch Church here, nor members of the Presbyterian Church in England." Such are the facts. It would have been better if the Committee had so stated them. The effort is now made to divide these churches, and make three of them a part of the Dutch Church in America. There is one more paragraph in the report of the Committee which demands notice. It is: "Your Committee can easily understand how reluctantly our Missionaries may have been, or may still be, to disturb, or alter, or modify the relations of the Churches at Amoy. But they conceive it to be their duty to say that feeling should never be allowed to take the place of conscience, nor to discharge its functions; and so long as our Missionaries claim to be subordinate to the authority of General Synod, they should allow this body to assume the responsibility of its chosen and deliberate policy." It seems to us the Committee are not much more fortunate on the subject of casuistry, than on Church "government" and "historic facts." The Missionaries do "claim to be subordinate to the authority of General Synod," but they also claim to be subordinate to the _Supreme authority_. Now suppose--we shall not be charged with insubordination for the mere supposition--suppose the Synod, through some misapprehension, should direct us to pursue a course, which, after the most mature reflection, we felt to be injurious to the cause of Christ, and consequently contrary to His will--will the fact of the Synod "assuming the responsibility" clear our skirts? Who is the Lord of conscience? General Synod? It seems to us, while the Committee conceive it to be their duty to deliver to the Missionaries at Amoy a lecture on the importance of giving heed to conscience, in the very same sentence they direct us to hold conscience in abeyance. But where did the Committee learn that their Missionaries were influenced by _feelings_ and not by _conscience_, and that too in reference to the laying of the foundation of the Church of Christ in such an empire as that of China; that they felt called upon in this solemn manner to deliver such a lecture? Would such a reflection have been cast on any other body of ministers in our Church? or is it supposed that men who give themselves to the work of preaching the gospel in heathen lands are less under the influence of conscience than those who remain at home? _They conceived it to be their duty!_ Was it? So much for the Report of the Committee of Synod. The decision of Synod has been given, as stated above. The important question now is, what will be the result of this decision on the Church at Amoy? This question, however, cannot yet be answered with certainty, for we cannot yet even guess what course the Missionaries there, when they learn the decision of Synod, will feel it their duty to pursue. There may be more, but I can now only think of three ways open before them. (1.) _To ask the Board to recall them._ They firmly believe that their course of proceeding, in organizing the Church at Amoy, is not only in accordance with the teachings of the Holy Scriptures, but also with the principles of our Church. To be the instruments, then, of dividing the Church, which God has gathered by their hands, may be to sin against their consciences. They may therefore ask the Board to appoint other agents to carry out the decision of Synod. This would not be insubordination, but perfect subordination both to the authority of Synod and also to that authority which all Protestant Christians acknowledge to be _supreme_. This, I suppose, would be the most natural course for the brethren to take, except for one consideration; that is, their love for the Churches gathered by them, or under their care, and their responsibility in reference to the spiritual welfare of those disciples of the Lord. It would be the severest trial they have ever been called on to endure to be recalled from their work. Therefore (2.) _They may delay their action_, making one more effort to get their views published, hoping that the Church will yet change her decision, and not require of them to engage in a proceeding which they think will be so injurious to the cause of Christ; but, on the contrary, will approve of the course heretofore adopted by them as altogether scriptural, and the true doctrine of our Church. Or (3.) They may _possibly_, after mature reflection, think the _least evil_ will be _to carry out the decision of Synod_, although that decision be altogether contrary to their own judgment. Then they will take three of the six churches, which now are all of our order, and organize these three a separate Denomination and an integral part of the Church in America. This is the course which at home will be generally expected of them. Now let us suppose that they will adopt this third course, and then let us look calmly at its results--at the supposed or real advantages thereof, and the supposed or real evils thereof. We first look at the _Advantages_. 1. The most important is, or is supposed to be, that there will thus be higher courts of jurisdiction to which appeals may be made, and by which orthodoxy and good order may be the better secured to the Church at Amoy. Such advantages, if they can be thus secured, we would by no means underrate. There sometimes are cases of appeal for which we need the highest court practicable--the collective wisdom of the Church so far as it can be obtained; and the preservation of orthodoxy and good order is of the first importance. Now let us see whether the plan proposed will secure these advantages. Let us suppose that one of the brethren feels himself aggrieved by the decision of the Classis of Amoy, and he appeals to the Particular Synod of Albany, and thence to the General Synod. He will not be denied the right to such appeal. But, in order that the appeal may be properly prosecuted and disposed of, the appellant and the representative of Classis should be present in these higher courts. Can this be secured? Is the waste of time, of a year or more, nothing? and where shall the thousands of dollars of necessary expense come from? Now suppose this appellant to be a Chinese brother. He also has rights. But how, on this plan, can he possibly obtain them? Suppose (which of itself is an absurdity) that the money be raised for him, and he is permitted to stand on the floor of Synod. He cannot speak, read, or write a word of English. Not a member of Synod can speak, read, or write a word of his language, except it be the brother prosecuting him. I ask, is it possible for him thus to obtain justice? But, waiving all these disadvantages, the only points on which there is the least probability that an appeal of a Chinese brother would come up before the higher courts, are points on which these higher courts would not be qualified to decide. They would doubtless grow out of the peculiar customs and laws of the Chinese--points on which the Missionary, after he has been on the ground a dozen years, often feels unwilling to decide, and takes the opinion of the native elders in preference to his own. Is it right to impose a yoke like this on that little Church which God is gathering by your instrumentality in that far-off land of China? But it is said, that these cases of appeal (because of impracticability) will very rarely or never happen. Be it so; then this supposed advantage will seldom or never occur, and if it should occur, it would prove a disadvantage. The highest practical court of appeal for the native churches can be secured only on the plan for which the Missionaries contend. Why must we deprive the native Christians of the benefit of the collective wisdom of all the churches of like doctrine and order among them? As regards orthodoxy and good order, it is incumbent on the Church at home to use her utmost endeavors to secure these. Doubtless this was the great design of Synod, both in the action of 1857 and in the action of 1863. But will the plan of Synod give us any greater security for these things? How can they be secured? We answer, under God, _only_ through your Missionaries. The greater your hold on your Missionaries, the better security for the churches under their care. The plan of Synod would place your Missionaries _ecclesiastically_ almost beyond your control. They must be dismissed from the various Classes in this country, and, together with the native churches under their care, form themselves into a Chinese Classis. Either they will have a controlling influence over the native portion of this Classis or they will not. If they have, then your only way to discipline them will be to discipline their Classis. It would be a new doctrine in our Church, to make the Board of Foreign Missions an _ecclesiastical_ medium between the Synod and one of its Classes, or to enforce discipline over the ministry by the _money rod_. The Classis, _as such_, must be disciplined by the direct act of Synod. Or, suppose the Missionaries do not have such controlling influence over the native members of Classis, for the native members will outnumber, and, unless the action of Synod (as we greatly fear) seriously retard the work at Amoy, will very soon greatly outnumber the Missionaries. What then? Your Missionaries are under the ecclesiastical control of the native converts. Their doctrines and morals are to be decided on by a court composed mainly of recent converts from heathenism. The only way to bring them before the higher courts in this country, is through this native court, as we have already seen, almost an impossibility. Is it not plain that the Church at home will not thus have a moiety of the control over her Missionaries she now has? Is this the way to keep the Church at Amoy sound and pure? It seems to be supposed by some that the Missionaries desire to be separated from the control of the Church at home. This is altogether a mistake, and another result of withholding their views from the public. They have no such desire. The contrary is altogether the fact. They do not desire to be placed under the control of the native Chinese churches. They did not derive their authority from those churches, they are not sustained by them, and they are in no sense their agents, but they derive their authority through, are sustained by, and are altogether the agents of the Church in this country; therefore the Church at home has and should retain control over them. They are amenable to the Church at home, through their several Classes. These are the only courts qualified to take cognizance of their doctrines and morals. They desire to remain in this relation. We think they have a right to demand this, until such time as they become agents of the Church in China, instead of the Church in America. Suppose by some means suspicion should arise at home concerning the orthodoxy or morality of one or more of your Missionaries. On the plan proposed, what can the Church do with them? May the Board of Missions, on mere report or suspicion, recall them without giving them a proper trial? Can the Board try them? No. It is not an ecclesiastical court. Will the Church be satisfied with the decision of a court, a majority of whose members have recently been converted from heathenism through the instrumentality of these very Missionaries? But continue the plan of the Missionaries and all will be simple. If any of the Missionaries give occasion for suspicion, let them be tried by their proper Classes in this country. This is all that the Church at home can do _ecclesiastically_ towards keeping the Church pure in China. Whether the proposed _nominal_ union be consummated or not, the only hold you will have on the Chinese churches will be through your Missionaries. If they will not receive the instructions, and listen to the advice of your Missionaries and of the Synod through them, you would not expect them to obey the injunctions of Synod. Your only other resort will be to withhold from them help. Can you not do the same now? But in all this discussion, I fear, we lose sight too much of our dependence on the Head of the Church to keep His Church pure. Sure I am that the Church in China cannot be kept pure by legislation on this, the opposite side of the globe. But we expect Christ to reign over, and the Holy Spirit to be given to the churches, and the proper ecclesiastical bodies formed of them in China as well as in this land. Why not? Such are the promises of God. The way to secure these things is by prayer, and the preaching of the pure gospel, not by legislation. Let the Church be careful in her selection of Missionaries. Send only such as she has confidence in--men of God, sound in the faith, apt to teach--and then trust them, or recall them. Don't attempt to control them contrary to their judgment. Strange if this, which is so much insisted on as the policy of our Church, be right, that she cannot get a single man, of all she sends out to China, to think so. Can it be that the Missionary work is so subversive of right reason, or of correct judgment, or of conscientiousness, that all become perverted by engaging in it? 2. Another supposed advantage is the effect it will have in enlisting the sympathies of the Church in behalf of the Mission at Amoy. It is said, tell the Church that we have a flourishing Classis at Amoy, a part of ourselves, connected with General Synod, just like all the other Classes of our Church, the effect will be wonderful in enlisting sympathy, money, and men in behalf of that Mission; otherwise the opposite evil must be apprehended. If these things be so, they are indeed of grave importance. The Mission in China cannot live without the sympathy of the Church at home. But are these things so? It seems to us that the supposition takes for granted that our Church in its Missionary work is influenced by a desire for self-glory, or self-gratification; or, at least, that she is not a Church of liberal views--that she is not at all to be compared, in this respect, with the English Presbyterian Church, or the Free Church of Scotland. Allusion has already been made to the liberality of the English Presbyterian Church. I may now also remark that a large amount of the funds for carrying on the work at Amoy is raised in Scotland from members of the Free Church. They never had any idea that the churches gathered in China were to be a part of their own Church. They do not even ask that they be a part of their sister Church in England. They only ask that they shall be sound in the faith and hold to the essentials of Presbyterianism, even though they have some characteristics peculiar to the Dutch and other Reformed Churches. These Presbyterian brethren in England and Scotland are not only ready to support their own Missionaries in their work of building up the churches under their especial care, but they stand ready to assist the Missionaries of our Church in building up the churches under our especial care. Of their frequent offers to assist us, when they feared we should be in want of funds, our Board can bear testimony. We are not yet willing to believe that our people are a people of narrow views in a matter like this. It is contrary to our history in time past. It is contrary to the facts of the present day. It is contrary to all my observation among our churches. Our people do not first ask whether it be building _ourselves_ up, before they sympathize with a benevolent object. We believe the contrary is the exact truth. It requires a liberal policy to call forth liberal views and action. As regards the enlisting of men, look at the facts. Every man who has gone out from among you, to engage in this Missionary work, begs of you not to adopt a narrow policy. So in regard to obtaining of funds. Usually, the men who are most liberal in giving are most liberal in feeling. This must be so in the very nature of things. The way to alienate the sympathies of the Church from the Mission at Amoy is to divide the Church there by a sectarian policy; and the way to enlist her sympathies is to continue the former plan, and let the work go forward with the Divine blessing as in days past. The people will be more encouraged, and praise God more heartily, when you tell them of six organized churches like our own, and many others growing up all around, than they will if you tell them of only three churches, and only a few out-stations, under our care. They will not object to hear that the English Presbyterian brethren are laboring with us, and organizing churches so nearly like our own. However powerful the motive addressed to the desire to build up our own Church, there are motives infinitely more powerful. Such are the motives to be depended on in endeavoring to elevate the standard of liberality among our people. Let brethren in the Ministry try the experiment, and tell their people of the wonders of God's grace:--that he has led his servants from our own Church in this land, and from the Presbyterian Church in Great Britain, in their work of evangelizing the heathen, and laying the foundation of the Church of Christ, to lay aside all national animosities, and rise above all denominational prejudices and jealousies--that he has given to the Presbyterian Church in England, and the sister Church in Scotland, a spirit of catholicity and liberality as exhibited in the previous part of this paper--and that, as a consequence, he is causing his Church to grow up in the region of Amoy in beautiful proportions, all the congregations under their care and ours also manifesting the same spirit of catholicity and liberality, submitting to each other according to the Divine command, working together with the utmost harmony, and, as a consequence, with wonderful effectiveness. Can you account for such things except by the energy of the Spirit of God? Surely it is not the spirit of the world, neither is it the spirit of the devil. Try the experiment, then, and see whether the wonders of God's grace will alienate the hearts of his people. Your Missionaries have no doubt--we can hardly understand how any who examine the subject can doubt--we are sure that no one can personally behold the work and yet doubt, that the wonderful blessing of God, which has accompanied the work at Amoy, has been both the cause and the result of this harmonious labor on the part of your Missionaries, and those from the sister Churches in England and Scotland. Therefore, we feel assured that the simple recital of the grace of God thus manifested, must influence the hearts of his people most powerfully, and therefore it is that we beseech the Church not to interfere with, and hinder the work of God. May we not refer, without being charged with disrespect, to the Synod of Jerusalem as a proper example for our General Synod? Peter says, "Why tempt ye God to put a yoke upon the neck of the disciples, which neither we nor our fathers were able to bear?" And then the decree, which the Synod sent to the Churches, runs thus: "It seemed good to the Holy Ghost and to us, to lay upon you no greater burden than these _necessary_ things." The ecclesiastical "power which the Lord hath given" to his Church is "to _edification_, and not to _destruction_." If the Missionaries be allowed to proceed in building up a Church, like our own, simply with reference to the evangelization of China, doubtless brethren in the ministry, and other influential men, could take occasion therefrom to prejudice the Churches against our work. They could do this, if they were so disposed, without any such occasion. But will they do it? We cannot believe that they will. They love the cause of Christ too well, and desire to see the world converted to God too ardently, to permit them to throw any obstacles in the way of our work, even though that work be not carried forward in the manner which they consider altogether the best. If we are right, these brethren will soon see that we are right, and however powerful the motive to be addressed to the desire of extending our own Church, they will find infinitely more powerful motives to be addressed to a more noble desire of the Christian heart. If our people have not yet learned, they should be taught to engage in the work of evangelizing the world, not for the sake of our Church in America, but for the sake of Christ and His Church, and when the Church thus built up is like our own, they should be fully satisfied. We believe they will be satisfied with this. 3. The only other supposed advantage I can now think of, is the advantage of carrying out the _policy_ of our Church. This, in itself considered, might be regarded worthy of but little attention. Cannot--ought not--the Church change her policy if wrong, or if a better can be adopted? Surely her laws are not like those of the Medes and Persians. But the argument has been used with so much earnestness and perseverance, both in the Reports of the Committees and in the discussions in Synod, that it demands some investigation. Instead of the course pursued by the Missionaries being, as it is contended, contrary to, it is the true policy of our Church--the policy in existence long before the decision of 1857. If the course now required of them be the present policy of our Church, it is a _mistaken_ policy, contrary to the very genius of our institutions, and ought to be corrected. It is so contrary to our time-honored Constitution that either it or the Constitution must be sacrificed. In order to save the policy it was found necessary during the past year to amend the Constitution by a clause so sweeping, that if the circumstances of a Missionary Classis require it, "_all the ordinary requirements of the Constitution_" may be dispensed with by the General Synod. Can it be that a policy which requires _such constitutional changes_ can be the old and proper policy of our Church? But if the policy be continued we are not yet done with changes. The very _name_ of our Church must be changed. It now is "The Reformed Protestant Dutch Church _in North America_." We must expunge the words "_in North America_," or must add India, China, and Japan, and every other country where the Church may undertake Missionary work. We know it has been said of this policy, "it is our _settled, irreversible_ policy." Is every thing then to be regarded as _unsettled_ and _changeable_ but this policy of the Church? We answer, No. The Church may change her name, if she please, as she has changed her Constitution. Or she may change her policy. But there are certain fundamental principles of Church government which she may not change. Hence, even yet, the principles for which the Missionaries contend must remain the true policy of our Church, for they lie at the very foundation of Presbyterial order. A full discussion of this subject will come up most naturally when we discuss the _evils_ of the course now required of us. I will now allude to only one fact. The Board of Foreign Missions was formed on this principle. If the Classes at Arcot and Amoy are to be considered _integral_ parts of the Church in this country, related to General Synod like the Classes in this country, then the Missionaries at those stations properly should come under the Board of Domestic Missions. Suppose, according to the new plan, the Missionaries form themselves into the kind of Classis now required of them; what will be the relation of the Classis of Amoy to the Board of Foreign Missions? Is the Classis, in evangelizing the heathen around, to operate through the Board, or the Board through the Classis? The Classis at Amoy decide on a certain course of ecclesiastical procedure, or evangelistic labor, and the Board decides on another course; how is such a matter to be settled? Will it be said, there is no danger of such difficulty? The Classis and Board will both be composed of men with infirmities. Ask the Board whether there have not already been incipient difficulties, in the supposed clashing of the powers of the Board and the powers of the Classis of Arcot. But the Classis of Arcot as yet is little more than an _American Missionary Classis_. What will be the difficulties when it becomes an _Indian_ Classis? But we are told, "keep the Mission and Classis distinct." Is the Mission, then, to attend to all the evangelistic work, and the Classis to do nothing? Or are there to be two distinct evangelistic policies carried on at Amoy, the one by the Mission, and the other by the Classis? Or is the Classis first to come over to the Synod, and so get to the Board in order to carry on the work around? Instead of this new plan being the settled policy of our Church, we believe it to be a solecism. When a Church is established among the heathen after our order, then is the true policy of our Church carried out. Let the present relations of the Missionaries to the Board and to their several Classes remain, and there will be no occasion for the clashing of the powers of the Board with those of any ecclesiastical body. So much for the _advantages_. They are really disadvantages, leading to _serious evils_, which of themselves should be sufficient to deter the Church from inaugurating the policy proposed, or, if it be already inaugurated, to lead her to retrace her steps, and adopt a better and a consistent policy. Now let us consider the real or supposed _Evils_ (in addition to the above) of carrying out the decision of Synod. 1. It will not be for the credit of our Church. She now has a name, with other Churches, for putting forth efforts to evangelize the world. Shall she mar this good name and acquire one for sectarianism, by putting forth efforts to extend _herself_, not her doctrines and order;--they are not sectarian, and her Missionaries esteem them as highly as do their brethren at home--but _herself_, even at the cost of dividing churches which the grace of God has made one? The decision of the last Synod may not be the result of sectarianism among the people of our Church. We do not think it is. But it will be difficult to convince our Presbyterian brethren and others, that it is not so. By way of illustration I will suppose a case. A. is engaged in a very excellent work. B. comes to him, and the following dialogue ensues: B. "Friend A., I am glad to see you engaged in so excellent a work. I also have concluded to engage in it. I should be glad to work with you. You know the proverbs, 'Union is strength,' and 'Two are better than one.'" A. "Yes, yes, friend B, I know these proverbs and believe them as thoroughly as you do. But I have a few peculiarities about my way of working. They are not many, and they are not essential, but I think they are useful, and wish to work according to them. Therefore, I prefer working alone." B. "Yes, friend A., we all have our peculiarities, and, if they be not carried too far, they may all be made useful. I have been making inquiries about yours, and I am glad to find they are not nearly so many, or so different from mine, as you seem to suppose, and as I once supposed. The fact is, I rather like some of them, and, though I may not esteem them all so highly as you do, still I am willing to conform to them; for I am fully persuaded that, in work of this kind, two working together can do vastly more than two working separately, and the work will be much better done. Besides this, the social intercourse will be delightful." A. "I appreciate, friend B., your politeness, and am well aware that all you say about the greater efficiency and excellence of united work, and the delights of social intercourse is perfectly true. But--but--well, I prefer to work alone." 2. It will be destroying a _real_ unity for the sake of creating one, which, at the best, can be only _nominal_, and hence will really be a violation of Presbyterial order. It seems strange to us that it should be constantly asserted that we are striving to create a formal union between two bodies which are essentially distinct. There is nothing of the kind. There are six organized churches at Amoy. They are all Dutch (i.e. Reformed), and they are all Presbyterian, for the Dutch Churches are all Presbyterian. But they are Chinese, not American, nor English, nor Scotch. If these churches are not _one_, then it is impossible for two or more individual churches to be one. If schism in a Church be a sin, then the separation of this Church will be a sin, for it will be an actual schism. You can make nothing more nor less of it. If you say that schism is only an evil, then the separation of this Church will, at least, be an evil. Perhaps it will be thought that _schism_ is too hard a term whereby to designate the separation of the Church at Amoy. Never mind the word, then, but let us look at the facts. The proper Classis of Amoy, composed of all the churches of like order, and of the Missionaries, has proceeded, according to the order of our Church, to ordain and install native pastors, and to perform a few other necessary ecclesiastical acts. These pastors are now called on to separate from, and break up that body, through which they received their office! The opinions and wishes of these native pastors, as well of the native Classis, and the native churches, are all ignored! Are such things right? Are these the doctrines or policy of the Dutch Church? We are told that we need say nothing to the native churches on the subject. Is this right? Is the Dutch Church a hierarchy? Does the General Synod claim authority to order the division in such a manner of a Classis of the Church of Christ without the consent of that Classis? "_What God hath joined together let not man put asunder._" In consequence of fallen humanity, there are evils which we call necessary evils. Such is the case of different Denominations of Christians in the same region of territory. They differ in sentiment on important (or supposed to be important) subjects, and because of this difference in sentiment, they can work together in greater harmony, and with greater efficiency, by being formed into distinct organizations. Such, however, is not the case of the six churches at Amoy, and others growing up under their care and the care of your own and the English Presbyterian Missionaries. Even when Churches agree in doctrine and order, it is sometimes better, and sometimes necessary, in consequence of geographical separation or national distinctions, to form distinct organizations. It is better, or necessary, that the Churches in Holland, and America, and South Africa, be ecclesiastically distinct. We do not call this an evil, for all the advantages of ecclesiastical courts and control are better thus secured. But suppose a case. There are, say, thirty Dutch churches in the city of New York. Now, suppose there were no others of the same order throughout this whole land: instead of allowing these churches to remain one organic whole--forming Classes and Synods, as the growth and convenience may allow and direct--it is proposed to take one-half of these churches, form them into a distinct organization, thus depriving them of ecclesiastical relations to the other half, and attach them to an ecclesiastical body in China--a nation of different customs and different language. How should we designate such an act? The first part would be schism, and the last part would be folly. The only difference between such a procedure and that required of us is, that the churches at Amoy have been gathered partly by our instrumentality, and are dependent partly on us for instruction. If our Presbyterial order be scriptural, all these churches at Amoy, growing out of each other, are bound to associate together, ecclesiastically. It is their duty to submit to each other. They would also be bound to submit to the Church of the same order in England and America, and every other country throughout the world, if it were possible and convenient. But such relation is not convenient, or possible. Therefore, we must choose that which is possible and most convenient. It is possible, and it is convenient, that they associate together. It is not possible that they all be subject to the Church in England, and, at the same time, to the Church in America. It is not convenient that they all be subject to either of these Churches. We do not think it is convenient that one-half of them be subject to either of these Churches. Besides the sin, or evil, of schism, they never can be properly represented in the higher ecclesiastical bodies of either of these Churches. They never can have an Elder present (I speak now of their connection with the Church in America, for this is the subject before us). They never can have a full representation of ministers. Only very seldom can they have even one minister present. He usually will only be one who is ill, and consequently not a proper representative. The native element, _i.e., the chief element_ of the Church can never be represented at all. The representation, at the best, will only be a representation of your Missionaries, not at all of the Chinese Church. Therefore, we assert that such a union would not be _real_, not even _apparent_, only _nominal_. In striving after it, we are pursuing a chimera, destroying a substance for the sake of a shadow. But it is offered as an objection to our views, that the Presbyterian Church (O.S.) has Presbyteries and Synods in India and China. Yes, they have three Presbyteries and a Synod in India, and have had for twenty years. But even yet there is not so much of a native element in their whole Synod as there is already in the little Church in the region of Amoy. As an ecclesiastical body, it is not _Indian_ in its characteristics--it is _American_. So with all their Presbyteries in Siam and China, with the exception, perhaps, of the Presbytery at Ningpo. They are _American_ Presbyteries, not native in their character.[2] [Footnote 2: The following statistics are from the Minutes of General Assembly, 1863. _Synod of Northern India_--Was organized in 1841. Is composed of three Presbyteries. Now has 19 ministers (only one of these is a _native pastor_); 9 churches; 246 communicants. (How many of these are natives not reported.) _Presbytery of Canton_--Has 4 ministers; no native pastor; 1 church; 12 communicants. (How many of these are natives not reported.) _Presbytery of Ningpo_--Has 8 ministers; no native pastor; 2 churches; 111 native members. _Presbytery of Siam_--Has 6 ministers; no native pastor; 1 church; 8 communicants. (How many of these are native members not reported.) _Presbytery of West Africa_--Has 9 ministers; no native pastor; 6 churches; 191 communicants (probably all natives.) Are these ecclesiastical bodies respectively Indian, Chinese, and African in their character? or are they all _essentially American_? Yet these are the bodies to which the Committee of General Synod of 1857 referred when they said, "As to the difficulties suggested" [by the Missionaries at Amoy] "respecting the delays of carrying out a system of appellate jurisdiction covering America and China, it is enough to say, that the Presbyterian Church (O.S.) finds no insuperable difficulties in carrying into operation her system, which comprehends Presbyteries and Synods in India as well as here." Why should there be many _insuperable_ difficulties so long as these bodies remain _American Missionary bodies_, instead of being _native ecclesiastical bodies_? Practically they do not need representation in the Church at home more than our Missions need representatives in the Board of Missions. In the aggregate of all the above-mentioned ecclesiastical missionary bodies, there is _but one native pastor_, and this, as might be expected, so far as we are aware, furnished the only case in which difficulty has occurred. Doubtless in the instance referred to, the native pastor was in error, and, as he found some _insuperable difficulty_ in getting his case before the General Assembly, a similar effort is not likely soon to be made.] So is the Classis of Arcot appealed to. Such appeals put us in a somewhat painful position. As with the Presbyterian bodies just mentioned, so with the Classis of Arcot. We have no rivalry with the brethren there, and do not wish to say a word that looks like stricture on their policy. We do not utter a word of this kind, except in self-defense. We rejoice in all their successes. But the time will come, if the blessing of God continues to follow their labors, when they will be compelled to adopt our principles. The Missionaries at Arcot are not properly _pastors_ of the native churches. They exercise the pastoral office only temporarily, until native pastors are raised up. Their relation to the Synods in this country is not like that of the other Classes of our Church. They never have had and never will have a proper representation in these higher courts. They have never had a native elder present. They never have even a partial representation of ministers, except under the afflictive dispensations of Providence. For several years past they would have been without any representation at all, but for the fact of one of their number being in this country whose ill health forbids his return to that field of labor. It is by being unfitted to be a member of the Classis that he becomes able to be a representative of the Classis in the Synod! At the present time, because of the still American character of their body, they may feel no serious inconvenience. If our position had been like theirs, occupying the ground at Amoy alone, possibly we should have done as they have. We should have understood well enough that the connection of the native Church with the Church at home could only be _nominal_. But if our Church desired this, so long as it did not injure the native Church, we probably should have made no objections. But we are told that it is not desired that this connection with the Church in America should be perpetual. It will last only until the Church at Amoy has sufficient development to stand alone. Then, of course, our Church will consent to the separation. (A very different doctrine, by the way, from the "_assertion_" of the committee of Synod that the Church can not "voluntarily relinquish its powers.") After that, the churches at Amoy which have been under our care, and those which have been under the care of the English Presbyterians, may again unite in one Denomination, if they see fit. This sounds pretty well. But look at it. First separate the churches long enough to engender rivalries and allow prejudices to grow up, and then attempt to unite them, and what will be the result? Unless they have a more liberal spirit than is usual in the churches in this land, instead of making one denomination out of two, we shall have three. But who shall be the judge when the proper time has arrived to liberate the Church in China, if the opinions of those on the ground, and of the native churches, are all to be ignored? 3. It will injure the efficiency of the Church at Amoy. Besides the objection--which the heathen will thus, as readily as the irreligious in this country, be able to urge against Christianity--furnished by the increase of Denominations, it will deprive the churches of the benefit of the united wisdom and strength of the whole of them for self-cultivation and for Christian enterprise, and will introduce a spirit of jealous rivalry among them. We know it is said that there need be no such result, and that the native churches may remain just as united in spirit after the organization of two Denominations as before. Such a sentiment takes for granted, either that ecclesiastical organization has in fact no efficiency (such is not the doctrine of our Church), or that the Chinese churches have arrived at a far higher state of sanctification than the churches have attained to in this land. Do not different Denominations exhibit jealous rivalry in this land? Why, your Missionaries are already frequently charged with being too liberal towards their English Presbyterian brethren in giving to them members and churches which, it is said, properly belong to us. Is Chinese human nature different from American? In consequence of such division, the native Churches will not be so able to support the Gospel among themselves. Look at the condition of our western towns in this respect. Why strive to entail like evils on our Missionary churches? Their strength will be weakened for evangelistic effort. Their Missionary efforts is one of the most striking and praiseworthy characteristics of the Amoy churches. How will they be shorn of their strength by division and necessary rivalry! Besides this, if the connection with the Church at home be anything more than nominal, our churches should, in part at least, work through the Church at home. No? Then why form the connection? 4. Instead of the Dutch Church being _the_ Presbyterian Church at Amoy, it will only be a small Church, bearing about the same proportion to the other Christian Churches there, that it does to the other Churches in this land. Why is not the Dutch Church the principal Presbyterian body in this land? Unless we are mistaken in regard to its excellency of order, it has all the adaptedness, and it was here first. Do you wish a similar result in China? * * * * * That it may be seen whether the Missionaries of Amoy have asked of our Church to "surrender the Constitution, the policy, the interests of our Church," "nay, even their own welfare, and that of the Mission they are so tenderly attached to"--whether what they ask for "is flatly in the face of our Constitution and order"--whether the "Synod has no right to form, or to authorize any such self-regulating, ecclesiastical body, or to consent that any Ministers of our Church should hold seats in such a body"--whether, "if we do it, we transcend the most liberal construction which has ever been known to be given to the powers of the General Synod"--whether, by granting the request of the Missionaries, "we violate our own order, our fundamental principles, the polity to which we are bound by our profession, by our subscription, by every tie which can bind religious and honorable, men"--I will append the resolution which was offered by me in the General Synod as a substitute for those offered by the Committee. If it called for declamation like the above, well. These are the words: _Resolved_, That the Synod learn, with gratitude to God, of the great progress of the work of the Lord at Amoy, and in the region around, so that already we hear of six organized churches with their Consistories, and others growing up, not yet organized; two native Pastors, who were to have been ordained on the 29th of March last, and the whole under the care of a Classis composed of the Missionaries of our Church and the English Presbyterian Church, and representative Elders of the several churches. It calls for our hearty gratitude to the Great Head of the Church, that the Missionaries of different Churches, and different countries, have been enabled, through Divine grace, to work together in such harmony. It is also gratifying to us that these Churches and this Classis have been organized according to the polity of our Church. Inasmuch as the Synod of the English Presbyterian Church has approved of the course of their Missionaries in uniting with ours in the organization of the Church at Amoy, after our order, therefore, this Synod would direct its Board of Foreign Missions to allow their Missionaries to continue their present relations with the Missionaries of the English Presbyterian Church, and the churches under their several care, so long as the present harmony shall continue, and no departure shall be made from the doctrines and essential polity of our Church, or until this Synod shall otherwise direct. Some, after reading the foregoing discussion, will be ready to say to us: "Your views are in the main correct. It would have been better if Synod had decided otherwise, but the decision has been made, and we must put up with it." We answer, Not so. We must obey Synod, but may not the Church change or improve her decisions? Here is one of the good things we hope to see come out of this mistake of the Church. Jesus rules, and he is ordering all things for the welfare of his Church and the advancement of his cause. Sometimes, the better to accomplish this end, he permits the Church to make mistakes. When we failed in former days to get our views made public, it gave us no anxiety, for we believed the doctrine that Jesus reigns. So we now feel, nothwithstanding this mistake. The Master will overrule it for good. We do not certainly know how, but we can imagine one way. By means of this mistake the matter may be brought before our Church, and before other Churches, more clearly than it would otherwise have been for many years to come, and in consequence of this we expect, in due time, that our Church, instead of coming up merely to the standard of liberality for which we have been contending, will rise far above anything we have asked for or even imagined, and other Churches will also raise their standard higher. Hereafter we expect to contend for still higher principles. This is the doctrine: Let all the branches of the great Presbyterian family in the same region in any heathen country, which are sound in the faith, organize themselves, _if convenient_, into one organic whole, allowing liberty to the different parts in things non-essential. Let those who adopt Dutch customs, as at Amoy, continue, if they see fit, their peculiarities, and those who adopt other Presbyterian customs, as at Ningpo and other places, continue their peculiarities, and yet all unite as one Church. This subject does not simply relate to the interests of the Church at Amoy. It relates to the interests of all the Missionary work of all the Churches of the Presbyterian order in all parts of the world. Oh that our Church might take the lead in this catholicity of spirit--instead of falling back in the opposite direction--that no one may take her crown! But if she do not, then we trust that some other of the sacramental hosts will take the lead and receive too the honor, for it is for the glory of the great Captain of our salvation, and for the interests of His kingdom. We need the united strength of all these branches of Zion for the great work, which the Master has set before us, in calling on us to evangelize the world. In expecting to obtain this union, will it be said, that we are looking for a chimera? It ought to be so, ought it not? Then it is no chimera. It may take time for the churches to come up to this standard, but within a few years past we have seen tendencies to union among different branches of the Presbyterian family in Australia, in Canada, in our own country, and in England and Scotland. In many places these tendencies are stronger now than they have ever before been since the days of the Reformation. True, human nature is still compassed with infirmities even in the Church of Christ. But the day of the world's regeneration is approaching, and as it approaches nearer to us, doubtless the different branches of the Presbyterian family will approach still nearer to each other. God hasten the time, and keep us also from doing anything to retard, but everything to help it forward, and to his name be the praise forever. Amen. Appendix A. Further to illustrate the unity of the Churches under the care of the two Missions, I will transcribe from the _Reports_ of the Amoy Mission, for the years 1861 and 1862. _From the Report for 1861_. Dated Feb. 24. 1862. Our work is so interwoven with that of the Missionaries of the English Presbyterian Church, that we cannot give a full report of the state of our Churches and out-stations without including in it a partial report of some of their stations. We have, therefore, thought it best, both on this account, and because the Churches gathered by us and by them are really one, to give statistics of both Missions with brief remarks. These, besides simplifying the matter, will enable the Church at home to become better acquainted with the real progress of the cause of Christ in this region. _Missionaries and Assistant Missionaries of the Reformed Dutch Church at Amoy, at the close if the year_ 1861. [Here follow their names, and remarks concerning them.] _Missionaries and Assistant Missionaries of the English Presbyterian Church at the close of the year_ 1861. [Here follow their names, and remarks concerning them.] _Tabular View of the Churches and Mission Stations under the care of the Reformed Dutch Church, and English Presbyterian Church, in Amoy and vicinity_. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- |Native | | |No. of |Rec'd Churches and |helpers | | |Church |during Mission |sustained | | |Members, |the Stations. |by Mission.|Elders.|Deacons.|Jan. 1, 1861.|year. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- First Church at Amoy | 3 | 4 | 4 | 102 | 24 Second " " | 2 | 4 | 4 | 78 | 13 Church at Chioh-be | 2 | 4 | 4 | 47 | 5 " Peh-chui-ia | 3 | 2 | .. | 25 | 3 " Ma-peng | 2 | 2 | 3 | 33 | 6 Station at An-hai | 3 | .. | .. | 7 | 23 " Khang-khau| 1 |The Church members at this Station | |are reckoned to the Church at Ma-peng. " Kang-thau | 1 |The Church members at this Station | |are reckoned to the First Church at | |Amoy. " E-mng-kang| 1 |The Church members at this Station | |are reckoned to the First Church at | |Amoy. " Chiang-chiu| 2 | ----------------------------------------------------------------------- ----------------------------------------------------------------------- | | |No. of | Churches and | | |Church |Under Mission | | |Members, |suspension Stations. |Dead.|Excommunicated.|Dec. 31, 1861.|Dec., 1861. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- First Church at Amoy | 2 | 2 | 122 | 4 Second " " | 1 | 1 | 89 | 1 Church at Chioh-be | 1 | .. | 51 | 3 " Peh-chui-ia | 1 | .. | 27 | 1 " Ma-peng | 1 | 1 | 37 | 3 Station at An-hai | 1 | .. | 29 | ... " Khang-khau|The Church members at this Station are reckoned |to the Church at Ma-peng. " Kang-thau |The Church members at this Station are reckoned |to the First Church at Amoy. " E-mng-kang|The Church members at this Station are reckoned |to the First Church at Amoy. " Chiang-chiu| ----------------------------------------------------------------------- ----------------------------------------------------------------------- |Infants |Colporteurs| Churches and |baptized |sustained | Mission |during |by Native |Benevolent Stations. |the year.|Church. |Contributions ----------------------------------------------------------------------- First Church at Amoy | 13 | 1 } | Second " " | 11 | 1 } | $471.33 Church at Chioh-be | 5 | 1 | 200.29 " Peh-chui-ia | 3 | ... | ...... " Ma-peng | 3 | ... | ...... Station at An-hai | 4 | ... | ...... " Khang-khau|The Church members at this Station are reckoned |to the Church at Ma-peng. " Kang-thau |The Church members at this Station are reckoned |to the First Church at Amoy. " E-mng-kang|The Church members at this Station are reckoned |to the First Church at Amoy. " Chiang-chiu| ----------------------------------------------------------------------- [Then come remarks about _native helpers_, not included in the above; _Schools_ sustained by each of the Missions, and by the native Churches; _Theological Class_; Students sustained by each Mission.] _Remarks on the above Tabular View_. The two Churches at Amoy, and the one at Chioh-be are under the care of the Missionaries of the Reformed Dutch Church. * * * * * * The Churches at Peh-chui-ia and Ma-peng, are under the care of the Missionaries of the English Presbyterian Church. * * * * * * The Congregation at An-hai is under the care of the English Presbyterian Missionaries. It has not yet been organized into a Church. It is so far removed from Amoy that it cannot conveniently be placed under the supervision of either of the Consistories. * * * * * * Khang-khau is a station under the care of the English Presbyterian Mission. * * * * * * Kang-thau is under the care of the Reformed Dutch Mission. E-mng-kang is a suburb of Amoy. The Congregation worshiping there belongs, mostly, to the First Church at Amoy. The Station is under the care of the English Presbyterian Mission. * * * * * * Chiang-chiu is a large city, some twelve miles or more beyond Chioh-be, and about thirty-five miles from Amoy. In times past, several efforts have been made to establish a Station at Chiang-chiu, but always without success, until during the past year. At the close of the year there had not yet been any baptisms at that Station. Since the beginning of this year, there have been several. The Church members are reckoned to the Church at Chioh-be, and are under the oversight of the Chioh-be Consistory. Both Missions work as one at Chiang-chiu. Each Mission is to furnish half the expense. To simplify the work, it was thought best that one Mission be responsible for the control of the Station, and direct the work. At present this is the Mission of the Reformed Dutch Church. If the work be prospered, it is proposed to form two Stations, one under the care of each Mission. [The remaining part of the Report, having no bearing on the subject before us, need not be quoted.] _From the Report for 1862._ [It will be sufficient merely to transcribe the _Tabular View_, and add one or two explanatory remarks.] _Churches and Mission Stations under the care of the Reformed Dutch and English Presbyterian Missions at Amoy, December 31, 1862._ ----------------------------------------------------------------------- | | |No. of |Died | | | |Members, |during|Excommunicated | | |Dec. 31, |the |during |Elders.|Deacons.|1861. |year. |the year. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- First Church at Amoy | 4 | 4 | 122 | 6 | 2 Second " " | 4 | 4 | 89 | ... | ... Church at Chioh-be | 4 | 4 | 51 | 1 | ... " " Peh-chui-ia| 2 | 2 | 27 | ... | ... " " Ma-peng | 1 | 3 | 37 | 2 | ... Station at An-hai | .. | .. | 29 | 2 | ... " " Khang-thau|The members at this Station are reckoned to the |First Church, Amoy. " " Kang-khau |The members at this Station are reckoned to the |Church at Ma-peng. " " E-mng-kang|The members at this Station are reckoned to the |First Church, Amoy. " " Chiang-chiu|The members at this Station are reckoned to the |Church at Chioh-be. " " Go-chhng | " " Te-soa | " " Khi-be | ----------------------------------------------------------------------- ----------------------------------------------------------------------- |No. of |Under |Infant |Helpers |Members, |suspension |baptisms |supported by |Dec. 31, |Dec. 31, |during |Native |1862. |1862. |the year. |Church. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- First Church at Amoy | 139 | 4 | 17 | 1 Second " " | 100 | 3 | 2 | 1 Church at Chioh-be | 70 | 2 | 9 | 1 " " Peh-chui-ia| 30 | ... | ... | ... " " Ma-peng | 38 | ... | ... | ... Station at An-hai | 30 | ... | ... | ... " " Khang-thau|The members at this Station are reckoned to the |First Church, Amoy. " " Kang-khau |The members at this Station are reckoned to the |Church at Ma-peng. " " E-mng-kang|The members at this Station are reckoned to the |First Church, Amoy. " " Chiang-chiu|The members at this Station are reckoned to the |Church at Chioh-be. " " Go-chhng | " " Te-soa | " " Khi-be | ----------------------------------------------------------------------- [Of the three new Stations, Go-chhng and Te-soa, are under the care of the Reformed Dutch Mission, Khi-be under the care of the English Presbyterian Mission. The other Churches and Stations as in previous Report.] The Board of Foreign Missions, being simply the organ of Synod, felt bound in their Report to eliminate, as far as possible, all the Presbyterian elements from the above Reports of the Mission. By so doing, we think that they, _undesignedly_ of course, keep our Church in ignorance, not only of the absolute unity of the Churches in the region of Amoy, but also of the real progress of the cause of Christ and of the Church of our order there. Among the members set down to our churches are those who belong to stations under the care of the English Presbyterian Mission, as is shown by the Tabular Views. The Church at home, not aware of this fact, gives to their Mission credit which does not belong to them; and then, when, in the progress of the work, new churches are organized at these stations, and these members are set off to them, because they belong there, the Dutch Mission is charged with deficiency of denominational feeling, in giving to the English Presbyterians that which, "by all rules of Christian courtesy and harmonious Missionary action," belongs to the Dutch Church. Is it well that we should be disputing among ourselves concerning who shall have that credit which all belongs to Christ? I know it has been asked, with disapprobation, by very high authority (not, indeed, by the Board) concerning the unity of the Churches at Amoy--"_how it came to exist at all_." In answer to such questions, let us consider one case, that of the Station, now Church, at E-mng-kang. It is near enough to the First Church, at Amoy, to be under its supervision. Doubtless, we might have said to our Presbyterian brethren, In gathering a church, we are willing to labor with you in preaching the Gospel, for no one will censure us for that, and we admit that, by all principles of our Church order, it would be altogether proper that the converts gathered in at E-mng-kang should be received and watched over by the First Church, at Amoy; but, by allowing this, there will be danger of unity between the Christians at E-mng-kang and Amoy ("that they all may be one"), which will be a violation of the important and radical distinction existing between them, because "some are supported by our funds, some by the funds of the English Presbyterians;" and then, when it becomes necessary to divide these Churches, for where there is such a radical distinction, "a division will necessarily come at some period, and the longer it is delayed, the more trying and sorrowful it will be," it will be found that the Church at Amoy can never "relinquish its powers and abnegate its authority" over the Church at E-mng-kang--therefore, rather than incur such risks of unity, we had better violate our principles of Church order at the commencement, and not allow the native Elders any responsibility in receiving and watching over the Church members. We might have acted on such principles, but shall we be _censured_ for not doing it? Let it be distinctly understood, that I do not publish the above Reports with such remarks with any design of throwing blame on the Board of Foreign Missions. The members of it, and the Missionaries, have had no feelings towards each other but such as are altogether pleasant. Perhaps the Board, in view of all the circumstances, has simply performed its duty. I add this Appendix only to illustrate the unity of the churches at Amoy, and show that the Missionaries have acted according to the doctrines of God's Word and the fundamental principles of our Church order. Appendix B. In the _Christian Intelligencer_ of June 18, 1863, in the Report of the Proceedings of General Synod of Thursday, June 11, the last day of the session, appeared the following paragraphs: "AMOY MISSION. "Rev. Dr. Porter arose and said that he was about to utter what to himself was the gladdest and happiest word he had been permitted to speak during the Synodical sessions, delightful as they all had been. He was informed by his beloved brother Talmage, that by permission of Synod, he would like to express briefly his content, in the main, with the action which the Synod had taken respecting the Amoy Mission. It is of the Lord. He has melted all hearts together as one, for his own work and honor. We see eye to eye, and Zion may lift up her voice in thanksgiving. "Rev. J.V.N. Talmage said he wished to express his gratitude to the fathers and brethren for all their kindness to himself and the Missionaries at Amoy. If the Synod has not arrived at the very best decision, he hoped it is the best under the circumstances. He felt no desire to disobey the Synod, nor will the Missionaries at Amoy. If we cannot organize a Classis at once, we will do the best we can. He had been defeated, and he had no qualms of conscience in submitting to the decision that had been reached." I was willing to allow the previous, and, as I considered, very partial, report of the proceedings of Synod to pass unnoticed, but felt that I had no right to allow errors, such as are contained in the above two paragraphs, to remain uncorrected. Therefore I addressed to the editor the following note: "_To the Christian Intelligencer._ "Mr. Editor: "In looking over the report of General Synod, as given in the last number of the _Intelligencer_, I find a very grave mistake in reference to the position taken by me near the close of the session. A similar mistake appears in the report made to the _New York Observer_.[3] [Footnote 3: I addressed to the editors of the _Observer_ a card, correcting the mistake which had appeared in their paper, and they published it.] "When, in the order of business on Thursday morning, there seemed a suitable opportunity for me to address the Synod, I was sitting near Dr. Porter, and remarked to him that I wished to make such address. He said that he desired to speak first. He arose and addressed the Synod, in substance, as is reported. I was altogether surprised, for I had given him no authority to speak for me; neither had I expressed to him or any other man the sentiments he attributed to me. I felt that his speech was altogether unfortunate, for it seemed almost to demand of me a restatement of my views. But I felt, also, that it would be improper, then, to occupy the time of Synod with any further discussion, and contented myself with merely taking exception to Dr. Porter's statement, saying that I could not use the language he had just used. "I also stated that although the Synod had not arrived at the best decision, yet _perhaps_ it was the best under all the circumstances. As these circumstances seem to be entirely misunderstood by some, I may now explain them. I had remarked in the previous debate, and still firmly believe, that the decision of Synod, if it be fully carried out, would only be disastrous in its results, as far as the churches at Amoy were concerned. But there was another disaster to be apprehended. If the Synod had allowed the work of God to proceed at Amoy, as it had always been carried forward, and with such marvelous blessings from on high, for so many years past, it was feared that some of the members of Synod would use their influence in the Church against that Mission, to such an extent as possibly to cut off the resources of the mission. Such were the circumstances to which I alluded, and I was well understood, at least by some of the members of Synod. It seemed necessary to choose between two evils. My own opinion was, and is, that the Synod had chosen the greater evil, still I was willing to yield 'the benefit of the doubt,' and therefore remarked that _perhaps_ (I used the word 'perhaps') the decision was the best under the circumstances. "I did express for myself, and as I believed, in accordance with the views of the Missionaries at Amoy, that we did not wish, and never had wished to disobey the injunctions of Synod. Besides this, we were under obligations to do what was best for the churches under our care. If we were not allowed to do that which is absolutely best, we should do the best we could. "I also expressed my gratitude that the Synod had manifested so much patience and Christian courtesy towards myself and the Mission, for with one or two exceptions, not an unkind word had been uttered. "The closing sentence of my remarks being somewhat playful, might have been omitted from the report, but if thought worthy of publication, it should have been given correctly. I know that I can give it now with accuracy, almost _verbatim_. 'I have fought hard, and have been beaten; I could wish I had been able to fight better, but I did my best, and consequently have no qualms of conscience on the subject.' Does that mean that we had no qualms of conscience about 'submitting to the decision that had been reached?' No. It means that I was not responsible for the evils of that decision. "It will, I think, serve the cause of truth, Mr. Editor, if you will be so kind as to publish this card in your next issue. If I was so unfortunate in the use of language as not to express sentiments similar to the above, I desire now to express them. "Allow me also to ask whether you will open the columns of your paper for a full statement of the views of the Amoy Mission on the subject of the ecclesiastical relations of the churches under their care? I find that there is still altogether a mistaken impression among our churches on this subject. Our people who sustain the Mission have a right to know the condition of that Mission. From the report in the last Intelligencer, they will get no light on that subject, but will get the impression that some great mistake has been committed by the Missionaries at Amoy. _Allowing_ this to be the case, the Missionaries have a right to be heard before the churches. Let the churches understand the matter, and decide concerning the mistake. The Missionaries have been desirous for years to get their views made public, but have not yet succeeded. "Very truly, yours, &c, "J.V.N. TALMAGE." June 19, 1863. Instead of finding my note inserted in the next number of the _Intelligencer_ I found the following: "REV. MR. TALMAGE'S LETTER. "We have received from the Rev. J.V.N. Talmage, a communication respecting our report of his remarks at the close of the session of the General Synod, accompanied with a request that he be permitted to appeal through these columns to the Churches in support of his position. The communication is long, and perhaps we can give the substance of it briefly. "1st. He wishes to correct the statement of Rev. Dr. Porter. And this he shall do in his own words, viz.: "'I felt that his speech was altogether unfortunate, for it seemed almost to demand of me the restatement of my views. But I felt, also, that it would be improper then to occupy the time of Synod with any further discussion, and contented myself with merely taking exception to Dr. Porter's statements, saying that I could not use the language he had just used. I also stated that, although the Synod had not arrived at the best decision, yet perhaps it was the best, under all the circumstances.' "So far Mr. Talmage, in disclaiming agreement with the statement made by Dr. Porter. "We can, on this point, only express regret that there should have been either seeming or real difference. But as Brother Talmage confesses that our report correctly represents him as having said, that "'Although the Synod had not arrived at the best decision, yet perhaps it was the best, under all the circumstances,' "We therefore suppose that the report of verbal differences--if the spirit of the remarks be anything--between him and the gentleman to whom he refers, cannot be accounted as very serious. "2d. As it respects the opening of these columns to a fresh discussion of the matter relating to the Amoy Churches before Synod, we have simply to say that we dare not give consent, for the following reasons: The Synod is the legislative body for the Church. The documents and statements respecting the Amoy Churches were full and thorough in the information imparted. Four sessions and more of the Synod were occupied with a careful preparatory hearing and final adjudication of the matter, and it is not the duty of the _Christian Intelligencer_ to allow itself to be used as the agent of dissension among the Churches, and of opposition to the constituted authority of the Synod." Whether my views were _misrepresented_, and whether I was charged with seeking a different object from that for which I had asked--I had not asked that the columns of the paper be opened for a fresh "_discussion_ of the matter" which had been "_before Synod_," but "for a _full statement_ of the views of the Amoy Mission," because of "_mistaken impressions_" in "_our Churches_"--the Church will be able to decide as accurately as myself. But I wish to say this much. Your Missionaries do not consider that by becoming Missionaries they lose their rights as _men_, and _Ministers of the Dutch Church_. They have the right to expect that, when away from home, their reputation will be protected. When mistaken statements concerning their views get abroad in the Church, there should be, and we believe there is, a responsible party whose duty it is to correct such statements. At any rate, a paper which professes to be the organ of the Dutch Church, has no right to refuse to the Missionaries themselves the privilege of correcting mistaken statements of _their own views_ and _their own language_, that appear in its columns. The Editor doubtless is responsible for what appears in his paper. He may refuse to publish improper articles, but he may not garble and misrepresent them without incurring reproof. The expense of publishing in pamphlet form corrections of mistakes which appear in the columns of a newspaper, is too heavy a tax to impose on any of the Ministry of the Church, especially on your Missionaries; and, even then, the corrections can be read by only a small portion of those who read the misstatements. 11367 ---- Proofreaders [Transcriber's Note: The following text contains numerous non-English words containing diacritical marks not contained in the ASCII character set. Characters accented by those marks, and the corresponding text representations are as follows (where x represents the character being accented). All such symbols in this text above the character being accented: breve (u-shaped symbol): [)x] caron (v-shaped symbol): [vx] macron (straight line): [=x] acute (égu) accent: ['x] Additionally, the author has spelled certain words inconsistently. Those have been adjusted to be consistent where possible. Examples of such adjustments are as follows: From To Northwestern North-western Southwards Southward Programme Program re-introduced reintroduced practise practice Lotos Lotus Ju-Chên Juchên cooperate co-operate life-time lifetime man-power manpower favor favour etc. In general such changes are made to be consistent with the predominate usage in the text, or if there was not a predominate spelling, to the more modern.] A HISTORY OF CHINA by WOLFRAM EBERHARD CONTENTS INTRODUCTION _THE EARLIEST TIMES_ Chapter I: PREHISTORY 1 Sources for the earliest history 2 The Peking Man 3 The Palaeolithic Age 4 The Neolithic Age 5 The eight principal prehistoric cultures 6 The Yang-shao culture 7 The Lung-shan culture 8 The first petty States in Shansi Chapter II: THE SHANG DYNASTY (_c_. 1600-1028 B.C.) 1 Period, origin, material culture 2 Writing and Religion 3 Transition to feudalism _ANTIQUITY_ Chapter III: THE CHOU DYNASTY (_c_. 1028-257 B.C.) 1 Cultural origin of the Chou and end of the Shang dynasty 2 Feudalism in the new empire 3 Fusion of Chou and Shang 4 Limitation of the imperial power 5 Changes in the relative strength of the feudal states 6 Confucius 7 Lao Tz[)u] Chapter IV: THE CONTENDING STATES (481-256 B.C.): DISSOLUTION OF THE FEUDAL SYSTEM 1 Social and military changes 2 Economic changes 3 Cultural changes Chapter V: THE CH'IN DYNASTY (256-207 B.C.) 1 Towards the unitary State 2 Centralization in every field 3 Frontier Defence. Internal collapse _THE MIDDLE AGES_ Chapter VI: THE HAN DYNASTY (206 B.C.-A.D. 220) 1 Development of the gentry-state 2 Situation of the Hsiung-nu empire; its relation to the Han empire. Incorporation of South China 3 Brief feudal reaction. Consolidation of the gentry 4 Turkestan policy. End of the Hsiung-nu empire 5 Impoverishment. Cliques. End of the Dynasty 6 The pseudo-socialistic dictatorship. Revolt of the "Red Eyebrows" 7 Reaction and Restoration: the Later Han dynasty 8 Hsiung-nu policy 9 Economic situation. Rebellion of the "Yellow Turbans". Collapse of the Han dynasty 10 Literature and Art Chapter VII: THE EPOCH OF THE FIRST DIVISION OF CHINA (A.D. 220-580) (A) _The three kingdoms_ (A.D. 220-265) 1 Social, intellectual, and economic problems during the period of the first division 2 Status of the two southern Kingdoms 3 The northern State of Wei (B) _The Western Chin dynasty_ (265-317) 1 Internal situation in the Chin empire 2 Effect on the frontier peoples 3 Struggles for the throne 4 Migration of Chinese 5 Victory of the Huns. The Hun Han dynasty (later renamed the Earlier Chao dynasty) (C) _The alien empires in North China, down to the Toba_ (A.D. 317-385) 1 The Later Chao dynasty in eastern North China (Hun; 329-352) 2 Earlier Yen dynasty in the north-east (proto-Mongol; 352-370), and the Earlier Ch'in dynasty in all north China (Tibetan; 351-394) 3 The fragmentation of north China 4 Sociological analysis of the two great alien empires 5 Sociological analysis of the petty States 6 Spread of Buddhism (D) _The Toba empire in North China_ (A.D. 385-550) 1 The rise of the Toba State 2 The Hun kingdom of the Hsia (407-431) 3 Rise of the Toba to a great power 4 Economic and social conditions 5 Victory and retreat of Buddhism (E) _Succession States of the Toba_ (A.D. 550-580): _Northern Ch'i dynasty, Northern Chou dynasty_ 1 Reasons for the splitting of the Toba empire 2 Appearance of the (Gök) Turks 3 The Northern Ch'i dynasty; the Northern Chou dynasty (F) _The southern empires_ 1 Economic and social situation in the south 2 Struggles between cliques under the Eastern Chin dynasty (A.D. 317-419) 3 The Liu-Sung dynasty (A.D. 420-478) and the Southern Ch'i dynasty (A.D. 479-501) 4 The Liang dynasty (A.D. 502-556) 5 The Ch'en dynasty (A.D. 557-588) and its ending by the Sui 6 Cultural achievements of the south Chapter VIII: THE EMPIRES OF THE SUI AND THE T'ANG (A) _The Sui dynasty_ (A.D. 580-618) 1 Internal situation in the newly unified empire 2 Relations with Turks and with Korea 3 Reasons for collapse (B) _The T'ang dynasty_ (A.D. 618-906) 1 Reforms and decentralization 2 Turkish policy 3 Conquest of Turkestan and Korea. Summit of power 4 The reign of the empress Wu: Buddhism and capitalism 5 Second blossoming of T'ang culture 6 Revolt of a military governor 7 The role of the Uighurs. Confiscation of the capital of the monasteries 8 First successful peasant revolt. Collapse of the empire _MODERN TIMES_ Chapter IX: THE EPOCH OF THE SECOND DIVISION OF CHINA (A) _The period of the Five Dynasties_ (906-960) 1 Beginning of a new epoch 2 Political situation in the tenth century 3 Monopolistic trade in South China. Printing and paper money in the north 4 Political history of the Five Dynasties (B) _Period of Moderate Absolutism_ (1) _The Northern Sung dynasty_ 1 Southward expansion 2 Administration and army. Inflation 3 Reforms and Welfare schemes 4 Cultural situation (philosophy, religion, literature, painting) 5 Military collapse (2) _The Liao (Kitan) dynasty in the north_ (937-1125) 1 Sociological structure. Claim to the Chinese imperial throne 2 The State of the Kara-Kitai (3) _The Hsi-Hsia State in the north_ (1038-1227) 1 Continuation of Turkish traditions (4) _The empire of the Southern Sung dynasty_ (1127-1279) 1 Foundation 2 Internal situation 3 Cultural situation; reasons for the collapse (5) _The empire of the Juchên in the north (i_ 115-1234) 1 Rapid expansion from northern Korea to the Yangtze 2 United front of all Chinese 3 Start of the Mongol empire Chapter X: THE PERIOD OF ABSOLUTISM (A) _The Mongol Epoch_ (1280-1368) 1 Beginning of new foreign rules 2 "Nationality legislation" 3 Military position 4 Social situation 5 Popular risings: National rising 6 Cultural (B) _The Ming Epoch_ (1368-1644) 1 Start. National feeling 2 Wars against Mongols and Japanese 3 Social legislation within the existing order 4 Colonization and agricultural developments 5 Commercial and industrial developments 6 Growth of the small gentry 7 Literature, art, crafts 8 Politics at court 9 Navy. Southward expansion 10 Struggles between cliques 11 Risings 12 Machiavellism 13 Foreign relations in the sixteenth century 14 External and internal perils (C) _The Manchu Dynasty_ (1644-1911) 1 Installation of the Manchus 2 Decline in the eighteenth century 3 Expansion in Central Asia; the first State treaty 4 Culture 5 Relations with the outer world 6 Decline; revolts 7 European Imperialism in the Far East 8 Risings in Turkestan and within China: the T'ai P'ing Rebellion 9 Collision with Japan; further Capitulations 10 Russia in Manchuria 11 Reform and reaction: The Boxer Rising 12 End of the dynasty Chapter XI: THE REPUBLIC (1912-1948) 1 Social and intellectual position 2 First period of the Republic: The warlords 3 Second period of the Republic: Nationalist China 4 The Sino-Japanese war (1937-1945) Chapter XII: PRESENT-DAY CHINA 1 The growth of communism 2 Nationalist China in Taiwan 3 Communist China Notes and References Index ILLUSTRATIONS 1 Painted pottery from Kansu: Neolithic. _In the collection of the Museum für Völkerkunde, Berlin_. 2 Ancient bronze tripod found at Anyang. _From G. Ecke: Frühe chinesische Bronzen aus der Sammlung Oskar Trautmann, Peking_ 1939, _plate_ 3. 3 Bronze plaque representing two horses fighting each other. Ordos region, animal style. _From V. Griessmaier: Sammlung Baron Eduard von der Heydt, Vienna 1936, illustration No. 6_. 4 Hunting scene: detail from the reliefs in the tombs at Wu-liang-tz'u. _From a print in the author's possession_. 5 Part of the "Great Wall". _Photo Eberhard_. 6 Sun Ch'üan, ruler of Wu. _From a painting by Yen Li-pen (c. 640-680_). 7 General view of the Buddhist cave-temples of Yün-kang. In the foreground, the present village; in the background the rampart. _Photo H. Hammer-Morrisson_. 8 Detail from the Buddhist cave-reliefs of Lung-men. _From a print in the author's possession_. 9 Statue of Mi-lo (Maitreya, the next future Buddha), in the "Great Buddha Temple" at Chengting (Hopei). _Photo H. Hammer-Morrisson_. 10 Ladies of the Court: Clay models which accompanied the dead person to the grave. T'ang period. _In the collection of the Museum für Völkerkunde. Berlin_. 11 Distinguished founder: a temple banner found at Khotcho, Turkestan. _Museum für Völkerkunde, Berlin. No. 1B 4524, illustration B 408_. 12 Ancient tiled pagoda at Chengting (Hopei). _Photo H. Hammer-Morrisson_. 13 Horse-training. Painting by Li Lung-mien. Late Sung period. _Manchu Royal House Collection_. 14 Aborigines of South China, of the "Black Miao" tribe, at a festival. China-ink drawing of the eighteenth century. _Collection of the Museum für Völkerkunde, Berlin. No. 1D 8756, 68_. 15 Pavilion on the "Coal Hill" at Peking, in which the last Ming emperor committed suicide. _Photo Eberhard_. 16 The imperial summer palace of the Manchu rulers, at Jehol. _Photo H. Hammer-Morrisson_. 17 Tower on the city wall of Peking. _Photo H. Hammer-Morrisson_. MAPS 1 Regions of the principal local cultures in prehistoric times 2 The principal feudal States in the feudal epoch (roughly 722-481 B.C.) 3 China in the struggle with the Huns or Hsiung-nu (roughly 128-100 B.C.) 4 The Toba empire (about A.D. 500) 5 The T'ang realm (about A.D. 750) 6 The State of the Later T'ang dynasty (923-935) INTRODUCTION There are indeed enough Histories of China already: why yet another one? Because the time has come for new departures; because we need to clear away the false notions with which the general public is constantly being fed by one author after another; because from time to time syntheses become necessary for the presentation of the stage reached by research. Histories of China fall, with few exceptions, into one or the other of two groups, pro-Chinese and anti-Chinese: the latter used to predominate, but today the former type is much more frequently found. We have no desire to show that China's history is the most glorious or her civilization the oldest in the world. A claim to the longest history does not establish the greatness of a civilization; the importance of a civilization becomes apparent in its achievements. A thousand years ago China's civilization towered over those of the peoples of Europe. Today the West is leading; tomorrow China may lead again. We need to realize how China became what she is, and to note the paths pursued by the Chinese in human thought and action. The lives of emperors, the great battles, this or the other famous deed, matter less to us than the discovery of the great forces that underlie these features and govern the human element. Only when we have knowledge of those forces and counter-forces can we realize the significance of the great personalities who have emerged in China; and only then will the history of China become intelligible even to those who have little knowledge of the Far East and can make nothing of a mere enumeration of dynasties and campaigns. Views on China's history have radically changed in recent years. Until about thirty years ago our knowledge of the earliest times in China depended entirely on Chinese documents of much later date; now we are able to rely on many excavations which enable us to check the written sources. Ethnological, anthropological, and sociological research has begun for China and her neighbours; thus we are in a position to write with some confidence about the making of China, and about her ethnical development, where formerly we could only grope in the dark. The claim that "the Chinese race" produced the high Chinese civilization entirely by its own efforts, thanks to its special gifts, has become just as untenable as the other theory that immigrants from the West, some conceivably from Europe, carried civilization to the Far East. We know now that in early times there was no "Chinese race", there were not even "Chinese", just as there were no "French" and no "Swiss" two thousand years ago. The "Chinese" resulted from the amalgamation of many separate peoples of different races in an enormously complicated and long-drawn-out process, as with all the other high civilizations of the world. The picture of ancient and medieval China has also been entirely changed since it has been realized that the sources on which reliance has always been placed were not objective, but deliberately and emphatically represented a particular philosophy. The reports on the emperors and ministers of the earliest period are not historical at all, but served as examples of ideas of social policy or as glorifications of particular noble families. Myths such as we find to this day among China's neighbours were made into history; gods were made men and linked together by long family trees. We have been able to touch on all these things only briefly, and have had to dispense with any account of the complicated processes that have taken place here. The official dynastic histories apply to the course of Chinese history the criterion of Confucian ethics; for them history is a textbook of ethics, designed to show by means of examples how the man of high character should behave or not behave. We have to go deeper, and try to extract the historic truth from these records. Many specialized studies by Chinese, Japanese, and Western scholars on problems of Chinese history are now available and of assistance in this task. However, some Chinese writers still imagine that they are serving their country by yet again dishing up the old fables for the foreigner as history; and some Europeans, knowing no better or aiming at setting alongside the unedifying history of Europe the shining example of the conventional story of China, continue in the old groove. To this day, of course, we are far from having really worked through every period of Chinese history; there are long periods on which scarcely any work has yet been done. Thus the picture we are able to give today has no finality about it and will need many modifications. But the time has come for a new synthesis, so that criticism may proceed along the broadest possible front and push our knowledge further forward. The present work is intended for the general reader and not for the specialist, who will devote his attention to particular studies and to the original texts. In view of the wide scope of the work, I have had to confine myself to placing certain lines of thought in the foreground and paying less attention to others. I have devoted myself mainly to showing the main lines of China's social and cultural development down to the present day. But I have also been concerned not to leave out of account China's relations with her neighbours. Now that we have a better knowledge of China's neighbours, the Turks, Mongols, Tibetans, Tunguses, Tai, not confined to the narratives of Chinese, who always speak only of "barbarians", we are better able to realize how closely China has been associated with her neighbours from the first day of her history to the present time; how greatly she is indebted to them, and how much she has given them. We no longer see China as a great civilization surrounded by barbarians, but we study the Chinese coming to terms with their neighbours, who had civilizations of quite different types but nevertheless developed ones. It is usual to split up Chinese history under the various dynasties that have ruled China or parts thereof. The beginning or end of a dynasty does not always indicate the beginning or the end of a definite period of China's social or cultural development. We have tried to break China's history down into the three large periods--"Antiquity", "The Middle Ages", and "Modern Times". This does not mean that we compare these periods with periods of the same name in Western history although, naturally, we find some similarities with the development of society and culture in the West. Every attempt towards periodization is to some degree arbitrary: the beginning and end of the Middle Ages, for instance, cannot be fixed to a year, because development is a continuous process. To some degree any periodization is a matter of convenience, and it should be accepted as such. The account of Chinese history here given is based on a study of the original documents and excavations, and on a study of recent research done by Chinese, Japanese and Western scholars, including my own research. In many cases, these recent studies produced new data or arranged new data in a new way without an attempt to draw general conclusions. By putting such studies together, by fitting them into the pattern that already existed, new insights into social and cultural processes have been gained. The specialist in the field will, I hope, easily recognize the sources, primary or secondary, on which such new insights represented in this book are based. Brief notes are appended for each chapter; they indicate the most important works in English and provide the general reader with an opportunity of finding further information on the problems touched on. For the specialist brief hints to international research are given, mainly in cases in which different interpretations have been proposed. Chinese words are transcribed according to the Wade-Giles system with the exception of names for which already a popular way of transcription exists (such as Peking). Place names are written without hyphen, if they remain readable. THE EARLIEST TIMES Chapter One PREHISTORY 1 _Sources for the earliest history_ Until recently we were dependent for the beginnings of Chinese history on the written Chinese tradition. According to these sources China's history began either about 4000 B.C. or about 2700 B.C. with a succession of wise emperors who "invented" the elements of a civilization, such as clothing, the preparation of food, marriage, and a state system; they instructed their people in these things, and so brought China, as early as in the third millennium B.C., to an astonishingly high cultural level. However, all we know of the origin of civilizations makes this of itself entirely improbable; no other civilization in the world originated in any such way. As time went on, Chinese historians found more and more to say about primeval times. All these narratives were collected in the great imperial history that appeared at the beginning of the Manchu epoch. That book was translated into French, and all the works written in Western languages until recent years on Chinese history and civilization have been based in the last resort on that translation. Modern research has not only demonstrated that all these accounts are inventions of a much later period, but has also shown _why_ such narratives were composed. The older historical sources make no mention of any rulers before 2200 B.C., no mention even of their names. The names of earlier rulers first appear in documents of about 400 B.C.; the deeds attributed to them and the dates assigned to them often do not appear until much later. Secondly, it was shown that the traditional chronology is wrong and another must be adopted, reducing all the dates for the more ancient history, before 900 B.C. Finally, all narratives and reports from China's earliest period have been dealt a mortal blow by modern archaeology, with the excavations of recent years. There was no trace of any high civilization in the third millennium B.C., and, indeed, we can only speak of a real "Chinese civilization" from 1300 B.C. onward. The peoples of the China of that time had come from the most varied sources; from 1300 B.C. they underwent a common process of development that welded them into a new unity. In this sense and emphasizing the cultural aspects, we are justified in using from then on a new name, "Chinese", for the peoples of China. Those sections, however, of their ancestral populations who played no part in the subsequent cultural and racial fusion, we may fairly call "non-Chinese". This distinction answers the question that continually crops up, whether the Chinese are "autochthonons". They are autochthonons in the sense that they formed a unit in the Far East, in the geographical region of the present China, and were not immigrants from the Middle East. 2 _The Peking Man_ Man makes his appearance in the Far East at a time when remains in other parts of the world are very rare and are disputed. He appears as the so-called "Peking Man", whose bones were found in caves of Chou-k'ou-tien south of Peking. The Peking Man is vastly different from the men of today, and forms a special branch of the human race, closely allied to the Pithecanthropus of Java. The formation of later races of mankind from these types has not yet been traced, if it occurred at all. Some anthropologists consider, however, that the Peking Man possessed already certain characteristics peculiar to the yellow race. The Peking Man lived in caves; no doubt he was a hunter, already in possession of very simple stone implements and also of the art of making fire. As none of the skeletons so far found are complete, it is assumed that he buried certain bones of the dead in different places from the rest. This burial custom, which is found among primitive peoples in other parts of the world, suggests the conclusion that the Peking Man already had religious notions. We have no knowledge yet of the length of time the Peking Man may have inhabited the Far East. His first traces are attributed to a million years ago, and he may have flourished in 500,000 B.C. 3 _The Palaeolithic Age_ After the period of the Peking Man there comes a great gap in our knowledge. All that we know indicates that at the time of the Peking Man there must have been a warmer and especially a damper climate in North China and Inner Mongolia than today. Great areas of the Ordos region, now dry steppe, were traversed in that epoch by small rivers and lakes beside which men could live. There were elephants, rhinoceroses, extinct species of stag and bull, even tapirs and other wild animals. About 50,000 B.C. there lived by these lakes a hunting people whose stone implements (and a few of bone) have been found in many places. The implements are comparable in type with the palaeolithic implements of Europe (Mousterian type, and more rarely Aurignacian or even Magdalenian). They are not, however, exactly like the European implements, but have a character of their own. We do not yet know what the men of these communities looked like, because as yet no indisputable human remains have been found. All the stone implements have been found on the surface, where they have been brought to light by the wind as it swept away the loess. These stone-age communities seem to have lasted a considerable time and to have been spread not only over North China but over Mongolia and Manchuria. It must not be assumed that the stone age came to an end at the same time everywhere. Historical accounts have recorded, for instance, that stone implements were still in use in Manchuria and eastern Mongolia at a time when metal was known and used in western Mongolia and northern China. Our knowledge about the palaeolithic period of Central and South China is still extremely limited; we have to wait for more excavations before anything can be said. Certainly, many implements in this area were made of wood or more probably bamboo, such as we still find among the non-Chinese tribes of the south-west and of South-East Asia. Such implements, naturally, could not last until today. About 25,000 B.C. there appears in North China a new human type, found in upper layers in the same caves that sheltered Peking Man. This type is beyond doubt not Mongoloid, and may have been allied to the Ainu, a non-Mongol race still living in northern Japan. These, too, were a palaeolithic people, though some of their implements show technical advance. Later they disappear, probably because they were absorbed into various populations of central and northern Asia. Remains of them have been found in badly explored graves in northern Korea. 4 _The Neolithic age_ In the period that now followed, northern China must have gradually become arid, and the formation of loess seems to have steadily advanced. There is once more a great gap in our knowledge until, about 4000 B.C., we can trace in North China a purely Mongoloid people with a neolithic culture. In place of hunters we find cattle breeders, who are even to some extent agriculturists as well. This may seem an astonishing statement for so early an age. It is a fact, however, that pure pastoral nomadism is exceptional, that normal pastoral nomads have always added a little farming to their cattle-breeding, in order to secure the needed additional food and above all fodder, for the winter. At this time, about 4000 B.C., the other parts of China come into view. The neolithic implements of the various regions of the Far East are far from being uniform; there are various separate cultures. In the north-west of China there is a system of cattle-breeding combined with agriculture, a distinguishing feature being the possession of finely polished axes of rectangular section, with a cutting edge. Farther east, in the north and reaching far to the south, is found a culture with axes of round or oval section. In the south and in the coastal region from Nanking to Tonking, Yünnan to Fukien, and reaching as far as the coasts of Korea and Japan, is a culture with so-called shoulder-axes. Szechwan and Yünnan represented a further independent culture. All these cultures were at first independent. Later the shoulder-axe culture penetrated as far as eastern India. Its people are known to philological research as Austroasiatics, who formed the original stock of the Australian aborigines; they survived in India as the Munda tribes, in Indo-China as the Mon-Khmer, and also remained in pockets on the islands of Indonesia and especially Melanesia. All these peoples had migrated from southern China. The peoples with the oval-axe culture are the so-called Papuan peoples in Melanesia; they, too, migrated from southern China, probably before the others. Both groups influenced the ancient Japanese culture. The rectangular-axe culture of north-west China spread widely, and moved southward, where the Austronesian peoples (from whom the Malays are descended) were its principal constituents, spreading that culture also to Japan. Thus we see here, in this period around 4000 B.C., an extensive mutual penetration of the various cultures all over the Far East, including Japan, which in the palaeolithic age was apparently without or almost without settlers. 5 _The eight principal prehistoric cultures_ In the period roughly around 2500 B.C. the general historical view becomes much clearer. Thanks to a special method of working, making use of the ethnological sources available from later times together with the archaeological sources, much new knowledge has been gained in recent years. At this time there is still no trace of a Chinese realm; we find instead on Chinese soil a considerable number of separate local cultures, each developing on its own lines. The chief of these cultures, acquaintance with which is essential to a knowledge of the whole later development of the Far East, are as follows: (a) _The north-east culture_, centred in the present provinces of Hopei (in which Peking lies), Shantung, and southern Manchuria. The people of this culture were ancestors of the Tunguses, probably mixed with an element that is contained in the present-day Paleo-Siberian tribes. These men were mainly hunters, but probably soon developed a little primitive agriculture and made coarse, thick pottery with certain basic forms which were long preserved in subsequent Chinese pottery (for instance, a type of the so-called tripods). Later, pig-breeding became typical of this culture. (b) _The northern culture_ existed to the west of that culture, in the region of the present Chinese province of Shansi and in the province of Jehol in Inner Mongolia. These people had been hunters, but then became pastoral nomads, depending mainly on cattle. The people of this culture were the tribes later known as Mongols, the so-called proto-Mongols. Anthropologically they belonged, like the Tunguses, to the Mongol race. (c) The people of the culture farther west, the _north-west culture_, were not Mongols. They, too, were originally hunters, and later became a pastoral people, with a not inconsiderable agriculture (especially growing wheat and millet). The typical animal of this group soon became the horse. The horse seems to be the last of the great animals to be domesticated, and the date of its first occurrence in domesticated form in the Far East is not yet determined, but we can assume that by 2500 B.C. this group was already in the possession of horses. The horse has always been a "luxury", a valuable animal which needed special care. For their economic needs, these tribes depended on other animals, probably sheep, goats, and cattle. The centre of this culture, so far as can be ascertained from Chinese sources, were the present provinces of Shensi and Kansu, but mainly only the plains. The people of this culture were most probably ancestors of the later Turkish peoples. It is not suggested, of course, that the original home of the Turks lay in the region of the Chinese provinces of Shensi and Kansu; one gains the impression, however, that this was a border region of the Turkish expansion; the Chinese documents concerning that period do not suffice to establish the centre of the Turkish territory. (d) In the _west_, in the present provinces of Szechwan and in all the mountain regions of the provinces of Kansu and Shensi, lived the ancestors of the Tibetan peoples as another separate culture. They were shepherds, generally wandering with their flocks of sheep and goats on the mountain heights. (e) In the _south_ we meet with four further cultures. One is very primitive, the Liao culture, the peoples of which are the Austroasiatics already mentioned. These are peoples who never developed beyond the stage of primitive hunters, some of whom were not even acquainted with the bow and arrow. Farther east is the Yao culture, an early Austronesian culture, the people of which also lived in the mountains, some as collectors and hunters, some going over to a simple type of agriculture (denshiring). They mingled later with the last great culture of the south, the Tai culture, distinguished by agriculture. The people lived in the valleys and mainly cultivated rice. The origin of rice is not yet known; according to some scholars, rice was first cultivated in the area of present Burma and was perhaps at first a perennial plant. Apart from the typical rice which needs much water, there were also some strains of dry rice which, however, did not gain much importance. The centre of this Tai culture may have been in the present provinces of Kuangtung and Kuanghsi. Today, their descendants form the principal components of the Tai in Thailand, the Shan in Burma and the Lao in Laos. Their immigration into the areas of the Shan States of Burma and into Thailand took place only in quite recent historical periods, probably not much earlier than A.D. 1000. Finally there arose from the mixture of the Yao with the Tai culture, at a rather later time, the Yüeh culture, another early Austronesian culture, which then spread over wide regions of Indonesia, and of which the axe of rectangular section, mentioned above, became typical. Thus, to sum up, we may say that, quite roughly, in the middle of the third millennium we meet in the _north_ and west of present-day China with a number of herdsmen cultures. In the _south_ there were a number of agrarian cultures, of which the Tai was the most powerful, becoming of most importance to the later China. We must assume that these cultures were as yet undifferentiated in their social composition, that is to say that as yet there was no distinct social stratification, but at most beginnings of class-formation, especially among the nomad herdsmen. [Illustration: Map 1. Regions of the principal local cultures in prehistoric times. _Local cultures of minor importance have not been shown_.] 6 _The Yang-shao culture_ The various cultures here described gradually penetrated one another, especially at points where they met. Such a process does not yield a simple total of the cultural elements involved; any new combination produces entirely different conditions with corresponding new results which, in turn, represent the characteristics of the culture that supervenes. We can no longer follow this process of penetration in detail; it need not by any means have been always warlike. Conquest of one group by another was only one way of mutual cultural penetration. In other cases, a group which occupied the higher altitudes and practiced hunting or slash-and-burn agriculture came into closer contacts with another group in the valleys which practiced some form of higher agriculture; frequently, such contacts resulted in particular forms of division of labour in a unified and often stratified new form of society. Recent and present developments in South-East Asia present a number of examples for such changes. Increase of population is certainly one of the most important elements which lead to these developments. The result, as a rule, was a stratified society being made up of at least one privileged and one ruled stratum. Thus there came into existence around 2000 B.C. some new cultures, which are well known archaeologically. The most important of these are the Yang-shao culture in the west and the Lung-shan culture in the east. Our knowledge of both these cultures is of quite recent date and there are many enigmas still to be cleared up. The _Yang-shao culture_ takes its name from a prehistoric settlement in the west of the present province of Honan, where Swedish investigators discovered it. Typical of this culture is its wonderfully fine pottery, apparently used as gifts to the dead. It is painted in three colours, white, red, and black. The patterns are all stylized, designs copied from nature being rare. We are now able to divide this painted pottery into several sub-types of specific distribution, and we know that this style existed from _c_. 2200 B.C. on. In general, it tends to disappear as does painted pottery in other parts of the world with the beginning of urban civilization and the invention of writing. The typical Yang-shao culture seems to have come to an end around 1600 or 1500 B.C. It continued in some more remote areas, especially of Kansu, perhaps to about 700 B.C. Remnants of this painted pottery have been found over a wide area from Southern Manchuria, Hopei, Shansi, Honan, Shensi to Kansu; some pieces have also been discovered in Sinkiang. Thus far, it seems that it occurred mainly in the mountainous parts of North and North-West China. The people of this culture lived in villages near to the rivers and creeks. They had various forms of houses, including underground dwellings and animal enclosures. They practiced some agriculture; some authors believe that rice was already known to them. They also had domesticated animals. Their implements were of stone with rare specimens of bone. The axes were of the rectangular type. Metal was as yet unknown, but seems to have been introduced towards the end of the period. They buried their dead on the higher elevations, and here the painted pottery was found. For their daily life, they used predominantly a coarse grey pottery. After the discovery of this culture, its pottery was compared with the painted pottery of the West, and a number of resemblances were found, especially with the pottery of the Lower Danube basin and that of Anau, in Turkestan. Some authors claim that such resemblances are fortuitous and believe that the older layers of this culture are to be found in the eastern part of its distribution and only the later layers in the west. It is, they say, these later stages which show the strongest resemblances with the West. Other authors believe that the painted pottery came from the West where it occurs definitely earlier than in the Far East; some investigators went so far as to regard the Indo-Europeans as the parents of that civilization. As we find people who spoke an Indo-European language in the Far East in a later period, they tend to connect the spread of painted pottery with the spread of Indo-European-speaking groups. As most findings of painted pottery in the Far East do not stem from scientific excavations it is difficult to make any decision at this moment. We will have to wait for more and modern excavations. From our knowledge of primeval settlement in West and North-West China we know, however, that Tibetan groups, probably mixed with Turkish elements, must have been the main inhabitants of the whole region in which this painted pottery existed. Whatever the origin of the painted pottery may be, it seems that people of these two groups were the main users of it. Most of the shapes of their pottery are not found in later Chinese pottery. 7 _The Lung-shan culture_ While the Yang-shao culture flourished in the mountain regions of northern and western China around 2000 B.C., there came into existence in the plains of eastern China another culture, which is called the Lung-shan culture, from the scene of the principal discoveries. Lung-shan is in the province of Shantung, near Chinan-fu. This culture, discovered only about twenty-five years ago, is distinguished by a black pottery of exceptionally fine quality and by a similar absence of metal. The pottery has a polished appearance on the exterior; it is never painted, and mostly without decoration; at most it may have incised geometrical patterns. The forms of the vessels are the same as have remained typical of Chinese pottery, and of Far Eastern pottery in general. To that extent the Lung-shan culture may be described as one of the direct predecessors of the later Chinese civilization. As in the West, we find in Lung-shan much grey pottery out of which vessels for everyday use were produced. This simple corded or matted ware seems to be in connection with Tunguse people who lived in the north-east. The people of the Lung-shan culture lived on mounds produced by repeated building on the ruins of earlier settlements, as did the inhabitants of the "Tells" in the Near East. They were therefore a long-settled population of agriculturists. Their houses were of mud, and their villages were surrounded with mud walls. There are signs that their society was stratified. So far as is known at present, this culture was spread over the present provinces of Shantung, Kiangsu, Chekiang, and Anhui, and some specimens of its pottery went as far as Honan and Shansi, into the region of the painted pottery. This culture lasted in the east until about 1600 B.C., with clear evidence of rather longer duration only in the south. As black pottery of a similar character occurs also in the Near East, some authors believe that it has been introduced into the Far East by another migration (Pontic migration) following that migration which supposedly brought the painted pottery. This theory has not been generally accepted because of the fact that typical black pottery is limited to the plains of East China; if it had been brought in from the West, we should expect to find it in considerable amounts also in West China. Ordinary black pottery can be simply the result of a special temperature in the pottery kiln; such pottery can be found almost everywhere. The typical thin, fine black pottery of Lung-shan, however, is in the Far East an eastern element, and migrants would have had to pass through the area of the painted pottery people without leaving many traces and without pushing their predecessors to the East. On the basis of our present knowledge we assume that the peoples of the Lung-shan culture were probably of Tai and Yao stocks together with some Tunguses. Recently, a culture of mound-dwellers in Eastern China has been discovered, and a southern Chinese culture of people with impressed or stamped pottery. This latter seems to be connected with the Yüeh tribes. As yet, no further details are known. 8 _The first petty States in Shansi_ At the time in which, according to archaeological research, the painted pottery flourished in West China, Chinese historical tradition has it that the semi-historical rulers, Yao and Shun, and the first official dynasty, the Hsia dynasty ruled over parts of China with a centre in southern Shansi. While we dismiss as political myths the Confucianist stories representing Yao and Shun as models of virtuous rulers, it may be that a small state existed in south-western Shansi under a chieftain Yao, and farther to the east another small state under a chieftain Shun, and that these states warred against each other until Yao's state was destroyed. These first small states may have existed around 2000 B.C. On the cultural scene we first find an important element of progress: bronze, in traces in the middle layers of the Yang-shao culture, about 1800 B.C.; that element had become very widespread by 1400 B.C. The forms of the oldest weapons and their ornamentation show similarities with weapons from Siberia; and both mythology and other indications suggest that the bronze came into China from the north and was not produced in China proper. Thus, from the present state of our knowledge, it seems most correct to say that the bronze was brought to the Far East through the agency of peoples living north of China, such as the Turkish tribes who in historical times were China's northern neighbours (or perhaps only individual families or clans, the so-called smith families with whom we meet later in Turkish tradition), reaching the Chinese either through these people themselves or through the further agency of Mongols. At first the forms of the weapons were left unaltered. The bronze vessels, however, which made their appearance about 1450 B.C. are entirely different from anything produced in other parts of Asia; their ornamentation shows, on the one hand, elements of the so-called "animal style" which is typical of the steppe people of the Ordos area and of Central Asia. But most of the other elements, especially the "filling" between stylized designs, is recognizably southern (probably of the Tai culture), no doubt first applied to wooden vessels and vessels made from gourds, and then transferred to bronze. This implies that the art of casting bronze very soon spread from North China, where it was first practiced by Turkish peoples, to the east and south, which quickly developed bronze industries of their own. There are few deposits of copper and tin in North China, while in South China both metals are plentiful and easily extracted, so that a trade in bronze from south to north soon set in. The origin of the Hsia state may have been a consequence of the progress due to bronze. The Chinese tradition speaks of the Hsia _dynasty_, but can say scarcely anything about it. The excavations, too, yield no clear conclusions, so that we can only say that it flourished at the time and in the area in which the painted pottery occurred, with a centre in south-west Shansi. We date this dynasty now somewhere between 2000 and 1600 B.C. and believe that it was an agrarian culture with bronze weapons and pottery vessels but without the knowledge of the art of writing. Chapter Two THE SHANG DYNASTY (_c_. 1600-1028 B.C.) 1 _Period, origin, material culture_ About 1600 B.C. we come at last into the realm of history. Of the Shang dynasty, which now followed, we have knowledge both from later texts and from excavations and the documents they have brought to light. The Shang civilization, an evident off-shoot of the Lung-shan culture (Tai, Yao, and Tunguses), but also with elements of the Hsia culture (with Tibetan and Mongol and/or Turkish elements), was beyond doubt a high civilization. Of the origin of the Shang _State_ we have no details, nor do we know how the Hsia culture passed into the Shang culture. The central territory of the Shang realm lay in north-western Honan, alongside the Shansi mountains and extending into the plains. It was a peasant civilization with towns. One of these towns has been excavated. It adjoined the site of the present town of Anyang, in the province of Honan. The town, the Shang capital from _c_. 1300 to 1028 B.C., was probably surrounded by a mud wall, as were the settlements of the Lung-shan people. In the centre was what evidently was the ruler's palace. Round this were houses probably inhabited by artisans; for the artisans formed a sort of intermediate class, as dependents of the ruling class. From inscriptions we know that the Shang had, in addition to their capital, at least two other large cities and many smaller town-like settlements and villages. The rectangular houses were built in a style still found in Chinese houses, except that their front did not always face south as is now the general rule. The Shang buried their kings in large, subterranean, cross-shaped tombs outside the city, and many implements, animals and human sacrifices were buried together with them. The custom of large burial mounds, which later became typical of the Chou dynasty, did not yet exist. The Shang had sculptures in stone, an art which later more or less completely disappeared and which was resuscitated only in post-Christian times under the influence of Indian Buddhism. Yet, Shang culture cannot well be called a "megalithic" culture. Bronze implements and especially bronze vessels were cast in the town. We even know the trade marks of some famous bronze founders. The bronze weapons are still similar to those from Siberia, and are often ornamented in the so-called "animal style", which was used among all the nomad peoples between the Ordos region and Siberia until the beginning of the Christian era. On the other hand, the famous bronze vessels are more of southern type, and reveal an advanced technique that has scarcely been excelled since. There can be no doubt that the bronze vessels were used for religious service and not for everyday life. For everyday use there were earthenware vessels. Even in the middle of the first millennium B.C., bronze was exceedingly dear, as we know from the records of prices. China has always suffered from scarcity of metal. For that reason metal was accumulated as capital, entailing a further rise in prices; when prices had reached a sufficient height, the stocks were thrown on the market and prices fell again. Later, when there was a metal coinage, this cycle of inflation and deflation became still clearer. The metal coinage was of its full nominal value, so that it was possible to coin money by melting down bronze implements. As the money in circulation was increased in this way, the value of the currency fell. Then it paid to turn coin into metal implements. This once more reduced the money in circulation and increased the value of the remaining coinage. Thus through the whole course of Chinese history the scarcity of metal and insufficiency of production of metal continually produced extensive fluctuations of the stocks and the value of metal, amounting virtually to an economic law in China. Consequently metal implements were never universally in use, and vessels were always of earthenware, with the further result of the early invention of porcelain. Porcelain vessels have many of the qualities of metal ones, but are cheaper. The earthenware vessels used in this period are in many cases already very near to porcelain: there was a pottery of a brilliant white, lacking only the glaze which would have made it into porcelain. Patterns were stamped on the surface, often resembling the patterns on bronze articles. This ware was used only for formal, ceremonial purposes. For daily use there was also a perfectly simple grey pottery. Silk was already in use at this time. The invention of sericulture must therefore have dated from very ancient times in China. It undoubtedly originated in the south of China, and at first not only the threads spun by the silkworm but those made by other caterpillars were also used. The remains of silk fabrics that have been found show already an advanced weaving technique. In addition to silk, various plant fibres, such as hemp, were in use. Woollen fabrics do not seem to have been yet used. The Shang were agriculturists, but their implements were still rather primitive. There was no real plough yet; hoes and hoe-like implements were used, and the grain, mainly different kinds of millet and some wheat, was harvested with sickles. The materials, from which these implements were made, were mainly wood and stone; bronze was still too expensive to be utilized by the ordinary farmer. As a great number of vessels for wine in many different forms have been excavated, we can assume that wine, made from special kinds of millet, was a popular drink. The Shang state had its centre in northern Honan, north of the Yellow river. At various times, different towns were made into the capital city; Yin-ch'ü, their last capital and the only one which has been excavated, was their sixth capital. We do not know why the capitals were removed to new locations; it is possible that floods were one of the main reasons. The area under more or less organized Shang control comprised towards the end of the dynasty the present provinces of Honan, western Shantung, southern Hopei, central and south Shansi, east Shensi, parts of Kiangsu and Anhui. We can only roughly estimate the size of the population of the Shang state. Late texts say that at the time of the annihilation of the dynasty, some 3.1 million free men and 1.1 million serfs were captured by the conquerors; this would indicate a population of at least some 4-5 millions. This seems a possible number, if we consider that an inscription of the tenth century B.C. which reports about an ordinary war against a small and unimportant western neighbour, speaks of 13,081 free men and 4,812 serfs taken as prisoners. Inscriptions mention many neighbours of the Shang with whom they were in more or less continuous state of war. Many of these neighbours can now be identified. We know that Shansi at that time was inhabited by Ch'iang tribes, belonging to the Tibetan culture, as well as by Ti tribes, belonging to the northern culture, and by Hsien-yün and other tribes, belonging to the north-western culture; the centre of the Ch'iang tribes was more in the south-west of Shansi and in Shensi. Some of these tribes definitely once formed a part of the earlier Hsia state. The identification of the eastern neighbours of the Shang presents more difficulties. We might regard them as representatives of the Tai and Yao cultures. 2 _Writing and Religion_ Not only the material but also the intellectual level attained in the Shang period was very high. We meet for the first time with writing--much later than in the Middle East and in India. Chinese scholars have succeeded in deciphering some of the documents discovered, so that we are able to learn a great deal from them. The writing is a rudimentary form of the present-day Chinese script, and like it a pictorial writing, but also makes use, as today, of many phonetic signs. There were, however, a good many characters that no longer exist, and many now used are absent. There were already more than 3,000 characters in use of which some 1,000 can now be read. (Today newspapers use some 3,000 characters; scholars have command of up to 8,000; the whole of Chinese literature, ancient and modern, comprises some 50,000 characters.) With these 3,000 characters the Chinese of the Shang period were able to express themselves well. The still existing fragments of writing of this period are found almost exclusively on tortoiseshells or on other bony surfaces, and they represent oracles. As early as in the Lung-shan culture there was divination by means of "oracle bones", at first without written characters. In the earliest period any bones of animals (especially shoulder-bones) were used; later only tortoiseshell. For the purpose of the oracle a depression was burnt in the shell so that cracks were formed on the other side, and the future was foretold from their direction. Subsequently particular questions were scratched on the shells, and the answers to them; these are the documents that have come down to us. In Anyang tens of thousands of these oracle bones with inscriptions have been found. The custom of asking the oracle and of writing the answers on the bones spread over the borders of the Shang state and continued in some areas after the end of the dynasty. The bronze vessels of later times often bear long inscriptions, but those of the Shang period have only very brief texts. On the other hand, they are ornamented with pictures, as yet largely unintelligible, of countless deities, especially in the shape of animals or birds--pictures that demand interpretation. The principal form on these bronzes is that of the so-called T'ao-t'ieh, a hybrid with the head of a water-buffalo and tiger's teeth. The Shang period had a religion with many nature deities, especially deities of fertility. There was no systematized pantheon, different deities being revered in each locality, often under the most varied names. These various deities were, however, similar in character, and later it occurred often that many of them were combined by the priests into a single god. The composite deities thus formed were officially worshipped. Their primeval forms lived on, however, especially in the villages, many centuries longer than the Shang dynasty. The sacrifices associated with them became popular festivals, and so these gods or their successors were saved from oblivion; some of them have lived on in popular religion to the present day. The supreme god of the official worship was called Shang Ti; he was a god of vegetation who guided all growth and birth and was later conceived as a forefather of the races of mankind. The earth was represented as a mother goddess, who bore the plants and animals procreated by Shang Ti. In some parts of the Shang realm the two were conceived as a married couple who later were parted by one of their children. The husband went to heaven, and the rain is the male seed that creates life on earth. In other regions it was supposed that in the beginning of the world there was a world-egg, out of which a primeval god came, whose body was represented by the earth: his hair formed the plants, and his limbs the mountains and valleys. Every considerable mountain was also itself a god and, similarly, the river god, the thunder god, cloud, lightning, and wind gods, and many others were worshipped. In order to promote the fertility of the earth, it was believed that sacrifices must be offered to the gods. Consequently, in the Shang realm and the regions surrounding it there were many sorts of human sacrifices; often the victims were prisoners of war. One gains the impression that many wars were conducted not as wars of conquest but only for the purpose of capturing prisoners, although the area under Shang control gradually increased towards the west and the south-east, a fact demonstrating the interest in conquest. In some regions men lurked in the spring for people from other villages; they slew them, sacrificed them to the earth, and distributed portions of the flesh of the sacrifice to the various owners of fields, who buried them. At a later time all human sacrifices were prohibited, but we have reports down to the eleventh century A.D., and even later, that such sacrifices were offered secretly in certain regions of central China. In other regions a great boat festival was held in the spring, to which many crews came crowded in long narrow boats. At least one of the boats had to capsize; the people who were thus drowned were a sacrifice to the deities of fertility. This festival has maintained its fundamental character to this day, in spite of various changes. The same is true of other festivals, customs, and conceptions, vestiges of which are contained at least in folklore. In addition to the nature deities which were implored to give fertility, to send rain, or to prevent floods and storms, the Shang also worshipped deceased rulers and even dead ministers as a kind of intermediaries between man and the highest deity, Shang Ti. This practice may be regarded as the forerunner of "ancestral worship" which became so typical of later China. 3 _Transition to feudalism_ At the head of the Shang state was a king, posthumously called a "Ti", the same word as in the name of the supreme god. We have found on bones the names of all the rulers of this dynasty and even some of their pre-dynastic ancestors. These names can be brought into agreement with lists of rulers found in the ancient Chinese literature. The ruler seems to have been a high priest, too; and around him were many other priests. We know some of them now so well from the inscriptions that their biographies could be written. The king seems to have had some kind of bureaucracy. There were "ch'en", officials who served the ruler personally, as well as scribes and military officials. The basic army organization was in units of one hundred men which were combined as "right", "left" and "central" units into an army of 300 men. But it seems that the central power did not extend very far. In the more distant parts of the realm were more or less independent lords, who recognized the ruler only as their supreme lord and religious leader. We may describe this as an early, loose form of the feudal system, although the main element of real feudalism was still absent. The main obligations of these lords were to send tributes of grain, to participate with their soldiers in the wars, to send tortoise shells to the capital to be used there for oracles, and to send occasionally cattle and horses. There were some thirty such dependent states. Although we do not know much about the general population, we know that the rulers had a patrilinear system of inheritance. After the death of the ruler his brothers followed him on the throne, the older brothers first. After the death of all brothers, the sons of older or younger brothers became rulers. No preference was shown to the son of the oldest brother, and no preference between sons of main or of secondary wives is recognizable. Thus, the Shang patrilinear system was much less extreme than the later system. Moreover, the deceased wives of the rulers played a great role in the cult, another element which later disappeared. From these facts and from the general structure of Shang religion it has been concluded that there was a strong matrilinear strain in Shang culture. Although this cannot be proved, it seems quite plausible because we know of matrilinear societies in the South of China at later times. About the middle of the Shang period there occurred interesting changes, probably under the influence of nomad peoples from the north-west. In religion there appears some evidence of star-worship. The deities seem to have been conceived as a kind of celestial court of Shang Ti, as his "officials". In the field of material culture, horse-breeding becomes more and more evident. Some authors believe that the art of riding was already known in late Shang times, although it was certainly not yet so highly developed that cavalry units could be used in war. With horse-breeding the two-wheeled light war chariot makes its appearance. The wheel was already known in earlier times in the form of the potter's wheel. Recent excavations have brought to light burials in which up to eighteen chariots with two or four horses were found together with the owners of the chariots. The cart is not a Chinese invention but came from the north, possibly from Turkish peoples. It has been contended that it was connected with the war chariot of the Near East: shortly before the Shang period there had been vast upheavals in western Asia, mainly in connection with the expansion of peoples who spoke Indo-European languages (Hittites, etc.) and who became successful through the use of quick, light, two-wheeled war-chariots. It is possible, but cannot be proved, that the war-chariot spread through Central Asia in connection with the spread of such Indo-European-speaking groups or by the intermediary of Turkish tribes. We have some reasons to believe that the first Indo-European-speaking groups arrived in the Far East in the middle of the second millennium B.C. Some authors even connect the Hsia with these groups. In any case, the maximal distribution of these people seems to have been to the western borders of the Shang state. As in Western Asia, a Shang-time chariot was manned by three men: the warrior who was a nobleman, his driver, and his servant who handed him arrows or other weapons when needed. There developed a quite close relationship between the nobleman and his chariot-driver. The chariot was a valuable object, manufactured by specialists; horses were always expensive and rare in China, and in many periods of Chinese history horses were directly imported from nomadic tribes in the North or West. Thus, the possessors of vehicles formed a privileged class in the Shang realm; they became a sort of nobility, and the social organization began to move in the direction of feudalism. One of the main sports of the noblemen in this period, in addition to warfare, was hunting. The Shang had their special hunting grounds south of the mountains which surround Shansi province, along the slopes of the T'ai-hang mountain range, and south to the shores of the Yellow river. Here, there were still forests and swamps in Shang time, and boars, deer, buffaloes and other animals, as well as occasional rhinoceros and elephants, were hunted. None of these wild animals was used as a sacrifice; all sacrificial animals, such as cattle, pigs, etc., were domesticated animals. Below the nobility we find large numbers of dependent people; modern Chinese scholars call them frequently "slaves" and speak of a "slave society". There is no doubt that at least some farmers were "free farmers"; others were what we might call "serfs": families in hereditary group dependence upon some noble families and working on land which the noble families regarded as theirs. Families of artisans and craftsmen also were hereditary servants of noble families--a type of social organization which has its parallels in ancient Japan and in later India and other parts of the world. There were also real slaves: persons who were the personal property of noblemen. The independent states around the Shang state also had serfs. When the Shang captured neighbouring states, they resettled the captured foreign aristocracy by attaching them as a group to their own noblemen. The captured serfs remained under their masters and shared their fate. The same system was later practiced by the Chou after their conquest of the Shang state. The conquests of late Shang added more territory to the realm than could be coped with by the primitive communications of the time. When the last ruler of Shang made his big war which lasted 260 days against the tribes in the south-east, rebellions broke out which lead to the end of the dynasty, about 1028 B.C. according to the new chronology (1122 B.C. old chronology). ANTIQUITY Chapter Three THE CHOU DYNASTY (_c_. 1028-257 B.C.) 1 _Cultural origin of the Chou and end of the Shang dynasty_ The Shang culture still lacked certain things that were to become typical of "Chinese" civilization. The family system was not yet the strong patriarchal system of the later Chinese. The religion, too, in spite of certain other influences, was still a religion of agrarian fertility. And although Shang society was strongly stratified and showed some tendencies to develop a feudal system, feudalism was still very primitive. Although the Shang script was the precursor of later Chinese script, it seemed to have contained many words which later disappeared, and we are not sure whether Shang language was the same as the language of Chou time. With the Chou period, however, we enter a period in which everything which was later regarded as typically "Chinese" began to emerge. During the time of the Shang dynasty the Chou formed a small realm in the west, at first in central Shensi, an area which even in much later times was the home of many "non-Chinese" tribes. Before the beginning of the eleventh century B.C. they must have pushed into eastern Shensi, due to pressures of other tribes which may have belonged to the Turkish ethnic group. However, it is also possible that their movement was connected with pressures from Indo-European groups. An analysis of their tribal composition at the time of the conquest seems to indicate that the ruling house of the Chou was related to the Turkish group, and that the population consisted mainly of Turks and Tibetans. Their culture was closely related to that of Yang-shao, the previously described painted-pottery culture, with, of course, the progress brought by time. They had bronze weapons and, especially, the war-chariot. Their eastward migration, however, brought them within the zone of the Shang culture, by which they were strongly influenced, so that the Chou culture lost more and more of its original character and increasingly resembled the Shang culture. The Chou were also brought into the political sphere of the Shang, as shown by the fact that marriages took place between the ruling houses of Shang and Chou, until the Chou state became nominally dependent on the Shang state in the form of a dependency with special prerogatives. Meanwhile the power of the Chou state steadily grew, while that of the Shang state diminished more and more through the disloyalty of its feudatories and through wars in the East. Finally, about 1028 B.C., the Chou ruler, named Wu Wang ("the martial king"), crossed his eastern frontier and pushed into central Honan. His army was formed by an alliance between various tribes, in the same way as happened again and again in the building up of the armies of the rulers of the steppes. Wu Wang forced a passage across the Yellow River and annihilated the Shang army. He pursued its vestiges as far as the capital, captured the last emperor of the Shang, and killed him. Thus was the Chou dynasty founded, and with it we begin the actual history of China. The Chou brought to the Shang culture strong elements of Turkish and also Tibetan culture, which were needed for the release of such forces as could create a new empire and maintain it through thousands of years as a cultural and, generally, also a political unit. 2 _Feudalism in the new empire_ A natural result of the situation thus produced was the turning of the country into a feudal state. The conquerors were an alien minority, so that they had to march out and spread over the whole country. Moreover, the allied tribal chieftains expected to be rewarded. The territory to be governed was enormous, but the communications in northern China at that time were similar to those still existing not long ago in southern China--narrow footpaths from one settlement to another. It is very difficult to build roads in the loess of northern China; and the war-chariots that required roads had only just been introduced. Under such conditions, the simplest way of administering the empire was to establish garrisons of the invading tribes in the various parts of the country under the command of their chieftains. Thus separate regions of the country were distributed as fiefs. If a former subject of the Shang surrendered betimes with the territory under his rule, or if there was one who could not be overcome by force, the Chou recognized him as a feudal lord. We find in the early Chou time the typical signs of true feudalism: fiefs were given in a ceremony in which symbolically a piece of earth was handed over to the new fiefholder, and his instalment, his rights and obligations were inscribed in a "charter". Most of the fiefholders were members of the Chou ruling family or members of the clan to which this family belonged; other fiefs were given to heads of the allied tribes. The fiefholder (feudal lord) regarded the land of his fief, as far as he and his clan actually used it, as "clan" land; parts of this land he gave to members of his own branch-clan for their use without transferring rights of property, thus creating new sub-fiefs and sub-lords. In much later times the concept of landed property of a _family_ developed, and the whole concept of "clan" disappeared. By 500 B.C., most feudal lords had retained only a dim memory that they originally belonged to the Chi clan of the Chou or to one of the few other original clans, and their so-called sub-lords felt themselves as members of independent noble families. Slowly, then, the family names of later China began to develop, but it took many centuries until, at the time of the Han Dynasty, all citizens (slaves excluded) had accepted family names. Then, reversely, families grew again into new clans. Thus we have this picture of the early Chou state: the imperial central power established in Shensi, near the present Sian; over a thousand feudal states, great and small, often consisting only of a small garrison, or sometimes a more considerable one, with the former chieftain as feudal lord over it. Around these garrisons the old population lived on, in the north the Shang population, farther east and south various other peoples and cultures. The conquerors' garrisons were like islands in a sea. Most of them formed new towns, walled, with a rectangular plan and central crossroads, similar to the European towns subsequently formed out of Roman encampments. This town plan has been preserved to the present day. This upper class in the garrisons formed the nobility; it was sharply divided from the indigenous population around the towns The conquerors called the population "the black-haired people", and themselves "the hundred families". The rest of the town populations consisted often of urban Shang people: Shang noble families together with their bondsmen and serfs had been given to Chou fiefholders. Such forced resettlements of whole populations have remained typical even for much later periods. By this method new cities were provided with urban, refined people and, most important, with skilled craftsmen and businessmen who assisted in building the cities and in keeping them alive. Some scholars believe that many resettled Shang urbanites either were or became businessmen; incidentally, the same word "Shang" means "merchant", up to the present time. The people of the Shang capital lived on and even attempted a revolt in collaboration with some Chou people. The Chou rulers suppressed this revolt, and then transferred a large part of this population to Loyang. They were settled there in a separate community, and vestiges of the Shang population were still to be found there in the fifth century A.D.: they were entirely impoverished potters, still making vessels in the old style. 3 _Fusion of Chou and Shang_ The conquerors brought with them, for their own purposes to begin with, their rigid patriarchate in the family system and their cult of Heaven (t'ien), in which the worship of sun and stars took the principal place; a religion most closely related to that of the Turkish peoples and derived from them. Some of the Shang popular deities, however, were admitted into the official Heaven-worship. Popular deities became "feudal lords" under the Heaven-god. The Shang conceptions of the soul were also admitted into the Chou religion: the human body housed two souls, the personality-soul and the life-soul. Death meant the separation of the souls from the body, the life-soul also slowly dying. The personality-soul, however, could move about freely and lived as long as there were people who remembered it and kept it from hunger by means of sacrifices. The Chou systematized this idea and made it into the ancestor-worship that has endured down to the present time. The Chou officially abolished human sacrifices, especially since, as former pastoralists, they knew of better means of employing prisoners of war than did the more agrarian Shang. The Chou used Shang and other slaves as domestic servants for their numerous nobility, and Shang serfs as farm labourers on their estates. They seem to have regarded the land under their control as "state land" and all farmers as "serfs". A slave, here, must be defined as an individual, a piece of property, who was excluded from membership in human society but, in later legal texts, was included under domestic animals and immobile property, while serfs as a class depended upon another class and had certain rights, at least the right to work on the land. They could change their masters if the land changed its master, but they could not legally be sold individually. Thus, the following, still rather hypothetical, picture of the land system of the early Chou time emerges: around the walled towns of the feudal lords and sub-lords, always in the plains, was "state land" which produced millet and more and more wheat. Cultivation was still largely "shifting", so that the serfs in groups cultivated more or less standardized plots for a year or more and then shifted to other plots. During the growing season they lived in huts on the fields; during the winter in the towns in adobe houses. In this manner the yearly life cycle was divided into two different periods. The produce of the serfs supplied the lords, their dependants and the farmers themselves. Whenever the lord found it necessary, the serfs had to perform also other services for the lord. Farther away from the towns were the villages of the "natives", nominally also subjects of the lord. In most parts of eastern China, these, too, were agriculturists. They acknowledged their dependence by sending "gifts" to the lord in the town. Later these gifts became institutionalized and turned into a form of tax. The lord's serfs, on the other hand, tended to settle near the fields in villages of their own because, with growing urban population, the distances from the town to many of the fields became too great. It was also at this time of new settlements that a more intensive cultivation with a fallow system began. At latest from the sixth century B.C. on, the distinctions between both land systems became unclear; and the pure serf-cultivation, called by the old texts the "well-field system" because eight cultivating families used one common well, disappeared in practice. The actual structure of early Chou administration is difficult to ascertain. The "Duke of Chou", brother of the first ruler, Wu Wang, later regent during the minority of Wu Wang's son, and certainly one of the most influential persons of this time, was the alleged creator of the book _Chou-li_ which contains a detailed table of the bureaucracy of the country. However, we know now from inscriptions that the bureaucracy at the beginning of the Chou period was not much more developed than in late Shang time. The _Chou-li_ gave an ideal picture of a bureaucratic state, probably abstracted from actual conditions in feudal states several centuries later. The Chou capital, at Sian, was a twin city. In one part lived the master-race of the Chou with the imperial court, in the other the subjugated population. At the same time, as previously mentioned, the Chou built a second capital, Loyang, in the present province of Honan. Loyang was just in the middle of the new state, and for the purposes of Heaven-worship it was regarded as the centre of the universe, where it was essential that the emperor should reside. Loyang was another twin city: in one part were the rulers' administrative buildings, in the other the transferred population of the Shang capital, probably artisans for the most part. The valuable artisans seem all to have been taken over from the Shang, for the bronze vessels of the early Chou age are virtually identical with those of the Shang age. The shapes of the houses also remained unaltered, and probably also the clothing, though the Chou brought with them the novelties of felt and woollen fabrics, old possessions of their earlier period. The only fundamental material change was in the form of the graves: in the Shang age house-like tombs were built underground; now great tumuli were constructed in the fashion preferred by all steppe peoples. One professional class was severely hit by the changed circumstances--the Shang priesthood. The Chou had no priests. As with all the races of the steppes, the head of the family himself performed the religious rites. Beyond this there were only shamans for certain purposes of magic. And very soon Heaven-worship was combined with the family system, the ruler being declared to be the Son of Heaven; the mutual relations within the family were thus extended to the religious relations with the deity. If, however, the god of Heaven is the father of the ruler, the ruler as his son himself offers sacrifice, and so the priest becomes superfluous. Thus the priests became "unemployed". Some of them changed their profession. They were the only people who could read and write, and as an administrative system was necessary they obtained employment as scribes. Others withdrew to their villages and became village priests. They organized the religious festivals in the village, carried out the ceremonies connected with family events, and even conducted the exorcism of evil spirits with shamanistic dances; they took charge, in short, of everything connected with customary observances and morality. The Chou lords were great respecters of propriety. The Shang culture had, indeed, been a high one with an ancient and highly developed moral system, and the Chou as rough conquerors must have been impressed by the ancient forms and tried to imitate them. In addition, they had in their religion of Heaven a conception of the existence of mutual relations between Heaven and Earth: all that went on in the skies had an influence on earth, and vice versa. Thus, if any ceremony was "wrongly" performed, it had an evil effect on Heaven--there would be no rain, or the cold weather would arrive too soon, or some such misfortune would come. It was therefore of great importance that everything should be done "correctly". Hence the Chou rulers were glad to call in the old priests as performers of ceremonies and teachers of morality similar to the ancient Indian rulers who needed the Brahmans for the correct performance of all rites. There thus came into existence in the early Chou empire a new social group, later called "scholars", men who were not regarded as belonging to the lower class represented by the subjugated population but were not included in the nobility; men who were not productively employed but belonged to a sort of independent profession. They became of very great importance in later centuries. In the first centuries of the Chou dynasty the ruling house steadily lost power. Some of the emperors proved weak, or were killed at war; above all, the empire was too big and its administration too slow-moving. The feudal lords and nobles were occupied with their own problems in securing the submission of the surrounding villages to their garrisons and in governing them; they soon paid little attention to the distant central authority. In addition to this, the situation at the centre of the empire was more difficult than that of its feudal states farther east. The settlements around the garrisons in the east were inhabited by agrarian tribes, but the subjugated population around the centre at Sian was made up of nomadic tribes of Turks and Mongols together with semi-nomadic Tibetans. Sian lies in the valley of the river Wei; the riverside country certainly belonged, though perhaps only insecurely, to the Shang empire and was specially well adapted to agriculture; but its periphery--mountains in the south, steppes in the north--was inhabited (until a late period, to some extent to the present day) by nomads, who had also been subjugated by the Chou. The Chou themselves were by no means strong, as they had been only a small tribe and their strength had depended on auxiliary tribes, which had now spread over the country as the new nobility and lived far from the Chou. The Chou emperors had thus to hold in check the subjugated but warlike tribes of Turks and Mongols who lived quite close to their capital. In the first centuries of the dynasty they were more or less successful, for the feudal lords still sent auxiliary forces. In time, however, these became fewer and fewer, because the feudal lords pursued their own policy; and the Chou were compelled to fight their own battles against tribes that continually rose against them, raiding and pillaging their towns. Campaigns abroad also fell mainly on the shoulders of the Chou, as their capital lay near the frontier. It must not be simply assumed, as is often done by the Chinese and some of the European historians, that the Turkish and Mongolian tribes were so savage or so pugnacious that they continually waged war just for the love of it. The problem is much deeper, and to fail to recognize this is to fail to understand Chinese history down to the Middle Ages. The conquering Chou established their garrisons everywhere, and these garrisons were surrounded by the quarters of artisans and by the villages of peasants, a process that ate into the pasturage of the Turkish and Mongolian nomads. These nomads, as already mentioned, pursued agriculture themselves on a small scale, but it occurred to them that they could get farm produce much more easily by barter or by raiding. Accordingly they gradually gave up cultivation and became pure nomads, procuring the needed farm produce from their neighbours. This abandonment of agriculture brought them into a precarious situation: if for any reason the Chinese stopped supplying or demanded excessive barter payment, the nomads had to go hungry. They were then virtually driven to get what they needed by raiding. Thus there developed a mutual reaction that lasted for centuries. Some of the nomadic tribes living between garrisons withdrew, to escape from the growing pressure, mainly into the province of Shansi, where the influence of the Chou was weak and they were not numerous; some of the nomad chiefs lost their lives in battle, and some learned from the Chou lords and turned themselves into petty rulers. A number of "marginal" states began to develop; some of them even built their own cities. This process of transformation of agro-nomadic tribes into "warrior-nomadic" tribes continued over many centuries and came to an end in the third or second century B.C. The result of the three centuries that had passed was a symbiosis between the urban aristocrats and the country-people. The rulers of the towns took over from the general population almost the whole vocabulary of the language which from now on we may call "Chinese". They naturally took over elements of the material civilization. The subjugated population had, meanwhile, to adjust itself to its lords. In the organism that thus developed, with its unified economic system, the conquerors became an aristocratic ruling class, and the subjugated population became a lower class, with varied elements but mainly a peasantry. From now on we may call this society "Chinese"; it has endured to the middle of the twentieth century. Most later essential societal changes are the result of internal development and not of aggression from without. 4 _Limitation of the imperial power_ In 771 B.C. an alliance of northern feudal states had attacked the ruler in his western capital; in a battle close to the city they had overcome and killed him. This campaign appears to have set in motion considerable groups from various tribes, so that almost the whole province of Shensi was lost. With the aid of some feudal lords who had remained loyal, a Chou prince was rescued and conducted eastward to the second capital, Loyang, which until then had never been the ruler's actual place of residence. In this rescue a lesser feudal prince, ruler of the feudal state of Ch'in, specially distinguished himself. Soon afterwards this prince, whose domain had lain close to that of the ruler, reconquered a great part of the lost territory, and thereafter regarded it as his own fief. The Ch'in family resided in the same capital in which the Chou had lived in the past, and five hundred years later we shall meet with them again as the dynasty that succeeded the Chou. The new ruler, resident now in Loyang, was foredoomed to impotence. He was now in the centre of the country, and less exposed to large-scale enemy attacks; but his actual rule extended little beyond the town itself and its immediate environment. Moreover, attacks did not entirely cease; several times parts of the indigenous population living between the Chou towns rose against the towns, even in the centre of the country. Now that the emperor had no territory that could be the basis of a strong rule and, moreover, because he owed his position to the feudal lords and was thus under an obligation to them, he ruled no longer as the chief of the feudal lords but as a sort of sanctified overlord; and this was the position of all his successors. A situation was formed at first that may be compared with that of Japan down to the middle of the nineteenth century. The ruler was a symbol rather than an exerciser of power. There had to be a supreme ruler because, in the worship of Heaven which was recognized by all the feudal lords, the supreme sacrifices could only be offered by the Son of Heaven in person. There could not be a number of sons of heaven because there were not a number of heavens. The imperial sacrifices secured that all should be in order in the country, and that the necessary equilibrium between Heaven and Earth should be maintained. For in the religion of Heaven there was a close parallelism between Heaven and Earth, and every omission of a sacrifice, or failure to offer it in due form, brought down a reaction from Heaven. For these religious reasons a central ruler was a necessity for the feudal lords. They needed him also for practical reasons. In the course of centuries the personal relationship between the various feudal lords had ceased. Their original kinship and united struggles had long been forgotten. When the various feudal lords proceeded to subjugate the territories at a distance from their towns, in order to turn their city states into genuine territorial states, they came into conflict with each other. In the course of these struggles for power many of the small fiefs were simply destroyed. It may fairly be said that not until the eighth and seventh centuries B.C. did the old garrison towns became real states. In these circumstances the struggles between the feudal states called urgently for an arbiter, to settle simple cases, and in more difficult cases either to try to induce other feudal lords to intervene or to give sanction to the new situation. These were the only governing functions of the ruler from the time of the transfer to the second capital. 5 _Changes in the relative strength of the feudal states_ In these disturbed times China also made changes in her outer frontiers. When we speak of frontiers in this connection, we must take little account of the European conception of a frontier. No frontier in that sense existed in China until her conflict with the European powers. In the dogma of the Chinese religion of Heaven, all the countries of the world were subject to the Chinese emperor, the Son of Heaven. Thus there could be no such thing as other independent states. In practice the dependence of various regions on the ruler naturally varied: near the centre, that is to say near the ruler's place of residence, it was most pronounced; then it gradually diminished in the direction of the periphery. The feudal lords of the inner territories were already rather less subordinated than at the centre, and those at a greater distance scarcely at all; at a still greater distance were territories whose chieftains regarded themselves as independent, subject only in certain respects to Chinese overlordship. In such a system it is difficult to speak of frontiers. In practice there was, of course, a sort of frontier, where the influence of the outer feudal lords ceased to exist. The development of the original feudal towns into feudal states with actual dominion over their territories proceeded, of course, not only in the interior of China but also on its borders, where the feudal territories had the advantage of more unrestricted opportunities of expansion; thus they became more and more powerful. In the south (that is to say, in the south of the Chou empire, in the present central China) the garrisons that founded feudal states were relatively small and widely separated; consequently their cultural system was largely absorbed into that of the aboriginal population, so that they developed into feudal states with a character of their own. Three of these attained special importance--(1) Ch'u, in the neighbourhood of the present Chungking and Hankow; (2) Wu, near the present Nanking; and (3) Yüeh, near the present Hangchow. In 704 B.C. the feudal prince of Wu proclaimed himself "Wang". "Wang", however was the title of the ruler of the Chou dynasty. This meant that Wu broke away from the old Chou religion of Heaven, according to which there could be only one ruler (_wang_) in the world. At the beginning of the seventh century it became customary for the ruler to unite with the feudal lord who was most powerful at the time. This feudal lord became a dictator, and had the military power in his hands, like the shoguns in nineteenth-century Japan. If there was a disturbance of the peace, he settled the matter by military means. The first of these dictators was the feudal lord of the state of Ch'i, in the present province of Shantung. This feudal state had grown considerably through the conquest of the outer end of the peninsula of Shantung, which until then had been independent. Moreover, and this was of the utmost importance, the state of Ch'i was a trade centre. Much of the bronze, and later all the iron, for use in northern China came from the south by road and in ships that went up the rivers to Ch'i, where it was distributed among the various regions of the north, north-east, and north-west. In addition to this, through its command of portions of the coast, Ch'i had the means of producing salt, with which it met the needs of great areas of eastern China. It was also in Ch'i that money was first used. Thus Ch'i soon became a place of great luxury, far surpassing the court of the Chou, and Ch'i also became the centre of the most developed civilization. [Illustration: Map 2: The principal feudal States in the feudal epoch. (_roughly 722-481 B.C._)] After the feudal lord of Ch'i, supported by the wealth and power of his feudal state, became dictator, he had to struggle not only against other feudal lords, but also many times against risings among the most various parts of the population, and especially against the nomad tribes in the southern part of the present province of Shansi. In the seventh century not only Ch'i but the other feudal states had expanded. The regions in which the nomad tribes were able to move had grown steadily smaller, and the feudal lords now set to work to bring the nomads of their country under their direct rule. The greatest conflict of this period was the attack in 660 B.C. against the feudal state of Wei, in northern Honan. The nomad tribes seem this time to have been proto-Mongols; they made a direct attack on the garrison town and actually conquered it. The remnant of the urban population, no more than 730 in number, had to flee southward. It is clear from this incident that nomads were still living in the middle of China, within the territory of the feudal states, and that they were still decidedly strong, though no longer in a position to get rid entirely of the feudal lords of the Chou. The period of the dictators came to an end after about a century, because it was found that none of the feudal states was any longer strong enough to exercise control over all the others. These others formed alliances against which the dictator was powerless. Thus this period passed into the next, which the Chinese call the period of the Contending States. 6 _Confucius_ After this survey of the political history we must consider the intellectual history of this period, for between 550 and 280 B.C. the enduring fundamental influences in the Chinese social order and in the whole intellectual life of China had their original. We saw how the priests of the earlier dynasty of the Shang developed into the group of so-called "scholars". When the Chou ruler, after the move to the second capital, had lost virtually all but his religious authority, these "scholars" gained increased influence. They were the specialists in traditional morals, in sacrifices, and in the organization of festivals. The continually increasing ritualism at the court of the Chou called for more and more of these men. The various feudal lords also attracted these scholars to their side, employed them as tutors for their children, and entrusted them with the conduct of sacrifices and festivals. China's best-known philosopher, Confucius (Chinese: K'ung Tz[)u], was one of these scholars. He was born in 551 B.C. in the feudal state Lu in the present province of Shantung. In Lu and its neighbouring state Sung, institutions of the Shang had remained strong; both states regarded themselves as legitimate heirs of Shang culture, and many traces of Shang culture can be seen in Confucius's political and ethical ideas. He acquired the knowledge which a scholar had to possess, and then taught in the families of nobles, also helping in the administration of their properties. He made several attempts to obtain advancement, either in vain or with only a short term of employment ending in dismissal. Thus his career was a continuing pilgrimage from one noble to another, from one feudal lord to another, accompanied by a few young men, sons of scholars, who were partly his pupils and partly his servants. Many of these disciples seem to have been "illegitimate" sons of noblemen, i.e. sons of concubines, and Confucius's own family seems to have been of the same origin. In the strongly patriarchal and patrilinear system of the Chou and the developing primogeniture, children of secondary wives had a lower social status. Ultimately Confucius gave up his wanderings, settled in his home town of Lu, and there taught his disciples until his death in 479 B.C. Such was briefly the life of Confucius. His enemies claim that he was a political intriguer, inciting the feudal lords against each other in the course of his wanderings from one state to another, with the intention of somewhere coming into power himself. There may, indeed, be some truth in that. Confucius's importance lies in the fact that he systematized a body of ideas, not of his own creation, and communicated it to a circle of disciples. His teachings were later set down in writing and formed, right down to the twentieth century, the moral code of the upper classes of China. Confucius was fully conscious of his membership of a social class whose existence was tied to that of the feudal lords. With their disappearance, his type of scholar would become superfluous. The common people, the lower class, was in his view in an entirely subordinate position. Thus his moral teaching is a code for the ruling class. Accordingly it retains almost unaltered the elements of the old cult of Heaven, following the old tradition inherited from the northern peoples. For him Heaven is not an arbitrarily governing divine tyrant, but the embodiment of a system of legality. Heaven does not act independently, but follows a universal law, the so-called "Tao". Just as sun, moon, and stars move in the heavens in accordance with law, so man should conduct himself on earth in accord with the universal law, not against it. The ruler should not actively intervene in day-to-day policy, but should only act by setting an example, like Heaven; he should observe the established ceremonies, and offer all sacrifices in accordance with the rites, and then all else will go well in the world. The individual, too, should be guided exactly in his life by the prescriptions of the rites, so that harmony with the law of the universe may be established. A second idea of the Confucian system came also from the old conceptions of the Chou conquerors, and thus originally from the northern peoples. This is the patriarchal idea, according to which the family is the cell of society, and at the head of the family stands the eldest male adult as a sort of patriarch. The state is simply an extension of the family, "state", of course, meaning simply the class of the feudal lords (the "chün-tz[)u]"). And the organization of the family is also that of the world of the gods. Within the family there are a number of ties, all of them, however, one-sided: that of father to son (the son having to obey the father unconditionally and having no rights of his own;) that of husband to wife (the wife had no rights); that of elder to younger brother. An extension of these is the association of friend with friend, which is conceived as an association between an elder and a younger brother. The final link, and the only one extending beyond the family and uniting it with the state, is the association of the ruler with the subject, a replica of that between father and son. The ruler in turn is in the position of son to Heaven. Thus in Confucianism the cult of Heaven, the family system, and the state are welded into unity. The frictionless functioning of this whole system is effected by everyone adhering to the rites, which prescribe every important action. It is necessary, of course, that in a large family, in which there may be up to a hundred persons living together, there shall be a precisely established ordering of relationships between individuals if there is not to be continual friction. Since the scholars of Confucius's type specialized in the knowledge and conduct of ceremonies, Confucius gave ritualism a correspondingly important place both in spiritual and in practical life. So far as we have described it above, the teaching of Confucius was a further development of the old cult of Heaven. Through bitter experience, however, Confucius had come to realize that nothing could be done with the ruling house as it existed in his day. So shadowy a figure as the Chou ruler of that time could not fulfil what Confucius required of the "Son of Heaven". But the opinions of students of Confucius's actual ideas differ. Some say that in the only book in which he personally had a hand, the so-called _Annals of Spring and Autumn_, he intended to set out his conception of the character of a true emperor; others say that in that book he showed how he would himself have acted as emperor, and that he was only awaiting an opportunity to make himself emperor. He was called indeed, at a later time, the "uncrowned ruler". In any case, the _Annals of Spring and Autumn_ seem to be simply a dry work of annals, giving the history of his native state of Lu on the basis of the older documents available to him. In his text, however, Confucius made small changes by means of which he expressed criticism or recognition; in this way he indirectly made known how in his view a ruler should act or should not act. He did not shrink from falsifying history, as can today be demonstrated. Thus on one occasion a ruler had to flee from a feudal prince, which in Confucius's view was impossible behaviour for the ruler; accordingly he wrote instead that the ruler went on a hunting expedition. Elsewhere he tells of an eclipse of the sun on a certain day, on which in fact there was no eclipse. By writing of an eclipse he meant to criticize the way a ruler had acted, for the sun symbolized the ruler, and the eclipse meant that the ruler had not been guided by divine illumination. The demonstration that the _Annals of Spring and Autumn_ can only be explained in this way was the achievement some thirty-five years ago of Otto Franke, and through this discovery Confucius's work, which the old sinologists used to describe as a dry and inadequate book, has become of special value to us. The book ends with the year 481 B.C., and in spite of its distortions it is the principal source for the two-and-a-half centuries with which it deals. Rendered alert by this experience, we are able to see and to show that most of the other later official works of history follow the example of the _Annals of Spring and Autumn_ in containing things that have been deliberately falsified. This is especially so in the work called _T'ung-chien kang-mu_, which was the source of the history of the Chinese empire translated into French by de Mailla. Apart from Confucius's criticism of the inadequate capacity of the emperor of his day, there is discernible, though only in the form of cryptic hints, a fundamentally important progressive idea. It is that a nobleman (chün-tz[)u] should not be a member of the ruling _élite_ by right of birth alone, but should be a man of superior moral qualities. From Confucius on, "chün-tz[)u]" became to mean "a gentleman". Consequently, a country should not be ruled by a dynasty based on inheritance through birth, but by members of the nobility who show outstanding moral qualification for rulership. That is to say, the rule should pass from the worthiest to the worthiest, the successor first passing through a period of probation as a minister of state. In an unscrupulous falsification of the tradition, Confucius declared that this principle was followed in early times. It is probably safe to assume that Confucius had in view here an eventual justification of claims to rulership of his own. Thus Confucius undoubtedly had ideas of reform, but he did not interfere with the foundations of feudalism. For the rest, his system consists only of a social order and a moral teaching. Metaphysics, logic, epistemology, i.e. branches of philosophy which played so great a part in the West, are of no interest to him. Nor can he be described as the founder of a religion; for the cult of Heaven of which he speaks and which he takes over existed in exactly the same form before his day. He is merely the man who first systematized those notions. He had no successes in his lifetime and gained no recognition; nor did his disciples or their disciples gain any general recognition; his work did not become of importance until some three hundred years after his death, when in the second century B.C. his teaching was adjusted to the new social conditions: out of a moral system for the decaying feudal society of the past centuries developed the ethic of the rising social order of the gentry. The gentry (in much the same way as the European bourgeoisie) continually claimed that there should be access for every civilized citizen to the highest places in the social pyramid, and the rules of Confucianism became binding on every member of society if he was to be considered a gentleman. Only then did Confucianism begin to develop into the imposing system that dominated China almost down to the present day. Confucianism did not become a religion. It was comparable to the later Japanese Shintoism, or to a group of customs among us which we all observe, if we do not want to find ourselves excluded from our community, but which we should never describe as religion. We stand up when the national anthem is played, we give precedency to older people, we erect war memorials and decorate them with flowers, and by these and many other things show our sense of belonging. A similar but much more conscious and much more powerful part was played by Confucianism in the life of the average Chinese, though he was not necessarily interested in philosophical ideas. While the West has set up the ideal of individualism and is suffering now because it no longer has any ethical system to which individuals voluntarily submit; while for the Indians the social problem consisted in the solving of the question how every man could be enabled to live his life with as little disturbance as possible from his fellow-men, Confucianism solved the problem of how families with groups of hundreds of members could live together in peace and co-operation in a densely populated country. Everyone knew his position in the family and so, in a broader sense, in the state; and this prescribed his rights and duties. We may feel that the rules to which he was subjected were pedantic; but there was no limit to their effectiveness: they reduced to a minimum the friction that always occurs when great masses of people live close together; they gave Chinese society the strength through which it has endured; they gave security to its individuals. China's first real social crisis after the collapse of feudalism, that is to say, after the fourth or third century B.C., began only in the present century with the collapse of the social order of the gentry and the breakdown of the family system. 7 _Lao Tz[)u]_ In eighteenth-century Europe Confucius was the only Chinese philosopher held in regard; in the last hundred years, the years of Europe's internal crisis, the philosopher Lao Tz[)u] steadily advanced in repute, so that his book was translated almost a hundred times into various European languages. According to the general view among the Chinese, Lao Tz[)u] was an older contemporary of Confucius; recent Chinese and Western research (A. Waley; H.H. Dubs) has contested this view and places Lao Tz[)u] in the latter part of the fourth century B.C., or even later. Virtually nothing at all is known about his life; the oldest biography of Lao Tz[)u], written about 100 B.C., says that he lived as an official at the ruler's court and, one day, became tired of the life of an official and withdrew from the capital to his estate, where he died in old age. This, too, may be legendary, but it fits well into the picture given to us by Lao Tz[)u]'s teaching and by the life of his later followers. From the second century A.D., that is to say at least four hundred years after his death, there are legends of his migrating to the far west. Still later narratives tell of his going to Turkestan (where a temple was actually built in his honour in the Medieval period); according to other sources he travelled as far as India or Sogdiana (Samarkand and Bokhara), where according to some accounts he was the teacher or forerunner of Buddha, and according to others of Mani, the founder of Manichaeism. For all this there is not a vestige of documentary evidence. Lao Tz[)u]'s teaching is contained in a small book, the _Tao Tê Ching_, the "Book of the World Law and its Power". The book is written in quite simple language, at times in rhyme, but the sense is so vague that countless versions, differing radically from each other, can be based on it, and just as many translations are possible, all philologically defensible. This vagueness is deliberate. Lao Tz[)u]'s teaching is essentially an effort to bring man's life on earth into harmony with the life and law of the universe (Tao). This was also Confucius's purpose. But while Confucius set out to attain that purpose in a sort of primitive scientific way, by laying down a number of rules of human conduct, Lao Tz[)u] tries to attain his ideal by an intuitive, emotional method. Lao Tz[)u] is always described as a mystic, but perhaps this is not entirely appropriate; it must be borne in mind that in his time the Chinese language, spoken and written, still had great difficulties in the expression of ideas. In reading Lao Tz[)u]'s book we feel that he is trying to express something for which the language of his day was inadequate; and what he wanted to express belonged to the emotional, not the intellectual, side of the human character, so that any perfectly clear expression of it in words was entirely impossible. It must be borne in mind that the Chinese language lacks definite word categories like substantive, adjective, adverb, or verb; any word can be used now in one category and now in another, with a few exceptions; thus the understanding of a combination like "white horse" formed a difficult logical problem for the thinker of the fourth century B.C.: did it mean "white" plus "horse"? Or was "white horse" no longer a horse at all but something quite different? Confucius's way of bringing human life into harmony with the life of the universe was to be a process of assimilating Man as a social being, Man in his social environment, to Nature, and of so maintaining his activity within the bounds of the community. Lao Tz[)u] pursues another path, the path for those who feel disappointed with life in the community. A Taoist, as a follower of Lao Tz[)u] is called, withdraws from all social life, and carries out none of the rites and ceremonies which a man of the upper class should observe throughout the day. He lives in self-imposed seclusion, in an elaborate primitivity which is often described in moving terms that are almost convincing of actual "primitivity". Far from the city, surrounded by Nature, the Taoist lives his own life, together with a few friends and his servants, entirely according to his nature. His own nature, like everything else, represents for him a part of the Tao, and the task of the individual consists in the most complete adherence to the Tao that is conceivable, as far as possible performing no act that runs counter to the Tao. This is the main element of Lao Tz[)u]'s doctrine, the doctrine of _wu-wei_, "passive achievement". Lao Tz[)u] seems to have thought that this doctrine could be applied to the life of the state. He assumed that an ideal life in society was possible if everyone followed his own nature entirely and no artificial restrictions were imposed. Thus he writes: "The more the people are forbidden to do this and that, the poorer will they be. The more sharp weapons the people possess, the more will darkness and bewilderment spread through the land. The more craft and cunning men have, the more useless and pernicious contraptions will they invent. The more laws and edicts are imposed, the more thieves and bandits there will be. 'If I work through Non-action,' says the Sage, 'the people will transform themselves.'"[1] Thus according to Lao Tz[)u], who takes the existence of a monarchy for granted, the ruler must treat his subjects as follows: "By emptying their hearts of desire and their minds of envy, and by filling their stomachs with what they need; by reducing their ambitions and by strengthening their bones and sinews; by striving to keep them without the knowledge of what is evil and without cravings. Thus are the crafty ones given no scope for tempting interference. For it is by Non-action that the Sage governs, and nothing is really left uncontrolled."[2] [Footnote 1: _The Way of Acceptance_: a new version of Lao Tz[)u]'s _Tao Tê Ching_, by Hermon Ould (Dakers, 1946), Ch. 57.] [Footnote 2: _The Way of Acceptance_, Ch. 3.] Lao Tz[)u] did not live to learn that such rule of good government would be followed by only one sort of rulers--dictators; and as a matter of fact the "Legalist theory" which provided the philosophic basis for dictatorship in the third century B.C. was attributable to Lao Tz[)u]. He was not thinking, however, of dictatorship; he was an individualistic anarchist, believing that if there were no active government all men would be happy. Then everyone could attain unity with Nature for himself. Thus we find in Lao Tz[)u], and later in all other Taoists, a scornful repudiation of all social and official obligations. An answer that became famous was given by the Taoist Chuang Tz[)u] (see below) when it was proposed to confer high office in the state on him (the story may or may not be true, but it is typical of Taoist thought): "I have heard," he replied, "that in Ch'u there is a tortoise sacred to the gods. It has now been dead for 3,000 years, and the king keeps it in a shrine with silken cloths, and gives it shelter in the halls of a temple. Which do you think that tortoise would prefer--to be dead and have its vestigial bones so honoured, or to be still alive and dragging its tail after it in the mud?" the officials replied: "No doubt it would prefer to be alive and dragging its tail after it in the mud." Then spoke Chuang Tz[)u]: "Begone! I, too, would rather drag my tail after me in the mud!" (Chuang Tz[)u] 17, 10.) The true Taoist withdraws also from his family. Typical of this is another story, surely apocryphal, from Chuang Tz[)u] (Ch. 3, 3). At the death of Lao Tz[)u] a disciple went to the family and expressed his sympathy quite briefly and formally. The other disciples were astonished, and asked his reason. He said: "Yes, at first I thought that he was our man, but he is not. When I went to grieve, the old men were bewailing him as though they were bewailing a son, and the young wept as though they were mourning a mother. To bind them so closely to himself, he must have spoken words which he should not have spoken, and wept tears which he should not have wept. That, however, is a falling away from the heavenly nature." Lao Tz[)u]'s teaching, like that of Confucius, cannot be described as religion; like Confucius's, it is a sort of social philosophy, but of irrationalistic character. Thus it was quite possible, and later it became the rule, for one and the same person to be both Confucian and Taoist. As an official and as the head of his family, a man would think and act as a Confucian; as a private individual, when he had retired far from the city to live in his country mansion (often modestly described as a cave or a thatched hut), or when he had been dismissed from his post or suffered some other trouble, he would feel and think as a Taoist. In order to live as a Taoist it was necessary, of course, to possess such an estate, to which a man could retire with his servants, and where he could live without himself doing manual work. This difference between the Confucian and the Taoist found a place in the works of many Chinese poets. I take the following quotation from an essay by the statesman and poet Ts'ao Chih, of the end of the second century A.D.: "Master Mysticus lived in deep seclusion on a mountain in the wilderness; he had withdrawn as in flight from the world, desiring to purify his spirit and give rest to his heart. He despised official activity, and no longer maintained any relations with the world; he sought quiet and freedom from care, in order in this way to attain everlasting life. He did nothing but send his thoughts wandering between sky and clouds, and consequently there was nothing worldly that could attract and tempt him. [Illustration: 1 Painted pottery from Kansu: Neolithic. _In the collection of the Museum für Völkerkunde, Berlin_.] [Illustration: 2 Ancient bronze tripod found at Anyang. _From G. Ecke: Frühe chinesische Bronzen aus der Sammlung Oskar Trautmann, Peking_ 1939, _plate_ 3.] "When Mr. Rationalist heard of this man, he desired to visit him, in order to persuade him to alter his views. He harnessed four horses, who could quickly traverse the plain, and entered his light fast carriage. He drove through the plain, leaving behind him the ruins of abandoned settlements; he entered the boundless wilderness, and finally reached the dwelling of Master Mysticus. Here there was a waterfall on one side, and on the other were high crags; at the back a stream flowed deep down in its bed, and in front was an odorous wood. The master wore a white doeskin cap and a striped fox-pelt. He came forward from a cave buried in the mountain, leaned against the tall crag, and enjoyed the prospect of wild nature. His ideas floated on the breezes, and he looked as if the wide spaces of the heavens and the countries of the earth were too narrow for him; as if he was going to fly but had not yet left the ground; as if he had already spread his wings but wanted to wait a moment. Mr. Rationalist climbed up with the aid of vine shoots, reached the top of the crag, and stepped up to him, saying very respectfully: "'I have heard that a man of nobility does not flee from society, but seeks to gain fame; a man of wisdom does not swim against the current, but seeks to earn repute. You, however, despise the achievements of civilization and culture; you have no regard for the splendour of philanthropy and justice; you squander your powers here in the wilderness and neglect ordered relations between man....'" Frequently Master Mysticus and Mr. Rationalist were united in a single person. Thus, Shih Ch'ung wrote in an essay on himself: "In my youth I had great ambition and wanted to stand out above the multitude. Thus it happened that at a little over twenty years of age I was already a court official; I remained in the service for twenty-five years. When I was fifty I had to give up my post because of an unfortunate occurrence.... The older I became, the more I appreciated the freedom I had acquired; and as I loved forest and plain, I retired to my villa. When I built this villa, a long embankment formed the boundary behind it; in front the prospect extended over a clear canal; all around grew countless cypresses, and flowing water meandered round the house. There were pools there, and outlook towers; I bred birds and fishes. In my harem there were always good musicians who played dance tunes. When I went out I enjoyed nature or hunted birds and fished. When I came home, I enjoyed playing the lute or reading; I also liked to concoct an elixir of life and to take breathing exercises,[3] because I did not want to die, but wanted one day to lift myself to the skies, like an immortal genius. Suddenly I was drawn back into the official career, and became once more one of the dignitaries of the Emperor." [Footnote 3: Both Taoist practices.] Thus Lao Tz[)u]'s individualist and anarchist doctrine was not suited to form the basis of a general Chinese social order, and its employment in support of dictatorship was certainly not in the spirit of Lao Tz[)u]. Throughout history, however, Taoism remained the philosophic attitude of individuals of the highest circle of society; its real doctrine never became popularly accepted; for the strong feeling for nature that distinguishes the Chinese, and their reluctance to interfere in the sanctified order of nature by technical and other deliberate acts, was not actually a result of Lao Tz[)u]'s teaching, but one of the fundamentals from which his ideas started. If the date assigned to Lao Tz[)u] by present-day research (the fourth instead of the sixth century B.C.) is correct, he was more or less contemporary with Chuang Tz[)u], who was probably the most gifted poet among the Chinese philosophers and Taoists. A thin thread extends from them as far as the fourth century A.D.: Huai-nan Tz[)u], Chung-ch'ang T'ung, Yüan Chi (210-263), Liu Ling (221-300), and T'ao Ch'ien (365-427), are some of the most eminent names of Taoist philosophers. After that the stream of original thought dried up, and we rarely find a new idea among the late Taoists. These gentlemen living on their estates had acquired a new means of expressing their inmost feelings: they wrote poetry and, above all, painted. Their poems and paintings contain in a different outward form what Lao Tz[)u] had tried to express with the inadequate means of the language of his day. Thus Lao Tz[)u]'s teaching has had the strongest influence to this day in this field, and has inspired creative work which is among the finest achievements of mankind. Chapter Four THE CONTENDING STATES (481-256 B.C.): DISSOLUTION OF THE FEUDAL SYSTEM 1 _Social and military changes_ The period following that of the Chou dictatorships is known as that of the Contending States. Out of over a thousand states, fourteen remained, of which, in the period that now followed, one after another disappeared, until only one remained. This period is the fullest, or one of the fullest, of strife in all Chinese history. The various feudal states had lost all sense of allegiance to the ruler, and acted in entire independence. It is a pure fiction to speak of a Chinese State in this period; the emperor had no more power than the ruler of the Holy Roman Empire in the late medieval period of Europe, and the so-called "feudal states" of China can be directly compared with the developing national states of Europe. A comparison of this period with late medieval Europe is, indeed, of highest interest. If we adopt a political system of periodization, we might say that around 500 B.C. the unified feudal state of the first period of Antiquity came to an end and the second, a period of the national states began, although formally, the feudal system continued and the national states still retained many feudal traits. As none of these states was strong enough to control and subjugate the rest, alliances were formed. The most favoured union was the north-south axis; it struggled against an east-west league. The alliances were not stable but broke up again and again through bribery or intrigue, which produced new combinations. We must confine ourselves to mentioning the most important of the events that took place behind this military façade. Through the continual struggles more and more feudal lords lost their lands; and not only they, but the families of the nobles dependent on them, who had received so-called sub-fiefs. Some of the landless nobles perished; some offered their services to the remaining feudal lords as soldiers or advisers. Thus in this period we meet with a large number of migratory politicians who became competitors of the wandering scholars. Both these groups recommended to their lord ways and means of gaining victory over the other feudal lords, so as to become sole ruler. In order to carry out their plans the advisers claimed the rank of a Minister or Chancellor. Realistic though these advisers and their lords were in their thinking, they did not dare to trample openly on the old tradition. The emperor might in practice be a completely powerless figurehead, but he belonged nevertheless, according to tradition, to a family of divine origin, which had obtained its office not merely by the exercise of force but through a "divine mandate". Accordingly, if one of the feudal lords thought of putting forward a claim to the imperial throne, he felt compelled to demonstrate that his family was just as much of divine origin as the emperor's, and perhaps of remoter origin. In this matter the travelling "scholars" rendered valuable service as manufacturers of genealogical trees. Each of the old noble families already had its family tree, as an indispensable requisite for the sacrifices to ancestors. But in some cases this tree began as a branch of that of the imperial family: this was the case of the feudal lords who were of imperial descent and whose ancestors had been granted fiefs after the conquest of the country. Others, however, had for their first ancestor a local deity long worshipped in the family's home country, such as the ancient agrarian god Huang Ti, or the bovine god Shen Nung. Here the "scholars" stepped in, turning the local deities into human beings and "emperors". This suddenly gave the noble family concerned an imperial origin. Finally, order was brought into this collection of ancient emperors. They were arranged and connected with each other in "dynasties" or in some other "historical" form. Thus at a stroke Huang Ti, who about 450 B.C. had been a local god in the region of southern Shansi, became the forefather of almost all the noble families, including that of the imperial house of the Chou. Needless to say, there would be discrepancies between the family trees constructed by the various scholars for their lords, and later, when this problem had lost its political importance, the commentators laboured for centuries on the elaboration of an impeccable system of "ancient emperors"--and to this day there are sinologists who continue to present these humanized gods as historical personalities. In the earlier wars fought between the nobles they were themselves the actual combatants, accompanied only by their retinue. As the struggles for power grew in severity, each noble hired such mercenaries as he could, for instance the landless nobles just mentioned. Very soon it became the custom to arm peasants and send them to the wars. This substantially increased the armies. The numbers of soldiers who were killed in particular battles may have been greatly exaggerated (in a single battle in 260 B.C., for instance, the number who lost their lives was put at 450,000, a quite impossible figure); but there must have been armies of several thousand men, perhaps as many as 10,000. The population had grown considerably by that time. The armies of the earlier period consisted mainly of the nobles in their war chariots; each chariot surrounded by the retinue of the nobleman. Now came large troops of commoners as infantry as well, drawn from the peasant population. To these, cavalry were first added in the fifth century B.C., by the northern state of Chao (in the present Shansi), following the example of its Turkish and Mongol neighbours. The general theory among ethnologists is that the horse was first harnessed to a chariot, and that riding came much later; but it is my opinion that riders were known earlier, but could not be efficiently employed in war because the practice had not begun of fighting in disciplined troops of horsemen, and the art had not been learnt of shooting accurately with the bow from the back of a galloping horse, especially shooting to the rear. In any case, its cavalry gave the feudal state of Chao a military advantage for a short time. Soon the other northern states copied it one after another--especially Ch'in, in north-west China. The introduction of cavalry brought a change in clothing all over China, for the former long skirt-like garb could not be worn on horseback. Trousers and the riding-cap were introduced from the north. The new technique of war made it important for every state to possess as many soldiers as possible, and where it could to reduce the enemy's numbers. One result of this was that wars became much more sanguinary; another was that men in other countries were induced to immigrate and settle as peasants, so that the taxes they paid should provide the means for further recruitment of soldiers. In the state of Ch'in, especially, the practice soon started of using the whole of the peasantry simultaneously as a rough soldiery. Hence that state was particularly anxious to attract peasants in large numbers. 2 _Economic changes_ In the course of the wars much land of former noblemen had become free. Often the former serfs had then silently become landowners. Others had started to cultivate empty land in the area inhabited by the indigenous population and regarded this land, which they themselves had made fertile, as their private family property. There was, in spite of the growth of the population, still much cultivable land available. Victorious feudal lords induced farmers to come to their territory and to cultivate the wasteland. This is a period of great migrations, internal and external. It seems that from this period on not only merchants but also farmers began to migrate southward into the area of the present provinces of Kwangtung and Kwangsi and as far as Tonking. As long as the idea that all land belonged to the great clans of the Chou prevailed, sale of land was inconceivable; but when individual family heads acquired land or cultivated new land, they regarded it as their natural right to dispose of the land as they wished. From now on until the end of the medieval period, the family head as representative of the family could sell or buy land. However, the land belonged to the family and not to him as a person. This development was favoured by the spread of money. In time land in general became an asset with a market value and could be bought and sold. Another important change can be seen from this time on. Under the feudal system of the Chou strict primogeniture among the nobility existed: the fief went to the oldest son by the main wife. The younger sons were given independent pieces of land with its inhabitants as new, secondary fiefs. With the increase in population there was no more such land that could be set up as a new fief. From now on, primogeniture was retained in the field of ritual and religion down to the present time: only the oldest son of the main wife represents the family in the ancestor worship ceremonies; only the oldest son of the emperor could become his successor. But the landed property from now on was equally divided among all sons. Occasionally the oldest son was given some extra land to enable him to pay the expenses for the family ancestral worship. Mobile property, on the other side, was not so strictly regulated and often the oldest son was given preferential treatment in the inheritance. The technique of cultivation underwent some significant changes. The animal-drawn plough seems to have been invented during this period, and from now on, some metal agricultural implements like iron sickles and iron plough-shares became more common. A fallow system was introduced so that cultivation became more intensive. Manuring of fields was already known in Shang time. It seems that the consumption of meat decreased from this period on: less mutton and beef were eaten. Pig and dog became the main sources of meat, and higher consumption of beans made up for the loss of proteins. All this indicates a strong population increase. We have no statistics for this period, but by 400 B.C. it is conceivable that the population under the control of the various individual states comprised something around twenty-five millions. The eastern plains emerge more and more as centres of production. The increased use of metal and the invention of coins greatly stimulated trade. Iron which now became quite common, was produced mainly in Shansi, other metals in South China. But what were the traders to do with their profits? Even later in China, and almost down to recent times, it was never possible to hoard large quantities of money. Normally the money was of copper, and a considerable capital in the form of copper coin took up a good deal of room and was not easy to conceal. If anyone had much money, everyone in his village knew it. No one dared to hoard to any extent for fear of attracting bandits and creating lasting insecurity. On the other hand the merchants wanted to attain the standard of living which the nobles, the landowners, used to have. Thus they began to invest their money in land. This was all the easier for them since it often happened that one of the lesser nobles or a peasant fell deeply into debt to a merchant and found himself compelled to give up his land in payment of the debt. Soon the merchants took over another function. So long as there had been many small feudal states, and the feudal lords had created lesser lords with small fiefs, it had been a simple matter for the taxes to be collected, in the form of grain, from the peasants through the agents of the lesser lords. Now that there were only a few great states in existence, the old system was no longer effectual. This gave the merchants their opportunity. The rulers of the various states entrusted the merchants with the collection of taxes, and this had great advantages for the ruler: he could obtain part of the taxes at once, as the merchant usually had grain in stock, or was himself a landowner and could make advances at any time. Through having to pay the taxes to the merchant, the village population became dependent on him. Thus the merchants developed into the first administrative officials in the provinces. In connection with the growth of business, the cities kept on growing. It is estimated that at the beginning of the third century, the city of Lin-chin, near the present Chi-nan in Shantung, had a population of 210,000 persons. Each of its walls had a length of 4,000 metres; thus, it was even somewhat larger than the famous city of Loyang, capital of China during the Later Han dynasty, in the second century A.D. Several other cities of this period have been recently excavated and must have had populations far above 10,000 persons. There were two types of cities: the rectangular, planned city of the Chou conquerors, a seat of administration; and the irregularly shaped city which grew out of a market place and became only later an administrative centre. We do not know much about the organization and administration of these cities, but they seem to have had considerable independence because some of them issued their own city coins. When these cities grew, the food produced in the neighbourhood of the towns no longer sufficed for their inhabitants. This led to the building of roads, which also facilitated the transport of supplies for great armies. These roads mainly radiated from the centre of consumption into the surrounding country, and they were less in use for communication between one administrative centre and another. For long journeys the rivers were of more importance, since transport by wagon was always expensive owing to the shortage of draught animals. Thus we see in this period the first important construction of canals and a development of communications. With the canal construction was connected the construction of irrigation and drainage systems, which further promoted agricultural production. The cities were places in which often great luxury developed; music, dance, and other refinements were cultivated; but the cities also seem to have harboured considerable industries. Expensive and technically superior silks were woven; painters decorated the walls of temples and palaces; blacksmiths and bronze-smiths produced beautiful vessels and implements. It seems certain that the art of casting iron and the beginnings of the production of steel were already known at this time. The life of the commoners in these cities was regulated by laws; the first codes are mentioned in 536 B.C. By the end of the fourth century B.C. a large body of criminal law existed, supposedly collected by Li K'uei, which became the foundation of all later Chinese law. It seems that in this period the states of China moved quickly towards a money economy, and an observer to whom the later Chinese history was not known could have predicted the eventual development of a capitalistic society out of the apparent tendencies. So far nothing has been said in these chapters about China's foreign policy. Since the central ruling house was completely powerless, and the feudal lords were virtually independent rulers, little can be said, of course, about any "Chinese" foreign policy. There is less than ever to be said about it for this period of the "Contending States". Chinese merchants penetrated southward, and soon settlers moved in increasing numbers into the plains of the south-east. In the north, there were continual struggles with Turkish and Mongol tribes, and about 300 B.C. the name of the Hsiung-nu (who are often described as "The Huns of the Far East") makes its first appearance. It is known that these northern peoples had mastered the technique of horseback warfare and were far ahead of the Chinese, although the Chinese imitated their methods. The peasants of China, as they penetrated farther and farther north, had to be protected by their rulers against the northern peoples, and since the rulers needed their armed forces for their struggles within China, a beginning was made with the building of frontier walls, to prevent sudden raids of the northern peoples against the peasant settlements. Thus came into existence the early forms of the "Great Wall of China". This provided for the first time a visible frontier between Chinese and non-Chinese. Along this frontier, just as by the walls of towns, great markets were held at which Chinese peasants bartered their produce to non-Chinese nomads. Both partners in this trade became accustomed to it and drew very substantial profits from it. We even know the names of several great horse-dealers who bought horses from the nomads and sold them within China. 3 _Cultural changes_ Together with the economic and social changes in this period, there came cultural changes. New ideas sprang up in exuberance, as would seem entirely natural, because in times of change and crisis men always come forward to offer solutions for pressing problems. We shall refer here only briefly to the principal philosophers of the period. Mencius (_c_. 372-289 B.C.) and Hsün Tz[)u] (_c_. 298-238 B.C.) were both followers of Confucianism. Both belonged to the so-called "scholars", and both lived in the present Shantung, that is to say, in eastern China. Both elaborated the ideas of Confucius, but neither of them achieved personal success. Mencius (Meng Tz[)u]) recognized that the removal of the ruling house of the Chou no longer presented any difficulty. The difficult question for him was when a change of ruler would be justified. And how could it be ascertained whom Heaven had destined as successor if the existing dynasty was brought down? Mencius replied that the voice of the "people", that is to say of the upper class and its following, would declare the right man, and that this man would then be Heaven's nominee. This theory persisted throughout the history of China. Hsün Tz[)u]'s chief importance lies in the fact that he recognized that the "laws" of nature are unchanging but that man's fate is determined not by nature alone but, in addition, by his own activities. Man's nature is basically bad, but by working on himself within the framework of society, he can change his nature and can develop. Thus, Hsün Tz[)u]'s philosophy contains a dynamic element, fit for a dynamic period of history. In the strongest contrast to these thinkers was the school of Mo Ti (at some time between 479 and 381 B.C.). The Confucian school held fast to the old feudal order of society, and was only ready to agree to a few superficial changes. The school of Mo Ti proposed to alter the fundamental principles of society. Family ethics must no longer be retained; the principles of family love must be extended to the whole upper class, which Mo Ti called the "people". One must love another member of the upper class just as much as one's own father. Then the friction between individuals and between states would cease. Instead of families, large groups of people friendly to one another must be created. Further one should live frugally and not expend endless money on effete rites, as the Confucianists demanded. The expenditure on weddings and funerals under the Confucianist ritual consumed so much money that many families fell into debt and, if they were unable to pay off the debt, sank from the upper into the lower class. In order to maintain the upper class, therefore, there must be more frugality. Mo Ti's teaching won great influence. He and his successors surrounded themselves with a private army of supporters which was rigidly organized and which could be brought into action at any time as its leader wished. Thus the Mohists came forward everywhere with an approach entirely different from that of the isolated Confucians. When the Mohists offered their assistance to a ruler, they brought with them a group of technical and military experts who had been trained on the same principles. In consequence of its great influence this teaching was naturally hotly opposed by the Confucianists. We see clearly in Mo Ti's and his followers' ideas the influence of the changed times. His principle of "universal love" reflects the breakdown of the clans and the general weakening of family bonds which had taken place. His ideal of social organization resembles organizations of merchants and craftsmen which we know only of later periods. His stress upon frugality, too, reflects a line of thought which is typical of businessmen. The rationality which can also be seen in his metaphysical ideas and which has induced modern Chinese scholars to call him an early materialist is fitting to an age in which a developing money economy and expanding trade required a cool, logical approach to the affairs of this world. A similar mentality can be seen in another school which appeared from the fifth century B.C. on, the "dialecticians". Here are a number of names to mention: the most important are Kung-sun Lung and Hui Tz[)u], who are comparable with the ancient Greek dialecticians and Sophists. They saw their main task in the development of logic. Since, as we have mentioned, many "scholars" journeyed from one princely court to another, and other people came forward, each recommending his own method to the prince for the increase of his power, it was of great importance to be able to talk convincingly, so as to defeat a rival in a duel of words on logical grounds. Unquestionably, however, the most important school of this period was that of the so-called Legalists, whose most famous representative was Shang Yang (or Shang Tz[)u], died 338 B.C.). The supporters of this school came principally from old princely families that had lost their feudal possessions, and not from among the so-called scholars. They were people belonging to the upper class who possessed political experience and now offered their knowledge to other princes who still reigned. These men had entirely given up the old conservative traditions of Confucianism; they were the first to make their peace with the new social order. They recognized that little or nothing remained of the old upper class of feudal lords and their following. The last of the feudal lords collected around the heads of the last remaining princely courts, or lived quietly on the estates that still remained to them. Such a class, with its moral and economic strength broken, could no longer lead. The Legalists recognized, therefore, only the ruler and next to him, as the really active and responsible man, the chancellor; under these there were to be only the common people, consisting of the richer and poorer peasants; the people's duty was to live and work for the ruler, and to carry out without question whatever orders they received. They were not to discuss or think, but to obey. The chancellor was to draft laws which came automatically into operation. The ruler himself was to have nothing to do with the government or with the application of the laws. He was only a symbol, a representative of the equally inactive Heaven. Clearly these theories were much the best suited to the conditions of the break-up of feudalism about 300 B.C. Thus they were first adopted by the state in which the old idea of the feudal state had been least developed, the state of Ch'in, in which alien peoples were most strongly represented. Shang Yang became the actual organizer of the state of Ch'in. His ideas were further developed by Han Fei Tz[)u] (died 233 B.C.). The mentality which speaks out of his writings has closest similarity to the famous Indian Arthashastra which originated slightly earlier; both books exhibit a "Machiavellian" spirit. It must be observed that these theories had little or nothing to do with the ideas of the old cult of Heaven or with family allegiance; on the other hand, the soldierly element, with the notion of obedience, was well suited to the militarized peoples of the west. The population of Ch'in, organized throughout on these principles, was then in a position to remove one opponent after another. In the middle of the third century B.C. the greater part of the China of that time was already in the hands of Ch'in, and in 256 B.C. the last emperor of the Chou dynasty was compelled, in his complete impotence, to abdicate in favour of the ruler of Ch'in. Apart from these more or less political speculations, there came into existence in this period, by no mere chance, a school of thought which never succeeded in fully developing in China, concerned with natural science and comparable with the Greek natural philosophy. We have already several times pointed to parallels between Chinese and Indian thoughts. Such similarities may be the result of mere coincidence. But recent findings in Central Asia indicate that direct connections between India, Persia, and China may have started at a time much earlier than we had formerly thought. Sogdian merchants who later played a great role in commercial contacts might have been active already from 350 or 400 B.C. on and might have been the transmitters of new ideas. The most important philosopher of this school was Tsou Yen (flourished between 320 and 295 B.C.); he, as so many other Chinese philosophers of this time, was a native of Shantung, and the ports of the Shantung coast may well have been ports of entrance of new ideas from Western Asia as were the roads through the Turkestan basin into Western China. Tsou Yen's basic ideas had their root in earlier Chinese speculations: the doctrine that all that exists is to be explained by the positive, creative, or the negative, passive action (Yang and Yin) of the five elements, wood, fire, earth, metal, and water (Wu hsing). But Tsou Yen also considered the form of the world, and was the first to put forward the theory that the world consists not of a single continent with China in the middle of it, but of nine continents. The names of these continents sound like Indian names, and his idea of a central world-mountain may well have come from India. The "scholars" of his time were quite unable to appreciate this beginning of science, which actually led to the contention of this school, in the first century B.C., that the earth was of spherical shape. Tsou Yen himself was ridiculed as a dreamer; but very soon, when the idea of the reciprocal destruction of the elements was applied, perhaps by Tsou Yen himself, to politics, namely when, in connection with the astronomical calculations much cultivated by this school and through the identification of dynasties with the five elements, the attempt was made to explain and to calculate the duration and the supersession of dynasties, strong pressure began to be brought to bear against this school. For hundreds of years its books were distributed and read only in secret, and many of its members were executed as revolutionaries. Thus, this school, instead of becoming the nucleus of a school of natural science, was driven underground. The secret societies which started to arise clearly from the first century B.C. on, but which may have been in existence earlier, adopted the politico-scientific ideas of Tsou Yen's school. Such secret societies have existed in China down to the present time. They all contained a strong religious, but heterodox element which can often be traced back to influences from a foreign religion. In times of peace they were centres of a true, emotional religiosity. In times of stress, a "messianic" element tended to become prominent: the world is bad and degenerating; morality and a just social order have decayed, but the coming of a savior is close; the saviour will bring a new, fair order and destroy those who are wicked. Tsou Yen's philosophy seemed to allow them to calculate when this new order would start; later secret societies contained ideas from Iranian Mazdaism, Manichaeism and Buddhism, mixed with traits from the popular religions and often couched in terms taken from the Taoists. The members of such societies were, typically, ordinary farmers who here found an emotional outlet for their frustrations in daily life. In times of stress, members of the leading _élite_ often but not always established contacts with these societies, took over their leadership and led them to open rebellion. The fate of Tsou Yen's school did not mean that the Chinese did not develop in the field of sciences. At about Tsou Yen's lifetime, the first mathematical handbook was written. From these books it is obvious that the interest of the government in calculating the exact size of fields, the content of measures for grain, and other fiscal problems stimulated work in this field, just as astronomy developed from the interest of the government in the fixation of the calendar. Science kept on developing in other fields, too, but mainly as a hobby of scholars and in the shops of craftsmen, if it did not have importance for the administration and especially taxation and budget calculations. Chapter Five THE CH'IN DYNASTY (256-207 B.C.) 1 _Towards the unitary State_ In 256 B.C. the last ruler of the Chou dynasty abdicated in favour of the feudal lord of the state of Ch'in. Some people place the beginning of the Ch'in dynasty in that year, 256 B.C.; others prefer the date 221 B.C., because it was only in that year that the remaining feudal states came to their end and Ch'in really ruled all China. The territories of the state of Ch'in, the present Shensi and eastern Kansu, were from a geographical point of view transit regions, closed off in the north by steppes and deserts and in the south by almost impassable mountains. Only between these barriers, along the rivers Wei (in Shensi) and T'ao (in Kansu), is there a rich cultivable zone which is also the only means of transit from east to west. All traffic from and to Turkestan had to take this route. It is believed that strong relations with eastern Turkestan began in this period, and the state of Ch'in must have drawn big profits from its "foreign trade". The merchant class quickly gained more and more importance. The population was growing through immigration from the east which the government encouraged. This growing population with its increasing means of production, especially the great new irrigation systems, provided a welcome field for trade which was also furthered by the roads, though these were actually built for military purposes. The state of Ch'in had never been so closely associated with the feudal communities of the rest of China as the other feudal states. A great part of its population, including the ruling class, was not purely Chinese but contained an admixture of Turks and Tibetans. The other Chinese even called Ch'in a "barbarian state", and the foreign influence was, indeed, unceasing. This was a favourable soil for the overcoming of feudalism, and the process was furthered by the factors mentioned in the preceding chapter, which were leading to a change in the social structure of China. Especially the recruitment of the whole population, including the peasantry, for war was entirely in the interest of the influential nomad fighting peoples within the state. About 250 B.C., Ch'in was not only one of the economically strongest among the feudal states, but had already made an end of its own feudal system. Every feudal system harbours some seeds of a bureaucratic system of administration: feudal lords have their personal servants who are not recruited from the nobility, but who by their easy access to the lord can easily gain importance. They may, for instance, be put in charge of estates, workshops, and other properties of the lord and thus acquire experience in administration and an efficiency which are obviously of advantage to the lord. When Chinese lords of the preceding period, with the help of their sub-lords of the nobility, made wars, they tended to put the newly-conquered areas not into the hands of newly-enfeoffed noblemen, but to keep them as their property and to put their administration into the hands of efficient servants; these were the first bureaucratic officials. Thus, in the course of the later Chou period, a bureaucratic system of administration had begun to develop, and terms like "district" or "prefecture" began to appear, indicating that areas under a bureaucratic administration existed beside and inside areas under feudal rule. This process had gone furthest in Ch'in and was sponsored by the representatives of the Legalist School, which was best adapted to the new economic and social situation. A son of one of the concubines of the penultimate feudal ruler of Ch'in was living as a hostage in the neighbouring state of Chao, in what is now northern Shansi. There he made the acquaintance of an unusual man, the merchant Lü Pu-wei, a man of education and of great political influence. Lü Pu-wei persuaded the feudal ruler of Ch'in to declare this son his successor. He also sold a girl to the prince to be his wife, and the son of this marriage was to be the famous and notorious Shih Huang-ti. Lü Pu-wei came with his protege to Ch'in, where he became his Prime Minister, and after the prince's death in 247 B.C. Lü Pu-wei became the regent for his young son Shih Huang-ti (then called Cheng). For the first time in Chinese history a merchant, a commoner, had reached one of the highest positions in the state. It is not known what sort of trade Lü Pu-wei had carried on, but probably he dealt in horses, the principal export of the state of Chao. As horses were an absolute necessity for the armies of that time, it is easy to imagine that a horse-dealer might gain great political influence. Soon after Shih Huang-ti's accession Lü Pu-wei was dismissed, and a new group of advisers, strong supporters of the Legalist school, came into power. These new men began an active policy of conquest instead of the peaceful course which Lü Pu-wei had pursued. One campaign followed another in the years from 230 to 222, until all the feudal states had been conquered, annexed, and brought under Shih Huang-ti's rule. 2 _Centralization in every field_ The main task of the now gigantic realm was the organization of administration. One of the first acts after the conquest of the other feudal states was to deport all the ruling families and other important nobles to the capital of Ch'in; they were thus deprived of the basis of their power, and their land could be sold. These upper-class families supplied to the capital a class of consumers of luxury goods which attracted craftsmen and businessmen and changed the character of the capital from that of a provincial town to a centre of arts and crafts. It was decided to set up the uniform system of administration throughout the realm, which had already been successfully introduced in Ch'in: the realm was split up into provinces and the provinces into prefectures; and an official was placed in charge of each province or prefecture. Originally the prefectures in Ch'in had been placed directly under the central administration, with an official, often a merchant, being responsible for the collection of taxes; the provinces, on the other hand, formed a sort of military command area, especially in the newly-conquered frontier territories. With the growing militarization of Ch'in, greater importance was assigned to the provinces, and the prefectures were made subordinate to them. Thus the officials of the provinces were originally army officers but now, in the reorganization of the whole realm, the distinction between civil and military administration was abolished. At the head of the province were a civil and also a military governor, and both were supervised by a controller directly responsible to the emperor. Since there was naturally a continual struggle for power between these three officials, none of them was supreme and none could develop into a sort of feudal lord. In this system we can see the essence of the later Chinese administration. [Illustration: 3 Bronze plaque representing two horses fighting each other. Ordos region, animal style. _From V. Griessmaier: Sammlung Baron Eduard von der Heydt, Vienna_ 1936, _illustration No_. 6.] [Illustration: 4 Hunting scene: detail from the reliefs in the tombs at Wu-liang-tz'u. _From a print in the author's possession_.] [Illustration: 5 Part of the 'Great Wall'. _Photo Eberhard_.] Owing to the centuries of division into independent feudal states, the various parts of the country had developed differently. Each province spoke a different dialect which also contained many words borrowed from the language of the indigenous population; and as these earlier populations sometimes belonged to different races with different languages, in each state different words had found their way into the Chinese dialects. This caused divergences not only in the spoken but in the written language, and even in the characters in use for writing. There exist to this day dictionaries in which the borrowed words of that time are indicated, and keys to the various old forms of writing also exist. Thus difficulties arose if, for instance, a man from the old territory of Ch'in was to be transferred as an official to the east: he could not properly understand the language and could not read the borrowed words, if he could read at all! For a large number of the officials of that time, especially the officers who became military governors, were certainly unable to read. The government therefore ordered that the language of the whole country should be unified, and that a definite style of writing should be generally adopted. The words to be used were set out in lists, so that the first lexicography came into existence simply through the needs of practical administration, as had happened much earlier in Babylon. Thus, the few recently found manuscripts from pre-Ch'in times still contain a high percentage of Chinese characters which we cannot read because they were local characters; but all words in texts after the Ch'in time can be read because they belong to the standardized script. We know now that all classical texts of pre-Ch'in time as we have them today, have been re-written in this standardized script in the second century B.C.: we do not know which words they actually contained at the time when they were composed, nor how these words were actually pronounced, a fact which makes the reconstruction of Chinese language before Ch'in very difficult. The next requirement for the carrying on of the administration was the unification of weights and measures and, a surprising thing to us, of the gauge of the tracks for wagons. In the various feudal states there had been different weights and measures in use, and this had led to great difficulties in the centralization of the collection of taxes. The centre of administration, that is to say the new capital of Ch'in, had grown through the transfer of nobles and through the enormous size of the administrative staff into a thickly populated city with very large requirements of food. The fields of the former state of Ch'in alone could not feed the city; and the grain supplied in payment of taxation had to be brought in from far around, partly by cart. The only roads then existing consisted of deep cart-tracks. If the axles were not of the same length for all carts, the roads were simply unusable for many of them. Accordingly a fixed length was laid down for axles. The advocates of all these reforms were also their beneficiaries, the merchants. The first principle of the Legalist school, a principle which had been applied in Ch'in and which was to be extended to the whole realm, was that of the training of the population in discipline and obedience, so that it should become a convenient tool in the hands of the officials. This requirement was best met by a people composed as far as possible only of industrious, uneducated, and tax-paying peasants. Scholars and philosophers were not wanted, in so far as they were not directly engaged in work commissioned by the state. The Confucianist writings came under special attack because they kept alive the memory of the old feudal conditions, preaching the ethic of the old feudal class which had just been destroyed and must not be allowed to rise again if the state was not to suffer fresh dissolution or if the central administration was not to be weakened. In 213 B.C. there took place the great holocaust of books which destroyed the Confucianist writings with the exception of one copy of each work for the State Library. Books on practical subjects were not affected. In the fighting at the end of the Ch'in dynasty the State Library was burnt down, so that many of the old works have only come down to us in an imperfect state and with doubtful accuracy. The real loss arose, however, from the fact that the new generation was little interested in the Confucianist literature, so that when, fifty years later, the effort was made to restore some texts from the oral tradition, there no longer existed any scholars who really knew them by heart, as had been customary in the past. In 221 B.C. Shih Huang-ti had become emperor of all China. The judgments passed on him vary greatly: the official Chinese historiography rejects him entirely--naturally, for he tried to exterminate Confucianism, while every later historian was himself a Confucian. Western scholars often treat him as one of the greatest men in world history. Closer research has shown that Shih Huang-ti was evidently an average man without any great gifts, that he was superstitious, and shared the tendency of his time to mystical and shamanistic notions. His own opinion was that he was the first of a series of ten thousand emperors of his dynasty (Shih Huang-ti means "First Emperor"), and this merely suggests megalomania. The basic principles of his administration had been laid down long before his time by the philosophers of the Legalist school, and were given effect by his Chancellor Li Ss[)u]. Li Ss[)u] was the really great personality of that period. The Legalists taught that the ruler must do as little as possible himself. His Ministers were there to act for him. He himself was to be regarded as a symbol of Heaven. In that capacity Shih Huang-ti undertook periodical journeys into the various parts of the empire, less for any practical purpose of inspection than for purposes of public worship. They corresponded to the course of the sun, and this indicates that Shih Huang-ti had adopted a notion derived from the older northern culture of the nomad peoples. He planned the capital in an ambitious style but, although there was real need for extension of the city, his plans can scarcely be regarded as of great service. His enormous palace, and also his mausoleum which was built for him before his death, were constructed in accordance with astral notions. Within the palace the emperor continually changed his residential quarters, probably not only from fear of assassination but also for astral reasons. His mausoleum formed a hemispherical dome, and all the stars of the sky were painted on its interior. 3 _Frontier defence. Internal collapse_ When the empire had been unified by the destruction of the feudal states, the central government became responsible for the protection of the frontiers from attack from without. In the south there were only peoples in a very low state of civilization, who could offer no serious menace to the Chinese. The trading colonies that gradually extended to Canton and still farther south served as Chinese administrative centres for provinces and prefectures, with small but adequate armies of their own, so that in case of need they could defend themselves. In the north the position was much more difficult. In addition to their conquest within China, the rulers of Ch'in had pushed their frontier far to the north. The nomad tribes had been pressed back and deprived of their best pasturage, namely the Ordos region. When the livelihood of nomad peoples is affected, when they are threatened with starvation, their tribes often collect round a tribal leader who promises new pasturage and better conditions of life for all who take part in the common campaigns. In this way the first great union of tribes in the north of China came into existence in this period, forming the realm of the Hsiung-nu under their first leader, T'ou-man. This first realm of the Hsiung-nu was not yet extensive, but its ambitious and warlike attitude made it a danger to Ch'in. It was therefore decided to maintain a large permanent army in the north. In addition to this, the frontier walls already existing in the mountains were rebuilt and made into a single great system. Thus came into existence in 214 B.C., out of the blood and sweat of countless pressed labourers, the famous Great Wall. On one of his periodical journeys the emperor fell ill and died. His death was the signal for the rising of many rebellious elements. Nobles rose in order to regain power and influence; generals rose because they objected to the permanent pressure from the central administration and their supervision by controllers; men of the people rose as popular leaders because the people were more tormented than ever by forced labour, generally at a distance from their homes. Within a few months there were six different rebellions and six different "rulers". Assassinations became the order of the day; the young heir to the throne was removed in this way and replaced by another young prince. But as early as 206 B.C. one of the rebels, Liu Chi (also called Liu Pang), entered the capital and dethroned the nominal emperor. Liu Chi at first had to retreat and was involved in hard fighting with a rival, but gradually he succeeded in gaining the upper hand and defeated not only his rival but also the other eighteen states that had been set up anew in China in those years. THE MIDDLE AGES Chapter Six THE HAN DYNASTY (206 B.C.-A.D. 220) I _Development of the gentry-state_ In 206 B.C. Liu Chi assumed the title of Emperor and gave his dynasty the name of the Han Dynasty. After his death he was given as emperor the name of Kao Tsu.[4] The period of the Han dynasty may be described as the beginning of the Chinese Middle Ages, while that of the Ch'in dynasty represents the transition from antiquity to the Middle Ages; for under the Han dynasty we meet in China with a new form of state, the "gentry state". The feudalism of ancient times has come definitely to its end. [Footnote 4: From then on, every emperor was given after his death an official name as emperor, under which he appears in the Chinese sources. We have adopted the original or the official name according to which of the two has come into the more general use in Western books.] Emperor Kao Tsu came from eastern China, and his family seems to have been a peasant family; in any case it did not belong to the old nobility. After his destruction of his strongest rival, the removal of the kings who had made themselves independent in the last years of the Ch'in dynasty was a relatively easy task for the new autocrat, although these struggles occupied the greater part of his reign. A much more difficult question, however, faced him: How was the empire to be governed? Kao Tsu's old friends and fellow-countrymen, who had helped him into power, had been rewarded by appointment as generals or high officials. Gradually he got rid of those who had been his best comrades, as so many upstart rulers have done before and after him in every country in the world. An emperor does not like to be reminded of a very humble past, and he is liable also to fear the rivalry of men who formerly were his equals. It is evident that little attention was paid to theories of administration; policy was determined mainly by practical considerations. Kao Tsu allowed many laws and regulations to remain in force, including the prohibition of Confucianist writings. On the other hand, he reverted to the allocation of fiefs, though not to old noble families but to his relatives and some of his closest adherents, generally men of inferior social standing. Thus a mixed administration came into being: part of the empire was governed by new feudal princes, and another part split up into provinces and prefectures and placed directly under the central power through its officials. But whence came the officials? Kao Tsu and his supporters, as farmers from eastern China, looked down upon the trading population to which farmers always regard themselves as superior. The merchants were ignored as potential officials although they had often enough held official appointments under the former dynasty. The second group from which officials had been drawn under the Ch'in was that of the army officers, but their military functions had now, of course, fallen to Kao Tsu's soldiers. The emperor had little faith, however, in the loyalty of officers, even of his own, and apart from that he would have had first to create a new administrative organization for them. Accordingly he turned to another class which had come into existence, the class later called the _gentry_, which in practice had the power already in its hands. The term "gentry" has no direct parallel in Chinese texts; the later terms "shen-shih" and "chin-shen" do not quite cover this concept. The basic unit of the gentry class are families, not individuals. Such families often derive their origin from branches of the Chou nobility. But other gentry families were of different and more recent origin in respect to land ownership. Some late Chou and Ch'in officials of non-noble origin had become wealthy and had acquired land; the same was true for wealthy merchants and finally, some non-noble farmers who were successful in one or another way, bought additional land reaching the size of large holdings. All "gentry" families owned substantial estates in the provinces which they leased to tenants on a kind of contract basis. The tenants, therefore, cannot be called "serfs" although their factual position often was not different from the position of serfs. The rents of these tenants, usually about half the gross produce, are the basis of the livelihood of the gentry. One part of a gentry family normally lives in the country on a small home farm in order to be able to collect the rents. If the family can acquire more land and if this new land is too far away from the home farm to make collection of rents easy, a new home farm is set up under the control of another branch of the family. But the original home remains to be regarded as the real family centre. In a typical gentry family, another branch of the family is in the capital or in a provincial administrative centre in official positions. These officials at the same time are the most highly educated members of the family and are often called the "literati". There are also always individual family members who are not interested in official careers or who failed in their careers and live as free "literati" either in the big cities or on the home farms. It seems, to judge from much later sources, that the families assisted their most able members to enter the official careers, while those individuals who were less able were used in the administration of the farms. This system in combination with the strong familism of the Chinese, gave a double security to the gentry families. If difficulties arose in the estates either by attacks of bandits or by war or other catastrophes, the family members in official positions could use their influence and power to restore the property in the provinces. If, on the other hand, the family members in official positions lost their positions or even their lives by displeasing the court, the home branch could always find ways to remain untouched and could, in a generation or two, recruit new members and regain power and influence in the government. Thus, as families, the gentry was secure, although failures could occur to individuals. There are many gentry families who remained in the ruling _élite_ for many centuries, some over more than a thousand years, weathering all vicissitudes of life. Some authors believe that Chinese leading families generally pass through a three- or four-generation cycle: a family member by his official position is able to acquire much land, and his family moves upward. He is able to give the best education and other facilities to his sons who lead a good life. But either these sons or the grandsons are spoiled and lazy; they begin to lose their property and status. The family moves downward, until in the fourth or fifth generation a new rise begins. Actual study of families seems to indicate that this is not true. The main branch of the family retains its position over centuries. But some of the branch families, created often by the less able family members, show a tendency towards downward social mobility. It is clear from the above that a gentry family should be interested in having a fair number of children. The more sons they have, the more positions of power the family can occupy and thus, the more secure it will be; the more daughters they have, the more "political" marriages they can conclude, i.e. marriages with sons of other gentry families in positions of influence. Therefore, gentry families in China tend to be, on the average, larger than ordinary families, while in our Western countries the leading families usually were smaller than the lower class families. This means that gentry families produced more children than was necessary to replenish the available leading positions; thus, some family members had to get into lower positions and had to lose status. In view of this situation it was very difficult for lower class families to achieve access into this gentry group. In European countries the leading _élite_ did not quite replenish their ranks in the next generation, so that there was always some chance for the lower classes to move up into leading ranks. The gentry society was, therefore, a comparably stable society with little upward social mobility but with some downward mobility. As a whole and for reasons of gentry self-interest, the gentry stood for stability and against change. The gentry members in the bureaucracy collaborated closely with one another because they were tied together by bonds of blood or marriage. It was easy for them to find good tutors for their children, because a pupil owed a debt of gratitude to his teacher and a child from a gentry family could later on nicely repay this debt; often, these teachers themselves were members of other gentry families. It was easy for sons of the gentry to get into official positions, because the people who had to recommend them for office were often related to them or knew the position of their family. In Han time, local officials had the duty to recommend young able men; if these men turned out to be good, the officials were rewarded, if not they were blamed or even punished. An official took less of a chance, if he recommended a son of an influential family, and he obliged such a candidate so that he could later count on his help if he himself should come into difficulties. When, towards the end of the second century B.C., a kind of examination system was introduced, this attitude was not basically changed. The country branch of the family by the fact that it controlled large tracts of land, supplied also the logical tax collectors: they had the standing and power required for this job. Even if they were appointed in areas other than their home country (a rule which later was usually applied), they knew the gentry families of the other district or were related to them and got their support by appointing their members as their assistants. Gentry society continued from Kao Tsu's time to 1948, but it went through a number of phases of development and changed considerably in time. We will later outline some of the most important changes. In general the number of politically leading gentry families was around one hundred (texts often speak of "the hundred families" in this time) and they were concentrated in the capital; the most important home seats of these families in Han time were close to the capital and east of it or in the plains of eastern China, at that time the main centre of grain production. We regard roughly the first one thousand years of "Gentry Society" as the period of the Chinese "Middle Ages", beginning with the Han dynasty; the preceding time of the Ch'in was considered as a period of transition, a time in which the feudal period of "Antiquity" came to a formal end and a new organization of society began to become visible. Even those authors who do not accept a sociological classification of periods and many authors who use Marxist categories, believe that with Ch'in and Han a new era in Chinese history began. 2 _Situation of the Hsiung-nu empire; its relation to the Han empire. Incorporation of South China_ In the time of the Ch'in dynasty there had already come into unpleasant prominence north of the Chinese frontier the tribal union, then relatively small, of the Hsiung-nu. Since then, the Hsiung-nu empire had destroyed the federation of the Yüeh-chih tribes (some of which seem to have been of Indo-European language stock) and incorporated their people into their own federation; they had conquered also the less well organized eastern pastoral tribes, the Tung-hu and thus had become a formidable power. Everything goes to show that it had close relations with the territories of northern China. Many Chinese seem to have migrated to the Hsiung-nu empire, where they were welcome as artisans and probably also as farmers; but above all they were needed for the staffing of a new state administration. The scriveners in the newly introduced state secretariat were Chinese and wrote Chinese, for at that time the Hsiung-nu apparently had no written language. There were Chinese serving as administrators and court officials, and even as instructors in the army administration, teaching the art of warfare against non-nomads. But what was the purpose of all this? Mao Tun, the second ruler of the Hsiung-nu, and his first successors undoubtedly intended ultimately to conquer China, exactly as many other northern peoples after them planned to do, and a few of them did. The main purpose of this was always to bring large numbers of peasants under the rule of the nomad rulers and so to solve, once for all, the problem of the provision of additional winter food. Everything that was needed, and everything that seemed to be worth trying to get as they grew more civilized, would thus be obtained better and more regularly than by raids or by tedious commercial negotiations. But if China was to be conquered and ruled there must exist a state organization of equal authority to hers; the Hsiung-nu ruler must himself come forward as Son of Heaven and develop a court ceremonial similar to that of a Chinese emperor. Thus the basis of the organization of the Hsiung-nu state lay in its rivalry with the neighbouring China; but the details naturally corresponded to the special nature of the Hsiung-nu social system. The young Hsiung-nu feudal state differed from the ancient Chinese feudal state not only in depending on a nomad economy with only supplementary agriculture, but also in possessing, in addition to a whole class of nobility and another of commoners, a stratum of slavery to be analysed further below. Similar to the Chou state, the Hsiung-nu state contained, especially around the ruler, an element of court bureaucracy which, however, never developed far enough to replace the basically feudal character of administration. Thus Kao Tsu was faced in Mao Tun not with a mere nomad chieftain but with the most dangerous of enemies, and Kao Tsu's policy had to be directed to preventing any interference of the Hsiung-nu in North Chinese affairs, and above all to preventing alliances between Hsiung-nu and Chinese. Hsiung-nu alone, with their technique of horsemen's warfare, would scarcely have been equal to the permanent conquest of the fortified towns of the north and the Great Wall, although they controlled a population which may have been in excess of 2,000,000 people. But they might have succeeded with Chinese aid. Actually a Chinese opponent of Kao Tsu had already come to terms with Mao Tun, and in 200 B.C. Kao Tsu was very near suffering disaster in northern Shansi, as a result of which China would have come under the rule of the Hsiung-nu. But it did not come to that, and Mao Tun made no further attempt, although the opportunity came several times. Apparently the policy adopted by his court was not imperialistic but national, in the uncorrupted sense of the word. It was realized that a country so thickly populated as China could only be administered from a centre within China. The Hsiung-nu would thus have had to abandon their home territory and rule in China itself. That would have meant abandoning the flocks, abandoning nomad life, and turning into Chinese. The main supporters of the national policy, the first principle of which was loyalty to the old ways of life, seem to have been the tribal chieftains. Mao Tun fell in with their view, and the Hsiung-nu maintained their state as long as they adhered to that principle--for some seven hundred years. Other nomad peoples, Toba, Mongols, and Manchus, followed the opposite policy, and before long they were caught in the mechanism of the much more highly developed Chinese economy and culture, and each of them disappeared from the political scene in the course of a century or so. The national line of policy of the Hsiung-nu did not at all mean an end of hostilities and raids on Chinese territory, so that Kao Tsu declared himself ready to give the Hsiung-nu the foodstuffs and clothing materials they needed if they would make an end of their raids. A treaty to this effect was concluded, and sealed by the marriage of a Chinese princess with Mao Tun. This was the first international treaty in the Far East between two independent powers mutually recognized as equals, and the forms of international diplomacy developed in this time remained the standard forms for the next thousand years. The agreement was renewed at the accession of each new ruler, but was never adhered to entirely by either side. The needs of the Hsiung-nu increased with the expansion of their empire and the growing luxury of their court; the Chinese, on the other hand, wanted to give as little as possible, and no doubt they did all they could to cheat the Hsiung-nu. Thus, in spite of the treaties the Hsiung-nu raids went on. With China's progressive consolidation, the voluntary immigration of Chinese into the Hsiung-nu empire came to an end, and the Hsiung-nu actually began to kidnap Chinese subjects. These were the main features of the relations between Chinese and Hsiung-nu almost until 100 B.C. In the extreme south, around the present-day Canton, another independent empire had been formed in the years of transition, under the leadership of a Chinese. The narrow basis of this realm was no doubt provided by the trading colonies, but the indigenous population of Yüeh tribes was insufficiently civilized for the building up of a state that could have maintained itself against China. Kao Tsu sent a diplomatic mission to the ruler of this state, and invited him to place himself under Chinese suzerainty (196 B.C.). The ruler realized that he could offer no serious resistance, while the existing circumstances guaranteed him virtual independence and he yielded to Kao Tsu without a struggle. 3 _Brief feudal reaction. Consolidation of the gentry_ Kao Tsu died in 195 B.C. From then to 179 the actual ruler was his widow, the empress Lü, while children were officially styled emperors. The empress tried to remove all the representatives of the emperor's family and to replace them with members of her own family. To secure her position she revived the feudal system, but she met with strong resistance from the dynasty and its supporters who already belonged in many cases to the new gentry, and who did not want to find their position jeopardized by the creation of new feudal lords. On the death of the empress her opponents rose, under the leadership of Kao Tsu's family. Every member of the empress's family was exterminated, and a son of Kao Tsu, known later under the name of Wen Ti (Emperor Wen), came to the throne. He reigned from 179 to 157 B.C. Under him there were still many fiefs, but with the limitation which the emperor Kao Tsu had laid down shortly before his death: only members of the imperial family should receive fiefs, to which the title of King was attached. Thus all the more important fiefs were in the hands of the imperial family, though this did not mean that rivalries came to an end. On the whole Wen Ti's period of rule passed in comparative peace. For the first time since the beginning of Chinese history, great areas of continuous territory were under unified rule, without unending internal warfare such as had existed under Shih Huang-ti and Kao Tsu. The creation of so extensive a region of peace produced great economic advance. The burdens that had lain on the peasant population were reduced, especially since under Wen Ti the court was very frugal. The population grew and cultivated fresh land, so that production increased and with it the exchange of goods. The most outstanding sign of this was the abandonment of restrictions on the minting of copper coin, in order to prevent deflation through insufficiency of payment media. As a consequence more taxes were brought in, partly in kind, partly in coin, and this increased the power of the central government. The new gentry streamed into the towns, their standard of living rose, and they made themselves more and more into a class apart from the general population. As people free from material cares, they were able to devote themselves to scholarship. They went back to the old writings and studied them once more. They even began to identify themselves with the nobles of feudal times, to adopt the rules of good behaviour and the ceremonial described in the Confucianist books, and very gradually, as time went on, to make these their textbooks of good form. From this point the Confucianist ideals first began to penetrate the official class recruited from the gentry, and then the state organization itself. It was expected that an official should be versed in Confucianism, and schools were set up for Confucianist education. Around 100 B.C. this led to the introduction of the examination system, which gradually became the one method of selection of new officials. The system underwent many changes, but remained in operation in principle until 1904. The object of the examinations was not to test job efficiency but command of the ideals of the gentry and knowledge of the literature inculcating them: this was regarded as sufficient qualification for any position in the service of the state. In theory this path to training of character and to admission to the state service was open to every "respectable" citizen. Of the traditional four "classes" of Chinese society, only the first two, officials (_shih_) and farmers (_nung_) were always regarded as fully "respectable" (_liang-min_). Members of the other two classes, artisans (_kung_) and merchants (_shang_), were under numerous restrictions. Below these were classes of "lowly people" (_ch'ien-min_) and below these the slaves which were not part of society proper. The privileges and obligations of these categories were soon legally fixed. In practice, during the first thousand years of the existence of the examination system no peasant had a chance to become an official by means of the examinations. In the Han period the provincial officials had to propose suitable young persons for examination, and so for admission to the state service, as was already mentioned. In addition, schools had been instituted for the sons of officials; it is interesting to note that there were, again and again, complaints about the low level of instruction in these schools. Nevertheless, through these schools all sons of officials, whatever their capacity or lack of capacity, could become officials in their turn. In spite of its weaknesses, the system had its good side. It inoculated a class of people with ideals that were unquestionably of high ethical value. The Confucian moral system gave a Chinese official or any member of the gentry a spiritual attitude and an outward bearing which in their best representatives has always commanded respect, an integrity that has always preserved its possessors, and in consequence Chinese society as a whole, from moral collapse, from spiritual nihilism, and has thus contributed to the preservation of Chinese cultural values in spite of all foreign conquerors. In the time of Wen Ti and especially of his successors, the revival at court of the Confucianist ritual and of the earlier Heaven-worship proceeded steadily. The sacrifices supposed to have been performed in ancient times, the ritual supposed to have been prescribed for the emperor in the past, all this was reintroduced. Obviously much of it was spurious: much of the old texts had been lost, and when fragments were found they were arbitrarily completed. Moreover, the old writing was difficult to read and difficult to understand; thus various things were read into the texts without justification. The new Confucians who came forward as experts in the moral code were very different men from their predecessors; above all, like all their contemporaries, they were strongly influenced by the shamanistic magic that had developed in the Ch'in period. Wen Ti's reign had brought economic advance and prosperity; intellectually it had been a period of renaissance, but like every such period it did not simply resuscitate what was old, but filled the ancient moulds with an entirely new content. Socially the period had witnessed the consolidation of the new upper class, the gentry, who copied the mode of life of the old nobility. This is seen most clearly in the field of law. In the time of the Legalists the first steps had been taken in the codification of the criminal law. They clearly intended these laws to serve equally for all classes of the people. The Ch'in code which was supposedly Li K'uei's code, was used in the Han period, and was extensively elaborated by Siao Ho (died 193 B.C.) and others. This code consisted of two volumes of the chief laws for grave cases, one of mixed laws for the less serious cases, and six volumes on the imposition of penalties. In the Han period "decisions" were added, so that about A.D. 200 the code had grown to 26,272 paragraphs with over 17,000,000 words. The collection then consisted of 960 volumes. This colossal code has been continually revised, abbreviated, or expanded, and under its last name of "Collected Statues of the Manchu Dynasty" it retained its validity down to the present century. Alongside this collection there was another book that came to be regarded and used as a book of precedences. The great Confucianist philosopher Tung Chung-shu (179-104 B.C.), a firm supporter of the ideology of the new gentry class, declared that the classic Confucianist writings, and especially the book _Ch'un-ch'iu_, "Annals of Spring and Autumn", attributed to Confucius himself, were essentially books of legal decisions. They contained "cases" and Confucius's decisions of them. Consequently any case at law that might arise could be decided by analogy with the cases contained in "Annals of Spring and Autumn". Only an educated person, of course, a member of the gentry, could claim that his action should be judged by the decisions of Confucius and not by the code compiled for the common people, for Confucius had expressly stated that his rules were intended only for the upper class. Thus, right down to modern times an educated person could be judged under regulations different from those applicable to the common people, or if judged on the basis of the laws, he had to expect a special treatment. The principle of the "equality before the law" which the Legalists had advocated and which fitted well into the absolutistic, totalitarian system of the Ch'in, had been attacked by the feudal nobility at that time and was attacked by the new gentry of the Han time. Legalist thinking remained an important undercurrent for many centuries to come, but application of the equalitarian principle was from now on never seriously considered. Against the growing influence of the officials belonging to the gentry there came a last reaction. It came as a reply to the attempt of a representative of the gentry to deprive the feudal princes of the whole of their power. In the time of Wen Ti's successor a number of feudal kings formed an alliance against the emperor, and even invited the Hsiung-nu to join them. The Hsiung-nu did not do so, because they saw that the rising had no prospect of success, and it was quelled. After that the feudal princes were steadily deprived of rights. They were divided into two classes, and only privileged ones were permitted to live in the capital, the others being required to remain in their domains. At first, the area was controlled by a "minister" of the prince, an official of the state; later the area remained under normal administration and the feudal prince kept only an empty title; the tax income of a certain number of families of an area was assigned to him and transmitted to him by normal administrative channels. Often, the number of assigned families was fictional in that the actual income was from far fewer families. This system differs from the Near Eastern system in which also no actual enforcement took place, but where deserving men were granted the right to collect themselves the taxes of a certain area with certain numbers of families. Soon after this the whole government was given the shape which it continued to have until A.D. 220, and which formed the point of departure for all later forms of government. At the head of the state was the emperor, in theory the holder of absolute power in the state restricted only by his responsibility towards "Heaven", i.e. he had to follow and to enforce the basic rules of morality, otherwise "Heaven" would withdraw its "mandate", the legitimation of the emperor's rule, and would indicate this withdrawal by sending natural catastrophes. Time and again we find emperors publicly accusing themselves for their faults when such catastrophes occurred; and to draw the emperor's attention to actual or made-up calamities or celestial irregularities was one way to criticize an emperor and to force him to change his behaviour. There are two other indications which show that Chinese emperors--excepting a few individual cases--at least in the first ten centuries of gentry society were not despots: it can be proved that in some fields the responsibility for governmental action did not lie with the emperor but with some of his ministers. Secondly, the emperor was bound by the law code: he could not change it nor abolish it. We know of cases in which the ruler disregarded the code, but then tried to "defend" his arbitrary action. Each new dynasty developed a new law code, usually changing only details of the punishment, not the basic regulations. Rulers could issue additional "regulations", but these, too, had to be in the spirit of the general code and the existing moral norms. This situation has some similarity to the situation in Muslim countries. At the ruler's side were three counsellors who had, however, no active functions. The real conduct of policy lay in the hands of the "chancellor", or of one of the "nine ministers". Unlike the practice with which we are familiar in the West, the activities of the ministries (one of them being the court secretariat) were concerned primarily with the imperial palace. As, however, the court secretariat, one of the nine ministries, was at the same time a sort of imperial statistical office, in which all economic, financial, and military statistical material was assembled, decisions on issues of critical importance for the whole country could and did come from it. The court, through the Ministry of Supplies, operated mines and workshops in the provinces and organized the labour service for public constructions. The court also controlled centrally the conscription for the general military service. Beside the ministries there was an extensive administration of the capital with its military guards. The various parts of the country, including the lands given as fiefs to princes, had a local administration, entirely independent of the central government and more or less elaborated according to their size. The regional administration was loosely associated with the central government through a sort of primitive ministry of the interior, and similarly the Chinese representatives in the protectorates, that is to say the foreign states which had submitted to Chinese protective overlordship, were loosely united with a sort of foreign ministry in the central government. When a rising or a local war broke out, that was the affair of the officer of the region concerned. If the regional troops were insufficient, those of the adjoining regions were drawn upon; if even these were insufficient, a real "state of war" came into being; that is to say, the emperor appointed eight generals-in-chief, mobilized the imperial troops, and intervened. This imperial army then had authority over the regional and feudal troops, the troops of the protectorates, the guards of the capital, and those of the imperial palace. At the end of the war the imperial army was demobilized and the generals-in-chief were transferred to other posts. In all this there gradually developed a division into civil and military administration. A number of regions would make up a province with a military governor, who was in a sense the representative of the imperial army, and who was supposed to come into activity only in the event of war. This administration of the Han period lacked the tight organization that would make precise functioning possible. On the other hand, an extremely important institution had already come into existence in a primitive form. As central statistical authority, the court secretariat had a special position within the ministries and supervised the administration of the other offices. Thus there existed alongside the executive a means of independent supervision of it, and the resulting rivalry enabled the emperor or the chancellor to detect and eliminate irregularities. Later, in the system of the T'ang period (A.D. 618-906), this institution developed into an independent censorship, and the system was given a new form as a "State and Court Secretariat", in which the whole executive was comprised and unified. Towards the end of the T'ang period the permanent state of war necessitated the permanent commissioning of the imperial generals-in-chief and of the military governors, and as a result there came into existence a "Privy Council of State", which gradually took over functions of the executive. The system of administration in the Han and in the T'ang period is shown in the following table: _Han epoch_ _T'ang epoch_ 1. Emperor 1. Emperor 2. Three counsellors to the emperor 2. Three counsellors and three (with no active functions) assistants (with no active functions) 3. Eight supreme generals (only 3. Generals and Governors-General appointed in time of war) (only appointed in time of war; but in practice continuously in office) 4. --------------------------- 4. (a) State secretariat (1) Central secretariat (2) Secretariat of the Crown (3) Secretariat of the Palace and imperial historical commission (b) Emperor's Secretariat (1) Private Archives (2) Court Adjutants' Office (3) Harem administration 5. Court administration 5. Court administration (Ministries) (Ministries) (1) Ministry for state (1) Ministry for state sacrifices sacrifices (2) Ministry for imperial (2) Ministry for imperial coaches and horses coaches and horses (3) Ministry for justice at (3) Ministry for justice at court court (4) Ministry for receptions (4) Ministry for receptions (i.e. foreign affairs) (5) Ministry for ancestors' (5) Ministry for ancestors' temples temples (6) Ministry for supplies to (6) Ministry for supplies to the court the court (7) Ministry for the harem (7) Economic and financial Ministry (8) Ministry for the palace (8) Ministry for the payment guards of salaries (9) Ministry for the court (9) Ministry for armament (state secretariat) and magazines 6. Administration of the 6. Administration of the capital: capital: (1) Crown prince's palace (1) Crown prince's palace (2) Security service for the (2) Palace guards and guards' capital office (3) Capital administration: (3) Arms production department (a) Guards of the capital (b) Guards of the city gates (c) Building department (4) Labour service department (5) Building department (6) Transport department (7) Department for education (of sons of officials!) 7. Ministry of the Interior 7. Ministry of the Interior (Provincial administration) (Provincial administration) 8. Foreign Ministry 8. --------------------------- 9. Censorship (Audit council) There is no denying that according to our standard this whole system was still elementary and "personal", that is to say, attached to the emperor's person--though it should not be overlooked that we ourselves are not yet far from a similar phase of development. To this day the titles of not a few of the highest officers of state--the Lord Privy Seal, for instance--recall that in the past their offices were conceived as concerned purely with the personal service of the monarch. In one point, however, the Han administrative set-up was quite modern: it already had a clear separation between the emperor's private treasury and the state treasury; laws determined which of the two received certain taxes and which had to make certain payments. This separation, which in Europe occurred not until the late Middle Ages, in China was abolished at the end of the Han Dynasty. The picture changes considerably to the advantage of the Chinese as soon as we consider the provincial administration. The governor of a province, and each of his district officers or prefects, had a staff often of more than a hundred officials. These officials were drawn from the province or prefecture and from the personal friends of the administrator, and they were appointed by the governor or the prefect. The staff was made up of officials responsible for communications with the central or provincial administration (private secretary, controller, finance officer), and a group of officials who carried on the actual local administration. There were departments for transport, finance, education, justice, medicine (hygiene), economic and military affairs, market control, and presents (which had to be made to the higher officials at the New Year and on other occasions). In addition to these offices, organized in a quite modern style, there was an office for advising the governor and another for drafting official documents and letters. The interesting feature of this system is that the provincial administration was _de facto_ independent of the central administration, and that the governor and even his prefects could rule like kings in their regions, appointing and discharging as they chose. This was a vestige of feudalism, but on the other hand it was a healthy check against excessive centralization. It is thanks to this system that even the collapse of the central power or the cutting off of a part of the empire did not bring the collapse of the country. In a remote frontier town like Tunhuang, on the border of Turkestan, the life of the local Chinese went on undisturbed whether communication with the capital was maintained or was broken through invasions by foreigners. The official sent from the centre would be liable at any time to be transferred elsewhere; and he had to depend on the practical knowledge of his subordinates, the members of the local families of the gentry. These officials had the local government in their hands, and carried on the administration of places like Tunhuang through a thousand years and more. The Hsin family, for instance, was living there in 50 B.C. and was still there in A.D. 950; and so were the Yin, Ling-hu, Li, and K'ang families. All the officials of the various offices or Ministries were appointed under the state examination system, but they had no special professional training; only for the more important subordinate posts were there specialists, such as jurists, physicians, and so on. A change came towards the end of the T'ang period, when a Department of Commerce and Monopolies was set up; only specialists were appointed to it, and it was placed directly under the emperor. Except for this, any official could be transferred from any ministry to any other without regard to his experience. 4 _Turkestan policy. End of the Hsiung-nu empire_ In the two decades between 160 and 140 B.C. there had been further trouble with the Hsiung-nu, though there was no large-scale fighting. There was a fundamental change of policy under the next emperor, Wu (or Wu Ti, 141-86 B.C.). The Chinese entered for the first time upon an active policy against the Hsiung-nu. There seem to have been several reasons for this policy, and several objectives. The raids of the Hsiung-nu from the Ordos region and from northern Shansi had shown themselves to be a direct menace to the capital and to its extremely important hinterland. Northern Shansi is mountainous, with deep ravines. A considerable army on horseback could penetrate some distance to the south before attracting attention. Northern Shensi and the Ordos region are steppe country, in which there were very few Chinese settlements and through which an army of horsemen could advance very quickly. It was therefore determined to push back the Hsiung-nu far enough to remove this threat. It was also of importance to break the power of the Hsiung-nu in the province of Kansu, and to separate them as far as possible from the Tibetans living in that region, to prevent any union between those two dangerous adversaries. A third point of importance was the safeguarding of caravan routes. The state, and especially the capital, had grown rich through Wen Ti's policy. Goods streamed into the capital from all quarters. Commerce with central Asia had particularly increased, bringing the products of the Middle East to China. The caravan routes passed through western Shensi and Kansu to eastern Turkestan, but at that time the Hsiung-nu dominated the approaches to Turkestan and were in a position to divert the trade to themselves or cut it off. The commerce brought profit not only to the caravan traders, most of whom were probably foreigners, but to the officials in the provinces and prefectures through which the routes passed. Thus the officials in western China were interested in the trade routes being brought under direct control, so that the caravans could arrive regularly and be immune from robbery. Finally, the Chinese government may well have regarded it as little to its honour to be still paying dues to the Hsiung-nu and sending princesses to their rulers, now that China was incomparably wealthier and stronger than at the time when that policy of appeasement had begun. [Illustration: Map 3. China in the struggle with the Huns or Hsiung Nu (_roughly 128-100 B.C._)] The first active step taken was to try, in 133 B.C., to capture the head of the Hsiung-nu state, who was called a _shan-yü_ but the _shan-yü_ saw through the plan and escaped. There followed a period of continuous fighting until 119 B.C. The Chinese made countless attacks, without lasting success. But the Hsiung-nu were weakened, one sign of this being that there were dissensions after the death of the _shan-yü_ Chün-ch'en, and in 127 B.C. his son went over to the Chinese. Finally the Chinese altered their tactics, advancing in 119 B.C. with a strong army of cavalry, which suffered enormous losses but inflicted serious loss on the Hsiung-nu. After that the Hsiung-nu withdrew farther to the north, and the Chinese settled peasants in the important region of Kansu. Meanwhile, in 125 B.C., the famous Chang Ch'ien had returned. He had been sent in 138 to conclude an alliance with the Yüeh-chih against the Hsiung-nu. The Yüeh-chih had formerly been neighbours of the Hsiung-nu as far as the Ala Shan region, but owing to defeat by the Hsiung-nu their remnants had migrated to western Turkestan. Chang Ch'ien had followed them. Politically he had no success, but he brought back accurate information about the countries in the far west, concerning which nothing had been known beyond the vague reports of merchants. Now it was learnt whence the foreign goods came and whither the Chinese goods went. Chang Ch'ien's reports (which are one of the principal sources for the history of central Asia at that remote time) strengthened the desire to enter into direct and assured commercial relations with those distant countries. The government evidently thought of getting this commerce into its own hands. The way to do this was to impose "tribute" on the countries concerned. The idea was that the missions bringing the annual "tribute" would be a sort of state bartering commissions. The state laid under tribute must supply specified goods at its own cost, and received in return Chinese produce, the value of which was to be roughly equal to the "tribute". Thus Chang Ch'ien's reports had the result that, after the first successes against the Hsiung-nu, there was increased interest in a central Asian policy. The greatest military success were the campaigns of General Li Kuang-li to Ferghana in 104 and 102 B.C. The result of the campaigns was to bring under tribute all the small states in the Tarim basin and some of the states of western Turkestan. From now on not only foreign consumer goods came freely into China, but with them a great number of other things, notably plants such as grape, peach, pomegranate. In 108 B.C. the western part of Korea was also conquered. Korea was already an important transit region for the trade with Japan. Thus this trade also came under the direct influence of the Chinese government. Although this conquest represented a peril to the eastern flank of the Hsiung-nu, it did not by any means mean that they were conquered. The Hsiung-nu while weakened evaded the Chinese pressure, but in 104 B.C. and again in 91 they inflicted defeats on the Chinese. The Hsiung-nu were indirectly threatened by Chinese foreign policy, for the Chinese concluded an alliance with old enemies of the Hsiung-nu, the Wu-sun, in the north of the Tarim basin. This made the Tarim basin secure for the Chinese, and threatened the Hsiung-nu with a new danger in their rear. Finally the Chinese did all they could through intrigue, espionage, and sabotage to promote disunity and disorder within the Hsiung-nu, though it cannot be seen from the Chinese accounts how far the Chinese were responsible for the actual conflicts and the continual changes of _shan-yü_. Hostilities against the Hsiung-nu continued incessantly, after the death of Wu Ti, under his successor, so that the Hsiung-nu were further weakened. In consequence of this it was possible to rouse against them other tribes who until then had been dependent on them--the Ting-ling in the north and the Wu-huan in the east. The internal difficulties of the Hsiung-nu increased further. Wu Ti's active policy had not been directed only against the Hsiung-nu. After heavy fighting he brought southern China, with the region round Canton, and the south-eastern coast, firmly under Chinese dominion--in this case again on account of trade interests. No doubt there were already considerable colonies of foreign merchants in Canton and other coastal towns, trading in Indian and Middle East goods. The traders seem often to have been Sogdians. The southern wars gave Wu Ti the control of the revenues from this commerce. He tried several times to advance through Yünnan in order to secure a better land route to India, but these attempts failed. Nevertheless, Chinese influence became stronger in the south-west. In spite of his long rule, Wu Ti did not leave an adult heir, as the crown prince was executed, with many other persons, shortly before Wu Ti's death. The crown prince had been implicated in an alleged attempt by a large group of people to remove the emperor by various sorts of magic. It is difficult to determine today what lay behind this affair; probably it was a struggle between two cliques of the gentry. Thus a regency council had to be set up for the young heir to the throne; it included a member of a Hsiung-nu tribe. The actual government was in the hands of a general and his clique until the death of the heir to the throne, and at the beginning of his successor's reign. At this time came the end of the Hsiung-nu empire--a foreign event of the utmost importance. As a result of the continual disastrous wars against the Chinese, in which not only many men but, especially, large quantities of cattle fell into Chinese hands, the livelihood of the Hsiung-nu was seriously threatened; their troubles were increased by plagues and by unusually severe winters. To these troubles were added political difficulties, including unsettled questions in regard to the succession to the throne. The result of all this was that the Hsiung-nu could no longer offer effective military resistance to the Chinese. There were a number of _shan-yü_ ruling contemporaneously as rivals, and one of them had to yield to the Chinese in 58 B.C.; in 51 he came as a vassal to the Chinese court. The collapse of the Hsiung-nu empire was complete. After 58 B.C. the Chinese were freed from all danger from that quarter and were able, for a time, to impose their authority in Central Asia. 5 _Impoverishment. Cliques. End of the Dynasty_ In other respects the Chinese were not doing as well as might have been assumed. The wars carried on by Wu Ti and his successors had been ruinous. The maintenance of large armies of occupation in the new regions, especially in Turkestan, also meant a permanent drain on the national funds. There was a special need for horses, for the people of the steppes could only be fought by means of cavalry. As the Hsiung-nu were supplying no horses, and the campaigns were not producing horses enough as booty, the peasants had to rear horses for the government. Additional horses were bought at very high prices, and apart from this the general financing of the wars necessitated increased taxation of the peasants, a burden on agriculture no less serious than was the enrolment of many peasants for military service. Finally, the new external trade did not by any means bring the advantages that had been hoped for. The tribute missions brought tribute but, to begin with, this meant an obligation to give presents in return; moreover, these missions had to be fed and housed in the capital, often for months, as the official receptions took place only on New Year's Day. Their maintenance entailed much expense, and meanwhile the members of the missions traded privately with the inhabitants and the merchants of the capital, buying things they needed and selling things they had brought in addition to the tribute. The tribute itself consisted mainly of "precious articles", which meant strange or rare things of no practical value. The emperor made use of them as elements of personal luxury, or made presents of some of them to deserving officials. The gifts offered by the Chinese in return consisted mainly of silk. Silk was received by the government as a part of the tax payments and formed an important element of the revenue of the state. It now went abroad without bringing in any corresponding return. The private trade carried on by the members of the missions was equally unserviceable to the Chinese. It, too, took from them goods of economic value, silk and gold, which went abroad in exchange for luxury articles of little or no economic importance, such as glass, precious stones, or stud horses, which in no way benefited the general population. Thus in this last century B.C. China's economic situation grew steadily and fairly rapidly worse. The peasants, more heavily taxed than ever, were impoverished, and yet the exchequer became not fuller but emptier, so that gold began even to be no longer available for payments. Wu Ti was aware of the situation and called different groups together to discuss the problems of economics. Under the name "Discussions on Salt and Iron" the gist of these talks is preserved and shows that one group under the leadership of Sang Hung-yang (143-80 B.C.) was business-oriented and thinking in economic terms, while their opponents, mainly Confucianists, regarded the situation mainly as a moral crisis. Sang proposed an "equable transportation" and a "standardization" system and favoured other state monopolies and controls; these ideas were taken up later and continued to be discussed, again and again. Already under Wu Ti there had been signs of a development which now appeared constantly in Chinese history. Among the new gentry, families entered into alliances with each other, sealed their mutual allegiance by matrimonial unions, and so formed large cliques. Each clique made it its concern to get the most important government positions into its hands, so that it should itself control the government. Under Wu Ti, for example, almost all the important generals had belonged to a certain clique, which remained dominant under his two successors. Two of the chief means of attaining power were for such a clique to give the emperor a girl from its ranks as wife, and to see to it that all the eunuchs around the emperor should be persons dependent on the clique. Eunuchs came generally from the poorer classes; they were launched at court by members of the great cliques, or quite openly presented to the emperor. The chief influence of the cliques lay, however, in the selection of officials. It is not surprising that the officials recommended only sons of people in their own clique--their family or its closest associates. On top of all this, the examiners were in most cases themselves members of the same families to which the provincial officials belonged. Thus it was made doubly certain that only those candidates who were to the liking of the dominant group among the gentry should pass. Surrounded by these cliques, the emperors became in most cases powerless figureheads. At times energetic rulers were able to play off various cliques against each other, and so to acquire personal power; but the weaker emperors found themselves entirely in the hands of cliques. Not a few emperors in China were removed by cliques which they had attempted to resist; and various dynasties were brought to their end by the cliques; this was the fate of the Han dynasty. The beginning of its fall came with the activities of the widow of the emperor Yüan Ti. She virtually ruled in the name of her eighteen-year-old son, the emperor Ch'eng Ti (32-7 B.C.), and placed all her brothers, and also her nephew, Wang Mang, in the principal government posts. They succeeded at first in either removing the strongest of the other cliques or bringing them into dependence. Within the Wang family the nephew Wang Mang steadily advanced, securing direct supporters even in some branches of the imperial family; these personages declared their readiness to join him in removing the existing line of the imperial house. When Ch'eng Ti died without issue, a young nephew of his (Ai Ti, 6-1 B.C.) was placed on the throne by Wang Mang, and during this period the power of the Wangs and their allies grew further, until all their opponents had been removed and the influence of the imperial family very greatly reduced. When Ai Ti died, Wang Mang placed an eight-year-old boy on the throne, himself acting as regent; four years later the boy fell ill and died, probably with Wang Mang's aid. Wang Mang now chose a one-year-old baby, but soon after he felt that the time had come for officially assuming the rulership. In A.D. 8 he dethroned the baby, ostensibly at Heaven's command, and declared himself emperor and first of the Hsin ("new") dynasty. All the members of the old imperial family in the capital were removed from office and degraded to commoners, with the exception of those who had already been supporting Wang Mang. Only those members who held unimportant posts at a distance remained untouched. Wang Mang's "usurpation" is unusual from two points of view. First, he paid great attention to public opinion and induced large masses of the population to write petitions to the court asking the Han ruler to abdicate; he even fabricated "heavenly omina" in his own favour and against the Han dynasty in order to get wide support even from intellectuals. Secondly, he inaugurated a formal abdication ceremony, culminating in the transfer of the imperial seal to himself. This ceremony became standard for the next centuries. The seal was made of a precious stone, once presented to the Ch'in dynasty ruler before he ascended the throne. From now on, the possessor of this seal was the legitimate ruler. 6 _The pseudo-socialistic dictatorship. Revolt of the "Red Eyebrows"_ Wang Mang's dynasty lasted only from A.D. 9 to 23; but it was one of the most stirring periods of Chinese history. It is difficult to evaluate Wang Mang, because all we know about him stems from sources hostile towards him. Yet we gain the impression that some of his innovations, such as the legalization of enthronement through the transfer of the seal; the changes in the administration of provinces and in the bureaucratic set-up in the capital; and even some of his economic measures were so highly regarded that they were retained or reintroduced, although this happened in some instances centuries later and without mentioning Wang Mang's name. But most of his policies and actions were certainly neither accepted nor acceptable. He made use of every conceivable resource in order to secure power to his clique. As far as possible he avoided using open force, and resorted to a high-level propaganda. Confucianism, the philosophic basis of the power of the gentry, served him as a bait; he made use of the so-called "old character school" for his purposes. When, after the holocaust of books, it was desired to collect the ancient classics again, texts were found under strange circumstances in the walls of Confucius's house; they were written in an archaic script. The people who occupied themselves with these books were called the old character school. The texts came under suspicion; most scholars had little belief in their genuineness. Wang Mang, however, and his creatures energetically supported the cult of these ancient writings. The texts were edited and issued, and in the process, as can now be seen, certain things were smuggled into them that fitted in well with Wang Mang's intentions. He even had other texts reissued with falsifications. He now represented himself in all his actions as a man who did with the utmost precision the things which the books reported of rulers or ministers of ancient times. As regent he had declared that his model was the brother of the first emperor of the Chou dynasty; as emperor he took for his exemplar one of the mythical emperors of ancient China; of his new laws he claimed that they were simply revivals of decrees of the golden age. In all this he appealed to the authority of literature that had been tampered with to suit his aims. Actually, such laws had never before been customary; either Wang Mang completely misinterpreted passages in an ancient text to suit his purpose, or he had dicta that suited him smuggled into the text. There can be no question that Wang Mang and his accomplices began by deliberately falsifying and deceiving. However, as time went on, he probably began to believe in his own frauds. Wang Mang's great series of certain laws has brought him the name of "the first Socialist on the throne of China". But closer consideration reveals that these measures, ostensibly and especially aimed at the good of the poor, were in reality devised simply in order to fill the imperial exchequer and to consolidate the imperial power. When we read of the turning over of great landed estates to the state, do we not imagine that we are faced with a modern land reform? But this applied only to the wealthiest of all the landowners, who were to be deprived in this way of their power. The prohibition of private slave-owning had a similar purpose, the state reserving to itself the right to keep slaves. Moreover, landless peasants were to receive land to till, at the expense of those who possessed too much. This admirable law, however, was not intended seriously to be carried into effect. Instead, the setting up of a system of state credits for peasants held out the promise, in spite of rather reduced interest rates, of important revenue. The peasants had never been in a position to pay back their private debts together with the usurious interest, but there were at least opportunities of coming to terms with a private usurer, whereas the state proved a merciless creditor. It could dispossess the peasant, and either turn his property into a state farm, convey it to another owner, or make the peasant a state slave. Thus this measure worked against the interest of the peasants, as did the state monopoly of the exploitation of mountains and lakes. "Mountains and lakes" meant the uncultivated land around settlements, the "village commons", where people collected firewood or went fishing. They now had to pay money for fishing rights and for the right to collect wood, money for the emperor's exchequer. The same purpose lay behind the wine, salt, and iron tool monopolies. Enormous revenues came to the state from the monopoly of minting coin, when old metal coin of full value was called in and exchanged for debased coin. Another modern-sounding institution, that of the "equalization offices", was supposed to buy cheap goods in times of plenty in order to sell them to the people in times of scarcity at similarly low prices, so preventing want and also preventing excessive price fluctuations. In actual fact these state offices formed a new source of profit, buying cheaply and selling as dearly as possible. Thus the character of these laws was in no way socialistic; nor, however, did they provide an El Dorado for the state finances, for Wang Mang's officials turned all the laws to their private advantage. The revenues rarely reached the capital; they vanished into the pockets of subordinate officials. The result was a further serious lowering of the level of existence of the peasant population, with no addition to the financial resources of the state. Yet Wang Mang had great need of money, because he attached importance to display and because he was planning a new war. He aimed at the final destruction of the Hsiung-nu, so that access to central Asia should no longer be precarious and it should thus be possible to reduce the expense of the military administration of Turkestan. The war would also distract popular attention from the troubles at home. By way of preparation for war, Wang Mang sent a mission to the Hsiung-nu with dishonouring proposals, including changes in the name of the Hsiung-nu and in the title of the _shan-yü_. The name Hsiung-nu was to be given the insulting change of Hsiang-nu, meaning "subjugated slaves". The result was that risings of the Hsiung-nu took place, whereupon Wang Mang commanded that the whole of their country should be partitioned among fifteen _shan-yü_ and declared the country to be a Chinese province. Since this declaration had no practical result, it robbed Wang Mang of the increased prestige he had sought and only further infuriated the Hsiung-nu. Wang Mang concentrated a vast army on the frontier. Meanwhile he lost the whole of the possessions in Turkestan. But before Wang Mang's campaign against the Hsiung-nu could begin, the difficulties at home grew steadily worse. In A.D. 12 Wang Mang felt obliged to abrogate all his reform legislation because it could not be carried into effect; and the economic situation proved more lamentable than ever. There were continual risings, which culminated in A.D. 18 in a great popular insurrection, a genuine revolutionary rising of the peasants, whose distress had grown beyond bearing through Wang Mang's ill-judged measures. The rebels called themselves "Red Eyebrows"; they had painted their eyebrows red by way of badge and in order to bind their members indissolubly to their movement. The nucleus of this rising was a secret society. Such secret societies, usually are harmless, but may, in emergency situations, become an immensely effective instrument in the hands of the rural population. The secret societies then organize the peasants, in order to achieve a forcible settlement of the matter in dispute. Occasionally, however, the movement grows far beyond its leaders' original objective and becomes a popular revolutionary movement, directed against the whole ruling class. That is what happened on this occasion. Vast swarms of peasants marched to the capital, killing all officials and people of position on their way. The troops sent against them by Wang Mang either went over to the Red Eyebrows or copied them, plundering wherever they could and killing officials. Owing to the appalling mass murders and the fighting, the forces placed by Wang Mang along the frontier against the Hsiung-nu received no reinforcements and, instead of attacking the Hsiung-nu, themselves went over to plundering, so that ultimately the army simply disintegrated. Fortunately for China, the _shan-yü_ of the time did not take advantage of his opportunity, perhaps because his position within the Hsiung-nu empire was too insecure. Scarcely had the popular rising begun when descendants of the deposed Han dynasty appeared and tried to secure the support of the upper class. They came forward as fighters against the usurper Wang Mang and as defenders of the old social order against the revolutionary masses. But the armies which these Han princes were able to collect were no better than those of the other sides. They, too, consisted of poor and hungry peasants, whose aim was to get money or goods by robbery; they too, plundered and murdered more than they fought. However, one prince by the name of Liu Hsiu gradually gained the upper hand. The basis of his power was the district of Nanyang in Honan, one of the wealthiest agricultural centres of China at that time and also the centre of iron and steel production. The big landowners, the gentry of Nanyang, joined him, and the prince's party conquered the capital. Wang Mang, placing entire faith in his sanctity, did not flee; he sat in his robes in the throne-room and recited the ancient writings, convinced that he would overcome his adversaries by the power of his words. But a soldier cut off his head (A.D. 22). The skull was kept for two hundred years in the imperial treasury. The fighting, nevertheless, went on. Various branches of the prince's party fought one another, and all of them fought the Red Eyebrows. In those years millions of men came to their end. Finally, in A.D. 24, Liu Hsiu prevailed, becoming the first emperor of the second Han dynasty, also called the Later Han dynasty; his name as emperor was Kuang-wu Ti (A.D. 25-57). 7 _Reaction and Restoration: the Later Han dynasty_ Within the country the period that followed was one of reaction and restoration. The massacres of the preceding years had so reduced the population that there was land enough for the peasants who remained alive. Moreover, their lords and the moneylenders of the towns were generally no longer alive, so that many peasants had become free of debt. The government was transferred from Sian to Loyang, in the present province of Honan. This brought the capital nearer to the great wheat-producing regions, so that the transport of grain and other taxes in kind to the capital was cheapened. Soon this cleared foundation was covered by a new stratum, a very sparse one, of great landowners who were supporters and members of the new imperial house, largely descendants of the landowners of the earlier Han period. At first they were not much in evidence, but they gained power more and more rapidly. In spite of this, the first half-century of the Later Han period was one of good conditions on the land and economic recovery. 8 _Hsiung-nu policy_ In foreign policy the first period of the Later Han dynasty was one of extraordinary success, both in the extreme south and in the question of the Hsiung-nu. During the period of Wang Mang's rule and the fighting connected with it, there had been extensive migration to the south and south-west. Considerable regions of Chinese settlement had come into existence in Yünnan and even in Annam and Tongking, and a series of campaigns under General Ma Yuan (14 B.C.-A.D. 49) now added these regions to the territory of the empire. These wars were carried on with relatively small forces, as previously in the Canton region, the natives being unable to offer serious resistance owing to their inferiority in equipment and civilization. The hot climate, however, to which the Chinese soldiers were unused, was hard for them to endure. The Hsiung-nu, in spite of internal difficulties, had regained considerable influence in Turkestan during the reign of Wang Mang. But the king of the city state of Yarkand had increased his power by shrewdly playing off Chinese and Hsiung-nu against each other, so that before long he was able to attack the Hsiung-nu. The small states in Turkestan, however, regarded the overlordship of the distant China as preferable to that of Yarkand or the Hsiung-nu both of whom, being nearer, were able to bring their power more effectively into play. Accordingly many of the small states appealed for Chinese aid. Kuang-wu Ti met this appeal with a blank refusal, implying that order had only just been restored in China and that he now simply had not the resources for a campaign in Turkestan. Thus, the king of Yarkand was able to extend his power over the remainder of the small states of Turkestan, since the Hsiung-nu had been obliged to withdraw. Kuang-wu Ti had several frontier wars with the Hsiung-nu without any decisive result. But in the years around A.D. 45 the Hsiung-nu had suffered several severe droughts and also great plagues of locusts, so that they had lost a large part of their cattle. They were no longer able to assert themselves in Turkestan and at the same time to fight the Chinese in the south and the Hsien-pi and the Wu-huan in the east. These two peoples, apparently largely of Mongol origin, had been subject in the past to Hsiung-nu overlordship. They had spread steadily in the territories bordering Manchuria and Mongolia, beyond the eastern frontier of the Hsiung-nu empire. Living there in relative peace and at the same time in possession of very fertile pasturage, these two peoples had grown in strength. And since the great political collapse of 58 B.C. the Hsiung-nu had not only lost their best pasturage in the north of the provinces of Shensi and Shansi, but had largely grown used to living in co-operation with the Chinese. They had become much more accustomed to trade with China, exchanging animals for textiles and grain, than to warfare, so that in the end they were defeated by the Hsien-pi and Wu-huan, who had held to the older form of purely warlike nomad life. Weakened by famine and by the wars against Wu-huan and Hsien-pi, the Hsiung-nu split into two, one section withdrawing to the north. The southern Hsiung-nu were compelled to submit to the Chinese in order to gain security from their other enemies. Thus the Chinese were able to gain a great success without moving a finger: the Hsiung-nu, who for centuries had shown themselves again and again to be the most dangerous enemies of China, were reduced to political insignificance. About a hundred years earlier the Hsiung-nu empire had suffered defeat; now half of what remained of it became part of the Chinese state. Its place was taken by the Hsien-pi and Wu-huan, but at first they were of much less importance. In spite of the partition, the northern Hsiung-nu attempted in the years between A.D. 60 and 70 to regain a sphere of influence in Turkestan; this seemed the easier for them since the king of Yarkand had been captured and murdered, and Turkestan was more or less in a state of confusion. The Chinese did their utmost to play off the northern against the southern Hsiung-nu and to maintain a political balance of power in the west and north. So long as there were a number of small states in Turkestan, of which at least some were friendly to China, Chinese trade caravans suffered relatively little disturbance on their journeys. Independent states in Turkestan had proved more profitable for trade than when a large army of occupation had to be maintained there. When, however, there appeared to be the danger of a new union of the two parts of the Hsiung-nu as a restoration of a large empire also comprising all Turkestan, the Chinese trading monopoly was endangered. Any great power would secure the best goods for itself, and there would be no good business remaining for China. For these reasons a great Chinese campaign was undertaken against Turkestan in A.D. 73 under Tou Ku. Mainly owing to the ability of the Chinese deputy commander Pan Ch'ao, the whole of Turkestan was quickly conquered. Meanwhile the emperor Ming Ti (A.D. 58-75) had died, and under the new emperor Chang Ti (76-88) the "isolationist" party gained the upper hand against the clique of Tou Ku and Pan Ch'ao: the danger of the restoration of a Hsiung-nu empire, the isolationists contended, no longer existed; Turkestan should be left to itself; the small states would favour trade with China of their own accord. Meanwhile, a considerable part of Turkestan had fallen away from China, for Chang Ti sent neither money nor troops to hold the conquered territories. Pan Ch'ao nevertheless remained in Turkestan (at Kashgar and Khotan) where he held on amid countless difficulties. Although he reported (A.D. 78) that the troops could feed themselves in Turkestan and needed neither supplies nor money from home, no reinforcements of any importance were sent; only a few hundred or perhaps a thousand men, mostly released criminals, reached him. Not until A.D. 89 did the Pan Ch'ao clique return to power when the mother of the young emperor Ho Ti (89-105) took over the government during his minority: she was a member of the family of Tou Ku. She was interested in bringing to a successful conclusion the enterprise which had been started by members of her family and its followers. In addition, it can be shown that a number of other members of the "war party" had direct interests in the west, mainly in form of landed estates. Accordingly, a campaign was started in 89 under her brother against the northern Hsiung-nu, and it decided the fate of Turkestan in China's favour. Turkestan remained firmly in Chinese possession until the death of Pan Ch'ao in 102. Shortly afterwards heavy fighting broke out again: the Tanguts advanced from the south in an attempt to cut off Chinese access to Turkestan. The Chinese drove back the Tanguts and maintained their hold on Turkestan, though no longer absolutely. 9 _Economic situation. Rebellion of the "Yellow Turbans". Collapse of the Han dynasty_ The economic results of the Turkestan trade in this period were not so unfavourable as in the earlier Han period. The army of occupation was incomparably smaller, and under Pan Ch'ao's policy the soldiers were fed and paid in Turkestan itself, so that the cost to China remained small. Moreover, the drain on the national income was no longer serious because, in the intervening period, regular Chinese settlements had been planted in Turkestan including Chinese merchants, so that the trade no longer remained entirely in the hands of foreigners. In spite of the economic consolidation at the beginning of the Later Han dynasty, and in spite of the more balanced trade, the political situation within China steadily worsened from A.D. 80 onwards. Although the class of great landowners was small, a number of cliques formed within it, and their mutual struggle for power soon went beyond the limits of court intrigue. New actors now came upon the stage, namely the eunuchs. With the economic improvement there had been a general increase in the luxury at the court of the Han emperors, and the court steadily increased in size. The many hundred wives and concubines in the palace made necessary a great army of eunuchs. As they had the ear of the emperor and so could influence him, the eunuchs formed an important political factor. For a time the main struggle was between the group of eunuchs and the group of scholars. The eunuchs served a particular clique to which some of the emperor's wives belonged. The scholars, that is to say the ministers, together with members of the ministries and the administrative staff, served the interests of another clique. The struggles grew more and more sanguinary in the middle of the second century A.D. It soon proved that the group with the firmest hold in the provinces had the advantage, because it was not easy to control the provinces from a distance. The result was that, from about A.D. 150, events at court steadily lost importance, the lead being taken by the generals commanding the provincial troops. It would carry us too far to give the details of all these struggles. The provincial generals were at first Ts'ao Ts'ao, Lü Pu, Yüan Shao, and Sun Ts'ê; later came Liu Pei. All were striving to gain control of the government, and all were engaged in mutual hostilities from about 180 onwards. Each general was also trying to get the emperor into his hands. Several times the last emperor of the Later Han dynasty, Hsien Ti (190-220), was captured by one or another of the generals. As the successful general was usually unable to maintain his hold on the capital, he dragged the poor emperor with him from place to place until he finally had to give him up to another general. The point of this chase after the emperor was that according to the idea introduced earlier by Wang Mang the first ruler of a new dynasty had to receive the imperial seals from the last emperor of the previous dynasty. The last emperor must abdicate in proper form. Accordingly, each general had to get possession of the emperor to begin with, in order at the proper time to take over the seals. By about A.D. 200 the new conditions had more or less crystallized. There remained only three great parties. The most powerful was that of Ts'ao Ts'ao, who controlled the north and was able to keep permanent hold of the emperor. In the west, in the province of Szechwan, Liu Pei had established himself, and in the south-east Sun Ts'ê's brother. But we must not limit our view to these generals' struggles. At this time there were two other series of events of equal importance with those. The incessant struggles of the cliques against each other continued at the expense of the people, who had to fight them and pay for them. Thus, after A.D. 150 the distress of the country population grew beyond all limits. Conditions were as disastrous as in the time of Wang Mang. And once more, as then, a popular movement broke out, that of the so-called "Yellow Turbans". This was the first of the two important events. This popular movement had a characteristic which from now on became typical of all these risings of the people. The intellectual leaders of the movement, Chang Ling and others, were members of a particular religious sect. This sect was influenced by Iranian Mazdaism on the one side and by certain ideas from Lao Tz[)u] on the other side; and these influences were superimposed on popular rural as well as, perhaps, local tribal religious beliefs and superstitions. The sect had roots along the coastal settlements of Eastern China, where it seems to have gained the support of the peasantry and their local priests. These priests of the people were opposed to the representatives of the official religion, that is to say the officials drawn from the gentry. In small towns and villages the temples of the gods of the fruits of the field, of the soil, and so on, were administered by authorized local officials, and these officials also carried out the prescribed sacrifices. The old temples of the people were either done away with (we have many edicts of the Han period concerning the abolition of popular forms of religious worship), or their worship was converted into an official cult: the all-powerful gentry extended their domination over religion as well as all else. But the peasants regarded their local unauthorized priests as their natural leaders against the gentry and against gentry forms of religion. One branch, probably the main branch of this movement, developed a stronghold in Eastern Szechwan province, where its members succeeded to create a state of their own which retained its independence for a while. It is the only group which developed real religious communities in which men and women participated, extensive welfare schemes existed and class differences were discouraged. It had a real church organization with dioceses, communal friendship meals and a confession ritual; in short, real piety developed as it could not develop in the official religions. After the annihilation of this state, remnants of the organization can be traced through several centuries, mainly in central and south China. It may well be that the many "Taoistic" traits which can be found in the religions of late and present-day Mongolian and Tibetan tribes, can be derived from this movement of the Yellow Turbans. The rising of the Yellow Turbans began in 184; all parties, cliques and generals alike, were equally afraid of the revolutionaries, since these were a threat to the gentry as such, and so to all parties. Consequently a combined army of considerable size was got together and sent against the rebels. The Yellow Turbans were beaten. During these struggles it became evident that Ts'ao Ts'ao with his troops had become the strongest of all the generals. His troops seem to have consisted not of Chinese soldiers alone, but also of Hsiung-nu. It is understandable that the annals say nothing about this, and it can only be inferred from the facts. It appears that in order to reinforce their armies the generals recruited not only Chinese but foreigners. The generals operating in the region of the present-day Peking had soldiers of the Wu-huan and Hsien-pi, and even of the Ting-ling; Liu Pei, in the west, made use of Tanguts, and Ts'ao Ts'ao clearly went farthest of all in this direction; he seems to have been responsible for settling nineteen tribes of Hsiung-nu in the Chinese province of Shansi between 180 and 200, in return for their armed aid. In this way Ts'ao Ts'ao gained permanent power in the empire by means of these troops, so that immediately after his death his son Ts'ao P'ei, with the support of powerful allied families, was able to force the emperor to abdicate and to found a new dynasty, the Wei dynasty (A.D. 220). This meant, however, that a part of China which for several centuries had been Chinese was given up to the Hsiung-nu. This was not, of course, what Ts'ao Ts'ao had intended; he had given the Hsiung-nu some area of pasturage in Shansi with the idea that they should be controlled and administered by the officials of the surrounding district. His plan had been similar to what the Chinese had often done with success: aliens were admitted into the territory of the empire in a body, but then the influence of the surrounding administrative centres was steadily extended over them, until the immigrants completely lost their own nationality and became Chinese. The nineteen tribes of Hsiung-nu, however, were much too numerous, and after the prolonged struggles in China the provincial administration proved much too weak to be able to carry out the plan. Thus there came into existence here, within China, a small Hsiung-nu realm ruled by several _shan-yü_. This was the second major development, and it became of the utmost importance to the history of the next four centuries. 10 _Literature and Art_ With the development of the new class of the gentry in the Han period, there was an increase in the number of those who were anxious to participate in what had been in the past an exclusively aristocratic possession--education. Thus it is by no mere chance that in this period many encyclopaedias were compiled. Encyclopaedias convey knowledge in an easily grasped and easily found form. The first compilation of this sort dates from the third century B.C. It was the work of Lü Pu wei, the merchant who was prime minister and regent during the minority of Shih Huang-ti. It contains general information concerning ceremonies, customs, historic events, and other things the knowledge of which was part of a general education. Soon afterwards other encyclopaedias appeared, of which the best known is the Book of the Mountains and Seas (_Shan Hai Ching_). This book, arranged according to regions of the world, contains everything known at the time about geography, natural philosophy, and the animal and plant world, and also about popular myths. This tendency to systemization is shown also in the historical works. The famous _Shih Chi_, one of our main sources for Chinese history, is the first historical work of the modern type, that is to say, built up on a definite plan, and it was also the model for all later official historiography. Its author, Ss[)u]-ma Ch'ien (born 135 B.C.), and his father, made use of the material in the state archives and of private documents, old historical and philosophical books, inscriptions, and the results of their own travels. The philosophical and historical books of earlier times (with the exception of those of the nature of chronicles) consisted merely of a few dicta or reports of particular events, but the _Shih Chi_ is a compendium of a mass of source-material. The documents were abbreviated, but the text of the extracts was altered as little as possible, so that the general result retains in a sense the value of an original source. In its arrangement the _Shih Chi_ became a model for all later historians: the first part is in the form of annals, and there follow tables concerning the occupants of official posts and fiefs, and then biographies of various important personalities, though the type of the comprehensive biography did not appear till later. The _Shih Chi_ also, like later historical works, contains many monographs dealing with particular fields of knowledge, such as astronomy, the calendar, music, economics, official dress at court, and much else. The whole type of construction differs fundamentally from such works as those of Thucydides or Herodotus. The Chinese historical works have the advantage that the section of annals gives at once the events of a particular year, the monographs describe the development of a particular field of knowledge, and the biographical section offers information concerning particular personalities. The mental attitude is that of the gentry: shortly after the time of Ss[)u]-ma Ch'ien an historical department was founded, in which members of the gentry worked as historians upon the documents prepared by representatives of the gentry in the various government offices. In addition to encyclopaedias and historical works, many books of philosophy were written in the Han period, but most of them offer no fundamentally new ideas. They were the product of the leisure of rich members of the gentry, and only three of them are of importance. One is the work of Tung Chung-shu, already mentioned. The second is a book by Liu An called _Huai-nan Tz[)u]_. Prince Liu An occupied himself with Taoism and allied problems, gathered around him scholars of different schools, and carried on discussions with them. Many of his writings are lost, but enough is extant to show that he was one of the earliest Chinese alchemists. The question has not yet been settled, but it is probable that alchemy first appeared in China, together with the cult of the "art" of prolonging life, and was later carried to the West, where it flourished among the Arabs and in medieval Europe. The third important book of the Han period was the _Lun Hêng_ (Critique of Opinions) of Wang Ch'ung, which appeared in the first century of the Christian era. Wang Ch'ung advocated rational thinking and tried to pave the way for a free natural science, in continuation of the beginnings which the natural philosophers of the later Chou period had made. The book analyses reports in ancient literature and customs of daily life, and shows how much they were influenced by superstition and by ignorance of the facts of nature. From this attitude a modern science might have developed, as in Europe towards the end of the Middle Ages; but the gentry had every reason to play down this tendency which, with its criticism of all that was traditional, might have proceeded to an attack on the dominance of the gentry and their oppression especially of the merchants and artisans. It is fascinating to observe how it was the needs of the merchants and seafarers of Asia Minor and Greece that provided the stimulus for the growth of the classic sciences, and how on the contrary the growth of Chinese science was stifled because the gentry were so strongly hostile to commerce and navigation, though both had always existed. There were great literary innovations in the field of poetry. The splendour and elegance at the new imperial court of the Han dynasty attracted many poets who sang the praises of the emperor and his court and were given official posts and dignities. These praises were in the form of grandiloquent, overloaded poetry, full of strange similes and allusions, but with little real feeling. In contrast, the many women singers and dancers at the court, mostly slaves from southern China, introduced at the court southern Chinese forms of song and poem, which were soon adopted and elaborated by poets. Poems and dance songs were composed which belonged to the finest that Chinese poetry can show--full of natural feeling, simple in language, moving in content. Our knowledge of the arts is drawn from two sources--literature, and the actual discoveries in the excavations. Thus we know that most of the painting was done on silk, of which plenty came into the market through the control of silk-producing southern China. Paper had meanwhile been invented in the second century B.C., by perfecting the techniques of making bark-cloth and felt. Unfortunately nothing remains of the actual works that were the first examples of what the Chinese everywhere were beginning to call "art". "People", that is to say the gentry, painted as a social pastime, just as they assembled together for poetry, discussion, or performances of song and dance; they painted as an aesthetic pleasure and rarely as a means of earning. We find philosophic ideas or greetings, emotions, and experiences represented by paintings--paintings with fanciful or ideal landscapes; paintings representing life and environment of the cultured class in idealized form, never naturalistic either in fact or in intention. Until recently it was an indispensable condition in the Chinese view that an artist must be "cultured" and be a member of the gentry--distinguished, unoccupied, wealthy. A man who was paid for his work, for instance for a portrait for the ancestral cult, was until late time regarded as a craftsman, not as an artist. Yet, these "craftsmen" have produced in Han time and even earlier, many works which, in our view, undoubtedly belong to the realm of art. In the tombs have been found reliefs whose technique is generally intermediate between simple outline engraving and intaglio. The lining-in is most frequently executed in scratched lines. The representations, mostly in strips placed one above another, are of lively historical scenes, scenes from the life of the dead, great ritual ceremonies, or adventurous scenes from mythology. Bronze vessels have representations in inlaid gold and silver, mostly of animals. The most important documents of the painting of the Han period have also been found in tombs. We see especially ladies and gentlemen of society, with richly ornamented, elegant, expensive clothing that is very reminiscent of the clothing customary to this day in Japan. There are also artistic representations of human figures on lacquer caskets. While sculpture was not strongly developed, the architecture of the Han must have been magnificent and technically highly complex. Sculpture and temple architecture received a great stimulus with the spread of Buddhism in China. According to our present knowledge, Buddhism entered China from the south coast and through Central Asia at latest in the first century B.C.; it came with foreign merchants from India or Central Asia. According to Indian customs, Brahmans, the Hindu caste providing all Hindu priests, could not leave their homes. As merchants on their trips which lasted often several years, did not want to go without religious services, they turned to Buddhist priests as well as to priests of Near Eastern religions. These priests were not prevented from travelling and used this opportunity for missionary purposes. Thus, for a long time after the first arrival of Buddhists, the Buddhist priests in China were foreigners who served foreign merchant colonies. The depressed conditions of the people in the second century A.D. drove members of the lower classes into their arms, while the parts of Indian science which these priests brought with them from India aroused some interest in certain educated circles. Buddhism, therefore, undeniably exercised an influence at the end of the Han dynasty, although no Chinese were priests and few, if any, gentry members were adherents of the religious teachings. With the end of the Han period a further epoch of Chinese history comes to its close. The Han period was that of the final completion and consolidation of the social order of the gentry. The period that followed was that of the conflicts of the Chinese with the populations on their northern borders. Chapter Seven THE EPOCH OF THE FIRST DIVISION OF CHINA (A.D. 220-580) (A) The three kingdoms (220-265) 1 _Social, intellectual, and economic problems during the first division_ The end of the Han period was followed by the three and a half centuries of the first division of China into several kingdoms, each with its own dynasty. In fact, once before during the period of the Contending States, China had been divided into a number of states, but at least in theory they had been subject to the Chou dynasty, and none of the contending states had made the claim to be the legitimate ruler of all China. In this period of the "first division" several states claimed to be legitimate rulers, and later Chinese historians tried to decide which of these had "more right" to this claim. At the outset (220-280) there were three kingdoms (Wei, Wu, Shu Han); then came an unstable reunion during twenty-seven years (280-307) under the rule of the Western Chin. This was followed by a still sharper division between north and south: while a wave of non-Chinese nomad dynasties poured over the north, in the south one Chinese clique after another seized power, so that dynasty followed dynasty until finally, in 580, a united China came again into existence, adopting the culture of the north and the traditions of the gentry. In some ways, the period from 220 to 580 can be compared with the period of the coincidentally synchronous breakdown of the Roman Empire: in both cases there was no great increase in population, although in China perhaps no over-all decrease in population as in the Roman Empire; decrease occurred, however, in the population of the great Chinese cities, especially of the capital; furthermore we witness, in both empires, a disorganization of the monetary system, i.e. in China the reversal to a predominance of natural economy after some 400 years of money economy. Yet, this period cannot be simply dismissed as a transition period, as was usually done by the older European works on China. The social order of the gentry, whose birth and development inside China we followed, had for the first time to defend itself against views and systems entirely opposed to it; for the Turkish and Mongol peoples who ruled northern China brought with them their traditions of a feudal nobility with privileges of birth and all that they implied. Thus this period, socially regarded, is especially that of the struggle between the Chinese gentry and the northern nobility, the gentry being excluded at first as a direct political factor in the northern and more important part of China. In the south the gentry continued in the old style with a constant struggle between cliques, the only difference being that the class assumed a sort of "colonial" character through the formation of gigantic estates and through association with the merchant class. To throw light on the scale of events, we need to have figures of population. There are no figures for the years around A.D. 220, and we must make do with those of 140; but in order to show the relative strength of the three states it is the ratio between the figures that matters. In 140 the regions which later belonged to Wei had roughly 29,000,000 inhabitants; those later belonging to Wu had 11,700,000; those which belonged later to Shu Han had a bare 7,500,000. (The figures take no account of the primitive native population, which was not yet included in the taxation lists.) The Hsiung-nu formed only a small part of the population, as there were only the nineteen tribes which had abandoned one of the parts, already reduced, of the Hsiung-nu empire. The whole Hsiung-nu empire may never have counted more than some 3,000,000. At the time when the population of what became the Wei territory totalled 29,000,000 the capital with its immediate environment had over a million inhabitants. The figure is exclusive of most of the officials and soldiers, as these were taxable in their homes and so were counted there. It is clear that this was a disproportionate concentration round the capital. It was at this time that both South and North China felt the influence of Buddhism, which until A.D. 220 had no more real effect on China than had, for instance, the penetration of European civilization between 1580 and 1842. Buddhism offered new notions, new ideals, foreign science, and many other elements of culture, with which the old Chinese philosophy and science had to contend. At the same time there came with Buddhism the first direct knowledge of the great civilized countries west of China. Until then China had regarded herself as the only existing civilized country, and all other countries had been regarded as barbaric, for a civilized country was then taken to mean a country with urban industrial crafts and agriculture. In our present period, however, China's relations with the Middle East and with southern Asia were so close that the existence of civilized countries outside China had to be admitted. Consequently, when alien dynasties ruled in northern China and a new high civilization came into existence there, it was impossible to speak of its rulers as barbarians any longer. Even the theory that the Chinese emperor was the Son of Heaven and enthroned at the centre of the world was no longer tenable. Thus a vast widening of China's intellectual horizon took place. Economically, our present period witnessed an adjustment in South China between the Chinese way of life, which had penetrated from the north, and that of the natives of the south. Large groups of Chinese had to turn over from wheat culture in dry fields to rice culture in wet fields, and from field culture to market gardening. In North China the conflict went on between Chinese agriculture and the cattle breeding of Central Asia. Was the will of the ruler to prevail and North China to become a country of pasturage, or was the country to keep to the agrarian tradition of the people under this rule? The Turkish and Mongol conquerors had recently given up their old supplementary agriculture and had turned into pure nomads, obtaining the agricultural produce they needed by raiding or trade. The conquerors of North China were now faced with a different question: if they were to remain nomads, they must either drive the peasants into the south, or make them into slave herdsmen, or exterminate them. There was one more possibility: they might install themselves as a ruling upper class, as nobles over the subjugated native peasants. The same question was faced much later by the Mongols, and at first they answered it differently from the peoples of our present period. Only by attention to this problem shall we be in a position to explain why the rule of the Turkish peoples did not last, why these peoples were gradually absorbed and disappeared. 2 _Status of the two southern Kingdoms_ When the last emperor of the Han period had to abdicate in favour of Ts'ao P'ei and the Wei dynasty began, China was in no way a unified realm. Almost immediately, in 221, two other army commanders, who had long been independent, declared themselves emperors. In the south-west of China, in the present province of Szechwan, the Shu Han dynasty was founded in this way, and in the south-east, in the region of the present Nanking, the Wu dynasty. The situation of the southern kingdom of Shu Han (221-263) corresponded more or less to that of the Chungking regime in the Second World War. West of it the high Tibetan mountains towered up; there was very little reason to fear any major attack from that direction. In the north and east the realm was also protected by difficult mountain country. The south lay relatively open, but at that time there were few Chinese living there, but only natives with a relatively low civilization. The kingdom could only be seriously attacked from two corners--through the north-west, where there was a negotiable plateau, between the Ch'in-ling mountains in the north and the Tibetan mountains in the west, a plateau inhabited by fairly highly developed Tibetan tribes; and secondly through the south-east corner, where it would be possible to penetrate up the Yangtze. There was in fact incessant fighting at both these dangerous corners. Economically, Shu Han was not in a bad position. The country had long been part of the Chinese wheat lands, and had a fairly large Chinese peasant population in the well irrigated plain of Ch'engtu. There was also a wealthy merchant class, supplying grain to the surrounding mountain peoples and buying medicaments and other profitable Tibetan products. And there were trade routes from here through the present province of Yünnan to India. Shu Han's difficulty was that its population was not large enough to be able to stand against the northern State of Wei; moreover, it was difficult to carry out an offensive from Shu Han, though the country could defend itself well. The first attempt to find a remedy was a campaign against the native tribes of the present Yünnan. The purpose of this was to secure manpower for the army and also slaves for sale; for the south-west had for centuries been a main source for traffic in slaves. Finally it was hoped to gain control over the trade to India. All these things were intended to strengthen Shu Han internally, but in spite of certain military successes they produced no practical result, as the Chinese were unable in the long run to endure the climate or to hold out against the guerrilla tactics of the natives. Shu Han tried to buy the assistance of the Tibetans and with their aid to carry out a decisive attack on Wei, whose dynastic legitimacy was not recognized by Shu Han. The ruler of Shu Han claimed to be a member of the imperial family of the deposed Han dynasty, and therefore to be the rightful, legitimate ruler over China. His descent, however, was a little doubtful, and in any case it depended on a link far back in the past. Against this the Wei of the north declared that the last ruler of the Han dynasty had handed over to them with all due form the seals of the state and therewith the imperial prerogative. The controversy was of no great practical importance, but it played a big part in the Chinese Confucianist school until the twelfth century, and contributed largely to a revision of the old conceptions of legitimacy. The political plans of Shu Han were well considered and far-seeing. They were evolved by the premier, a man from Shantung named Chu-ko Liang; for the ruler died in 226 and his successor was still a child. But Chu-ko Liang lived only for a further eight years, and after his death in 234 the decline of Shu Han began. Its political leaders no longer had a sense of what was possible. Thus Wei inflicted several defeats on Shu Han, and finally subjugated it in 263. The situation of the state of Wu was much less favourable than that of Shu Han, though this second southern kingdom lasted from 221 to 280. Its country consisted of marshy, water-logged plains, or mountains with narrow valleys. Here Tai peoples had long cultivated their rice, while in the mountains Yao tribes lived by hunting and by simple agriculture. Peasants immigrating from the north found that their wheat and pulse did not thrive here, and slowly they had to gain familiarity with rice cultivation. They were also compelled to give up their sheep and cattle and in their place to breed pigs and water buffaloes, as was done by the former inhabitants of the country. The lower class of the population was mainly non-Chinese; above it was an upper class of Chinese, at first relatively small, consisting of officials, soldiers, and merchants in a few towns and administrative centres. The country was poor, and its only important economic asset was the trade in metals, timber, and other southern products; soon there came also a growing overseas trade with India and the Middle East, bringing revenues to the state in so far as the goods were re-exported from Wu to the north. Wu never attempted to conquer the whole of China, but endeavoured to consolidate its own difficult territory with a view to building up a state on a firm foundation. In general, Wu played mainly a passive part in the incessant struggles between the three kingdoms, though it was active in diplomacy. The Wu kingdom entered into relations with a man who in 232 had gained control of the present South Manchuria and shortly afterwards assumed the title of king. This new ruler of "Yen", as he called his kingdom, had determined to attack the Wei dynasty, and hoped, by putting pressure on it in association with Wu, to overrun Wei from north and south. Wei answered this plan very effectively by recourse to diplomacy and it began by making Wu believe that Wu had reason to fear an attack from its western neighbour Shu Han. A mission was also dispatched from Wei to negotiate with Japan. Japan was then emerging from its stone age and introducing metals; there were countless small principalities and states, of which the state of Yamato, then ruled by a queen, was the most powerful. Yamato had certain interests in Korea, where it already ruled a small coastal strip in the east. Wei offered Yamato the prospect of gaining the whole of Korea if it would turn against the state of Yen in South Manchuria. Wu, too, had turned to Japan, but the negotiations came to nothing, since Wu, as an ally of Yen, had nothing to offer. The queen of Yamato accordingly sent a mission to Wei; she had already decided in favour of that state. Thus Wei was able to embark on war against Yen, which it annihilated in 237. This wrecked Wu's diplomatic projects, and no more was heard of any ambitious plans of the kingdom of Wu. The two southern states had a common characteristic: both were condottiere states, not built up from their own population but conquered by generals from the north and ruled for a time by those generals and their northern troops. Natives gradually entered these northern armies and reduced their percentage of northerners, but a gulf remained between the native population, including its gentry, and the alien military rulers. This reduced the striking power of the southern states. On the other hand, this period had its positive element. For the first time there was an emperor in south China, with all the organization that implied. A capital full of officials, eunuchs, and all the satellites of an imperial court provided incentives to economic advance, because it represented a huge market. The peasants around it were able to increase their sales and grew prosperous. The increased demand resulted in an increase of tillage and a thriving trade. Soon the transport problem had to be faced, as had happened long ago in the north, and new means of transport, especially ships, were provided, and new trade routes opened which were to last far longer than the three kingdoms; on the other hand, the costs of transport involved fresh taxation burdens for the population. The skilled staff needed for the business of administration came into the new capital from the surrounding districts, for the conquerors and new rulers of the territory of the two southern dynasties had brought with them from the north only uneducated soldiers and almost equally uneducated officers. The influx of scholars and administrators into the chief cities produced cultural and economic centres in the south, a circumstance of great importance to China's later development. 3 _The northern State of Wei_ The situation in the north, in the state of Wei (220-265) was anything but rosy. Wei ruled what at that time were the most important and richest regions of China, the plain of Shensi in the west and the great plain east of Loyang, the two most thickly populated areas of China. But the events at the end of the Han period had inflicted great economic injury on the country. The southern and south-western parts of the Han empire had been lost, and though parts of Central Asia still gave allegiance to Wei, these, as in the past, were economically more of a burden than an asset, because they called for incessant expenditure. At least the trade caravans were able to travel undisturbed from and to China through Turkestan. Moreover, the Wei kingdom, although much smaller than the empire of the Han, maintained a completely staffed court at great expense, because the rulers, claiming to rule the whole of China, felt bound to display more magnificence than the rulers of the southern dynasties. They had also to reward the nineteen tribes of the Hsiung-nu in the north for their military aid, not only with cessions of land but with payments of money. Finally, they would not disarm but maintained great armies for the continual fighting against the southern states. The Wei dynasty did not succeed, however, in closely subordinating the various army commanders to the central government. Thus the commanders, in collusion with groups of the gentry, were able to enrich themselves and to secure regional power. The inadequate strength of the central government of Wei was further undermined by the rivalries among the dominant gentry. The imperial family (Ts'ao Pei, who reigned from 220 to 226, had taken as emperor the name of Wen Ti) was descended from one of the groups of great landowners that had formed in the later Han period. The nucleus of that group was a family named Ts'ui, of which there is mention from the Han period onward and which maintained its power down to the tenth century; but it remained in the background and at first held entirely aloof from direct intervention in high policy. Another family belonging to this group was the Hsia-hou family which was closely united to the family of Wen Ti by adoption; and very soon there was also the Ss[)u]-ma family. Quite naturally Wen Ti, as soon as he came into power, made provision for the members of these powerful families, for only thanks to their support had he been able to ascend the throne and to maintain his hold on the throne. Thus we find many members of the Hsia-hou and Ss[)u]-ma families in government positions. The Ss[)u]-ma family especially showed great activity, and at the end of Wen Ti's reign their power had so grown that a certain Ss[)u]-ma I was in control of the government, while the new emperor Ming Ti (227-233) was completely powerless. This virtually sealed the fate of the Wei dynasty, so far as the dynastic family was concerned. The next emperor was installed and deposed by the Ss[)u]-ma family; dissensions arose within the ruling family, leading to members of the family assassinating one another. In 264 a member of the Ss[)u]-ma family declared himself king; when he died and was succeeded by his son Ss[)u]-ma Yen, the latter, in 265, staged a formal act of renunciation of the throne of the Wei dynasty and made himself the first ruler of the new Chin dynasty. There is nothing to gain by detailing all the intrigues that led up to this event: they all took place in the immediate environment of the court and in no way affected the people, except that every item of expenditure, including all the bribery, had to come out of the taxes paid by the people. With such a situation at court, with the bad economic situation in the country, and with the continual fighting against the two southern states, there could be no question of any far-reaching foreign policy. Parts of eastern Turkestan still showed some measure of allegiance to Wei, but only because at the time it had no stronger opponent. The Hsiung-nu beyond the frontier were suffering from a period of depression which was at the same time a period of reconstruction. They were beginning slowly to form together with Mongol elements a new unit, the Juan-juan, but at this time were still politically inactive. The nineteen tribes within north China held more and more closely together as militarily organized nomads, but did not yet represent a military power and remained loyal to the Wei. The only important element of trouble seems to have been furnished by the Hsien-pi tribes, who had joined with Wu-huan tribes and apparently also with vestiges of the Hsiung-nu in eastern Mongolia, and who made numerous raids over the frontier into the Wei empire. The state of Yen, in southern Manchuria, had already been destroyed by Wei in 238 thanks to Wei's good relations with Japan. Loose diplomatic relations were maintained with Japan in the period that followed; in that period many elements of Chinese civilization found their way into Japan and there, together with settlers from many parts of China, helped to transform the culture of ancient Japan. (B) The Western Chin dynasty (A.D. 265-317) 1 _Internal situation in the Chin empire_ The change of dynasty in the state of Wei did not bring any turn in China's internal history. Ss[)u]-ma Yen, who as emperor was called Wu Ti (265-289), had come to the throne with the aid of his clique and his extraordinarily large and widely ramified family. To these he had to give offices as reward. There began at court once more the same spectacle as in the past, except that princes of the new imperial family now played a greater part than under the Wei dynasty, whose ruling house had consisted of a small family. It was now customary, in spite of the abolition of the feudal system, for the imperial princes to receive large regions to administer, the fiscal revenues of which represented their income. The princes were not, however, to exercise full authority in the style of the former feudal lords: their courts were full of imperial control officials. In the event of war it was their duty to come forward, like other governors, with an army in support of the central government. The various Chin princes succeeded, however, in making other governors, beyond the frontiers of their regions, dependent on them. Also, they collected armies of their own independently of the central government and used those armies to pursue personal policies. The members of the families allied with the ruling house, for their part, did all they could to extend their own power. Thus the first ruler of the dynasty was tossed to and fro between the conflicting interests and was himself powerless. But though intrigue was piled on intrigue, the ruler who, of course, himself had come to the head of the state by means of intrigues, was more watchful than the rulers of the Wei dynasty had been, and by shrewd counter-measures he repeatedly succeeded in playing off one party against another, so that the dynasty remained in power. Numerous widespread and furious risings nevertheless took place, usually led by princes. Thus during this period the history of the dynasty was of an extraordinarily dismal character. In spite of this, the Chin troops succeeded in overthrowing the second southern state, that of Wu (A.D. 280), and in so restoring the unity of the empire, the Shu Han realm having been already conquered by the Wei. After the destruction of Wu there remained no external enemy that represented a potential danger, so that a general disarmament was decreed (280) in order to restore a healthy economic and financial situation. This disarmament applied, of course, to the troops directly under the orders of the dynasty, namely the troops of the court and the capital and the imperial troops in the provinces. Disarmament could not, however, be carried out in the princes' regions, as the princes declared that they needed personal guards. The dismissal of the troops was accompanied by a decree ordering the surrender of arms. It may be assumed that the government proposed to mint money with the metal of the weapons surrendered, for coin (the old coin of the Wei dynasty) had become very scarce; as we indicated previously, money had largely been replaced by goods so that, for instance, grain and silks were used for the payment of salaries. China, from _c_. 200 A.D. on until the eighth century, remained in a period of such partial "natural economy". Naturally the decree for the surrender of weapons remained a dead-letter. The discharged soldiers kept their weapons at first and then preferred to sell them. A large part of them was acquired by the Hsiung-nu and the Hsien-pi in the north of China; apparently they usually gave up land in return. In this way many Chinese soldiers, though not all by any means, went as peasants to the regions in the north of China and beyond the frontier. They were glad to do so, for the Hsiung-nu and the Hsien-pi had not the efficient administration and rigid tax collection of the Chinese; and above all, they had no great landowners who could have organized the collection of taxes. For their part, the Hsiung-nu and the Hsien-pi had no reason to regret this immigration of peasants, who could provide them with the farm produce they needed. And at the same time they were receiving from them large quantities of the most modern weapons. This ineffective disarmament was undoubtedly the most pregnant event of the period of the western Chin dynasty. The measure was intended to save the cost of maintaining the soldiers and to bring them back to the land as peasants (and taxpayers); but the discharged men were not given land by the government. The disarmament achieved nothing, not even the desired increase in the money in circulation; what did happen was that the central government lost all practical power, while the military strength both of the dangerous princes within the country and also of the frontier people was increased. The results of these mistaken measures became evident at once and compelled the government to arm anew. 2 _Effect on the frontier peoples_ Four groups of frontier peoples drew more or less advantage from the demobilization law--the people of the Toba, the Tibetans, and the Hsien-pi in the north, and the nineteen tribes of the Hsiung-nu within the frontiers of the empire. In the course of time all sorts of complicated relations developed among those ascending peoples as well as between them and the Chinese. The Toba (T'o-pa) formed a small group in the north of the present province of Shansi, north of the city of Tat'ungfu, and they were about to develop their small state. They were primarily of Turkish origin, but had absorbed many tribes of the older Hsiung-nu and the Hsien-pi. In considering the ethnical relationships of all these northern peoples we must rid ourselves of our present-day notions of national unity. Among the Toba there were many Turkish tribes, but also Mongols, and probably a Tungus tribe, as well as perhaps others whom we cannot yet analyse. These tribes may even have spoken different languages, much as later not only Mongol but also Turkish was spoken in the Mongol empire. The political units they formed were tribal unions, not national states. Such a union or federation can be conceived of, structurally, as a cone. At the top point of the cone there was the person of the ruler of the federation. He was a member of the leading family or clan of the leading tribe (the two top layers of the cone). If we speak of the Toba as of Turkish stock, we mean that according to our present knowledge, this leading tribe (_a_) spoke a language belonging to the Turkish language family and (_b_) exhibited a pattern of culture which belonged to the type called above in Chapter One as "North-western Culture". The next layer of the cone represented the "inner circle of tribes", i.e. such tribes as had joined with the leading tribe at an early moment. The leading family of the leading tribe often took their wives from the leading families of the "inner tribes", and these leaders served as advisors and councillors to the leader of the federation. The next lower layer consisted of the "outer tribes", i.e. tribes which had joined the federation only later, often under strong pressure; their number was always much larger than the number of the "inner tribes", but their political influence was much weaker. Every layer below that of the "outer tribes" was regarded as inferior and more or less "unfree". There was many a tribe which, as a tribe, had to serve a free tribe; and there were others who, as tribes, had to serve the whole federation. In addition, there were individuals who had quit or had been forced to quit their tribe or their home and had joined the federation leader as his personal "bondsmen"; further, there were individual slaves and, finally, there were the large masses of agriculturists who had been conquered by the federation. When such a federation was dissolved, by defeat or inner dissent, individual tribes or groups of tribes could join a new federation or could resume independent life. Typically, such federations exhibited two tendencies. In the case of the Hsiung-nu we indicated already previously that the leader of the federation repeatedly attempted to build up a kind of bureaucratic system, using his bondsmen as a nucleus. A second tendency was to replace the original tribal leaders by members of the family of the federation leader. If this initial step, usually first taken when "outer tribes" were incorporated, was successful, a reorganization was attempted: instead of using tribal units in war, military units on the basis of "Groups of Hundred", "Groups of Thousand", etc., were created and the original tribes were dissolved into military regiments. In the course of time, and especially at the time of the dissolution of a federation, these military units had gained social coherence and appeared to be tribes again; we are probably correct in assuming that all "tribes" which we find from this time on were already "secondary" tribes of this type. A secondary tribe often took its name from its leader, but it could also revive an earlier "primary tribe" name. The Toba represented a good example for this "cone" structure of pastoral society. Also the Hsiung-nu of this time seem to have had a similar structure. Incidentally, we will from now on call the Hsiung-nu "Huns" because Chinese sources begin to call them "Hu", a term which also had a more general meaning (all non-Chinese in the north and west of China) as well as a more special meaning (non-Chinese in Central Asia and India). The Tibetans fell apart into two sub-groups, the Ch'iang and the Ti. Both names appeared repeatedly as political conceptions, but the Tibetans, like all other state-forming groups of peoples, sheltered in their realms countless alien elements. In the course of the third and second centuries B.C. the group of the Ti, mainly living in the territory of the present Szechwan, had mixed extensively with remains of the Yüeh-chih; the others, the Ch'iang, were northern Tibetans or so-called Tanguts; that is to say, they contained Turkish and Mongol elements. In A.D. 296 there began a great rising of the Ti, whose leader Ch'i Wan-nien took on the title emperor. The Ch'iang rose with them, but it was not until later, from 312, that they pursued an independent policy. The Ti State, however, though it had a second emperor, very soon lost importance, so that we shall be occupied solely with the Ch'iang. As the tribal structure of Tibetan groups was always weak and as leadership developed among them only in times of war, their states always show a military rather than a tribal structure, and the continuation of these states depended strongly upon the personal qualities of their leaders. Incidentally, Tibetans fundamentally were sheep-breeders and not horse-breeders and, therefore, they always showed inclination to incorporate infantry into their armies. Thus, Tibetan states differed strongly from the aristocratically organized "Turkish" states as well as from the tribal, non-aristocratic "Mongol" states of that period. The Hsien-pi, according to our present knowledge, were under "Mongol" leadership, i.e. we believe that the language of the leading group belonged to the family of Mongolian languages and that their culture belonged to the type described above as "Northern culture". They had, in addition, a strong admixture of Hunnic tribes. Throughout the period during which they played a part in history, they never succeeded in forming any great political unit, in strong contrast to the Huns, who excelled in state formation. The separate groups of the Hsien-pi pursued a policy of their own; very frequently Hsien-pi fought each other, and they never submitted to a common leadership. Thus their history is entirely that of small groups. As early as the Wei period there had been small-scale conflicts with the Hsien-pi tribes, and at times the tribes had some success. The campaigns of the Hsien-pi against North China now increased, and in the course of them the various tribes formed firmer groupings, among which the Mu-jung tribes played a leading part. In 281, the year after the demobilization law, this group marched south into China, and occupied the region round Peking. After fierce fighting, in which the Mu-jung section suffered heavy losses, a treaty was signed in 289, under which the Mu-jung tribe of the Hsien-pi recognized Chinese overlordship. The Mu-jung were driven to this step mainly because they had been continually attacked from southern Manchuria by another Hsien-pi tribe, the Yü-wen, the tribe most closely related to them. The Mu-jung made use of the period of their so-called subjection to organize their community in North China. South of the Toba were the nineteen tribes of the Hsiung-nu or Huns, as we are now calling them. Their leader in A.D. 287, Liu Yüan, was one of the principal personages of this period. His name is purely Chinese, but he was descended from the Hun _shan-yü_, from the family and line of Mao Tun. His membership of that long-famous noble line and old ruling family of Huns gave him a prestige which he increased by his great organizing ability. 3 _Struggles for the throne_ We shall return to Liu Yüan later; we must now cast another glance at the official court of the Chin. In that court a family named Yang had become very powerful, a daughter of this family having become empress. When, however, the emperor died, the wife of the new emperor Hui Ti (290-306) secured the assassination of the old empress Yang and of her whole family. Thus began the rule at court of the Chia family. In 299 the Chia family got rid of the heir to the throne, to whom they objected, assassinating this prince and another one. This event became the signal for large-scale activity on the part of the princes, each of whom was supported by particular groups of families. The princes had not complied with the disarmament law of 280 and so had become militarily supreme. The generals newly appointed in the course of the imperial rearmament at once entered into alliance with the princes, and thus were quite unreliable as officers of the government. Both the generals and the princes entered into agreements with the frontier peoples to assure their aid in the struggle for power. The most popular of these auxiliaries were the Hsien-pi, who were fighting for one of the princes whose territory lay in the east. Since the Toba were the natural enemies of the Hsien-pi, who were continually contesting their hold on their territory, the Toba were always on the opposite side to that supported by the Hsien-pi, so that they now supported generals who were ostensibly loyal to the government. The Huns, too, negotiated with several generals and princes and received tempting offers. Above all, all the frontier peoples were now militarily well equipped, continually receiving new war material from the Chinese who from time to time were co-operating with them. In A.D. 300 Prince Lun assassinated the empress Chia and removed her group. In 301 he made himself emperor, but in the same year he was killed by the prince of Ch'i. This prince was killed in 302 by the prince of Ch'ang-sha, who in turned was killed in 303 by the prince of Tung-hai. The prince of Ho-chien rose in 302 and was killed in 306; the prince of Ch'engtu rose in 303, conquered the capital in 305, and then, in 306, was himself removed. I mention all these names and dates only to show the disunion within the ruling groups. 4 _Migration of Chinese_ All these struggles raged round the capital, for each of the princes wanted to secure full power and to become emperor. Thus the border regions remained relatively undisturbed. Their population suffered much less from the warfare than the unfortunate people in the neighbourhood of the central government. For this reason there took place a mass migration of Chinese from the centre of the empire to its periphery. This process, together with the shifting of the frontier peoples, is one of the most important events of that epoch. A great number of Chinese migrated especially into the present province of Kansu, where a governor who had originally been sent there to fight the Hsien-pi had created a sort of paradise by his good administration and maintenance of peace. The territory ruled by this Chinese, first as governor and then in increasing independence, was surrounded by Hsien-pi, Tibetans, and other peoples, but thanks to the great immigration of Chinese and to its situation on the main caravan route to Turkestan, it was able to hold its own, to expand, and to become prosperous. Other groups of Chinese peasants migrated southward into the territories of the former state of Wu. A Chinese prince of the house of the Chin was ruling there, in the present Nanking. His purpose was to organize that territory, and then to intervene in the struggles of the other princes. We shall meet him again at the beginning of the Hun rule over North China in 317, as founder and emperor of the first south Chinese dynasty, which was at once involved in the usual internal and external struggles. For the moment, however, the southern region was relatively at peace, and was accordingly attracting settlers. Finally, many Chinese migrated northward, into the territories of the frontier peoples, not only of the Hsien-pi but especially of the Huns. These alien peoples, although in the official Chinese view they were still barbarians, at least maintained peace in the territories they ruled, and they left in peace the peasants and craftsmen who came to them, even while their own armies were involved in fighting inside China. Not only peasants and craftsmen came to the north but more and more educated persons. Members of families of the gentry that had suffered from the fighting, people who had lost their influence in China, were welcomed by the Huns and appointed teachers and political advisers of the Hun nobility. 5 _Victory of the Huns. The Hun Han dynasty (later renamed the Earlier Chao dynasty_) With its self-confidence thus increased, the Hun council of nobles declared that in future the Huns should no longer fight now for one and now for another Chinese general or prince. They had promised loyalty to the Chinese emperor, but not to any prince. No one doubted that the Chinese emperor was a complete nonentity and no longer played any part in the struggle for power. It was evident that the murders would continue until one of the generals or princes overcame the rest and made himself emperor. Why should not the Huns have the same right? Why should not they join in this struggle for the Chinese imperial throne? There were two arguments against this course, one of which was already out of date. The Chinese had for many centuries set down the Huns as uncultured barbarians; but the inferiority complex thus engendered in the Huns had virtually been overcome, because in the course of time their upper class had deliberately acquired a Chinese education and so ranked culturally with the Chinese. Thus the ruler Liu Yüan, for example, had enjoyed a good Chinese education and was able to read all the classical texts. The second argument was provided by the rigid conceptions of legitimacy to which the Turkish-Hunnic aristocratic society adhered. The Huns asked themselves: "Have we, as aliens, any right to become emperors and rulers in China, when we are not descended from an old Chinese family?" On this point Liu Yüan and his advisers found a good answer. They called Liu Yüan's dynasty the "Han dynasty", and so linked it with the most famous of all the Chinese dynasties, pointing to the pact which their ancestor Mao Tun had concluded five hundred years earlier with the first emperor of the Han dynasty and which had described the two states as "brethren". They further recalled the fact that the rulers of the Huns were closely related to the Chinese ruling family, because Mao Tun and his successors had married Chinese princesses. Finally, Liu Yüan's Chinese family name, Liu, had also been the family name of the rulers of the Han dynasty. Accordingly the Hun Lius came forward not as aliens but as the rightful successors in continuation of the Han dynasty, as legitimate heirs to the Chinese imperial throne on the strength of relationship and of treaties. Thus the Hun Liu Yüan had no intention of restoring the old empire of Mao Tun, the empire of the nomads; he intended to become emperor of China, emperor of a country of farmers. In this lay the fundamental difference between the earlier Hun empire and this new one. The question whether the Huns should join in the struggle for the Chinese imperial throne was therefore decided among the Huns themselves in 304 in the affirmative, by the founding of the "Hun Han dynasty". All that remained was the practical question of how to hold out with their small army of 50,000 men if serious opposition should be offered to the "barbarians". Meanwhile Liu Yüan provided himself with court ceremonial on the Chinese model, in a capital which, after several changes, was established at P'ing-ch'êng in southern Shansi. He attracted more and more of the Chinese gentry, who were glad to come to this still rather barbaric but well-organized court. In 309 the first attack was made on the Chinese capital, Loyang. Liu Yüan died in the following year, and in 311, under his successor Liu Ts'ung (310-318), the attack was renewed and Loyang fell. The Chin emperor, Huai Ti, was captured and kept a prisoner in P'ing-ch'êng until in 313 a conspiracy in his favour was brought to light in the Hun empire, and he and all his supporters were killed. Meanwhile the Chinese clique of the Chin dynasty had hastened to make a prince emperor in the second capital, Ch'ang-an (Min Ti, 313-316) while the princes' struggles for the throne continued. Nobody troubled about the fate of the unfortunate emperor in his capital. He received no reinforcements, so that he was helpless in face of the next attack of the Huns, and in 316 he was compelled to surrender like his predecessor. Now the Hun Han dynasty held both capitals, which meant virtually the whole of the western part of North China, and the so-called "Western Chin dynasty" thus came to its end. Its princes and generals and many of its gentry became landless and homeless and had to flee into the south. (C) The alien empires in North China, down to the Toba (A.D. 317-385) 1 _The Later Chao dynasty in eastern North China (Hun_; 329-352) At this time the eastern part of North China was entirely in the hands of Shih Lo, a former follower of Liu Yüan. Shih Lo had escaped from slavery in China and had risen to be a military leader among detribalized Huns. In 310 he had not only undertaken a great campaign right across China to the south, but had slaughtered more than 100,000 Chinese, including forty-eight princes of the Chin dynasty, who had formed a vast burial procession for a prince. This achievement added considerably to Shih Lo's power, and his relations with Liu Ts'ung, already tense, became still more so. Liu Yüan had tried to organize the Hun state on the Chinese model, intending in this way to gain efficient control of China; Shih Lo rejected Chinese methods, and held to the old warrior-nomad tradition, making raids with the aid of nomad fighters. He did not contemplate holding the territories of central and southern China which he had conquered; he withdrew, and in the two years 314-315 he contented himself with bringing considerable expanses in north-eastern China, especially territories of the Hsien-pi, under his direct rule, as a base for further raids. Many Huns in Liu Ts'ung's dominion found Shih Lo's method of rule more to their taste than living in a state ruled by officials, and they went over to Shih Lo and joined him in breaking entirely with Liu Ts'ung. There was a further motive for this: in states founded by nomads, with a federation of tribes as their basis, the personal qualities of the ruler played an important part. The chiefs of the various tribes would not give unqualified allegiance to the son of a dead ruler unless the son was a strong personality or gave promise of becoming one. Failing that, there would be independence movements. Liu Ts'ung did not possess the indisputable charisma of his predecessor Liu Yüan; and the Huns looked with contempt on his court splendour, which could only have been justified if he had conquered all China. Liu Ts'ung had no such ambition; nor had his successor Liu Yao (319-329), who gave the Hun Han dynasty retroactively, from its start with Liu Yüan, the new name of "Earlier Chao dynasty" (304-329). Many tribes then went over to Shih Lo, and the remainder of Liu Yao's empire was reduced to a precarious existence. In 329 the whole of it was annexed by Shih Lo. Although Shih Lo had long been much more powerful than the emperors of the "Earlier Chao dynasty", until their removal he had not ventured to assume the title of emperor. The reason for this seems to have lain in the conceptions of nobility held by the Turkish peoples in general and the Huns in particular, according to which only those could become _shan-yü_ (or, later, emperor) who could show descent from the Tu-ku tribe the rightful _shan-yü_ stock. In accordance with this conception, all later Hun dynasties deliberately disowned Shih Lo. For Shih Lo, after his destruction of Liu Yao, no longer hesitated: ex-slave as he was, and descended from one of the non-noble stocks of the Huns, he made himself emperor of the "Later Chao dynasty" (329-352). Shih Lo was a forceful army commander, but he was a man without statesmanship, and without the culture of his day. He had no Chinese education; he hated the Chinese and would have been glad to make north China a grazing ground for his nomad tribes of Huns. Accordingly he had no desire to rule all China. The part already subjugated, embracing the whole of north China with the exception of the present province of Kansu, sufficed for his purpose. The governor of that province was a loyal subject of the Chinese Chin dynasty, a man famous for his good administration, and himself a Chinese. After the execution of the Chin emperor Huai Ti by the Huns in 313, he regarded himself as no longer bound to the central government; he made himself independent and founded the "Earlier Liang dynasty", which was to last until 376. This mainly Chinese realm was not very large, although it had admitted a broad stream of Chinese emigrants from the dissolving Chin empire; but economically the Liang realm was very prosperous, so that it was able to extend its influence as far as Turkestan. During the earlier struggles Turkestan had been virtually in isolation, but now new contacts began to be established. Many traders from Turkestan set up branches in Liang. In the capital there were whole quarters inhabited only by aliens from western and eastern Turkestan and from India. With the traders came Buddhist monks; trade and Buddhism seemed to be closely associated everywhere. In the trading centres monasteries were installed in the form of blocks of houses within strong walls that successfully resisted many an attack. Consequently the Buddhists were able to serve as bankers for the merchants, who deposited their money in the monasteries, which made a charge for its custody; the merchants also warehoused their goods in the monasteries. Sometimes the process was reversed, a trade centre being formed around an existing monastery. In this case the monastery also served as a hostel for the merchants. Economically this Chinese state in Kansu was much more like a Turkestan city state that lived by commerce than the agrarian states of the Far East, although agriculture was also pursued under the Earlier Liang. From this trip to the remote west we will return first to the Hun capital. From 329 onward Shih Lo possessed a wide empire, but an unstable one. He himself felt at all times insecure, because the Huns regarded him, on account of his humble origin, as a "revolutionary". He exterminated every member of the Liu family, that is to say the old _shan-yü_ family, of whom he could get hold, in order to remove any possible pretender to the throne; but he could not count on the loyalty of the Hun and other Turkish tribes under his rule. During this period not a few Huns went over to the small realm of the Toba; other Hun tribes withdrew entirely from the political scene and lived with their herds as nomad tribes in Shansi and in the Ordos region. The general insecurity undermined the strength of Shih Lo's empire. He died in 333, and there came to the throne, after a short interregnum, another personality of a certain greatness, Shih Hu (334-349). He transferred the capital to the city of Yeh, in northern Honan, where the rulers of the Wei dynasty had reigned. There are many accounts of the magnificence of the court of Yeh. Foreigners, especially Buddhist monks, played a greater part there than Chinese. On the one hand, it was not easy for Shih Hu to gain the active support of the educated Chinese gentry after the murders of Shih Lo and, on the other hand, Shih Hu seems to have understood that foreigners without family and without other relations to the native population, but with special skills, are the most reliable and loyal servants of a ruler. Indeed, his administration seems to have been good, but the regime remained completely parasitic, with no support of the masses or the gentry. After Shih Hu's death there were fearful combats between his sons; ultimately a member of an entirely different family of Hun origin seized power, but was destroyed in 352 by the Hsien-pi, bringing to an end the Later Chao dynasty. 2 _Earlier Yen dynasty in the north-east (proto-Mongol; 352-370), and the Earlier Ch'in dynasty in all north China (Tibetan; 351-394_) In the north, proto-Mongol Hsien-pi tribes had again made themselves independent; in the past they had been subjects of Liu Yüan and then of Shih Lo. A man belonging to one of these tribes, the tribe of the Mu-jung, became the leader of a league of tribes, and in 337 founded the state of Yen. This proto-Mongol state of the Mu-jung, which the historians call the "Earlier Yen" state, conquered parts of southern Manchuria and also the state of Kao-li in Korea, and there began then an immigration of Hsien-pi into Korea, which became noticeable at a later date. The conquest of Korea, which was still, as in the past, a Japanese market and was very wealthy, enormously strengthened the state of Yen. Not until a little later, when Japan's trade relations were diverted to central China, did Korea's importance begin to diminish. Although this "Earlier Yen dynasty" of the Mu-jung officially entered on the heritage of the Huns, and its regime was therefore dated only from 352 (until 370), it failed either to subjugate the whole realm of the "Later Chao" or effectively to strengthen the state it had acquired. This old Hun territory had suffered economically from the anti-agrarian nomad tendency of the last of the Hun emperors; and unremunerative wars against the Chinese in the south had done nothing to improve its position. In addition to this, the realm of the Toba was dangerously gaining strength on the flank of the new empire. But the most dangerous enemy was in the west, on former Hun soil, in the province of Shensi--Tibetans, who finally came forward once more with claims to dominance. These were Tibetans of the P'u family, which later changed its name to Fu. The head of the family had worked his way up as a leader of Tibetan auxiliaries under the "Later Chao", gaining more and more power and following. When under that dynasty the death of Shih Hu marked the beginning of general dissolution, he gathered his Tibetans around him in the west, declared himself independent of the Huns, and made himself emperor of the "Earlier Ch'in dynasty" (351-394). He died in 355, and was followed after a short interregnum by Fu Chien (357-385), who was unquestionably one of the most important figures of the fourth century. This Tibetan empire ultimately defeated the "Earlier Yen dynasty" and annexed the realm of the Mu-jung. Thus the Mu-jung Hsien-pi came under the dominion of the Tibetans; they were distributed among a number of places as garrisons of mounted troops. The empire of the Tibetans was organized quite differently from the empires of the Huns and the Hsien-pi tribes. The Tibetan organization was purely military and had nothing to do with tribal structure. This had its advantages, for the leader of such a formation had no need to take account of tribal chieftains; he was answerable to no one and possessed considerable personal power. Nor was there any need for him to be of noble rank or descended from an old family. The Tibetan ruler Fu Chien organized all his troops, including the non-Tibetans, on this system, without regard to tribal membership. Fu Chien's state showed another innovation: the armies of the Huns and the Hsien-pi had consisted entirely of cavalry, for the nomads of the north were, of course, horsemen; to fight on foot was in their eyes not only contrary to custom but contemptible. So long as a state consisted only of a league of tribes, it was simply out of the question to transform part of the army into infantry. Fu Chien, however, with his military organization that paid no attention to the tribal element, created an infantry in addition to the great cavalry units, recruiting for it large numbers of Chinese. The infantry proved extremely valuable, especially in the fighting in the plains of north China and in laying siege to fortified towns. Fu Chien thus very quickly achieved military predominance over the neighbouring states. As we have seen already, he annexed the "Earlier Yen" realm of the proto-Mongols (370), but he also annihilated the Chinese "Earlier Liang" realm (376) and in the same year the small Turkish Toba realm. This made him supreme over all north China and stronger than any alien ruler before him. He had in his possession both the ancient capitals, Ch'ang-an and Loyang; the whole of the rich agricultural regions of north China belonged to him; he also controlled the routes to Turkestan. He himself had a Chinese education, and he attracted Chinese to his court; he protected the Buddhists; and he tried in every way to make the whole country culturally Chinese. As soon as Fu Chien had all north China in his power, as Liu Yüan and his Huns had done before him, he resolved, like Liu Yüan, to make every effort to gain the mastery over all China, to become emperor of China. Liu Yüan's successors had not had the capacity for which such a venture called; Fu Chien was to fail in it for other reasons. Yet, from a military point of view, his chances were not bad. He had far more soldiers under his command than the Chinese "Eastern Chin dynasty" which ruled the south, and his troops were undoubtedly better. In the time of the founder of the Tibetan dynasty the southern empire had been utterly defeated by his troops (354), and the south Chinese were no stronger now. Against them the north had these assets: the possession of the best northern tillage, the control of the trade routes, and "Chinese" culture and administration. At the time, however, these represented only potentialities and not tangible realities. It would have taken ten to twenty years to restore the capacities of the north after its devastation in many wars, to reorganize commerce, and to set up a really reliable administration, and thus to interlock the various elements and consolidate the various tribes. But as early as 383 Fu Chien started his great campaign against the south, with an army of something like a million men. At first the advance went well. The horsemen from the north, however, were men of the mountain country, and in the soggy plains of the Yangtze region, cut up by hundreds of water-courses and canals, they suffered from climatic and natural conditions to which they were unaccustomed. Their main strength was still in cavalry; and they came to grief. The supplies and reinforcements for the vast army failed to arrive in time; units did not reach the appointed places at the appointed dates. The southern troops under the supreme command of Hsieh Hsüan, far inferior in numbers and militarily of no great efficiency, made surprise attacks on isolated units before these were in regular formation. Some they defeated, others they bribed; they spread false reports. Fu Chien's army was seized with widespread panic, so that he was compelled to retreat in haste. As he did so it became evident that his empire had no inner stability: in a very short time it fell into fragments. The south Chinese had played no direct part in this, for in spite of their victory they were not strong enough to advance far to the north. 3 _The fragmentation of north China_ The first to fall away from the Tibetan ruler was a noble of the Mu-jung, a member of the ruling family of the "Earlier Yen dynasty", who withdrew during the actual fighting to pursue a policy of his own. With the vestiges of the Hsien-pi who followed him, mostly cavalry, he fought his way northward into the old homeland of the Hsien-pi and there, in central Hopei, founded the "Later Yen dynasty" (384-409), himself reigning for twelve years. In the remaining thirteen years of the existence of that dynasty there were no fewer than five rulers, the last of them a member of another family. The history of this Hsien-pi dynasty, as of its predecessor, is an unedifying succession of intrigues; no serious effort was made to build up a true state. In the same year 384 there was founded, under several other Mu-jung princes of the ruling family of the "Earlier Yen dynasty", the "Western Yen dynasty" (384-394). Its nucleus was nothing more than a detachment of troops of the Hsien-pi which had been thrown by Fu Chien into the west of his empire, in Shensi, in the neighbourhood of the old capital Ch'ang-an. There its commanders, on learning the news of Fu Chien's collapse, declared their independence. In western China, however, far removed from all liaison with the main body of the Hsien-pi, they were unable to establish themselves, and when they tried to fight their way to the north-east they were dispersed, so that they failed entirely to form an actual state. There was a third attempt in 384 to form a state in north China. A Tibetan who had joined Fu Chien with his followers declared himself independent when Fu Chien came back, a beaten man, to Shensi. He caused Fu Chien and almost the whole of his family to be assassinated, occupied the capital, Ch'ang-an, and actually entered into the heritage of Fu Chien. This Tibetan dynasty is known as the "Later Ch'in dynasty" (384-417). It was certainly the strongest of those founded in 384, but it still failed to dominate any considerable part of China and remained of local importance, mainly confined to the present province of Shensi. Fu Chien's empire nominally had three further rulers, but they did not exert the slightest influence on events. With the collapse of the state founded by Fu Chien, the tribes of Hsien-pi who had left their homeland in the third century and migrated to the Ordos region proceeded to form their own state: a man of the Hsien-pi tribe of the Ch'i-fu founded the so-called "Western Ch'in dynasty" (385-431). Like the other Hsien-pi states, this one was of weak construction, resting on the military strength of a few tribes and failing to attain a really secure basis. Its territory lay in the east of the present province of Kansu, and so controlled the eastern end of the western Asian caravan route, which might have been a source of wealth if the Ch'i-fu had succeeded in attracting commerce by discreet treatment and in imposing taxation on it. Instead of this, the bulk of the long-distance traffic passed through the Ordos region, a little farther north, avoiding the Ch'i-fu state, which seemed to the merchants to be too insecure. The Ch'i-fu depended mainly on cattle-breeding in the remote mountain country in the south of their territory, a region that gave them relative security from attack; on the other hand, this made them unable to exercise any influence on the course of political events in western China. Mention must be made of one more state that rose from the ruins of Fu Chien's empire. It lay in the far west of China, in the western part of the present province of Kansu, and was really a continuation of the Chinese "Earlier Liang" realm, which had been annexed ten years earlier (376) by Fu Chien. A year before his great march to the south, Fu Chien had sent the Tibetan Lü Kuang into the "Earlier Liang" region in order to gain influence over Turkestan. As mentioned previously, after the great Hun rulers Fu Chien was the first to make a deliberate attempt to secure cultural and political overlordship over the whole of China. Although himself a Tibetan, he never succumbed to the temptation of pursuing a "Tibetan" policy; like an entirely legitimate ruler of China, he was concerned to prevent the northern peoples along the frontier from uniting with the Tibetan peoples of the west for political ends. The possession of Turkestan would avert that danger, which had shown signs of becoming imminent of late: some tribes of the Hsien-pi had migrated as far as the high mountains of Tibet and had imposed themselves as a ruling class on the still very primitive Tibetans living there. From this symbiosis there began to be formed a new people, the so-called T'u-yü-hun, a hybridization of Mongol and Tibetan stock with a slight Turkish admixture. Lü Kuang had considerable success in Turkestan; he had brought considerable portions of eastern Turkestan under Fu Chien's sovereignty and administered those regions almost independently. When the news came of Fu Chien's end, he declared himself an independent ruler, of the "Later Liang" dynasty (386-403). Strictly speaking, this was simply a trading State, like the city-states of Turkestan: its basis was the transit traffic that brought it prosperity. For commerce brought good profit to the small states that lay right across the caravan route, whereas it was of doubtful benefit, as we know, to agrarian China as a whole, because the luxury goods which it supplied to the court were paid for out of the production of the general population. This "Later Liang" realm was inhabited not only by a few Tibetans and many Chinese, but also by Hsien-pi and Huns. These heterogeneous elements with their divergent cultures failed in the long run to hold together in this long but extremely narrow strip of territory, which was almost incapable of military defence. As early as 397 a group of Huns in the central section of the country made themselves independent, assuming the name of the "Northern Liang" (397-439). These Huns quickly conquered other parts of the "Later Liang" realm, which then fell entirely to pieces. Chinese again founded a state, "West Liang" (400-421) in western Kansu, and the Hsien-pi founded "South Liang" (379-414) in eastern Kansu. Thus the "Later Liang" fell into three parts, more or less differing ethnically, though they could not be described as ethnically unadulterated states. 4 _Sociological analysis of the two great alien empires_ The two great empires of north China at the time of its division had been founded by non-Chinese--the first by the Hun Liu Yüan, the second by the Tibetan Fu Chien. Both rulers went to work on the same principle of trying to build up truly "Chinese" empires, but the traditions of Huns and Tibetans differed, and the two experiments turned out differently. Both failed, but not for the same reasons and not with the same results. The Hun Liu Yüan was the ruler of a league of feudal tribes, which was expected to take its place as an upper class above the unchanged Chinese agricultural population with its system of officials and gentry. But Liu Yüan's successors were national reactionaries who stood for the maintenance of the nomad life against that new plan of transition to a feudal class of urban nobles ruling an agrarian population. Liu Yüan's more far-seeing policy was abandoned, with the result that the Huns were no longer in a position to rule an immense agrarian territory, and the empire soon disintegrated. For the various Hun tribes this failure meant falling back into political insignificance, but they were able to maintain their national character and existence. Fu Chien, as a Tibetan, was a militarist and soldier, in accordance with the past of the Tibetans. Under him were grouped Tibetans without tribal chieftains; the great mass of Chinese; and dispersed remnants of tribes of Huns, Hsien-pi, and others. His organization was militaristic and, outside the military sphere, a militaristic bureaucracy. The Chinese gentry, so far as they still existed, preferred to work with him rather than with the feudalist Huns. These gentry probably supported Fu Chien's southern campaign, for, in consequence of the wide ramifications of their families, it was to their interest that China should form a single economic unit. They were, of course, equally ready to work with another group, one of southern Chinese, to attain the same end by other means, if those means should prove more advantageous: thus the gentry were not a reliable asset, but were always ready to break faith. Among other things, Fu Chien's southern campaign was wrecked by that faithlessness. When an essentially military state suffers military defeat, it can only go to pieces. This explains the disintegration of that great empire within a single year into so many diminutive states, as already described. 5 _Sociological analysis of the petty States_ The states that took the place of Fu Chien's empire, those many diminutive states (the Chinese speak of the period of the Sixteen Kingdoms), may be divided from the economic point of view into two groups--trading states and warrior states; sociologically they also fall into two groups, tribal states and military states. The small states in the west, in Kansu (the Later Liang and the Western, Northern, and Southern Liang), were trading states: they lived on the earnings of transit trade with Turkestan. The eastern states were warrior states, in which an army commander ruled by means of an armed group of non-Chinese and exploited an agricultural population. It is only logical that such states should be short-lived, as in fact they all were. Sociologically regarded, during this period only the Southern and Northern Liang were still tribal states. In addition to these came the young Toba realm, which began in 385 but of which mention has not yet been made. The basis of that state was the tribe, not the family or the individual; after its political disintegration the separate tribes remained in existence. The other states of the east, however, were military states, made up of individuals with no tribal allegiance but subject to a military commandant. But where there is no tribal association, after the political downfall of a state founded by ethnical groups, those groups sooner or later disappear as such. We see this in the years immediately following Fu Chien's collapse: the Tibetan ethnical group to which he himself belonged disappeared entirely from the historical scene. The two Tibetan groups that outlasted him, also forming military states and not tribal states, similarly came to an end shortly afterwards for all time. The Hsien-pi groups in the various fragments of the empire, with the exception of the petty states in Kansu, also continued, only as tribal fragments led by a few old ruling families. They, too, after brief and undistinguished military rule, came to an end; they disappeared so completely that thereafter we no longer find the term Hsien-pi in history. Not that they had been exterminated. When the social structure and its corresponding economic form fall to pieces, there remain only two alternatives for its individuals. Either they must go over to a new form, which in China could only mean that they became Chinese; many Hsien-pi in this way became Chinese in the decades following 384. Or, they could retain their old way of living in association with another stock of similar formation; this, too, happened in many cases. Both these courses, however, meant the end of the Hsien-pi as an independent ethnical unit. We must keep this process and its reasons in view if we are to understand how a great people can disappear once and for all. The Huns, too, so powerful in the past, were suddenly scarcely to be found any longer. Among the many petty states there were many Hsien-pi kingdoms, but only a single, quite small Hun state, that of the Northern Liang. The disappearance of the Huns was, however, only apparent; at this time they remained in the Ordos region and in Shansi as separate nomad tribes with no integrating political organization; their time had still to come. 6 _Spread of Buddhism_ According to the prevalent Chinese view, nothing of importance was achieved during this period in north China in the intellectual sphere; there was no culture in the north, only in the south. This is natural: for a Confucian this period, the fourth century, was one of degeneracy in north China, for no one came into prominence as a celebrated Confucian. Nothing else could be expected, for in the north the gentry, which had been the class that maintained Confucianism since the Han period, had largely been destroyed; from political leadership especially it had been shut out during the periods of alien rule. Nor could we expect to find Taoists in the true sense, that is to say followers of the teaching of Lao Tz[)u], for these, too, had been dependent since the Han period on the gentry. Until the fourth century, these two had remained the dominant philosophies. What could take their place? The alien rulers had left little behind them. Most of them had been unable to write Chinese, and in so far as they were warriors they had no interest in literature or in political philosophy, for they were men of action. Few songs and poems of theirs remain extant in translations from their language into Chinese, but these preserve a strong alien flavour in their mental attitude and in their diction. They are the songs of fighting men, songs that were sung on horseback, songs of war and its sufferings. These songs have nothing of the excessive formalism and aestheticism of the Chinese, but give expression to simple emotions in unpolished language with a direct appeal. The epic of the Turkish peoples had clearly been developed already, and in north China it produced a rudimentary ballad literature, to which four hundred years later no less attention was paid than to the emotional world of contemporary songs. The actual literature, however, and the philosophy of this period are Buddhist. How can we explain that Buddhism had gained such influence? It will be remembered that Buddhism came to China overland and by sea in the Han epoch. The missionary monks who came from abroad with the foreign merchants found little approval among the Chinese gentry. They were regarded as second-rate persons belonging, according to Chinese notions, to an inferior social class. Thus the monks had to turn to the middle and lower classes in China. Among these they found widespread acceptance, not of their profound philosophic ideas, but of their doctrine of the after life. This doctrine was in a certain sense revolutionary: it declared that all the high officials and superiors who treated the people so unjustly and who so exploited them, would in their next reincarnation be born in poor circumstances or into inferior rank and would have to suffer punishment for all their ill deeds. The poor who had to suffer undeserved evils would be born in their next life into high rank and would have a good time. This doctrine brought a ray of light, a promise, to the country people who had suffered so much since the later Han period of the second century A.D. Their situation remained unaltered down to the fourth century; and under their alien rulers the Chinese country population became Buddhist. The merchants made use of the Buddhist monasteries as banks and warehouses. Thus they, too, were well inclined towards Buddhism and gave money and land for its temples. The temples were able to settle peasants on this land as their tenants. In those times a temple was a more reliable landlord than an individual alien, and the poorer peasants readily became temple tenants; this increased their inclination towards Buddhism. The Indian, Sogdian, and Turkestani monks were readily allowed to settle by the alien rulers of China, who had no national prejudice against other aliens. The monks were educated men and brought some useful knowledge from abroad. Educated Chinese were scarcely to be found, for the gentry retired to their estates, which they protected as well as they could from their alien ruler. So long as the gentry had no prospect of regaining control of the threads of political life that extended throughout China, they were not prepared to provide a class of officials and scholars for the anti-Confucian foreigners, who showed interest only in fighting and trading. Thus educated persons were needed at the courts of the alien rulers, and Buddhists were therefore engaged. These foreign Buddhists had all the important Buddhist writings translated into Chinese, and so made use of their influence at court for religious propaganda. This does not mean that every text was translated from Indian languages; especially in the later period many works appeared which came not from India but from Sogdia or Turkestan, or had even been written in China by Sogdians or other natives of Turkestan, and were then translated into Chinese. In Turkestan, Khotan in particular became a centre of Buddhist culture. Buddhism was influenced by vestiges of indigenous cults, so that Khotan developed a special religious atmosphere of its own; deities were honoured there (for instance, the king of Heaven of the northerners) to whom little regard was paid elsewhere. This "Khotan Buddhism" had special influence on the Buddhist Turkish peoples. Big translation bureaux were set up for the preparation of these translations into Chinese, in which many copyists simultaneously took down from dictation a translation made by a "master" with the aid of a few native helpers. The translations were not literal, but were paraphrases, most of them greatly reduced in length, glosses were introduced when the translator thought fit for political or doctrinal reasons, or when he thought that in this way he could better adapt the texts to Chinese feeling. Buddhism, quite apart from the special case of "Khotan Buddhism", underwent extensive modification on its way across Central Asia. Its main Indian form (Hinayana) was a purely individualistic religion of salvation without a God--related in this respect to genuine Taoism--and based on a concept of two classes of people: the monks who could achieve salvation and, secondly, the masses who fed the monks but could not achieve salvation. This religion did not gain a footing in China; only traces of it can be found in some Buddhistic sects in China. Mahayana Buddhism, on the other hand, developed into a true popular religion of salvation. It did not interfere with the indigenous deities and did not discountenance life in human society; it did not recommend Nirvana at once, but placed before it a here-after with all the joys worth striving for. In this form Buddhism was certain of success in Asia. On its way from India to China it divided into countless separate streams, each characterized by a particular book. Every nuance, from profound philosophical treatises to the most superficial little tracts written for the simplest of souls, and even a good deal of Turkestan shamanism and Tibetan belief in magic, found their way into Buddhist writings, so that some Buddhist monks practiced Central Asian Shamanism. In spite of Buddhism, the old religion of the peasants retained its vitality. Local diviners, Chinese shamans (_wu_), sorcerers, continued their practices, although from now on they sometimes used Buddhist phraseology. Often, this popular religion is called "Taoism ", because a systematization of the popular pantheon was attempted, and Lao Tz[)u] and other Taoists played a role in this pantheon. Philosophic Taoism continued in this time, aside from the church-Taoism of Chang Ling and, naturally, all kinds of contacts between these three currents occurred. The Chinese state cult, the cult of Heaven saturated with Confucianism, was another living form of religion. The alien rulers, in turn, had brought their own mixture of worship of Heaven and shamanism. Their worship of Heaven was their official "representative" religion; their shamanism the private religion of the individual in his daily life. The alien rulers, accordingly, showed interest in the Chinese shamans as well as in the shamanistic aspects of Mahayana Buddhism. Not infrequently competitions were arranged by the rulers between priests of the different religious systems, and the rulers often competed for the possession of monks who were particularly skilled in magic or soothsaying. But what was the position of the "official" religion? Were the aliens to hold to their own worship of heaven, or were they to take over the official Chinese cult, or what else? This problem posed itself already in the fourth century, but it was left unsolved. (D) The Toba empire in North China (A.D. 385-550) 1 _The rise of the Toba State_ On the collapse of Fu Chien's empire one more state made its appearance; it has not yet been dealt with, although it was the most important one. This was the empire of the Toba, in the north of the present province of Shansi. Fu Chien had brought down the small old Toba state in 376, but had not entirely destroyed it. Its territory was partitioned, and part was placed under the administration of a Hun: in view of the old rivalry between Toba and Huns, this seemed to Fu Chien to be the best way of preventing any revival of the Toba. However, a descendant of the old ruling family of the Toba succeeded, with the aid of related families, in regaining power and forming a small new kingdom. Very soon many tribes which still lived in north China and which had not been broken up into military units, joined him. Of these there were ultimately 119, including many Hun tribes from Shansi and also many Hsien-pi tribes. Thus the question who the Toba were is not easy to answer. The leading tribe itself had migrated southward in the third century from the frontier territory between northern Mongolia and northern Manchuria. After this migration the first Toba state, the so-called Tai state, was formed (338-376); not much is known about it. The tribes that, from 385 after the break-up of the Tibetan empire, grouped themselves round this ruling tribe, were both Turkish and Mongol; but from the culture and language of the Toba we think it must be inferred that the ruling tribe itself as well as the majority of the other tribes were Turkish; in any case, the Turkish element seems to have been stronger than the Mongolian. Thus the new Toba kingdom was a tribal state, not a military state. But the tribes were no longer the same as in the time of Liu Yüan a hundred years earlier. Their total population must have been quite small; we must assume that they were but the remains of 119 tribes rather than 119 full-sized tribes. Only part of them were still living the old nomad life; others had become used to living alongside Chinese peasants and had assumed leadership among the peasants. These Toba now faced a difficult situation. The country was arid and mountainous and did not yield much agricultural produce. For the many people who had come into the Toba state from all parts of the former empire of Fu Chien, to say nothing of the needs of a capital and a court which since the time of Liu Yüan had been regarded as the indispensable entourage of a ruler who claimed imperial rank, the local production of the Chinese peasants was not enough. All the government officials, who were Chinese, and all the slaves and eunuchs needed grain to eat. Attempts were made to settle more Chinese peasants round the new capital, but without success; something had to be done. It appeared necessary to embark on a campaign to conquer the fertile plain of eastern China. In the course of a number of battles the Hsien-pi of the "Later Yen" were annihilated and eastern China conquered (409). Now a new question arose: what should be done with all those people? Nomads used to enslave their prisoners and use them for watching their flocks. Some tribal chieftains had adopted the practice of establishing captives on their tribal territory as peasants. There was an opportunity now to subject the millions of Chinese captives to servitude to the various tribal chieftains in the usual way. But those captives who were peasants could not be taken away from their fields without robbing the country of its food; therefore it would have been necessary to spread the tribes over the whole of eastern China, and this would have added immensely to the strength of the various tribes and would have greatly weakened the central power. Furthermore almost all Chinese officials at the court had come originally from the territories just conquered. They had come from there about a hundred years earlier and still had all their relatives in the east. If the eastern territories had been placed under the rule of separate tribes, and the tribes had been distributed in this way, the gentry in those territories would have been destroyed and reduced to the position of enslaved peasants. The Chinese officials accordingly persuaded the Toba emperor not to place the new territories under the tribes, but to leave them to be administered by officials of the central administration. These officials must have a firm footing in their territory, for only they could extract from the peasants the grain required for the support of the capital. Consequently the Toba government did not enslave the Chinese in the eastern territory, but made the local gentry into government officials, instructing them to collect as much grain as possible for the capital. This Chinese local gentry worked in close collaboration with the Chinese officials at court, a fact which determined the whole fate of the Toba empire. The Hsien-pi of the newly conquered east no longer belonged to any tribe, but only to military units. They were transferred as soldiers to the Toba court and placed directly under the government, which was thus notably strengthened, especially as the millions of peasants under their Chinese officials were also directly responsible to the central administration. The government now proceeded to convert also its own Toba tribes into military formations. The tribal men of noble rank were brought to the court as military officers, and so were separated from the common tribesmen and the slaves who had to remain with the herds. This change, which robbed the tribes of all means of independent action, was not carried out without bloodshed. There were revolts of tribal chieftains which were ruthlessly suppressed. The central government had triumphed, but it realized that more reliance could be placed on Chinese than on its own people, who were used to independence. Thus the Toba were glad to employ more and more Chinese, and the Chinese pressed more and more into the administration. In this process the differing social organizations of Toba and Chinese played an important part. The Chinese have patriarchal families with often hundreds of members. When a member of a family obtains a good position, he is obliged to make provision for the other members of his family and to secure good positions for them too; and not only the members of his own family but those of allied families and of families related to it by marriage. In contrast the Toba had a patriarchal nuclear family system; as nomad warriors with no fixed abode, they were unable to form extended family groups. Among them the individual was much more independent; each one tried to do his best for himself. No Toba thought of collecting a large clique around himself; everybody should be the artificer of his own fortune. Thus, when a Chinese obtained an official post, he was followed by countless others; but when a Toba had a position he remained alone, and so the sinification of the Toba empire went on incessantly. 2 _The Hun kingdom of the Hsia (407-431_) At the rebuilding of the Toba empire, however, a good many Hun tribes withdrew westward into the Ordos region beyond the reach of the Toba, and there they formed the Hun "Hsia" kingdom. Its ruler, Ho-lien P'o-p'o, belonged to the family of Mao Tun and originally, like Liu Yüan, bore the sinified family name Liu; but he altered this to a Hun name, taking the family name of Ho-lien. This one fact alone demonstrates that the Hsia rejected Chinese culture and were nationalistic Hun. Thus there were now two realms in North China, one undergoing progressive sinification, the other falling back to the old traditions of the Huns. 3 _Rise of the Toba to a great Power_ The present province of Szechwan, in the west, had belonged to Fu Chien's empire. At the break-up of the Tibetan state that province passed to the southern Chinese empire and gave the southern Chinese access, though it was very difficult access, to the caravan route leading to Turkestan. The small states in Kansu, which dominated the route, now passed on the traffic along two routes, one northward to the Toba and the other alien states in north China, the other through north-west Szechwan to south China. In this way the Kansu states were strengthened both economically and politically, for they were able to direct the commerce either to the northern states or to south China as suited them. When the South Chinese saw the break-up of Fu Chien's empire into numberless fragments, Liu Yü, who was then all-powerful at the South Chinese court, made an attempt to conquer the whole of western China. A great army was sent from South China into the province of Shensi, where the Tibetan empire of the "Later Ch'in" was situated. The Ch'in appealed to the Toba for help, but the Toba were themselves too hotly engaged to be able to spare troops. They also considered that South China would be unable to maintain these conquests, and that they themselves would find them later an easy prey. Thus in 417 the state of "Later Ch'in" received a mortal blow from the South Chinese army. Large numbers of the upper class fled to the Toba. As had been foreseen, the South Chinese were unable to maintain their hold over the conquered territory, and it was annexed with ease by the Hun Ho-lien P'o-p'o. But why not by the Toba? Towards the end of the fourth century, vestiges of Hun, Hsien-pi, and other tribes had united in Mongolia to form the new people of the Juan-juan (also called Ju-juan or Jou-jan). Scholars disagree as to whether the Juan-juan were Turks or Mongols; European investigators believe them to have been identical with the Avars who appeared in the Near East in 558 and later in Europe, and are inclined, on the strength of a few vestiges of their language, to regard them as Mongols. Investigations concerning the various tribes, however, show that among the Juan-juan there were both Mongol and Turkish tribes, and that the question cannot be decided in favour of either group. Some of the tribes belonging to the Juan-juan had formerly lived in China. Others had lived farther north or west and came into the history of the Far East now for the first time. This Juan-juan people threatened the Toba in the rear, from the north. It made raids into the Toba empire for the same reasons for which the Huns in the past had raided agrarian China; for agriculture had made considerable progress in the Toba empire. Consequently, before the Toba could attempt to expand southward, the Juan-juan peril must be removed. This was done in the end, after a long series of hard and not always successful struggles. That was why the Toba had played no part in the fighting against South China, and had been unable to take immediate advantage of that fighting. After 429 the Juan-juan peril no longer existed, and in the years that followed the whole of the small states of the west were destroyed, one after another, by the Toba--the "Hsia kingdom" in 431, bringing down with it the "Western Ch'in", and the "Northern Liang" in 439. The non-Chinese elements of the population of those countries were moved northward and served the Toba as soldiers; the Chinese also, especially the remains of the Kansu "Western Liang" state (conquered in 420), were enslaved, and some of them transferred to the north. Here again, however, the influence of the Chinese gentry made itself felt after a short time. As we know, the Chinese of "Western Liang" in Kansu had originally migrated there from eastern China. Their eastern relatives who had come under Toba rule through the conquest of eastern China and who through their family connections with Chinese officials of the Toba empire had found safety, brought their influence to bear on behalf of the Chinese of Kansu, so that several families regained office and social standing. [Illustration: Map 4: The Toba empire (_about A.D. 500_)] Their expansion into Kansu gave the Toba control of the commerce with Turkestan, and there are many mentions of tribute missions to the Toba court in the years that followed, some even from India. The Toba also spread in the east. And finally there was fighting with South China (430-431), which brought to the Toba empire a large part of the province of Honan with the old capital, Loyang. Thus about 440 the Toba must be described as the most powerful state in the Far East, ruling the whole of North China. 4 _Economic and social conditions_ The internal changes of which there had only been indications in the first period of the Toba empire now proceeded at an accelerated pace. There were many different factors at work. The whole of the civil administration had gradually passed into Chinese hands, the Toba retaining only the military administration. But the wars in the south called for the services of specialists in fortification and in infantry warfare, who were only to be found among the Chinese. The growing influence of the Chinese was further promoted by the fact that many Toba families were exterminated in the revolts of the tribal chieftains, and others were wiped out in the many battles. Thus the Toba lost ground also in the military administration. The wars down to A.D. 440 had been large-scale wars of conquest, lightning campaigns that had brought in a great deal of booty. With their loot the Toba developed great magnificence and luxury. The campaigns that followed were hard and long-drawn-out struggles, especially against South China, where there was no booty, because the enemy retired so slowly that they could take everything with them. The Toba therefore began to be impoverished, because plunder was the main source of their wealth. In addition to this, their herds gradually deteriorated, for less and less use was made of them; for instance, horses were little required for the campaign against South China, and there was next to no fighting in the north. In contrast with the impoverishment of the Toba, the Chinese gentry grew not only more powerful but more wealthy. The Toba seem to have tried to prevent this development by introducing the famous "land equalization system" (_chün-t'ien_), one of their most important innovations. The direct purposes of this measure were to resettle uprooted farm population; to prevent further migrations of farmers; and to raise production and taxes. The founder of this system was Li An-shih, member of a Toba family and later husband of an imperial princess. The plan was basically accepted in 477, put into action in 485, and remained the land law until _c_. 750. Every man and every woman had a right to receive a certain amount of land for lifetime. After their death, the land was redistributed. In addition to this "personal land" there was so-called "mulberry land" on which farmers could plant mulberries for silk production; but they also could plant other crops under the trees. This land could be inherited from father to son and was not redistributed. Incidentally we know many similar regulations for trees in the Near East and Central Asia. As the tax was levied upon the personal land in form of grain, and on the tree land in form of silk, this regulation stimulated the cultivation of diversified crops on the tree land which then was not taxable. The basic idea behind this law was, that all land belonged to the state, a concept for which the Toba could point to the ancient Chou but which also fitted well for a dynasty of conquest. The new "_chün-t'ien_" system required a complete land and population survey which was done in the next years. We know from much later census fragments that the government tried to enforce this equalization law, but did not always succeed; we read statements such as "X has so and so much land; he has a claim on so and so much land and, therefore, has to get so and so much"; but there are no records that X ever received the land due to him. One consequence of the new land law was a legal fixation of the social classes. Already during Han time (and perhaps even earlier) a distinction had been made between "free burghers" (_liang-min_) and "commoners" (_ch'ien-min_). This distinction had continued as informal tradition until, now, it became a legal concept. Only "burghers", i.e. gentry and free farmers, were real citizens with all rights of a free man. The "commoners" were completely or partly unfree and fell under several heads. Ranking as the lowest class were the real slaves (_nu_), divided into state and private slaves. By law, slaves were regarded as pieces of property, not as members of human society. They were, however, forced to marry and thus, as a class, were probably reproducing at a rate similar to that of the normal population, while slaves in Europe reproduced at a lower rate than the population. The next higher class were serfs (_fan-hu_), hereditary state servants, usually descendants of state slaves. They were obliged to work three months during the year for the state and were paid for this service. They were not registered in their place of residence but under the control of the Ministry of Agriculture which distributed them to other offices, but did not use them for farm work. Similar in status to them were the private bondsmen (_pu-ch'ü_), hereditarily attached to gentry families. These serfs received only 50 per cent of the land which a free burgher received under the land law. Higher than these were the service families (_tsa-hu_), who were registered in their place of residence, but had to perform certain services; here we find "tomb families" who cared for the imperial tombs, "shepherd families", postal families, kiln families, soothsayer families, medical families, and musician families. Each of these categories of commoners had its own laws; each had to marry within the category. No intermarriage or adoption was allowed. It is interesting to observe that a similar fixation of the social status of citizens occurred in the Roman Empire from _c_. A.D. 300 on. Thus in the years between 440 and 490 there were great changes not only in the economic but in the social sphere. The Toba declined in number and influence. Many of them married into rich families of the Chinese gentry and regarded themselves as no longer belonging to the Toba. In the course of time the court was completely sinified. The Chinese at the court now formed the leading element, and they tried to persuade the emperor to claim dominion over all China, at least in theory, by installing his capital in Loyang, the old centre of China. This transfer had the advantage for them personally that the territories in which their properties were situated were close to that capital, so that the grain they produced found a ready market. And it was indeed no longer possible to rule the great Toba empire, now covering the whole of North China from North Shansi. The administrative staff was so great that the transport system was no longer able to bring in sufficient food. For the present capital did not lie on a navigable river, and all the grain had to be carted, an expensive and unsafe mode of transport. Ultimately, in 493-4, the Chinese gentry officials secured the transfer of the capital to Loyang. In the years 490 to 499 the Toba emperor Wen Ti (471-499) took further decisive steps required by the stage reached in internal development. All aliens were prohibited from using their own language in public life. Chinese became the official language. Chinese clothing and customs also became general. The system of administration which had largely followed a pattern developed by the Wei dynasty in the early third century, was changed and took a form which became the model for the T'ang dynasty in the seventh century. It is important to note that in this period, for the first time, an office for religious affairs was created which dealt mainly with Buddhistic monasteries. While after the Toba period such an office for religious affairs disappeared again, this idea was taken up later by Japan when Japan accepted a Chinese-type of administration. [Illustration: 6 Sun Ch'üan, ruler of Wu. _From a painting by Yen Li-pen (c_. 640-680).] [Illustration: 7 General view of the Buddhist cave-temples of Yün-kang. In the foreground, the present village; in the background, the rampart. _Photo H. Hammer-Morrisson_.] Owing to his bringing up, the emperor no longer regarded himself as Toba but as Chinese; he adopted the Chinese culture, acting as he was bound to do if he meant to be no longer an alien ruler in North China. Already he regarded himself as emperor of all China, so that the South Chinese empire was looked upon as a rebel state that had to be conquered. While, however, he succeeded in everything else, the campaign against the south failed except for some local successes. The transfer of the capital to Loyang was a blow to the Toba nobles. Their herds became valueless, for animal products could not be carried over the long distance to the new capital. In Loyang the Toba nobles found themselves parted from their tribes, living in an unaccustomed climate and with nothing to do, for all important posts were occupied by Chinese. The government refused to allow them to return to the north. Those who did not become Chinese by finding their way into Chinese families grew visibly poorer and poorer. 5 _Victory and retreat of Buddhism_ What we said in regard to the religious position of the other alien peoples applied also to the Toba. As soon, however, as their empire grew, they, too, needed an "official" religion of their own. For a few years they had continued their old sacrifices to Heaven; then another course opened to them. The Toba, together with many Chinese living in the Toba empire, were all captured by Buddhism, and especially by its shamanist element. One element in their preference of Buddhism was certainly the fact that Buddhism accepted all foreigners alike--both the Toba and the Chinese were "foreign" converts to an essentially Indian religion; whereas the Confucianist Chinese always made the non-Chinese feel that in spite of all their attempts they were still "barbarians" and that only real Chinese could be real Confucianists. Secondly, it can be assumed that the Toba rulers by fostering Buddhism intended to break the power of the Chinese gentry. A few centuries later, Buddhism was accepted by the Tibetan kings to break the power of the native nobility, by the Japanese to break the power of a federation of noble clans, and still later by the Burmese kings for the same reason. The acceptance of Buddhism by rulers in the Far East always meant also an attempt to create a more autocratic, absolutistic regime. Mahayana Buddhism, as an ideal, desired a society without clear-cut classes under one enlightened ruler; in such a society all believers could strive to attain the ultimate goal of salvation. Throughout the early period of Buddhism in the Far East, the question had been discussed what should be the relations between the Buddhist monks and the emperor, whether they were subject to him or not. This was connected, of course, with the fact that to the early fourth century the Buddhist monks were foreigners who, in the view prevalent in the Far East, owed only a limited allegiance to the ruler of the land. The Buddhist monks at the Toba court now submitted to the emperor, regarding him as a reincarnation of Buddha. Thus the emperor became protector of Buddhism and a sort of god. This combination was a good substitute for the old Chinese theory that the emperor was the Son of Heaven; it increased the prestige and the splendour of the dynasty. At the same time the old shamanism was legitimized under a Buddhist reinterpretation. Thus Buddhism became a sort of official religion. The emperor appointed a Buddhist monk as head of the Buddhist state church, and through this "Pope" he conveyed endowments on a large scale to the church. T'an-yao, head of the state church since 460, induced the state to attach state slaves, i.e. enslaved family members of criminals, and their families to state temples. They were supposed to work on temple land and to produce for the upkeep of the temples and monasteries. Thus, the institution of "temple slaves" was created, an institution which existed in South Asia and Burma for a long time, and which greatly strengthened the economic position of Buddhism. Like all Turkish peoples, the Toba possessed a myth according to which their ancestors came into the world from a sacred grotto. The Buddhists took advantage of this conception to construct, with money from the emperor, the vast and famous cave-temple of Yün-kang, in northern Shansi. If we come from the bare plains into the green river valley, we may see to this day hundreds of caves cut out of the steep cliffs of the river bank. Here monks lived in their cells, worshipping the deities of whom they had thousands of busts and reliefs sculptured in stone, some of more than life-size, some diminutive. The majestic impression made today by the figures does not correspond to their original effect, for they were covered with a layer of coloured stucco. We know only few names of the artists and craftsmen who made these objects. Probably some at least were foreigners from Turkestan, for in spite of the predominantly Chinese character of these sculptures, some of them are reminiscent of works in Turkestan and even in the Near East. In the past the influences of the Near East on the Far East--influences traced back in the last resort to Greece--were greatly exaggerated; it was believed that Greek art, carried through Alexander's campaign as far as the present Afghanistan, degenerated there in the hands of Indian imitators (the so-called Gandhara art) and ultimately passed on in more and more distorted forms through Turkestan to China. Actually, however, some eight hundred years lay between Alexander's campaign and the Toba period sculptures at Yün-kang and, owing to the different cultural development, the contents of the Greek and the Toba-period art were entirely different. We may say, therefore, that suggestions came from the centre of the Greco-Bactrian culture (in the present Afghanistan) and were worked out by the Toba artists; old forms were filled with a new content, and the elements in the reliefs of Yün-kang that seem to us to be non-Chinese were the result of this synthesis of Western inspiration and Turkish initiative. It is interesting to observe that all steppe rulers showed special interest in sculpture and, as a rule, in architecture; after the Toba period, sculpture flourished in China in the T'ang period, the period of strong cultural influence from Turkish peoples, and there was a further advance of sculpture and of the cave-dwellers' worship in the period of the "Five Dynasties" (906-960; three of these dynasties were Turkish) and in the Mongol period. But not all Buddhists joined the "Church", just as not all Taoists had joined the Church of Chang Ling's Taoism. Some Buddhists remained in the small towns and villages and suffered oppression from the central Church. These village Buddhist monks soon became instigators of a considerable series of attempts at revolution. Their Buddhism was of the so-called "Maitreya school", which promised the appearance on earth of a new Buddha who would do away with all suffering and introduce a Golden Age. The Chinese peasantry, exploited by the gentry, came to the support of these monks whose Messianism gave the poor a hope in this world. The nomad tribes also, abandoned by their nobles in the capital and wandering in poverty with their now worthless herds, joined these monks. We know of many revolts of Hun and Toba tribes in this period, revolts that had a religious appearance but in reality were simply the result of the extreme impoverishment of these remaining tribes. In addition to these conflicts between state and popular Buddhism, clashes between Buddhists and representatives of organized Taoism occurred. Such fights, however, reflected more the power struggle between cliques than between religious groups. The most famous incident was the action against the Buddhists in 446 which brought destruction to many temples and monasteries and death to many monks. Here, a mighty Chinese gentry faction under the leadership of the Ts'ui family had united with the Taoist leader K'ou Ch'ien-chih against another faction under the leadership of the crown prince. With the growing influence of the Chinese gentry, however, Confucianism gained ground again, until with the transfer of the capital to Loyang it gained a complete victory, taking the place of Buddhism and becoming once more as in the past the official religion of the state. This process shows us once more how closely the social order of the gentry was associated with Confucianism. (E) Succession States of the Toba (A.D. 550-580): Northern Ch'i dynasty, Northern Chou dynasty 1 _Reasons for the splitting of the Toba empire_ Events now pursued their logical course. The contrast between the central power, now become entirely Chinese, and the remains of the tribes who were with their herds mainly in Shansi and the Ordos region and were hopelessly impoverished, grew more and more acute. From 530 onward the risings became more and more formidable. A few Toba who still remained with their old tribes placed themselves at the head of the rebels and conquered not only the whole of Shansi but also the capital, where there was a great massacre of Chinese and pro-Chinese Toba. The rebels were driven back; in this a man of the Kao family distinguished himself, and all the Chinese and pro-Chinese gathered round him. The Kao family, which may have been originally a Hsien-pi family, had its estates in eastern China and so was closely associated with the eastern Chinese gentry, who were the actual rulers of the Toba State. In 534 this group took the impotent emperor of their own creation to the city of Yeh in the east, where he reigned _de jure_ for a further sixteen years. Then he was deposed, and Kao Yang made himself the first emperor of the Northern Ch'i dynasty (550-577). The national Toba group, on the other hand, found another man of the imperial family and established him in the west. After a short time this puppet was removed from the throne and a man of the Yü-wen family made himself emperor, founding the "Northern Chou dynasty" (557-580). The Hsien-pi family of Yü-wen was a branch of the Hsien-pi, but was closely connected with the Huns and probably of Turkish origin. All the still existing remains of Toba tribes who had eluded sinification moved into this western empire. The splitting of the Toba empire into these two separate realms was the result of the policy embarked on at the foundation of the empire. Once the tribal chieftains and nobles had been separated from their tribes and organized militarily, it was inevitable that the two elements should have different social destinies. The nobles could not hold their own against the Chinese; if they were not actually eliminated in one way or another, they disappeared into Chinese families. The rest, the people of the tribe, became destitute and were driven to revolt. The northern peoples had been unable to perpetuate either their tribal or their military organization, and the Toba had been equally unsuccessful in their attempt to perpetuate the two forms of organization alongside each other. These social processes are of particular importance because the ethnical disappearance of the northern peoples in China had nothing to do with any racial inferiority or with any particular power of assimilation; it was a natural process resulting from the different economic, social, and cultural organizations of the northern peoples and the Chinese. 2 _Appearance of the (Gök) Turks_ The Toba had liberated themselves early in the fifth century from the Juan-juan peril. None of the fighting that followed was of any great importance. The Toba resorted to the old means of defence against nomads--they built great walls. Apart from that, after their move southward to Loyang, their new capital, they were no longer greatly interested in their northern territories. When the Toba empire split into the Ch'i and the Northern Chou, the remaining Juan-juan entered into treaties first with one realm and then with the other: each realm wanted to secure the help of the Juan-juan against the other. Meanwhile there came unexpectedly to the fore in the north a people grouped round a nucleus tribe of Huns, the tribal union of the "T'u-chüeh", that is to say the Gök Turks, who began to pursue a policy of their own under their khan. In 546 they sent a mission to the western empire, then in the making, of the Northern Chou, and created the first bonds with it, following which the Northern Chou became allies of the Turks. The eastern empire, Ch'i, accordingly made terms with the Juan-juan, but in 552 the latter suffered a crushing defeat at the hands of the Turks, their former vassals. The remains of the Juan-juan either fled to the Ch'i state or went reluctantly into the land of the Chou. Soon there was friction between the Juan-juan and the Ch'i, and in 555 the Juan-juan in that state were annihilated. In response to pressure from the Turks, the Juan-juan in the western empire of the Northern Chou were delivered up to them and killed in the same year. The Juan-juan then disappeared from the history of the Far East. They broke up into their several tribes, some of which were admitted into the Turks' tribal league. A few years later the Turks also annihilated the Ephtalites, who had been allied with the Juan-juan; this made the Turks the dominant power in Central Asia. The Ephtalites (Yeh-ta, Haytal) were a mixed group which contained elements of the old Yüeh-chih and spoke an Indo-European language. Some scholars regard them as a branch of the Tocharians of Central Asia. One menace to the northern states of China had disappeared--that of the Juan-juan. Their place was taken by a much more dangerous power, the Turks. 3 _The Northern Ch'i dynasty; the Northern Chou dynasty_ In consequence of this development the main task of the Northern Chou state consisted in the attempt to come to some settlement with its powerful Turkish neighbours, and meanwhile to gain what it could from shrewd negotiations with its other neighbours. By means of intrigues and diplomacy it intervened with some success in the struggles in South China. One of the pretenders to the throne was given protection; he was installed in the present Hankow as a quasi-feudal lord depending on Chou, and there he founded the "Later Liang dynasty" (555-587). In this way Chou had brought the bulk of South China under its control without itself making any real contribution to that result. Unlike the Chinese state of Ch'i, Chou followed the old Toba tradition. Old customs were revived, such as the old sacrifice to Heaven and the lifting of the emperor on to a carpet at his accession to the throne; family names that had been sinified were turned into Toba names again, and even Chinese were given Toba names; but in spite of this the inner cohesion had been destroyed. After two centuries it was no longer possible to go back to the old nomad, tribal life. There were also too many Chinese in the country, with whom close bonds had been forged which, in spite of all attempts, could not be broken. Consequently there was no choice but to organize a state essentially similar to that of the great Toba empire. There is just as little of importance that can be said of the internal politics of the Ch'i dynasty. The rulers of that dynasty were thoroughly repulsive figures, with no positive achievements of any sort to their credit. Confucianism had been restored in accordance with the Chinese character of the state. It was a bad time for Buddhists, and especially for the followers of the popularized Taoism. In spite of this, about A.D. 555 great new Buddhist cave-temples were created in Lung-men, near Loyang, in imitation of the famous temples of Yün-kang. The fighting with the western empire, the Northern Chou state, still continued, and Ch'i was seldom successful. In 563 Chou made preparations for a decisive blow against Ch'i, but suffered defeat because the Turks, who had promised aid, gave none and shortly afterwards began campaigns of their own against Ch'i. In 571 Ch'i had some success in the west against Chou, but then it lost parts of its territory to the South Chinese empire, and finally in 576-7 it was defeated by Chou in a great counter-offensive. Thus for some three years all North China was once more under a single rule, though of nothing approaching the strength of the Toba at the height of their power. For in all these campaigns the Turks had played an important part, and at the end they annexed further territory in the north of Ch'i, so that their power extended far into the east. Meanwhile intrigue followed intrigue at the court of Chou; the mutual assassinations within the ruling group were as incessant as in the last years of the great Toba empire, until the real power passed from the emperor and his Toba entourage to a Chinese family, the Yang. Yang Chien's daughter was the wife of a Chou emperor; his son was married to a girl of the Hun family Tu-ku; her sister was the wife of the father of the Chou emperor. Amid this tangled relationship in the imperial house it is not surprising that Yang Chien should attain great power. The Tu-ku were a very old family of the Hun nobility; originally the name belonged to the Hun house from which the _shan-yü_ had to be descended. This family still observed the traditions of the Hun rulers, and relationship with it was regarded as an honour even by the Chinese. Through their centuries of association with aristocratically organized foreign peoples, some of the notions of nobility had taken root among the Chinese gentry; to be related with old ruling houses was a welcome means of evidencing or securing a position of special distinction among the gentry. Yang Chien gained useful prestige from his family connections. After the leading Chinese cliques had regained predominance in the Chou empire, much as had happened before in the Toba empire, Yang Chien's position was strong enough to enable him to massacre the members of the imperial family and then, in 581, to declare himself emperor. Thus began the Sui dynasty, the first dynasty that was once more to rule all China. But what had happened to the Toba? With the ending of the Chou empire they disappeared for all time, just as the Juan-juan had done a little earlier. So far as the tribes did not entirely disintegrate, the people of the tribes seem during the last years of Toba and Chou to have joined Turkish and other tribes. In any case, nothing more is heard of them as a people, and they themselves lived on under the name of the tribe that led the new tribal league. Most of the Toba nobility, on the other hand, became Chinese. This process can be closely followed in the Chinese annals. The tribes that had disintegrated in the time of the Toba empire broke up into families of which some adopted the name of the tribe as their family name, while others chose Chinese family names. During the centuries that followed, in some cases indeed down to modern times, these families continue to appear, often playing an important part in Chinese history. (F) The Southern Empires 1 _Economic and social situation in the south_ During the 260 years of alien rule in North China, the picture of South China also was full of change. When in 317 the Huns had destroyed the Chinese Chin dynasty in the north, a Chin prince who normally would not have become heir to the throne declared himself, under the name Yüan Ti, the first emperor of the "Eastern Chin dynasty" (317-419). The capital of this new southern empire adjoined the present Nanking. Countless members of the Chinese gentry had fled from the Huns at that time and had come into the southern empire. They had not done so out of loyalty to the Chinese dynasty or out of national feeling, but because they saw little prospect of attaining rank and influence at the courts of the alien rulers, and because it was to be feared that the aliens would turn the fields into pasturage, and also that they would make an end of the economic and monetary system which the gentry had evolved for their own benefit. But the south was, of course, not uninhabited. There were already two groups living there--the old autochthonous population, consisting of Yao, Tai and Yüeh, and the earlier Chinese immigrants from the north, who had mainly arrived in the time of the Three Kingdoms, at the beginning of the third century A.D. The countless new immigrants now came into sharp conflict with the old-established earlier immigrants. Each group looked down on the other and abused it. The two immigrant groups in particular not only spoke different dialects but had developed differently in respect to manners and customs. A look for example at Formosa in the years after 1948 will certainly help in an understanding of this situation: analogous tensions developed between the new refugees, the old Chinese immigrants, and the native Formosan population. But let us return to the southern empires. The two immigrant groups also differed economically and socially: the old immigrants were firmly established on the large properties they had acquired, and dominated their tenants, who were largely autochthones; or they had engaged in large-scale commerce. In any case, they possessed capital, and more capital than was usually possessed by the gentry of the north. Some of the new immigrants, on the other hand, were military people. They came with empty hands, and they had no land. They hoped that the government would give them positions in the military administration and so provide them with means; they tried to gain possession of the government and to exclude the old settlers as far as possible. The tension was increased by the effect of the influx of Chinese in bringing more land into cultivation, thus producing a boom period such as is produced by the opening up of colonial land. Everyone was in a hurry to grab as much land as possible. There was yet a further difference between the two groups of Chinese: the old settlers had long lost touch with the remainder of their families in the north. They had become South Chinese, and all their interests lay in the south. The new immigrants had left part of their families in the north under alien rule. Their interests still lay to some extent in the north. They were working for the reconquest of the north by military means; at times individuals or groups returned to the north, while others persuaded the rest of their relatives to come south. It would be wrong to suppose that there was no inter-communication between the two parts into which China had fallen. As soon as the Chinese gentry were able to regain any footing in the territories under alien rule, the official relations, often those of belligerency, proceeded alongside unofficial intercourse between individual families and family groupings, and these latter were, as a rule, in no way belligerent. The lower stratum in the south consisted mainly of the remains of the original non-Chinese population, particularly in border and southern territories which had been newly annexed from time to time. In the centre of the southern state the way of life of the non-Chinese was very quickly assimilated to that of the Chinese, so that the aborigines were soon indistinguishable from Chinese. The remaining part of the lower class consisted of impoverished Chinese peasants. This whole lower section of the population rarely took any active and visible part in politics, except at times in the form of great popular risings. Until the third century, the south had been of no great economic importance, in spite of the good climate and the extraordinary fertility of the Yangtze valley. The country had been too thinly settled, and the indigenous population had not become adapted to organized trade. After the move southward of the Chin dynasty the many immigrants had made the country of the lower Yangtze more thickly populated, but not over-populated. The top-heavy court with more than the necessary number of officials (because there was still hope for a reconquest of the north which would mean many new jobs for administrators) was a great consumer; prices went up and stimulated local rice production. The estates of the southern gentry yielded more than before, and naturally much more than the small properties of the gentry in the north where, moreover, the climate is far less favourable. Thus the southern landowners were able to acquire great wealth, which ultimately made itself felt in the capital. One very important development was characteristic in this period in the south, although it also occurred in the north. Already in pre-Han times, some rulers had gardens with fruit trees. The Han emperors had large hunting parks which were systematically stocked with rare animals; they also had gardens and hot-houses for the production of vegetables for the court. These "gardens" (_yüan_) were often called "manors" (_pieh-yeh_) and consisted of fruit plantations with luxurious buildings. We hear soon of water-cooled houses for the gentry, of artificial ponds for pleasure and fish breeding, artificial water-courses, artificial mountains, bamboo groves, and parks with parrots, ducks, and large animals. Here, the wealthy gentry of both north and south, relaxed from government work, surrounded by their friends and by women. These manors grew up in the hills, on the "village commons" where formerly the villagers had collected their firewood and had grazed their animals. Thus, the village commons begin to disappear. The original farm land was taxed, because it produced one of the two products subject to taxation, namely grain or mulberry leaves for silk production. But the village common had been and remained tax-free because it did not produce taxable things. While land-holdings on the farmland were legally restricted in their size, the "gardens" were unrestricted. Around A.D. 500 the ruler allowed high officials to have manors of three hundred mou size, while in the north a family consisting of husband and wife and children below fifteen years of age were allowed a farm of sixty mou only; but we hear of manors which were many times larger than the allowed size of three hundred. These manors began to play an important economic role, too: they were cultivated by tenants and produced fishes, vegetables, fruit and bamboo for the market, thus they gave more income than ordinary rice or wheat land. With the creation of manors the total amount of land under cultivation increased, though not the amount of grain-producing land. We gain the impression that from _c_. the third century A.D. on to the eleventh century the intensity of cultivation was generally lower than in the period before. The period from _c_. A.D. 300 on also seems to be the time of the second change in Chinese dietary habits. The first change occurred probably between 400 and 100 B.C. when the meat-eating Chinese reduced their meat intake greatly, gave up eating beef and mutton and changed over to some pork and dog meat. This first change was the result of increase of population and decrease of available land for pasturage. Cattle breeding in China was then reduced to the minimum of one cow or water-buffalo per farm for ploughing. Wheat was the main staple for the masses of the people. Between A.D. 300 and 600 rice became the main staple in the southern states although, theoretically, wheat could have been grown and some wheat probably was grown in the south. The vitamin and protein deficiencies which this change from wheat to rice brought forth, were made up by higher consumption of vegetables, especially beans, and partially also by eating of fish and sea food. In the north, rice became the staple food of the upper class, while wheat remained the main food of the lower classes. However, new forms of preparation of wheat, such as dumplings of different types, were introduced. The foreign rulers consumed more meat and milk products. Chinese had given up the use of milk products at the time of the first change, and took to them to some extent only in periods of foreign rule. 2 _Struggles between cliques under the Eastern Chin dynasty_ (A.D. 317-419) The officials immigrating from the north regarded the south as colonial country, and so as more or less uncivilized. They went into its provinces in order to get rich as quickly as possible, and they had no desire to live there for long: they had the same dislike of a provincial existence as had the families of the big landowners. Thus as a rule the bulk of the families remained in the capital, close to the court. Thither the products accumulated in the provinces were sent, and they found a ready sale, as the capital was also a great and long-established trading centre with a rich merchant class. Thus in the capital there was every conceivable luxury and every refinement of civilization. The people of the gentry class, who were maintained in the capital by relatives serving in the provinces as governors or senior officers, themselves held offices at court, though these gave them little to do. They had time at their disposal, and made use of it--in much worse intrigues than ever before, but also in music and poetry and in the social life of the harems. There is no question at all that the highest refinement of the civilization of the Far East between the fourth and the sixth century was to be found in South China, but the accompaniments of this over-refinement were terrible. We cannot enter into all the intrigues recorded at this time. The details are, indeed, historically unimportant. They were concerned only with the affairs of the court and its entourage. Not a single ruler of the Eastern Chin dynasty possessed personal or political qualities of any importance. The rulers' power was extremely limited because, with the exception of the founder of the state, Yüan Ti, who had come rather earlier, they belonged to the group of the new immigrants, and so had no firm footing and were therefore caught at once in the net of the newly re-grouping gentry class. The emperor Yüan Ti lived to see the first great rising. This rising (under Wang Tun) started in the region of the present Hankow, a region that today is one of the most important in China; it was already a centre of special activity. To it lead all the trade routes from the western provinces of Szechwan and Kweichow and from the central provinces of Hupei, Hunan, and Kiangsi. Normally the traffic from those provinces comes down the Yangtze, and thus in practice this region is united with that of the lower Yangtze, the environment of Nanking, so that Hankow might just as well have been the capital as Nanking. For this reason, in the period with which we are now concerned the region of the present Hankow was several times the place of origin of great risings whose aim was to gain control of the whole of the southern empire. Wang Tun had grown rich and powerful in this region; he also had near relatives at the imperial court; so he was able to march against the capital. The emperor in his weakness was ready to abdicate but died before that stage was reached. His son, however, defeated Wang Tun with the aid of General Yü Liang (A.D. 323). Yü Liang was the empress's brother; he, too, came from a northern family. Yüan Ti's successor also died early, and the young son of Yü Liang's sister came to the throne as Emperor Ch'eng (326-342); his mother ruled as regent, but Yü Liang carried on the actual business of government. Against this clique rose Su Chün, another member of the northern gentry, who had made himself leader of a bandit gang in A.D. 300 but had then been given a military command by the dynasty. In 328 he captured the capital and kidnapped the emperor, but then fell before the counterthrust of the Yü Liang party. The domination of Yü Liang's clique continued after the death of the twenty-one-years-old emperor. His twenty-year-old brother was set in his place; he, too, died two years later, and his two-year-old son became emperor (Mu Ti, 345-361). Meanwhile this clique was reinforced by the very important Huan family. This family came from the same city as the imperial house and was a very old gentry family of that city. One of the family attained a high post through personal friendship with Yü Liang: on his death his son Huan Wen came into special prominence as military commander. Huan Wen, like Wang Tun and others before him, tried to secure a firm foundation for his power, once more in the west. In 347 he reconquered Szechwan and deposed the local dynasty. Following this, Huan Wen and the Yü family undertook several joint campaigns against northern states--the first reaction of the south against the north, which in the past had always been the aggressor. The first fighting took place directly to the north, where the collapse of the "Later Chao" seemed to make intervention easy. The main objective was the regaining of the regions of eastern Honan, northern Anhui and Kiangsu, in which were the family seats of Huan's and the emperor's families, as well as that of the Hsieh family which also formed an important group in the court clique. The purpose of the northern campaigns was not, of course, merely to defend private interests of court cliques: the northern frontier was the weak spot of the southern empire, for its plains could easily be overrun. It was then observed that the new "Earlier Ch'in" state was trying to spread from the north-west eastwards into this plain, and Ch'in was attacked in an attempt to gain a more favourable frontier territory. These expeditions brought no important practical benefit to the south; and they were not embarked on with full force, because there was only the one court clique at the back of them, and that not whole-heartedly, since it was too much taken up with the politics of the court. Huan Wen's power steadily grew in the period that followed. He sent his brothers and relatives to administer the regions along the upper Yangtze; those fertile regions were the basis of his power. In 371 he deposed the reigning emperor and appointed in his place a frail old prince who died a year later, as required, and was replaced by a child. The time had now come when Huan Wen might have ascended the throne himself, but he died. None of his family could assemble as much power as Huan Wen had done. The equality of strength of the Huan and the Hsieh saved the dynasty for a time. In 383 came the great assault of the Tibetan Fu Chien against the south. As we know, the defence was carried out more by the methods of diplomacy and intrigue than by military means, and it led to the disaster in the north already described. The successes of the southern state especially strengthened the Hsieh family, whose generals had come to the fore. The emperor (Hsiao Wu Ti, 373-396), who had come to the throne as a child, played no part in events at any time during his reign. He occupied himself occasionally with Buddhism, and otherwise only with women and wine. He was followed by his five-year-old son. At this time there were some changes in the court clique. In the Huan family Huan Hsüan, a son of Huan Wen, came especially into prominence. He parted from the Hsieh family, which had been closest to the emperor, and united with the Wang (the empress's) and Yin families. The Wang, an old Shansi family, had already provided two empresses, and was therefore strongly represented at court. The Yin had worked at first with the Hsieh, especially as the two families came from the same region, but afterwards the Yin went over to Huan Hsüan. At first this new clique had success, but later one of its generals, Liu Lao-chih, went over to the Hsieh clique, and its power declined. Wang Kung was killed, and Yin Chung-k'an fell away from Huan Hsüan and was killed by him in 399. Huan Hsüan himself, however, held his own in the regions loyal to him. Liu Lao-chih had originally belonged to the Hsieh clique, and his family came from a region not far from that of the Hsieh. He was very ambitious, however, and always took the side which seemed most to his own interest. For a time he joined Huan Hsüan; then he went over to the Hsieh, and finally returned to Huan Hsüan in 402 when the latter reached the height of his power. At that moment Liu Lao-chih was responsible for the defence of the capital from Huan Hsüan, but instead he passed over to him. Thus Huan Hsüan conquered the capital, deposed the emperor, and began a dynasty of his own. Then came the reaction, led by an earlier subordinate of Liu Lao-chih, Liu Yü. It may be assumed that these two army commanders were in some way related, though the two branches of their family must have been long separated. Liu Yü had distinguished himself especially in the suppression of a great popular rising which, around the year 400, had brought wide stretches of Chinese territory under the rebels' power, beginning with the southern coast. This rising was the first in the south. It was led by members of a secret society which was a direct continuation of the "Yellow Turbans" of the latter part of the second century A.D. and of organized church-Taoism. The whole course of this rising of the exploited and ill-treated lower classes was very similar to that of the popular rising of the "Yellow Turbans". The movement spread as far as the neighbourhood of Canton, but in the end it was suppressed, mainly by Liu Yü. Through these achievements Liu Yü's military power and political influence steadily increased; he became the exponent of all the cliques working against the Huan clique. He arranged for his supporters to dispose of Huan Hsüan's chief collaborators; and then, in 404, he himself marched on the capital. Huan Hsüan had to flee, and in his flight he was killed in the upper Yangtze region. The emperor was restored to his throne, but he had as little to say as ever, for the real power was Liu Yü's. Before making himself emperor, Liu Yü began his great northern campaign, aimed at the conquest of the whole of western China. The Toba had promised to remain neutral, and in 415 he was able to conquer the "Later Ch'in" in Shensi. The first aim of this campaign was to make more accessible the trade routes to Central Asia, which up to now had led through the difficult mountain passes of Szechwan; to this end treaties of alliance had been concluded with the states in Kansu against the "Later Ch'in". In the second place, this war was intended to increase Liu Yü's military strength to such an extent that the imperial crown would be assured to him; and finally he hoped to cut the claws of pro-Huan Hsüan elements in the "Later Ch'in" kingdom who, for the sake of the link with Turkestan, had designs on Szechwan. 3 _The Liu-Sung dynasty_ (A.D. 420-478) _and the Southern Ch'i dynasty_ (479-501) After his successes in 416-17 in Shensi, Liu Yü returned to the capital, and shortly after he lost the chief fruits of his victory to Ho-lien P'o-p'o, the Hun ruler in the north, while Liu Yü himself was occupied with the killing of the emperor (419) and the installation of a puppet. In 420 the puppet had to abdicate and Liu Yü became emperor. He called his dynasty the Sung dynasty, but to distinguish it from another and more famous Sung dynasty of later time his dynasty is also called the Liu-Sung dynasty. The struggles and intrigues of cliques against each other continued as before. We shall pass quickly over this period after a glance at the nature of these internal struggles. Part of the old imperial family and its following fled northward from Liu Yü and surrendered to the Toba. There they agitated for a campaign of vengeance against South China, and they were supported at the court of the Toba by many families of the gentry with landed interests in the south. Thus long-continued fighting started between Sung and Toba, concerned mainly with the domains of the deposed imperial family and its following. This fighting brought little success to south China, and about 450 it produced among the Toba an economic and social crisis that brought the wars to a temporary close. In this pause the Sung turned to the extreme south, and tried to gain influence there and in Annam. The merchant class and the gentry families of the capital who were allied with it were those chiefly interested in this expansion. About 450 began the Toba policy of shifting the central government to the region of the Yellow River, to Loyang; for this purpose the frontier had to be pushed farther south. Their great campaign brought the Toba in 450 down to the Yangtze. The Sung suffered a heavy defeat; they had to pay tribute, and the Toba annexed parts of their northern territory. The Sung emperors who followed were as impotent as their predecessors and personally much more repulsive. Nothing happened at court but drinking, licentiousness, and continual murders. From 460 onward there were a number of important risings of princes; in some of them the Toba had a hand. They hoped by supporting one or another of the pretenders to gain overlordship over the whole of the southern empire. In these struggles in the south the Hsiao family, thanks mainly to General Hsiao Tao-ch'eng, steadily gained in power, especially as the family was united by marriage with the imperial house. In 477 Hsiao Tao-ch'eng finally had the emperor killed by an accomplice, the son of a shamaness; he set a boy on the throne and made himself regent. Very soon after this the boy emperor and all the members of the imperial family were murdered, and Hsiao Tao-ch'eng created the "Southern Ch'i" dynasty (479-501). Once more the remaining followers of the deposed dynasty fled northward to the Toba, and at once fighting between Toba and the south began again. This fighting ended with a victory for the Toba and with the final establishment of the Toba in the new capital of Loyang. South China was heavily defeated again and again, but never finally conquered. There were intervals of peace. In the years between 480 and 490 there was less disorder in the south, at all events in internal affairs. Princes were more often appointed to governorships, and the influence of the cliques was thus weakened. In spite of this, a stable regime was not built up, and in 494 a prince rose against the youthful emperor. This prince, with the help of his clique including the Ch'en family, which later attained importance, won the day, murdered the emperor, and became emperor himself. All that is recorded about him is that he fought unsuccessfully against the Toba, and that he had the whole of his own family killed out of fear that one of its members might act exactly as he had done. After his death there were conflicts between the emperor's few remaining relatives; in these the Toba again had a hand. The victor was a person named Hsiao Yen; he removed the reigning emperor in the usual way and made himself emperor. Although he belonged to the imperial family, he altered the name of the dynasty, and reigned from 502 as the first emperor of the "Liang dynasty". [Illustration: 8 Detail from the Buddhist cave-reliefs of Lung-men. _From a print in the author's possession_.] [Illustration: 9 Statue of Mi-lo (Maitreya, the next future Buddha), in the 'Great Buddha Temple' at Chengting (Hopei). _Photo H. Hammer-Morrisson_.] 4 _The Liang dynasty_ (A.D. 502-556) The fighting with the Toba continued until 515. As a rule the Toba were the more successful, not at least through the aid of princes of the deposed "Southern Ch'i dynasty" and their followers. Wars began also in the west, where the Toba tried to cut off the access of the Liang to the caravan routes to Turkestan. In 507, however, the Toba suffered an important defeat. The southern states had tried at all times to work with the Kansu states against the northern states; the Toba now followed suit and allied themselves with a large group of native chieftains of the south, whom they incited to move against the Liang. This produced great native unrest, especially in the provinces by the upper Yangtze. The natives, who were steadily pushed back by the Chinese peasants, were reduced to migrating into the mountain country or to working for the Chinese in semi-servile conditions; and they were ready for revolt and very glad to work with the Toba. The result of this unrest was not decisive, but it greatly reduced the strength of the regions along the upper Yangtze. Thus the main strength of the southern state was more than ever confined to the Nanking region. The first emperor of the Liang dynasty, who assumed the name Wu Ti (502-549), became well known in the Western world owing to his love of literature and of Buddhism. After he had come to the throne with the aid of his followers, he took no further interest in politics; he left that to his court clique. From now on, however, the political initiative really belonged to the north. At this time there began in the Toba empire the risings of tribal leaders against the government which we have fully described above. One of these leaders, Hou Ching, who had become powerful as a military leader in the north, tried in 547 to conclude a private alliance with the Liang to strengthen his own position. At the same time the ruler of the northern state of the "Northern Ch'i", then in process of formation, himself wanted to negotiate an alliance with the Liang, in order to be able to get rid of Hou Ching. There was indecision in Liang. Hou Ching, who had been getting into difficulties, now negotiated with a dissatisfied prince in Liang, invaded the country in 548 with the prince's aid, captured the capital in 549, and killed Emperor Wu. Hou Ching now staged the usual spectacle: he put a puppet on the imperial throne, deposed him eighteen months later and made himself emperor. This man of the Toba on the throne of South China was unable, however, to maintain his position; he had not sufficient backing. He was at war with the new rulers in the northern empire, and his own army, which was not very large, melted away; above all, he proceeded with excessive harshness against the helpers who had gained access for him to the Liang, and thereafter he failed to secure a following from among the leading cliques at court. In 552 he was driven out by a Chinese army led by one of the princes and was killed. The new emperor had been a prince in the upper Yangtze region, and his closest associates were engaged there. They did not want to move to the distant capital, Nanking, because their private financial interests would have suffered. The emperor therefore remained in the city now called Hankow. He left the eastern territory in the hands of two powerful generals, one of whom belonged to the Ch'en family, which he no longer had the strength to remove. In this situation the generals in the east made themselves independent, and this naturally produced tension at once between the east and the west of the Liang empire; this tension was now exploited by the leaders of the Chou state then in the making in the north. On the invitation of a clique in the south and with its support, the Chou invaded the present province of Hupei and in 555 captured the Liang emperor's capital. They were now able to achieve their old ambition: a prince of the Chou dynasty was installed as a feudatory of the north, reigning until 587 in the present Hankow. He was permitted to call his quasi-feudal territory a kingdom and his dynasty, as we know already, the "Later Liang dynasty". 5 _The Ch'en dynasty (A.D. 557-588) and its ending by the Sui_ The more important of the independent generals in the east, Ch'en Pa-hsien, installed a shadow emperor, forced him to abdicate, and made himself emperor. The Ch'en dynasty which thus began was even feebler than the preceding dynasties. Its territory was confined to the lower Yangtze valley. Once more cliques and rival pretenders were at work and prevented any sort of constructive home policy. Abroad, certain advantages were gained in north China over the Northern Ch'i dynasty, but none of any great importance. Meanwhile in the north Yang Chien had brought into power the Chinese Sui dynasty. It began by liquidating the quasi-feudal state of the "Later Liang". Then followed, in 588-9, the conquest of the Ch'en empire, almost without any serious resistance. This brought all China once more under united rule, and a period of 360 years of division was ended. 6 _Cultural achievements of the south_ For nearly three hundred years the southern empire had witnessed unceasing struggles between important cliques, making impossible any peaceful development within the country. Culturally, however, the period was rich in achievement. The court and the palaces of wealthy members of the gentry attracted scholars and poets, and the gentry themselves had time for artistic occupations. A large number of the best-known Chinese poets appeared in this period, and their works plainly reflect the conditions of that time: they are poems for the small circle of scholars among the gentry and for cultured patrons, spiced with quotations and allusions, elaborate in metre and construction, masterpieces of aesthetic sensitivity--but unintelligible except to highly educated members of the aristocracy. The works were of the most artificial type, far removed from all natural feeling. Music, too, was never so assiduously cultivated as at this time. But the old Chinese music disappeared in the south as in the north, where dancing troupes and women musicians in the Sogdian commercial colonies of the province of Kansu established the music of western Turkestan. Here in the south, native courtesans brought the aboriginal, non-Chinese music to the court; Chinese poets wrote songs in Chinese for this music, and so the old Chinese music became unfashionable and was forgotten. The upper class, the gentry, bought these girls, often in large numbers, and organized them in troupes of singers and dancers, who had to appear on festal occasions and even at the court. For merchants and other people who lacked full social recognition there were brothels, a quite natural feature wherever there were considerable commercial colonies or collections of merchants, including the capital of the southern empire. In their ideology, as will be remembered, the Chinese gentry were always in favour of Confucianism. Here in the south, however, the association with Confucianism was less serious, the southern gentry, with their relations with the merchant class, having acquired the character of "colonial" gentry. They were brought up as Confucians, but were interested in all sorts of different religious movements, and especially in Buddhism. A different type of Buddhism from that in the north had spread over most of the south, a meditative Buddhism that was very close ideologically to the original Taoism, and so fulfilled the same social functions as Taoism. Those who found the official life with its intrigues repulsive, occupied themselves with meditative Buddhism. The monks told of the sad fate of the wicked in the life to come, and industriously filled the gentry with apprehension, so that they tried to make up for their evil deeds by rich gifts to the monasteries. Many emperors in this period, especially Wu Ti of the Liang dynasty, inclined to Buddhism. Wu Ti turned to it especially in his old age, when he was shut out entirely from the tasks of a ruler and was no longer satisfied with the usual pleasures of the court. Several times he instituted Buddhist ceremonies of purification on a large scale in the hope of so securing forgiveness for the many murders he had committed. Genuine Taoism also came to the fore again, and with it the popular religion with its magic, now amplified with the many local deities that had been taken over from the indigenous population of the south. For a time it became the fashion at court to pass the time in learned discussions between Confucians, Buddhists, and Taoists, which were quite similar to the debates between learned men centuries earlier at the wealthy little Indian courts. For the court clique this was more a matter of pastime than of religious controversy. It seems thoroughly in harmony with the political events that here, for the first time in the history of Chinese philosophy, materialist currents made their appearance, running parallel with Machiavellian theories of power for the benefit of the wealthiest of the gentry. Principal dynasties of North and South China _North and South_ Western Chin dynasty (A.D. 265-317) _North_ _South_ 1. Earlier Chao (Hsiung-nu) 304-329 1. Eastern Chin (Chinese) 317-419 2. Later Chao (Hsiung-nu) 328-352 3. Earlier Ch'in (Tibetans) 351-394 4. Later Ch'in (Tibetans) 384-417 5. Western Ch'in (Hsiung-nu)385-431 6. Earlier Yen (Hsien-pi) 352-370 7. Later Yen (Hsien-pi) 384-409 8. Western Yen (Hsien-pi) 384-395 9. Southern Yen (Hsien-pi) 398-410 10. Northern Yen (Hsien-pi) 409-436 11. Tai (Toba) 338-376 12. Earlier Liang (Chinese) 313-376 13. Northern Liang (Hsiung-nu) 397-439 14. Western Liang (Chinese?) 400-421 15. Later Liang (Tibetans) 386-403 16. Southern Liang (Hsien-pi) 379-414 17. Hsia (Hsiung-nu) 407-431 18. Toba (Turks) 385-550 2. Liu-Sung 420-478 3. Southern Ch'i 479-501 19. Northern Ch'i (Chinese?)550-576 4. Liang 502-556 20. Northern Chou (Toba) 557-579 5. Ch'en 557-588 21. Sui (Chinese) 580-618 6. Sui 580-618 Chapter Eight THE EMPIRES OF THE SUI AND THE T'ANG (A) The Sui dynasty (A.D. 580-618) 1 _Internal situation in the newly unified empire_ The last of the northern dynasties, the Northern Chou, had been brought to an end by Yang Chien: rapid campaigns had made an end of the remaining petty states, and thus the Sui dynasty had come into power. China, reunited after 360 years, was again under Chinese rule. This event brought about a new epoch in the history of the Far East. But the happenings of 360 years could not be wiped out by a change of dynasty. The short Sui period can only be described as a period of transition to unified forms. In the last resort the union of the various parts of China proceeded from the north. The north had always, beyond question, been militarily superior, because its ruling class had consisted of warlike peoples. Yet it was not a northerner who had united China but a Chinese though, owing to mixed marriages, he was certainly not entirely unrelated to the northern peoples. The rule, however, of the actual northern peoples was at an end. The start of the Sui dynasty, while the Chou still held the north, was evidence, just like the emergence in the north-east some thirty years earlier of the Northern Ch'i dynasty, that the Chinese gentry with their landowning basis had gained the upper hand over the warrior nomads. The Chinese gentry had not come unchanged out of that struggle. Culturally they had taken over many things from the foreigners, beginning with music and the style of their clothing, in which they had entirely adopted the northern pattern, and including other elements of daily life. Among the gentry were now many formerly alien families who had gradually become entirely Chinese. On the other hand, the foreigners' feudal outlook had influenced the gentry, so that a sense of distinctions of rank had developed among them. There were Chinese families who regarded themselves as superior to the rest, just as had been the case among the northern peoples, and who married only among themselves or with the ruling house and not with ordinary families of the gentry. They paid great attention to their genealogies, had the state keep records of them and insisted that the dynastic histories mentioned their families and their main family members. Lists of prominent gentry families were set up which mentioned the home of each clan, so that pretenders could easily be detected. The rules of giving personal names were changed so that it became possible to identify a person's genealogical position within the family. At the same time the contempt of the military underwent modification; the gentry were even ready to take over high military posts, and also to profit by them. The new Sui empire found itself faced with many difficulties. During the three and a half centuries of division, north and south had developed in different ways. They no longer spoke the same language in everyday life (we distinguish to this day between a Nanking and Peking "High Chinese", to say nothing of dialects). The social and economic structures were very different in the two parts of the country. How could unity be restored in these things? Then there was the problem of population. The north-eastern plain had always been thickly populated; it had early come under Toba rule and had been able to develop further. The region round the old northern capital Ch'ang-an, on the other hand, had suffered greatly from the struggles before the Toba period and had never entirely recovered. Meanwhile, in the south the population had greatly increased in the region north of Nanking, while the regions south of the Yangtze and the upper Yangtze valley were more thinly peopled. The real South, i.e. the modern provinces of Fukien, Kwangtung and Kwangsi, was still underdeveloped, mainly because of the malaria there. In the matter of population the north unquestionably remained prominent. The founder of the Sui dynasty, known by his reign name of Wen Ti (589-604), came from the west, close to Ch'ang-an. There he and his following had their extensive domains. Owing to the scanty population there and the resulting shortage of agricultural labourers, these properties were very much less productive than the small properties in the north-east. This state of things was well known in the south, and it was expected, with good reason, that the government would try to transfer parts of the population to the north-west, in order to settle a peasantry round the capital for the support of its greatly increasing staff of officials, and to satisfy the gentry of the region. This produced several revolts in the south. As an old soldier who had long been a subject of the Toba, Wen Ti had no great understanding of theory: he was a practical man. He was anti-intellectual and emotionally attached to Buddhism; he opposed Confucianism for emotional reasons and believed that it could give him no serviceable officials of the sort he wanted. He demanded from his officials the same obedience and sense of duty as from his soldiers; and he was above all thrifty, almost miserly, because he realized that the finances of his state could only be brought into order by the greatest exertions. The budget had to be drawn up for the vast territory of the empire without any possibility of saying in advance whether the revenues would come in and whether the transport of dues to the capital would function. This cautious calculation was entirely justified, but it aroused great opposition. Both east and south were used to a much better style of living; yet the gentry of both regions were now required to cut down their consumption. On top of this they were excluded from the conduct of political affairs. In the past, under the Northern Ch'i empire in the north-east and under the Ch'en empire in the south, there had been thousands of positions at court in which the whole of the gentry could find accommodation of some kind. Now the central government was far in the west, and other people were its administrators. In the past the gentry had a profitable and easily accessible market for their produce in the neighbouring capital; now the capital was far away, entailing long-distance transport at heavy risk with little profit. The dissatisfied circles of the gentry in the north-east and in the south incited Prince Kuang to rebellion. The prince and his followers murdered the emperor and set aside the heir-apparent; and Kuang came to the throne, assuming the name of Yang Ti. His first act was to transfer the capital back to the east, to Loyang, close to the grain-producing regions. His second achievement was to order the construction of great canals, to facilitate the transport of grain to the capital and to provide a valuable new market for the producers in the north-east and the south. It was at this time that the first forerunner of the famous "Imperial Canal" was constructed, the canal that connects the Yangtze with the Yellow River. Small canals, connecting various streams, had long been in existence, so that it was possible to travel from north to south by water, but these canals were not deep enough or broad enough to take large freight barges. There are records of lighters of 500 and even 800 tons capacity! These are dimensions unheard of in the West in those times. In addition to a serviceable canal to the south, Yang Ti made another that went north almost to the present Peking. Hand in hand with these successes of the north-eastern and southern gentry went strong support for Confucianism, and a reorganization of the Confucian examination system. As a rule, however, the examinations were circumvented as an unimportant formality; the various governors were ordered each to send annually to the capital three men with the required education, for whose quality they were held personally responsible; merchants and artisans were expressly excluded. 2 _Relations with Turks and with Korea_ In foreign affairs an extraordinarily fortunate situation for the Sui dynasty had come into existence. The T'u-chüeh, the Turks, much the strongest people of the north, had given support now to one and now to another of the northern kingdoms, and this, together with their many armed incursions, had made them the dominant political factor in the north. But in the first year of the Sui period (581) they split into two sections, so that the Sui had hopes of gaining influence over them. At first both sections of the Turks had entered into alliance with China, but this was not a sufficient safeguard for the Sui, for one of the Turkish khans was surrounded by Toba who had fled from the vanished state of the Northern Chou, and who now tried to induce the Turks to undertake a campaign for the reconquest of North China. The leader of this agitation was a princess of the Yü-wen family, the ruling family of the Northern Chou. The Chinese fought the Turks several times; but much more effective results were gained by their diplomatic missions, which incited the eastern against the western Turks and vice versa, and also incited the Turks against the Toba clique. In the end one of the sections of Turks accepted Chinese overlordship, and some tribes of the other section were brought over to the Chinese side; also, fresh disunion was sown among the Turks. Under the emperor Yang Ti, P'ei Chü carried this policy further. He induced the Tölös tribes to attack the T'u-yü-hun, and then himself attacked the latter, so destroying their power. The T'u-yü-hun were a people living in the extreme north of Tibet, under a ruling class apparently of Hsien-pi origin; the people were largely Tibetan. The purpose of the conquest of the T'u-yü-hun was to safeguard access to Central Asia. An effective Turkestan policy was, however, impossible so long as the Turks were still a formidable power. Accordingly, the intrigues that aimed at keeping the two sections of Turks apart were continued. In 615 came a decisive counter-attack from the Turks. Their khan, Shih-pi, made a surprise assault on the emperor himself, with all his following, in the Ordos region, and succeeded in surrounding them. They were in just the same desperate situation as when, eight centuries earlier, the Chinese emperor had been beleaguered by Mao Tun. But the Chinese again saved themselves by a trick. The young Chinese commander, Li Shih-min, succeeded in giving the Turks the impression that large reinforcements were on the way; a Chinese princess who was with the Turks spread the rumour that the Turks were to be attacked by another tribe--and Shih-pi raised the siege, although the Chinese had been entirely defeated. In the Sui period the Chinese were faced with a further problem. Korea or, rather, the most important of the three states in Korea, had generally been on friendly terms with the southern state during the period of China's division, and for this reason had been more or less protected from its North Chinese neighbours. After the unification of China, Korea had reason for seeking an alliance with the Turks, in order to secure a new counterweight against China. A Turco-Korean alliance would have meant for China a sort of encirclement that might have grave consequences. The alliance might be extended to Japan, who had certain interests in Korea. Accordingly the Chinese determined to attack Korea, though at the same time negotiations were set on foot. The fighting, which lasted throughout the Sui period, involved technical difficulties, as it called for combined land and sea attacks; in general it brought little success. 3 _Reasons for collapse_ The continual warfare entailed great expense, and so did the intrigues, because they depended for their success on bribery. Still more expensive were the great canal works. In addition to this, the emperor Yang Ti, unlike his father, was very extravagant. He built enormous palaces and undertook long journeys throughout the empire with an immense following. All this wrecked the prosperity which his father had built up and had tried to safeguard. The only productive expenditure was that on the canals, and they could not begin to pay in so short a period. The emperor's continual journeys were due, no doubt, in part simply to the pursuit of pleasure, though they were probably intended at the same time to hinder risings and to give the emperor direct control over every part of the country. But the empire was too large and too complex for its administration to be possible in the midst of journeying. [Illustration: Map 5: The T'ang realm (_about A.D. 750_)] The whole of the chancellery had to accompany the emperor, and all the transport necessary for the feeding of the emperor and his government had continually to be diverted to wherever he happened to be staying. All this produced disorder and unrest. The gentry, who at first had so strongly supported the emperor and had been able to obtain anything they wanted from him, now began to desert him and set up pretenders. From 615 onward, after the defeat at the hands of the Turks, risings broke out everywhere. The emperor had to establish his government in the south, where he felt safer. There, however, in 618, he was assassinated by conspirators led by Toba of the Yü-wen family. Everywhere now independent governments sprang up, and for five years China was split up into countless petty states. (B) The T'ang dynasty (A.D. 618-906) 1 _Reforms and decentralization_ The hero of the Turkish siege, Li Shih-min, had allied himself with the Turks in 615-16. There were special reasons for his ability to do this. In his family it had been a regular custom to marry women belonging to Toba families, so that he naturally enjoyed the confidence of the Toba party among the Turks. There are various theories as to the origin of his family, the Li. The family itself claimed to be descended from the ruling family of the Western Liang. It is doubtful whether that family was purely Chinese, and in any case Li Shih-min's descent from it is a matter of doubt. It is possible that his family was a sinified Toba family, or at least came from a Toba region. However this may be, Li Shih-min continued the policy which had been pursued since the beginning of the Sui dynasty by the members of the deposed Toba ruling family of the Northern Chou--the policy of collaboration with the Turks in the effort to remove the Sui. The nominal leadership in the rising that now began lay in the hands of Li Shih-min's father, Li Yüan; in practice Li Shih-min saw to everything. At the end of 617 he was outside the first capital of the Sui, Ch'ang-an, with a Turkish army that had come to his aid on the strength of the treaty of alliance. After capturing Ch'ang-an he installed a puppet emperor there, a grandson of Yang Ti. In 618 the puppet was dethroned and Li Yüan, the father, was made emperor, in the T'ang dynasty. Internal fighting went on until 623, and only then was the whole empire brought under the rule of the T'ang. Great reforms then began. A new land law aimed at equalizing ownership, so that as far as possible all peasants should own the same amount of land and the formation of large estates be prevented. The law aimed also at protecting the peasants from the loss of their land. The law was, however, nothing but a modification of the Toba land law (_chün-t'ien_), and it was hoped that now it would provide a sound and solid economic foundation for the empire. From the first, however, members of the gentry who were connected with the imperial house were given a privileged position; then officials were excluded from the prohibition of leasing, so that there continued to be tenant farmers in addition to the independent peasants. Moreover, the temples enjoyed special treatment, and were also exempted from taxation. All these exceptions brought grist to the mills of the gentry, and so did the failure to carry into effect many of the provisions of the law. Before long a new gentry had been formed, consisting of the old gentry together with those who had directly aided the emperor's ascent to the throne. From the beginning of the eighth century there were repeated complaints that peasants were "disappearing". They were entering the service of the gentry as tenant farmers or farm workers, and owing to the privileged position of the gentry in regard to taxation, the revenue sank in proportion as the number of independent peasants decreased. One of the reasons for the flight of farmers may have been the corvée laws connected with the "equal land" system: small families were much less affected by the corvée obligation than larger families with many sons. It may be, therefore, that large families or at least sons of the sons in large families moved away in order to escape these obligations. In order to prevent irregularities, the T'ang renewed the old "_pao-chia_" system, as a part of a general reform of the administration in 624. In this system groups of five families were collectively responsible for the payment of taxes, the corvée, for crimes committed by individuals within one group, and for loans from state agencies. Such a system is attested for pre-Christian times already; it was re-activated in the eleventh century and again from time to time, down to the present. Yet the system of land equalization soon broke down and was abolished officially around A.D. 780. But the classification of citizens into different classes, first legalized under the Toba, was retained and even more refined. As early as in the Han period there had been a dual administration--the civil and, independent of it, the military administration. One and the same area would belong to a particular administrative prefecture (_chün_) and at the same time to a particular military prefecture (_chou_). This dual organization had persisted during the Toba period and, at first, remained unchanged in the beginning of the T'ang. The backbone of the military power in the seventh century was the militia, some six hundred units of an average of a thousand men, recruited from the general farming population for short-term service: one month in five in the areas close to the capital. These men formed a part of the emperor's guards and were under the command of members of the Shensi gentry. This system which had its direct parallels in the Han time and evolved out of a Toba system, broke down when short offensive wars were no longer fought. Other imperial guards were staffed with young sons of the gentry who were stationed in the most delicate parts of the palaces. The emperor T'ai-tsung had his personal bodyguard, a part of his own army of conquest, consisting of his former bondsmen (_pu-ch'ü_). The ranks of the Army of conquest were later filled by descendants of the original soldiers and by orphans. In the provinces, the armies of the military prefectures gradually lost their importance when wars became longer and militiamen proved insufficient. Many of the soldiers here were convicts and exiles. It is interesting to note that the title of the commander of these armies, _tu-tu_, in the fourth century meant a commander in the church-Taoist organization; it was used by the Toba and from the seventh century on became widely accepted as title among the Uighurs, Tibetans, Sogdians, Turks and Khotanese. When the prefectural armies and the militia forces weakened, special regional armies were created (from 678 on); this institution had existed among the Toba, but they had greatly reduced these armies after 500. The commanders of these new T'ang armies soon became more important than the civil administrators, because they commanded a number of districts making up a whole province. This assured a better functioning of the military machine, but put the governors-general in a position to pursue a policy of their own, even against the central government. In addition to this, the financial administration of their commands was put under them, whereas in the past it had been in the hands of the civil administration of the various provinces. The civil administration was also reorganized (see the table on pages 83-84). Towards the end of the T'ang period the state secretariat was set up in two parts: it was in possession of all information about the economic and political affairs of the empire, and it made the actual decisions. Moreover, a number of technical departments had been created--in all, a system that might compare favourably with European systems of the eighteenth century. At the end of the T'ang period there was added to this system a section for economic affairs, working quite independently of it and directly under the emperor; it was staffed entirely with economic or financial experts, while for the staffing of the other departments no special qualification was demanded besides the passing of the state examinations. In addition to these, at the end of the T'ang period a new department was in preparation, a sort of Privy Council, a mainly military organization, probably intended to control the generals (section 3 of the table on page 83), just as the state secretariat controlled the civil officials. The Privy Council became more and more important in the tenth century and especially in the Mongol epoch. Its absence in the early T'ang period gave the military governors much too great freedom, ultimately with baneful results. At first, however, the reforms of A.D. 624 worked well. The administration showed energy, and taxes flowed in. In the middle of the eighth century the annual budget of the state included the following items: over a million tons of grain for the consumption of the capital and the palace and for salaries of civil and military officials; twenty-seven million pieces of textiles, also for the consumption of capital and palace and army, and for supplementary purchases of grain; two million strings of money (a string nominally held a thousand copper coins) for salaries and for the army. This was much more than the state budget of the Han period. The population of the empire had also increased; it seems to have amounted to some fifty millions. In the capital a large staff of officials had been created to meet all administrative needs. The capital grew enormously, at times containing two million people. Great numbers of young members of the gentry streamed into the capital for the examinations held under the Confucian system. The crowding of people into the capital and the accumulation of resources there promoted a rich cultural life. We know of many poets of that period whose poems were real masterpieces; and artists whose works were admired centuries later. These poets and artists were the pioneers of the flourishing culture of the later T'ang period. Hand in hand with this went luxury and refinement of manners. For those who retired from the bustle of the capital to work on their estates and to enjoy the society of their friends, there was time to occupy themselves with Taoism and Buddhism, especially meditative Buddhism. Everyone, of course, was Confucian, as was fitting for a member of the gentry, but Confucianism was so taken for granted that it was not discussed. It was the basis of morality for the gentry, but held no problems. It no longer contained anything of interest. Conditions had been much the same once before, at the court of the Han emperors, but with one great difference: at that time everything of importance took place in the capital; now, in addition to the actual capital, Ch'ang-an, there was the second capital, Loyang, in no way inferior to the other in importance; and the great towns in the south also played their part as commercial and cultural centres that had developed in the 360 years of division between north and south. There the local gentry gathered to lead a cultivated life, though not quite in the grand style of the capital. If an official was transferred to the Yangtze, it no longer amounted to a punishment as in the past; he would not meet only uneducated people, but a society resembling that of the capital. The institution of governors-general further promoted this decentralization: the governor-general surrounded himself with a little court of his own, drawn from the local gentry and the local intelligentsia. This placed the whole edifice of the empire on a much broader foundation, with lasting results. 2 _Turkish policy_ The foreign policy of this first period of the T'ang, lasting until about 690, was mainly concerned with the Turks and Turkestan. There were still two Turkish realms in the Far East, both of considerable strength but in keen rivalry with each other. The T'ang had come into power with the aid of the eastern Turks, but they admitted the leader of the western Turks to their court; he had been at Ch'ang-an in the time of the Sui. He was murdered, however, by Chinese at the instigation of the eastern Turks. The next khan of the eastern Turks nevertheless turned against the T'ang, and gave his support to a still surviving pretender to the throne representing the Sui dynasty; the khan contended that the old alliance of the eastern Turks had been with the Sui and not with the T'ang. The T'ang therefore tried to come to terms once more with the western Turks, who had been affronted by the assassination; but the negotiations came to nothing in face of an approach made by the eastern Turks to the western, and of the distrust of the Chinese with which all the Turks were filled. About 624 there were strong Turkish invasions, carried right up to the capital. Suddenly, however, for reasons not disclosed by the Chinese sources, the Turks withdrew, and the T'ang were able to conclude a fairly honourable peace. This was the time of the maximum power of the eastern Turks. Shortly afterwards disturbances broke out (627), under the leadership of Turkish Uighurs and their allies. The Chinese took advantage of these disturbances, and in a great campaign in 629-30 succeeded in overthrowing the eastern Turks; the khan was taken to the imperial court in Ch'ang-an, and the Chinese emperor made himself "Heavenly Khan" of the Turks. In spite of the protest of many of the ministers, who pointed to the result of the settlement policy of the Later Han dynasty, the eastern Turks were settled in the bend of the upper Hwang-ho and placed more or less under the protectorate of two governors-general. Their leaders were admitted into the Chinese army, and the sons of their nobles lived at the imperial court. No doubt it was hoped in this way to turn the Turks into Chinese, as had been done with the Toba, though for entirely different reasons. More than a million Turks were settled in this way, and some of them actually became Chinese later and gained important posts. In general, however, this in no way broke the power of the Turks. The great Turkish empire, which extended as far as Byzantium, continued to exist. The Chinese success had done no more than safeguard the frontier from a direct menace and frustrate the efforts of the supporters of the Sui dynasty and the Toba dynasty, who had been living among the eastern Turks and had built on them. The power of the western Turks remained a lasting menace to China, especially if they should succeed in co-operating with the Tibetans. After the annihilation of the T'u-yü-hun by the Sui at the very beginning of the seventh century, a new political unit had formed in northern Tibet, the T'u-fan, who also seem to have had an upper class of Turks and Mongols and a Tibetan lower class. Just as in the Han period, Chinese policy was bound to be directed to preventing a union between Turks and Tibetans. This, together with commercial interests, seems to have been the political motive of the Chinese Turkestan policy under the T'ang. 3 _Conquest of Turkestan and Korea. Summit of power_ The Turkestan wars began in 639 with an attack on the city-state of Kao-ch'ang (Khocho). This state had been on more or less friendly terms with North China since the Toba period, and it had succeeded again and again in preserving a certain independence from the Turks. Now, however, Kao-ch'ang had to submit to the western Turks, whose power was constantly increasing. China made that submission a pretext for war. By 640 the whole basin of Turkestan was brought under Chinese dominance. The whole campaign was really directed against the western Turks, to whom Turkestan had become subject. The western Turks had been crippled by two internal events, to the advantage of the Chinese: there had been a tribal rising, and then came the rebellion and the rise of the Uighurs (640-650). These events belong to Turkish history, and we shall confine ourselves here to their effects on Chinese history. The Chinese were able to rely on the Uighurs; above all, they were furnished by the Tölös Turks with a large army, with which they turned once more against Turkestan in 647-48, and now definitely established their rule there. The active spirit at the beginning of the T'ang rule had not been the emperor but his son Li Shih-min, who was not, however, named as heir to the throne because he was not the eldest son. The result of this was tension between Li Shih-min and his father and brothers, especially the heir to the throne. When the brothers learned that Li Shih-min was claiming the succession, they conspired against him, and in 626, at the very moment when the western Turks had made a rapid incursion and were once more threatening the Chinese capital, there came an armed collision between the brothers, in which Li Shih-min was the victor. The brothers and their families were exterminated, the father compelled to abdicate, and Li Shih-min became emperor, assuming the name T'ai Tsung (627-649). His reign marked the zenith of the power of China and of the T'ang dynasty. Their inner struggles and the Chinese penetration of Turkestan had weakened the position of the Turks; the reorganization of the administration and of the system of taxation, the improved transport resulting from the canals constructed under the Sui, and the useful results of the creation of great administrative areas under strong military control, had brought China inner stability and in consequence external power and prestige. The reputation which she then obtained as the most powerful state of the Far East endured when her inner stability had begun to deteriorate. Thus in 638 the Sassanid ruler Jedzgerd sent a mission to China asking for her help against the Arabs. Three further missions came at intervals of a good many years. The Chinese declined, however, to send a military expedition to such a distance; they merely conferred on the ruler the title of a Chinese governor; this was of little help against the Arabs, and in 675 the last ruler, Peruz, fled to the Chinese court. The last years of T'ai Tsung's reign were filled with a great war against Korea, which represented a continuation of the plans of the Sui emperor Yang Ti. This time Korea came firmly into Chinese possession. In 661, under T'ai Tsung's son, the Korean fighting was resumed, this time against Japanese who were defending their interests in Korea. This was the period of great Japanese enthusiasm for China. The Chinese system of administration was copied, and Buddhism was adopted, together with every possible element of Chinese culture. This meant increased trade with Japan, bringing in large profits to China, and so the Korean middleman was to be eliminated. T'ai Tsung's son, Kao Tsung (650-683), merely carried to a conclusion what had been begun. Externally China's prestige continued at its zenith. The caravans streamed into China from western and central Asia, bringing great quantities of luxury goods. At this time, however, the foreign colonies were not confined to the capital but were installed in all the important trading ports and inland trade centres. The whole country was covered by a commercial network; foreign merchants who had come overland to China met others who had come by sea. The foreigners set up their own counting-houses and warehouses; whole quarters of the capital were inhabited entirely by foreigners who lived as if they were in their own country. They brought with them their own religions: Manichaeism, Mazdaism, and Nestorian Christianity. The first Jews came into China, apparently as dealers in fabrics, and the first Arabian Mohammedans made their appearance. In China the foreigners bought silkstuffs and collected everything of value that they could find, especially precious metals. Culturally this influx of foreigners enriched China; economically, as in earlier periods, it did not; its disadvantages were only compensated for a time by the very beneficial results of the trade with Japan, and this benefit did not last long. 4 _The reign of the empress Wu: Buddhism and capitalism_ The pressure of the western Turks had been greatly weakened in this period, especially as their attention had been diverted to the west, where the advance of Islam and of the Arabs was a new menace for them. On the other hand, from 650 onward the Tibetans gained immensely in power, and pushed from the south into the Tarim basin. In 678 they inflicted a heavy defeat on the Chinese, and it cost the T'ang decades of diplomatic effort before they attained, in 699, their aim of breaking up the Tibetans' realm and destroying their power. In the last year of Kao Tsung's reign, 683, came the first of the wars of liberation of the northern Turks, known until then as the western Turks, against the Chinese. And with the end of Kao Tsung's reign began the decline of the T'ang regime. Most of the historians attribute it to a woman, the later empress Wu. She had been a concubine of T'ai Tsung, and after his death had become a Buddhist nun--a frequent custom of the time--until Kao Tsung fell in love with her and made her a concubine of his own. In the end he actually divorced the empress and made the concubine empress (655). She gained more and more influence, being placed on a par with the emperor and soon entirely eliminating him in practice; in 680 she removed the rightful heir to the throne and put her own son in his place; after Kao Tsung's death in 683 she became regent for her son. Soon afterward she dethroned him in favour of his twenty-two-year-old brother; in 690 she deposed him too and made herself empress in the "Chou dynasty" (690-701). This officially ended the T'ang dynasty. Matters, however, were not so simple as this might suggest. For otherwise on the empress's deposition there would not have been a mass of supporters moving heaven and earth to treat the new empress Wei (705-712) in the same fashion. There is every reason to suppose that behind the empress Wu there was a group opposing the ruling clique. In spite of everything, the T'ang government clique was very pro-Turkish, and many Turks and members of Toba families had government posts and, above all, important military commands. No campaign of that period was undertaken without Turkish auxiliaries. The fear seems to have been felt in some quarters that this T'ang group might pursue a military policy hostile to the gentry. The T'ang group had its roots mainly in western China; thus the eastern Chinese gentry were inclined to be hostile to it. The first act of the empress Wu had been to transfer the capital to Loyang in the east. Thus, she tried to rely upon the co-operation of the eastern gentry which since the Northern Chou and Sui dynasties had been out of power. While the western gentry brought their children into government positions by claiming family privileges (a son of a high official had the right to a certain position without having passed the regular examinations), the sons of the eastern gentry had to pass through the examinations. Thus, there were differences in education and outlook between both groups which continued long after the death of the empress. In addition, the eastern gentry, who supported the empress Wu and later the empress Wei, were closely associated with the foreign merchants of western Asia and the Buddhist Church to which they adhered. In gratitude for help from the Buddhists, the empress Wu endowed them with enormous sums of money, and tried to make Buddhism a sort of state religion. A similar development had taken place in the Toba and also in the Sui period. Like these earlier rulers, the empress Wu seems to have aimed at combining spiritual leadership with her position as ruler of the empire. In this epoch Buddhism helped to create the first beginnings of large-scale capitalism. In connection with the growing foreign trade, the monasteries grew in importance as repositories of capital; the temples bought more and more land, became more and more wealthy, and so gained increasing influence over economic affairs. They accumulated large quantities of metal, which they stored in the form of bronze figures of Buddha, and with these stocks they exercised controlling influence over the money market. There is a constant succession of records of the total weight of the bronze figures, as an indication of the money value they represented. It is interesting to observe that temples and monasteries acquired also shops and had rental income from them. They further operated many mills, as did the owners of private estates (now called "_chuang_") and thus controlled the price of flour, and polished rice. The cultural influence of Buddhism found expression in new and improved translations of countless texts, and in the passage of pilgrims along the caravan routes, helped by the merchants, as far as western Asia and India, like the famous Hsüan-tsang. Translations were made not only from Indian or other languages into Chinese, but also, for instance, from Chinese into the Uighur and other Turkish tongues, and into Tibetan, Korean, and Japanese. The attitude of the Turks can only be understood when we realize that the background of events during the time of empress Wu was formed by the activities of groups of the eastern Chinese gentry. The northern Turks, who since 630 had been under Chinese overlordship, had fought many wars of liberation against the Chinese; and through the conquest of neighbouring Turks they had gradually become once more, in the decade-and-a-half after the death of Kao Tsung, a great Turkish realm. In 698 the Turkish khan, at the height of his power, demanded a Chinese prince for his daughter--not, as had been usual in the past, a princess for his son. His intention, no doubt, was to conquer China with the prince's aid, to remove the empress Wu, and to restore the T'ang dynasty--but under Turkish overlordship! Thus, when the empress Wu sent a member of her own family, the khan rejected him and demanded the restoration of the deposed T'ang emperor. To enforce this demand, he embarked on a great campaign against China. In this the Turks must have been able to rely on the support of a strong group inside China, for before the Turkish attack became dangerous the empress Wu recalled the deposed emperor, at first as "heir to the throne"; thus she yielded to the khan's principal demand. In spite of this, the Turkish attacks did not cease. After a series of imbroglios within the country in which a group under the leadership of the powerful Ts'ui gentry family had liquidated the supporters of the empress Wu shortly before her death, a T'ang prince finally succeeded in killing empress Wei and her clique. At first, his father ascended the throne, but was soon persuaded to abdicate in favour of his son, now called emperor Hsüang Tsung (713-755), just as the first ruler of the T'ang dynasty had done. The practice of abdicating--in contradiction with the Chinese concept of the ruler as son of Heaven and the duties of a son towards his father--seems to have impressed Japan where similar steps later became quite common. With Hsüan Tsung there began now a period of forty-five years, which the Chinese describe as the second blossoming of T'ang culture, a period that became famous especially for its painting and literature. 5 _Second blossoming of T'ang culture_ The T'ang literature shows the co-operation of many favourable factors. The ancient Chinese classical style of official reports and decrees which the Toba had already revived, now led to the clear prose style of the essayists, of whom Han Yü (768-825) and Liu Tsung-yüan (747-796) call for special mention. But entirely new forms of sentences make their appearance in prose writing, with new pictures and similes brought from India through the medium of the Buddhist translations. Poetry was also enriched by the simple songs that spread in the north under Turkish influence, and by southern influences. The great poets of the T'ang period adopted the rules of form laid down by the poetic art of the south in the fifth century; but while at that time the writing of poetry was a learned pastime, precious and formalistic, the T'ang poets brought to it genuine feeling. Widespread fame came to Li T'ai-po (701-762) and Tu Fu (712-770); in China two poets almost equal to these two in popularity were Po Chü-i (772-846) and Yüan Chen (779-831), who in their works kept as close as possible to the vernacular. New forms of poetry rarely made their appearance in the T'ang period, but the existing forms were brought to the highest perfection. Not until the very end of the T'ang period did there appear the form of a "free" versification, with lines of no fixed length. This form came from the indigenous folk-songs of south-western China, and was spread through the agency of the _filles de joie_ in the tea-houses. Before long it became the custom to string such songs together in a continuous series--the first step towards opera. For these song sequences were sung by way of accompaniment to the theatrical productions. The Chinese theatre had developed from two sources--from religious games, bullfights and wrestling, among Turkish and Mongol peoples, which developed into dancing displays; and from sacrificial games of South Chinese origin. Thus the Chinese theatre, with its union with music, should rather be called opera, although it offers a sort of pantomimic show. What amounted to a court conservatoire trained actors and musicians as early as in the T'ang period for this court opera. These actors and musicians were selected from the best-looking "commoners", but they soon tended to become a special caste with a legal status just below that of "burghers". In plastic art there are fine sculptures in stone and bronze, and we have also technically excellent fabrics, the finest of lacquer, and remains of artistic buildings; but the principal achievement of the T'ang period lies undoubtedly in the field of painting. As in poetry, in painting there are strong traces of alien influences; even before the T'ang period, the painter Hsieh Ho laid down the six fundamental laws of painting, in all probability drawn from Indian practice. Foreigners were continually brought into China as decorators of Buddhist temples, since the Chinese could not know at first how the new gods had to be presented. The Chinese regarded these painters as craftsmen, but admired their skill and their technique and learned from them. The most famous Chinese painter of the T'ang period is Wu Tao-tz[)u], who was also the painter most strongly influenced by Central Asian works. As a pious Buddhist he painted pictures for temples among others. Among the landscape painters, Wang Wei (721-759) ranks first; he was also a famous poet and aimed at uniting poem and painting into an integral whole. With him begins the great tradition of Chinese landscape painting, which attained its zenith later, in the Sung epoch. Porcelain had been invented in China long ago. There was as yet none of the white porcelain that is preferred today; the inside was a brownish-yellow; but on the whole it was already technically and artistically of a very high quality. Since porcelain was at first produced only for the requirements of the court and of high dignitaries--mostly in state factories--a few centuries later the T'ang porcelain had become a great rarity. But in the centuries that followed, porcelain became an important new article of Chinese export. The Chinese prisoners taken by the Arabs in the great battle of Samarkand (751), the first clash between the world of Islam and China, brought to the West the knowledge of Chinese culture, of several Chinese crafts, of the art of papermaking, and also of porcelain. The emperor Hsüan Tsung gave active encouragement to all things artistic. Poets and painters contributed to the elegance of his magnificent court ceremonial. As time went on he showed less and less interest in public affairs, and grew increasingly inclined to Taoism and mysticism in general--an outcome of the fact that the conduct of matters of state was gradually taken out of his hands. On the whole, however, Buddhism was pushed into the background in favour of Confucianism, as a reaction from the unusual privileges that had been accorded to the Buddhists in the past fifteen years under the empress Wu. 6 _Revolt of a military governor_ At the beginning of Hsüan Tsung's reign the capital had been in the east at Loyang; then it was transferred once more to Ch'ang-an in the west due to pressure of the western gentry. The emperor soon came under the influence of the unscrupulous but capable and energetic Li Lin-fu, a distant relative of the ruler. Li was a virtual dictator at the court from 736 to 752, who had first advanced in power by helping the concubine Wu, a relative of the famous empress Wu, and by continually playing the eastern against the western gentry. After the death of the concubine Wu, he procured for the emperor a new concubine named Yang, of a western family. This woman, usually called "Concubine Yang" (Yang Kui-fei), became the heroine of countless stage-plays and stories and even films; all the misfortunes that marked the end of Hsüan Tsung's reign were attributed solely to her. This is incorrect, as she was but a link in the chain of influences that played upon the emperor. Naturally she found important official posts for her brothers and all her relatives; but more important than these was a military governor named An Lu-shan (703-757). His mother was a Turkish shamaness, his father, a foreigner probably of Sogdian origin. An Lu-shan succeeded in gaining favour with the Li clique, which hoped to make use of him for its own ends. Chinese sources describe him as a prodigy of evil, and it will be very difficult today to gain a true picture of his personality. In any case, he was certainly a very capable officer. His rise started from a victory over the Kitan in 744. He spent some time establishing relations with the court and then went back to resume operations against the Kitan. He made so much of the Kitan peril that he was permitted a larger army than usual, and he had command of 150,000 troops in the neighbourhood of Peking. Meanwhile Li Lin-fu died. He had sponsored An as a counterbalance against the western gentry. When now, within the clique of Li Lin-fu, the Yang family tried to seize power, they turned against An Lu-shan. But he marched against the capital, Ch'ang-an, with 200,000 men; on his way he conquered Loyang and made himself emperor (756: Yen dynasty). T'ang troops were sent against him under the leadership of the Chinese Kuo Tz[)u]-i, a Kitan commander, and a Turk, Ko-shu Han. The first two generals had considerable success, but Ko-shu Han, whose task was to prevent access to the western capital, was quickly defeated and taken prisoner. The emperor fled betimes, and An Lu-shan captured Ch'ang-an. The emperor now abdicated; his son, emperor Su Tsung (756-762), also fled, though not with him into Szechwan, but into north-western Shensi. There he defended himself against An Lu-shan and his capable general Shih Ss[)u]-ming (himself a Turk), and sought aid in Central Asia. A small Arab troop came from the caliph Abu-Jafar, and also small bands from Turkestan; of more importance was the arrival of Uighur cavalry in substantial strength. At the end of 757 there was a great battle in the neighbourhood of the capital, in which An Lu-shan was defeated by the Uighurs; shortly afterwards he was murdered by one of his eunuchs. His followers fled; Loyang was captured and looted by the Uighurs. The victors further received in payment from the T'ang government 10,000 rolls of silk with a promise of 20,000 rolls a year; the Uighur khan was given a daughter of the emperor as his wife. An Lu-shan's general, the Turk Shih Ss[)u]-ming, entered into An Lu-shan's heritage, and dominated so large a part of eastern China that the Chinese once more made use of the Uighurs to bring him down. The commanders in the fighting against Shih Ss[)u]-ming this time were once more Kuo Tz[)u]-i and the Kitan general, together with P'u-ku Huai-en, a member of a Tölös family that had long been living in China. At first Shih Ss[)u]-ming was victorious, and he won back Loyang, but then he was murdered by his own son, and only by taking advantage of the disturbances that now arose were the government troops able to quell the dangerous rising. In all this, two things seem interesting and important. To begin with, An Lu-shan had been a military governor. His rising showed that while this new office, with its great command of power, was of value in attacking external enemies, it became dangerous, especially if the central power was weak, the moment there were no external enemies of any importance. An Lu-shan's rising was the first of many similar ones in the later T'ang period. The gentry of eastern China had shown themselves entirely ready to support An Lu-shan against the government, because they had hoped to gain advantage as in the past from a realm with its centre once more in the east. In the second place, the important part played by aliens in events within China calls for notice: not only were the rebels An Lu-shan and Shih Ss[)u]-ming non-Chinese, but so also were most of the generals opposed to them. But they regarded themselves as Chinese, not as members of another national group. The Turkish Uighurs brought in to help against them were fighting actually against Turks, though they regarded those Turks as Chinese. We must not bring to the circumstances of those times the present-day notions with regard to national feeling. 7 _The role of the Uighurs. Confiscation of the capital of the monasteries_ This rising and its sequels broke the power of the dynasty, and also of the empire. The extremely sanguinary wars had brought fearful suffering upon the population. During the years of the rising, no taxes came in from the greater part of the empire, but great sums had to be paid to the peoples who had lent aid to the empire. And the looting by government troops and by the auxiliaries injured the population as much as the war itself did. When the emperor Su Tsung died, in 762, Tengri, the khan of the Uighurs, decided to make himself ruler over China. The events of the preceding years had shown him that China alone was entirely defenceless. Part of the court clique supported him, and only by the intervention of P'u-ku Huai-en, who was related to Tengri by marriage, was his plan frustrated. Naturally there were countless intrigues against P'u-ku Huai-en. He entered into alliance with the Tibetan T'u-fan, and in this way the union of Turks and Tibetans, always feared by the Chinese, had come into existence. In 763 the Tibetans captured and burned down the western capital, while P'u-ku Huai-en with the Uighurs advanced from the north. Undoubtedly this campaign would have been successful, giving an entirely different turn to China's destiny, if P'u-ku Huai-en had not died in 765 and the Chinese under Kuo Tz[)u]-i had not succeeded in breaking up the alliance. The Uighurs now came over into an alliance with the Chinese, and the two allies fell upon the Tibetans and robbed them of their booty. China was saved once more. Friendship with the Uighurs had to be paid for this time even more dearly. They crowded into the capital and compelled the Chinese to buy horses, in payment for which they demanded enormous quantities of silkstuffs. They behaved in the capital like lords, and expected to be maintained at the expense of the government. The system of military governors was adhered to in spite of the country's experience of them, while the difficult situation throughout the empire, and especially along the western and northern frontiers, facing the Tibetans and the more and more powerful Kitan, made it necessary to keep considerable numbers of soldiers permanently with the colours. This made the military governors stronger and stronger; ultimately they no longer remitted any taxes to the central government, but spent them mainly on their armies. Thus from 750 onward the empire consisted of an impotent central government and powerful military governors, who handed on their positions to their sons as a further proof of their independence. When in 781 the government proposed to interfere with the inheriting of the posts, there was a great new rising, which in 783 again extended as far as the capital; in 784 the T'ang government at last succeeded in overcoming it. A compromise was arrived at between the government and the governors, but it in no way improved the situation. Life became more and more difficult for the central government. In 780, the "equal land" system was finally officially given up and with it a tax system which was based upon the idea that every citizen had the same amount of land and, therefore, paid the same amount of taxes. The new system tried to equalize the tax burden and the corvée obligation, but not the land. This change may indicate a step towards greater freedom for private enterprise. Yet it did not benefit the government, as most of the tax income was retained by the governors and was used for their armies and their own court. In the capital, eunuchs ruled in the interests of various cliques. Several emperors fell victim to them or to the drinking of "elixirs of long life". Abroad, the Chinese lost their dominion over Turkestan, for which Uighurs and Tibetans competed. There is nothing to gain from any full description of events at court. The struggle between cliques soon became a struggle between eunuchs and literati, in much the same way as at the end of the second Han dynasty. Trade steadily diminished, and the state became impoverished because no taxes were coming in and great armies had to be maintained, though they did not even obey the government. Events that exerted on the internal situation an influence not to be belittled were the break-up of the Uighurs (from 832 onward) the appearance of the Turkish Sha-t'o, and almost at the same time, the dissolution of the Tibetan empire (from 842). Many other foreigners had placed themselves under the Uighurs living in China, in order to be able to do business under the political protection of the Uighur embassy, but the Uighurs no longer counted, and the T'ang government decided to seize the capital sums which these foreigners had accumulated. It was hoped in this way especially to remedy the financial troubles of the moment, which were partly due to a shortage of metal for minting. As the trading capital was still placed with the temples as banks, the government attacked the religion of the Uighurs, Manichaeism, and also the religions of the other foreigners, Mazdaism, Nestorianism, and apparently also Islam. In 843 alien religions were prohibited; aliens were also ordered to dress like Chinese. This gave them the status of Chinese citizens and no longer of foreigners, so that Chinese justice had a hold over them. That this law abolishing foreign religions was aimed solely at the foreigners' capital is shown by the proceedings at the same time against Buddhism which had long become a completely Chinese Church. Four thousand, six hundred Buddhist temples, 40,000 shrines and monasteries were secularized, and all statues were required to be melted down and delivered to the government, even those in private possession. Two hundred and sixty thousand, five hundred monks were to become ordinary citizens once more. Until then monks had been free of taxation, as had millions of acres of land belonging to the temples and leased to tenants or some 150,000 temple slaves. Thus the edict of 843 must not be described as concerned with religion: it was a measure of compulsion aimed at filling the government coffers. All the property of foreigners and a large part of the property of the Buddhist Church came into the hands of the government. The law was not applied to Taoism, because the ruling gentry of the time were, as so often before, Confucianist and at the same time Taoist. As early as 846 there came a reaction: with the new emperor, Confucians came into power who were at the same time Buddhists and who now evicted some of the Taoists. From this time one may observe closer co-operation between Confucianism and Buddhism; not only with meditative Buddhism (Dhyana) as at the beginning of the T'ang epoch and earlier, but with the main branch of Buddhism, monastery Buddhism (Vinaya). From now onward the Buddhist doctrines of transmigration and retribution, which had been really directed against the gentry and in favour of the common people, were turned into an instrument serving the gentry: everyone who was unfortunate in this life must show such amenability to the government and the gentry that he would have a chance of a better existence at least in the next life. Thus the revolutionary Buddhist doctrine of retribution became a reactionary doctrine that was of great service to the gentry. One of the Buddhist Confucians in whose works this revised version makes its appearance most clearly was Niu Seng-yu, who was at once summoned back to court in 846 by the new emperor. Three new large Buddhist sects came into existence in the T'ang period. One of them, the school of the Pure Land (_Ching-t'u tsung_, since 641) required of its mainly lower class adherents only the permanent invocation of the Buddha Amithabha who would secure them a place in the "Western Paradise"--a place without social classes and economic troubles. The cult of Maitreya, which was always more revolutionary, receded for a while. 8 _First successful peasant revolt. Collapse of the empire_ The chief sufferers from the continual warfare of the military governors, the sanguinary struggles between the cliques, and the universal impoverishment which all this fighting produced, were, of course, the common people. The Chinese annals are filled with records of popular risings, but not one of these had attained any wide extent, for want of organization. In 860 began the first great popular rising, a revolt caused by famine in the province of Chekiang. Government troops suppressed it with bloodshed. Further popular risings followed. In 874 began a great rising in the south of the present province of Hopei, the chief agrarian region. The rising was led by a peasant, Wang Hsien-chih, together with Huang Ch'ao, a salt merchant, who had fallen into poverty and had joined the hungry peasants, forming a fighting group of his own. It is important to note that Huang was well educated. It is said that he failed in the state examination. Huang is not the first merchant who became rebel. An Lu-shan, too, had been a businessman for a while. It was pointed out that trade had greatly developed in the T'ang period; of the lower Yangtze region people it was said that "they were so much interested in business that they paid no attention to agriculture". Yet merchants were subject to many humiliating conditions. They could not enter the examinations, except by illegal means. In various periods, from the Han time on, they had to wear special dress. Thus, a law from _c_. A.D. 300 required them to wear a white turban on which name and type of business was written, and to wear one white and one black shoe. They were subject to various taxes, but were either not allowed to own land, or were allotted less land than ordinary citizens. Thus they could not easily invest in land, the safest investment at that time. Finally, the government occasionally resorted to the method which was often used in the Near East: when in 782 the emperor ran out of money, he requested the merchants of the capital to "loan" him a large sum--a request which in fact was a special tax. Wang and Huang both proved good organizers of the peasant masses, and in a short time they had captured the whole of eastern China, without the military governors being able to do anything against them, for the provincial troops were more inclined to show sympathy to the peasant armies than to fight them. The terrified government issued an order to arm the people of the other parts of the country against the rebels; naturally this helped the rebels more than the government, since the peasants thus armed went over to the rebels. Finally Wang was offered a high office. But Huang urged him not to betray his own people, and Wang declined the offer. In the end the government, with the aid of the troops of the Turkish Sha-t'o, defeated Wang and beheaded him (878). Huang Ch'ao now moved into the south-east and the south, where in 879 he captured and burned down Canton; according to an Arab source, over 120,000 foreign merchants lost their lives in addition to the Chinese. From Canton Huang Ch'ao returned to the north, laden with loot from that wealthy commercial city. His advance was held up again by the Sha-t'o troops; he turned away to the lower Yangtze, and from there marched north again. At the end of 880 he captured the eastern capital. The emperor fled from the western capital, Ch'ang-an, into Szechwan, and Huang Ch'ao now captured with ease the western capital as well, and removed every member of the ruling family on whom he could lay hands. He then made himself emperor, in a Ch'i dynasty. It was the first time that a peasant rising had succeeded against the gentry. There was still, however, the greatest disorder in the empire. There were other peasant armies on the move, armies that had deserted their governors and were fighting for themselves; finally, there were still a few supporters of the imperial house and, above all, the Turkish Sha-t'o, who had a competent commander with the sinified name of Li K'o-yung. The Sha-t'o, who had remained loyal to the government, revolted the moment the government had been overthrown. They ran the risk, however, of defeat at the hands of an alien army of the Chinese government's, commanded by an Uighur, and they therefore fled to the Tatars. In spite of this, the Chinese entered again into relations with the Sha-t'o, as without them there could be no possibility of getting rid of Huang Ch'ao. At the end of 881 Li K'o-yung fell upon the capital; there was a fearful battle. Huang Ch'ao was able to hold out, but a further attack was made in 883 and he was defeated and forced to flee; in 884 he was killed by the Sha-t'o. This popular rising, which had only been overcome with the aid of foreign troops, brought the end of the T'ang dynasty. In 885 the T'ang emperor was able to return to the capital, but the only question now was whether China should be ruled by the Sha-t'o under Li K'o-yung or by some other military commander. In a short time Chu Ch'üan-chung, a former follower of Huang Ch'ao, proved to be the strongest of the commanders. In 890 open war began between the two leaders. Li K'o-yung was based on Shansi; Chu Ch'üan-chung had control of the plains in the east. Meanwhile the governors of Szechwan in the west and Chekiang in the south-east made themselves independent. Both declared themselves kings or emperors and set up dynasties of their own (from 895). Within the capital, the emperor was threatened several times by revolts, so that he had to flee and place himself in the hands of Li K'o-yung as the only leader on whose loyalty he could count. Soon after this, however, the emperor fell into the hands of Chu Ch'üan-chung, who killed the whole entourage of the emperor, particularly the eunuchs; after a time he had the emperor himself killed, set a puppet--as had become customary--on the throne, and at the beginning of 907 took over the rule from him, becoming emperor in the "Later Liang dynasty". That was the end of the T'ang dynasty, at the beginning of which China had risen to unprecedented power. Its downfall had been brought about by the military governors, who had built up their power and had become independent hereditary satraps, exploiting the people for their own purposes, and by their continual mutual struggles undermining the economic structure of the empire. In addition to this, the empire had been weakened first by its foreign trade and then by the dependence on foreigners, especially Turks, into which it had fallen owing to internal conditions. A large part of the national income had gone abroad. Such is the explanation of the great popular risings which ultimately brought the dynasty to its end. MODERN TIMES Chapter Nine THE EPOCH OF THE SECOND DIVISION OF CHINA (A) The period of transition: the Five Dynasties (A.D. 906-960) 1 _Beginning of a new epoch_ The rebellion of Huang Ch'ao in fact meant the end of the T'ang dynasty and the division of China into a number of independent states. Only for reasons of convenience we keep the traditional division into dynasties and have our new period begin with the official end of the T'ang dynasty in 906. We decided to call the new thousand years of Chinese history "Modern Times" in order to indicate that from _c_. 860 on changes in China's social structure came about which set this epoch off from the earlier thousand years which we called "The Middle Ages". Any division into periods is arbitrary as changes do not happen from one year to the next. The first beginnings of the changes which lead to the "Modern Times" actually can be seen from the end of An Lu-shan's rebellion on, from _c_. A.D. 780 on, and the transformation was more or less completed only in the middle of the eleventh century. If we want to characterize the "Modern Times" by one concept, we would have to call this epoch the time of the emergence of a middle class, and it will be remembered that the growth of the middle class in Europe was also the decisive change between the Middle Ages and Modern Times in Europe. The parallelism should, however, not be overdone. The gentry continued to play a role in China during the Modern Times, much more than the aristocracy did in Europe. The middle class did not ever really get into power during the whole period. While we will discuss the individual developments later in some detail, a few words about the changes in general might be given already here. The wars which followed Huang Ch'ao's rebellion greatly affected the ruling gentry. A number of families were so strongly affected that they lost their importance and disappeared. Commoners from the followers of Huang Ch'ao or other armies succeeded to get into power, to acquire property and to enter the ranks of the gentry. At about A.D. 1000 almost half of the gentry families were new families of low origin. The state, often ruled by men who had just moved up, was no more interested in the aristocratic manners of the old gentry families, especially no more interested in their genealogies. When conditions began to improve after A.D. 1000, and when the new families felt themselves as real gentry families, they tried to set up a mechanism to protect the status of their families. In the eleventh century private genealogies began to be kept, so that any claim against the clan could be checked. Clans set up rules of behaviour and procedure to regulate all affairs of the clan without the necessity of asking the state to interfere in case of conflict. Many such "clan rules" exist in China and also in Japan which took over this innovation. Clans set apart special pieces of land as clan land; the income of this land was to be used to secure a minimum of support for every clan member and his own family, so that no member ever could fall into utter poverty. Clan schools which were run by income from special pieces of clan land were established to guarantee an education for the members of the clan, again in order to make sure that the clan would remain a part of the _élite_. Many clans set up special marriage rules for clan members, and after some time cross-cousin marriages between two or three families were legally allowed; such marriages tended to fasten bonds between clans and to prevent the loss of property by marriage. While on the one hand, a new "clan consciousness" grew up among the gentry families in order to secure their power, tax and corvée legislation especially in the eleventh century induced many families to split up into small families. It can be shown that over the next centuries, the power of the family head increased. He was now regarded as owner of the property, not only mere administrator of family property. He got power over life and death of his children. This increase of power went together with a change of the position of the ruler. The period transition (until _c_. A.D. 1000) was followed by a period of "moderate absolutism" (until 1278) in which emperors as persons played a greater role than before, and some emperors, such as Shen Tsung (in 1071), even declared that they regarded the welfare of the masses as more important than the profit of the gentry. After 1278, however, the personal influence of the emperors grew further towards absolutism and in times became pure despotism. Individuals, especially family heads, gained more freedom in "Modern Times". Not only the period of transition, but also the following period was a time of much greater social mobility than existed in the Middle Ages. By various legal and/or illegal means people could move up into positions of power and wealth: we know of many merchants who succeeded in being allowed to enter the state examinations and thus got access to jobs in the administration. Large, influential gentry families in the capital protected sons from less important families and thus gave them a chance to move into the gentry. Thus, these families built up a clientele of lesser gentry families which assisted them and upon the loyalty of which they could count. The gentry can from now on be divided into two parts. First, there was a "big gentry" which consisted of much fewer families than in earlier times and which directed the policy in the capital; and secondly, there was a "small gentry" which was operating mainly in the provincial cities, directing local affairs and bound by ties of loyalty to big gentry families. Gentry cliques now extended into the provinces and it often became possible to identify a clique with a geographical area, which, however, usually did not indicate particularistic tendencies. Individual freedom did not show itself only in greater social mobility. The restrictions which, for instance, had made the craftsmen and artisans almost into serfs, were gradually lifted. From the early sixteenth century on, craftsmen were free and no more subject to forced labour services for the state. Most craftsmen in this epoch still had their shops in one lane or street and lived above their shops, as they had done in the earlier period. But from now on, they began to organize in guilds of an essentially religious character, as similar guilds in other parts of Asia at the same time also did. They provided welfare services for their members, made some attempts towards standardization of products and prices, imposed taxes upon their members, kept their streets clean and tried to regulate salaries. Apprentices were initiated in a kind of semi-religious ceremony, and often meetings took place in temples. No guild, however, connected people of the same craft living in different cities. Thus, they did not achieve political power. Furthermore, each trade had its own guild; in Peking in the nineteenth century there existed over 420 different guilds. Thus, guilds failed to achieve political influence even within individual cities. Probably at the same time, regional associations, the so-called "_hui-kuan"_ originated. Such associations united people from one city or one area who lived in another city. People of different trades, but mainly businessmen, came together under elected chiefs and councillors. Sometimes, such regional associations could function as pressure groups, especially as they were usually financially stronger than the guilds. They often owned city property or farm land. Not all merchants, however, were so organized. Although merchants remained under humiliating restrictions as to the colour and material of their dress and the prohibition to ride a horse, they could more often circumvent such restrictions and in general had much more freedom in this epoch. Trade, including overseas trade, developed greatly from now on. Soon we find in the coastal ports a special office which handled custom and registration affairs, supplied interpreters for foreigners, received them officially and gave good-bye dinners when they left. Down to the thirteenth century, most of this overseas trade was still in the hands of foreigners, mainly Indians. Entrepreneurs hired ships, if they were not ship-owners, hired trained merchants who in turn hired sailors mainly from the South-East Asian countries, and sold their own merchandise as well as took goods on commission. Wealthy Chinese gentry families invested money in such foreign enterprises and in some cases even gave their daughters in marriage to foreigners in order to profit from this business. We also see an emergence of industry from the eleventh century on. We find men who were running almost monopolistic enterprises, such as preparing charcoal for iron production and producing iron and steel at the same time; some of these men had several factories, operating under hired and qualified managers with more than 500 labourers. We find beginnings of a labour legislation and the first strikes (A.D. 782 the first strike of merchants in the capital; 1601 first strike of textile workers). Some of these labourers were so-called "vagrants", farmers who had secretly left their land or their landlord's land for various reasons, and had shifted to other regions where they did not register and thus did not pay taxes. Entrepreneurs liked to hire them for industries outside the towns where supervision by the government was not so strong; naturally, these "vagrants" were completely at the mercy of their employers. Since _c_. 780 the economy can again be called a money economy; more and more taxes were imposed in form of money instead of in kind. This pressure forced farmers out of the land and into the cities in order to earn there the cash they needed for their tax payments. These men provided the labour force for industries, and this in turn led to the strong growth of the cities, especially in Central China where trade and industries developed most. Wealthy people not only invested in industrial enterprises, but also began to make heavy investments in agriculture in the vicinity of cities in order to increase production and thus income. We find men who drained lakes in order to create fields below the water level for easy irrigation; others made floating fields on lakes and avoided land tax payments; still others combined pig and fish breeding in one operation. The introduction of money economy and money taxes led to a need for more coinage. As metal was scarce and minting very expensive, iron coins were introduced, silver became more and more common as means of exchange, and paper money was issued. As the relative value of these moneys changed with supply and demand, speculation became a flourishing business which led to further enrichment of people in business. Even the government became more money-minded: costs of operations and even of wars were carefully calculated in order to achieve savings; financial specialists were appointed by the government, just as clans appointed such men for the efficient administration of their clan properties. Yet no real capitalism or industrialism developed until towards the end of this epoch, although at the end of the twelfth century almost all conditions for such a development seemed to be given. 2 _Political situation in the tenth century_ The Chinese call the period from 906 to 960 the "period of the Five Dynasties" (_Wu Tai_). This is not quite accurate. It is true that there were five dynasties in rapid succession in North China; but at the same time there were ten other dynasties in South China. The ten southern dynasties, however, are regarded as not legitimate. The south was much better off with its illegitimate dynasties than the north with the legitimate ones. The dynasties in the south (we may dispense with giving their names) were the realms of some of the military governors so often mentioned above. These governors had already become independent at the end of the T'ang epoch; they declared themselves kings or emperors and ruled particular provinces in the south, the chief of which covered the territory of the present provinces of Szechwan, Kwangtung and Chekiang. In these territories there was comparative peace and economic prosperity, since they were able to control their own affairs and were no longer dependent on a corrupt central government. They also made great cultural progress, and they did not lose their importance later when they were annexed in the period of the Sung dynasty. As an example of these states one may mention the small state of Ch'u in the present province of Hunan. Here, Ma Yin, a former carpenter (died 931), had made himself a king. He controlled some of the main trade routes, set up a clean administration, bought up all merchandise which the merchants brought, but allowed them to export only local products, mainly tea, iron and lead. This regulation gave him a personal income of several millions every year, and in addition fostered the exploitation of the natural resources of this hitherto retarded area. 3 _Monopolistic trade in South China. Printing and paper money in the north_ The prosperity of the small states of South China was largely due to the growth of trade, especially the tea trade. The habit of drinking tea seems to have been an ancient Tibetan custom, which spread to south-eastern China in the third century A.D. Since then there had been two main centres of production, Szechwan and south-eastern China. Until the eleventh century Szechwan had remained the leading producer, and tea had been drunk in the Tibetan fashion, mixed with flour, salt, and ginger. It then began to be drunk without admixture. In the T'ang epoch tea drinking spread all over China, and there sprang up a class of wholesalers who bought the tea from the peasants, accumulated stocks, and distributed them. From 783 date the first attempts of the state to monopolize the tea trade and to make it a source of revenue; but it failed in an attempt to make the cultivation a state monopoly. A tea commissariat was accordingly set up to buy the tea from the producers and supply it to traders in possession of a state licence. There naturally developed then a pernicious collaboration between state officials and the wholesalers. The latter soon eliminated the small traders, so that they themselves secured all the profit; official support was secured by bribery. The state and the wholesalers alike were keenly interested in the prevention of tea smuggling, which was strictly prohibited. The position was much the same with regard to salt. We have here for the first time the association of officials with wholesalers or even with a monopoly trade. This was of the utmost importance in all later times. Monopoly progressed most rapidly in Szechwan, where there had always been a numerous commercial community. In the period of political fragmentation Szechwan, as the principal tea-producing region and at the same time an important producer of salt, was much better off than any other part of China. Salt in Szechwan was largely produced by, technically, very interesting salt wells which existed there since _c_. the first century B.C. The importance of salt will be understood if we remember that a grown-up person in China uses an average of twelve pounds of salt per year. The salt tax was the top budget item around A.D. 900. South-eastern China was also the chief centre of porcelain production, although china clay is found also in North China. The use of porcelain spread more and more widely. The first translucent porcelain made its appearance, and porcelain became an important article of commerce both within the country and for export. Already the Muslim rulers of Baghdad around 800 used imported Chinese porcelain, and by the end of the fourteenth century porcelain was known in Eastern Africa. Exports to South-East Asia and Indonesia, and also to Japan gained more and more importance in later centuries. Manufacture of high quality porcelain calls for considerable amounts of capital investment and working capital; small manufacturers produce too many second-rate pieces; thus we have here the first beginnings of an industry that developed industrial towns such as Ching-tê, in which the majority of the population were workers and merchants, with some 10,000 families alone producing porcelain. Yet, for many centuries to come, the state controlled the production and even the design of porcelain and appropriated most of the production for use at court or as gifts. The third important new development to be mentioned was that of printing, which since _c_. 770 was known in the form of wood-block printing. The first reference to a printed book dated from 835, and the most important event in this field was the first printing of the Classics by the orders of Feng Tao (882-954) around 940. The first attempts to use movable type in China occurred around 1045, although this invention did not get general acceptance in China. It was more commonly used in Korea from the thirteenth century on and revolutionized Europe from 1538 on. It seems to me that from the middle of the twentieth century on, the West, too, shows a tendency to come back to the printing of whole pages, but replacing the wood blocks by photographic plates or other means. In the Far East, just as in Europe, the invention of printing had far-reaching consequences. Books, which until then had been very dear, because they had to be produced by copyists, could now be produced cheaply and in quantity. It became possible for a scholar to accumulate a library of his own and to work in a wide field, where earlier he had been confined to a few books or even a single text. The results were the spread of education, beginning with reading and writing, among wider groups, and the broadening of education: a large number of texts were read and compared, and no longer only a few. Private libraries came into existence, so that the imperial libraries were no longer the only ones. Publishing soon grew in extent, and in private enterprise works were printed that were not so serious and politically important as the classic books of the past. Thus a new type of literature, the literature of entertainment, could come into existence. Not all these consequences showed themselves at once; some made their first appearance later, in the Sung period. A fourth important innovation, this time in North China, was the introduction of prototypes of paper money. The Chinese copper "cash" was difficult or expensive to transport, simply because of its weight. It thus presented great obstacles to trade. Occasionally a region with an adverse balance of trade would lose all its copper money, with the result of a local deflation. From time to time, iron money was introduced in such deficit areas; it had for the first time been used in Szechwan in the first century B.C., and was there extensively used in the tenth century when after the conquest of the local state all copper was taken to the east by the conquerors. So long as there was an orderly administration, the government could send it money, though at considerable cost; but if the administration was not functioning well, the deflation continued. For this reason some provinces prohibited the export of copper money from their territory at the end of the eighth century. As the provinces were in the hands of military governors, the central government could do next to nothing to prevent this. On the other hand, the prohibition automatically made an end of all external trade. The merchants accordingly began to prepare deposit certificates, and in this way to set up a sort of transfer system. Soon these deposit certificates entered into circulation as a sort of medium of payment at first again in Szechwan, and gradually this led to a banking system and the linking of wholesale trade with it. This made possible a much greater volume of trade. Towards the end of the T'ang period the government began to issue deposit certificates of its own: the merchant deposited his copper money with a government agency, receiving in exchange a certificate which he could put into circulation like money. Meanwhile the government could put out the deposited money at interest, or throw it into general circulation. The government's deposit certificates were now printed. They were the predecessors of the paper money used from the time of the Sung. 4 _Political history of the Five Dynasties_ The southern states were a factor not to be ignored in the calculations of the northern dynasties. Although the southern kingdoms were involved in a confusion of mutual hostilities, any one of them might come to the fore as the ally of Turks or other northern powers. The capital of the first of the five northern dynasties (once more a Liang dynasty, but not to be confused with the Liang dynasty of the south in the sixth century) was, moreover, quite close to the territories of the southern dynasties, close to the site of the present K'ai-feng, in the fertile plain of eastern China with its good means of transport. Militarily the town could not be held, for its one and only defence was the Yellow River. The founder of this Later Liang dynasty, Chu Ch'üan-chung (906), was himself an eastern Chinese and, as will be remembered, a past supporter of the revolutionary Huang Ch'ao, but he had then gone over to the T'ang and had gained high military rank. His northern frontier remained still more insecure than the southern, for Chu Ch'üan-chung did not succeed in destroying the Turkish general Li K'o-yung; on the contrary, the latter continually widened the range of his power. Fortunately he, too, had an enemy at his back--the Kitan (or Khitan), whose ruler had made himself emperor in 916, and so staked a claim to reign over all China. The first Kitan emperor held a middle course between Chu and Li, and so was able to establish and expand his empire in peace. The striking power of his empire, which from 937 onward was officially called the Liao empire, grew steadily, because the old tribal league of the Kitan was transformed into a centrally commanded military organization. To these dangers from abroad threatening the Later Liang state internal troubles were added. Chu Ch'üan-chung's dynasty was one of the three Chinese dynasties that have ever come to power through a popular rising. He himself was of peasant origin, and so were a large part of his subordinates and helpers. Many of them had originally been independent peasant leaders; others had been under Huang Ch'ao. All of them were opposed to the gentry, and the great slaughter of the gentry of the capital, shortly before the beginning of Chu's rule, had been welcomed by Chu and his followers. The gentry therefore would not co-operate with Chu and preferred to join the Turk Li K'o-yung. But Chu could not confidently rely on his old comrades. They were jealous of his success in gaining the place they all coveted, and were ready to join in any independent enterprise as opportunity offered. All of them, moreover, as soon as they were given any administrative post, busied themselves with the acquisition of money and wealth as quickly as possible. These abuses not only ate into the revenues of the state but actually produced a common front between the peasantry and the remnants of the gentry against the upstarts. In 917, after Li K'o-yung's death, the Sha-t'o Turks beat off an attack from the Kitan, and so were safe for a time from the northern menace. They then marched against the Liang state, where a crisis had been produced in 912 after the murder of Chu Ch'üan-chung by one of his sons. The Liang generals saw no reason why they should fight for the dynasty, and all of them went over to the enemy. Thus the "Later T'ang dynasty" (923-936) came into power in North China, under the son of Li K'o-yung. The dominant element at this time was quite clearly the Chinese gentry, especially in western and central China. The Sha-t'o themselves must have been extraordinarily few in number, probably little more than 100,000 men. Most of them, moreover, were politically passive, being simple soldiers. Only the ruling family and its following played any active part, together with a few families related to it by marriage. The whole state was regarded by the Sha-t'o rulers as a sort of family enterprise, members of the family being placed in the most important positions. As there were not enough of them, they adopted into the family large numbers of aliens of all nationalities. Military posts were given to faithful members of Li K'o-yung's or his successor's bodyguard, and also to domestic servants and other clients of the family. Thus, while in the Later Liang state elements from the peasantry had risen in the world, some of these neo-gentry reaching the top of the social pyramid in the centuries that followed, in the Sha-t'o state some of its warriors, drawn from the most various peoples, entered the gentry class through their personal relations with the ruler. But in spite of all this the bulk of the officials came once more from the Chinese. These educated Chinese not only succeeded in winning over the rulers themselves to the Chinese cultural ideal, but persuaded them to adopt laws that substantially restricted the privileges of the Sha-t'o and brought advantages only to the Chinese gentry. Consequently all the Chinese historians are enthusiastic about the "Later T'ang", and especially about the emperor Ming Ti, who reigned from 927 onward, after the assassination of his predecessor. They also abused the Liang because they were against the gentry. In 936 the Later T'ang dynasty gave place to the Later Chin dynasty (936-946), but this involved no change in the structure of the empire. The change of dynasty meant no more than that instead of the son following the father the son-in-law had ascended the throne. It was of more importance that the son-in-law, the Sha-t'o Turk Shih Ching-t'ang, succeeded in doing this by allying himself with the Kitan and ceding to them some of the northern provinces. The youthful successor, however, of the first ruler of this dynasty was soon made to realize that the Kitan regarded the founding of his dynasty as no more than a transition stage on the way to their annexation of the whole of North China. The old Sha-t'o nobles, who had not been sinified in the slightest, suggested a preventive war; the actual court group, strongly sinified, hesitated, but ultimately were unable to avoid war. The war was very quickly decided by several governors in eastern China going over to the Kitan, who had promised them the imperial title. In the course of 946-7 the Kitan occupied the capital and almost the whole of the country. In 947 the Kitan ruler proclaimed himself emperor of the Kitan and the Chinese. [Illustration: Map 6: The State of the later T'ang dynasty] The Chinese gentry seem to have accepted this situation because a Kitan emperor was just as acceptable to them as a Sha-t'o emperor; but the Sha-t'o were not prepared to submit to the Kitan regime, because under it they would have lost their position of privilege. At the head of this opposition group stood the Sha-t'o general Liu Chih-yuan, who founded the "Later Han dynasty" (947-950). He was able to hold out against the Kitan only because in 947 the Kitan emperor died and his son had to leave China and retreat to the north; fighting had broken out between the empress dowager, who had some Chinese support, and the young heir to the throne. The new Turkish dynasty, however, was unable to withstand the internal Chinese resistance. Its founder died in 948, and his son, owing to his youth, was entirely in the hands of a court clique. In his effort to free himself from the tutelage of this group he made a miscalculation, for the men on whom he thought he could depend were largely supporters of the clique. So he lost his throne and his life, and a Chinese general, Kuo Wei, took his place, founding the "Later Chou dynasty" (951-959). A feature of importance was that in the years of the short-lived "Later Han dynasty" a tendency showed itself among the Chinese military leaders to work with the states in the south. The increase in the political influence of the south was due to its economic advance while the north was reduced to economic chaos by the continual heavy fighting, and by the complete irresponsibility of the Sha-t'o ruler in financial matters: several times in this period the whole of the money in the state treasury was handed out to soldiers to prevent them from going over to some enemy or other. On the other hand, there was a tendency in the south for the many neighbouring states to amalgamate, and as this process took place close to the frontier of North China the northern states could not passively look on. During the "Later Han" period there were wars and risings, which continued in the time of the "Later Chou". On the whole, the few years of the rule of the second emperor of the "Later Chou" (954-958) form a bright spot in those dismal fifty-five years. Sociologically regarded, that dynasty formed merely a transition stage on the way to the Sung dynasty that now followed: the Chinese gentry ruled under the leadership of an upstart who had risen from the ranks, and they ruled in accordance with the old principles of gentry rule. The Sha-t'o, who had formed the three preceding dynasties, had been so reduced that they were now a tiny minority and no longer counted. This minority had only been able to maintain its position through the special social conditions created by the "Later Liang" dynasty: the Liang, who had come from the lower classes of the population, had driven the gentry into the arms of the Sha-t'o Turks. As soon as the upstarts, in so far as they had not fallen again or been exterminated, had more or less assimilated themselves to the old gentry, and on the other hand the leaders of the Sha-t'o had become numerically too weak, there was a possibility of resuming the old form of rule. There had been certain changes in this period. The north-west of China, the region of the old capital Ch'ang-an, had been so ruined by the fighting that had gone on mainly there and farther north, that it was eliminated as a centre of power for a hundred years to come; it had been largely depopulated. The north was under the rule of the Kitan: its trade, which in the past had been with the Huang-ho basin, was now perforce diverted to Peking, which soon became the main centre of the power of the Kitan. The south, particularly the lower Yangtze region and the province of Szechwan, had made economic progress, at least in comparison with the north; consequently it had gained in political importance. One other event of this time has to be mentioned: the great persecution of Buddhism in 955, but not only because 30,336 temples and monasteries were secularized and only some 2,700 with 61,200 monks were left. Although the immediate reason for this action seems to have been that too many men entered the monasteries in order to avoid being taken as soldiers, the effect of the law of 955 was that from now on the Buddhists were put under regulations which clarified once and for ever their position within the framework of a society which had as its aim to define clearly the status of each individual within each social class. Private persons were no more allowed to erect temples and monasteries. The number of temples per district was legally fixed. A person could become monk only if the head of the family gave its permission. He had to be over fifteen years of age and had to know by heart at least one hundred pages of texts. The state took over the control of the ordinations which could be performed only after a successful examination. Each year a list of all monks had to be submitted to the government in two copies. Monks had to carry six identification cards with them, one of which was the ordination diploma for which a fee had to be paid to the government (already since 755). The diploma was, in the eleventh century, issued by the Bureau of Sacrifices, but the money was collected by the Ministry of Agriculture. It can be regarded as a payment _in lieu_ of land tax. The price was in the eleventh century 130 strings, which represented the value of a small farm or the value of some 17,000 litres of grain. The price of the diploma went up to 220 strings in 1101, and the then government sold 30,000 diplomas per year in order to get still more cash. But as diplomas could be traded, a black market developed, on which they were sold for as little as twenty strings. (B) Period of Moderate Absolutism (1) The Northern Sung dynasty 1 _Southward expansion_ The founder of the Sung dynasty, Chao K'uang-yin, came of a Chinese military family living to the south of Peking. He advanced from general to emperor, and so differed in no way from the emperors who had preceded him. But his dynasty did not disappear as quickly as the others; for this there were several reasons. To begin with, there was the simple fact that he remained alive longer than the other founders of dynasties, and so was able to place his rule on a firmer foundation. But in addition to this he followed a new course, which in certain ways smoothed matters for him and for his successors, in foreign policy. This Sung dynasty, as Chao K'uang-yin named it, no longer turned against the northern peoples, particularly the Kitan, but against the south. This was not exactly an heroic policy: the north of China remained in the hands of the Kitan. There were frequent clashes, but no real effort was made to destroy the Kitan, whose dynasty was now called "Liao". The second emperor of the Sung was actually heavily defeated several times by the Kitan. But they, for their part, made no attempt to conquer the whole of China, especially since the task would have become more and more burdensome the farther south the Sung expanded. And very soon there were other reasons why the Kitan should refrain from turning their whole strength against the Chinese. [Illustration: 10 Ladies of the Court: clay models which accompanied the dead person to the grave. T'ang period. _In the collection of the Museum für Völkerkunde, Berlin_.] [Illustration: 11 Distinguished founder: a temple banner found at Khotcho, Turkestan. _Museum für Völkerkunde, Berlin, No. 1B_ 4524, _illustration B_ 408.] As we said, the Sung turned at once against the states in the south. Some of the many small southern states had made substantial economic and cultural advance, but militarily they were not strong. Chao K'uang-yin (named as emperor T'ai Tsu) attacked them in succession. Most of them fell very quickly and without any heavy fighting, especially since the Sung dealt mildly with the defeated rulers and their following. The gentry and the merchants in these small states could not but realize the advantages of a widened and well-ordered economic field, and they were therefore entirely in favour of the annexation of their country so soon as it proved to be tolerable. And the Sung empire could only endure and gain strength if it had control of the regions along the Yangtze and around Canton, with their great economic resources. The process of absorbing the small states in the south continued until 980. Before it was ended, the Sung tried to extend their influence in the south beyond the Chinese border, and secured a sort of protectorate over parts of Annam (973). This sphere of influence was politically insignificant and not directly of any economic importance; but it fulfilled for the Sung the same functions which colonial territories fulfilled for Europeans, serving as a field of operation for the commercial class, who imported raw materials from it--mainly, it is true, luxury articles such as special sorts of wood, perfumes, ivory, and so on--and exported Chinese manufactures. As the power of the empire grew, this zone of influence extended as far as Indonesia: the process had begun in the T'ang period. The trade with the south had not the deleterious effects of the trade with Central Asia. There was no sale of refined metals, and none of fabrics, as the natives produced their own textiles which sufficed for their needs. And the export of porcelain brought no economic injury to China, but the reverse. This Sung policy was entirely in the interest of the gentry and of the trading community which was now closely connected with them. Undoubtedly it strengthened China. The policy of nonintervention in the north was endurable even when peace with the Kitan had to be bought by the payment of an annual tribute. From 1004 onwards, 100,000 ounces of silver and 200,000 bales of silk were paid annually to the Kitan, amounting in value to about 270,000 strings of cash, each of 1,000 coins. The state budget amounted to some 20,000,000 strings of cash. In 1038 the payments amounted to 500,000 strings, but the budget was by then much larger. One is liable to get a false impression when reading of these big payments if one does not take into account what percentage they formed of the total revenues of the state. The tribute to the Kitan amounted to less than 2 per cent of the revenue, while the expenditure on the army accounted for 25 per cent of the budget. It cost much less to pay tribute than to maintain large armies and go to war. Financial considerations played a great part during the Sung epoch. The taxation revenue of the empire rose rapidly after the pacification of the south; soon after the beginning of the dynasty the state budget was double that of the T'ang. If the state expenditure in the eleventh century had not continually grown through the increase in military expenditure--in spite of everything!--there would have come a period of great prosperity in the empire. 2 _Administration and army. Inflation_ The Sung emperor, like the rulers of the transition period, had gained the throne by his personal abilities as military leader; in fact, he had been made emperor by his soldiers as had happened to so many emperors in later Imperial Rome. For the next 300 years we observe a change in the position of the emperor. On the one hand, if he was active and intelligent enough, he exercised much more personal influence than the rulers of the Middle Ages. On the other hand, at the same time, the emperors were much closer to their ministers as before. We hear of ministers who patted the ruler on the shoulders when they retired from an audience; another one fell asleep on the emperor's knee and was not punished for this familiarity. The emperor was called "_kuan-chia_" (Administrator) and even called himself so. And in the early twelfth century an emperor stated "I do not regard the empire as my personal property; my job is to guide the people". Financially-minded as the Sung dynasty was, the cost of the operation of the palace was calculated, so that the emperor had a budget: in 1068 the salaries of all officials in the capital amounted to 40,000 strings of money per month, the armies 100,000, and the emperor's ordinary monthly budget was 70,000 strings. For festivals, imperial birthdays, weddings and burials extra allowances were made. Thus, the Sung rulers may be called "moderate absolutists" and not despots. One of the first acts of the new Sung emperor, in 963, was a fundamental reorganization of the administration of the country. The old system of a civil administration and a military administration independent of it was brought to an end and the whole administration of the country placed in the hands of civil officials. The gentry welcomed this measure and gave it full support, because it enabled the influence of the gentry to grow and removed the fear of competition from the military, some of whom did not belong by birth to the gentry. The generals by whose aid the empire had been created were put on pension, or transferred to civil employment, as quickly as possible. The army was demobilized, and this measure was bound up with the settlement of peasants in the regions which war had depopulated, or on new land. Soon after this the revenue noticeably increased. Above all, the army was placed directly under the central administration, and the system of military governors was thus brought to an end. The soldiers became mercenaries of the state, whereas in the past there had been conscription. In 975 the army had numbered only 378,000, and its cost had not been insupportable. Although the numbers increased greatly, reaching 912,000 in 1017 and 1,259,000 in 1045, this implied no increase in military strength; for men who had once been soldiers remained with the army even when they were too old for service. Moreover, the soldiers grew more and more exacting; when detachments were transferred to another region, for instance, the soldiers would not carry their baggage; an army of porters had to be assembled. The soldiers also refused to go to regions remote from their homes until they were given extra pay. Such allowances gradually became customary, and so the military expenditure grew by leaps and bounds without any corresponding increase in the striking power of the army. The government was unable to meet the whole cost of the army out of taxation revenue. The attempt was made to cover the expenditure by coining fresh money. In connection with the increase in commercial capital described above, and the consequent beginning of an industry, China's metal production had greatly increased. In 1050 thirteen times as much silver, eight times as much copper, and fourteen times as much iron was produced as in 800. Thus the circulation of the copper currency was increased. The cost of minting, however, amounted in China to about 75 per cent and often over 100 per cent of the value of the money coined. In addition to this, the metal was produced in the south, while the capital was in the north. The coin had therefore to be carried a long distance to reach the capital and to be sent on to the soldiers in the north. To meet the increasing expenditure, an unexampled quantity of new money was put into circulation. The state budget increased from 22,200,000 in A.D. 1000 to 150,800,000 in 1021. The Kitan state coined a great deal of silver, and some of the tribute was paid to it in silver. The greatly increased production of silver led to its being put into circulation in China itself. And this provided a new field of speculation, through the variations in the rates for silver and for copper. Speculation was also possible with the deposit certificates, which were issued in quantities by the state from the beginning of the eleventh century, and to which the first true paper money was soon added. The paper money and the certificates were redeemable at a definite date, but at a reduction of at least 3 per cent of their value; this, too, yielded a certain revenue to the state. The inflation that resulted from all these measures brought profit to the big merchants in spite of the fact that they had to supply directly or indirectly all non-agricultural taxes (in 1160 some 40,000,000 strings annually), especially the salt tax (50 per cent), wine tax (36 per cent), tea tax (7 per cent) and customs (7 per cent). Although the official economic thinking remained Confucian, i.e. anti-business and pro-agrarian, we find in this time insight in price laws, for instance, that peace times and/or decrease of population induce deflation. The government had always attempted to manipulate the prices by interference. Already in much earlier times, again and again, attempts had been made to lower the prices by the so-called "ever-normal granaries" of the government which threw grain on the market when prices were too high and bought grain when prices were low. But now, in addition to such measures, we also find others which exhibit a deeper insight: in a period of starvation, the scholar and official Fan Chung-yen instead of officially reducing grain prices, raised the prices in his district considerably. Although the population got angry, merchants started to import large amounts of grain; as soon as this happened, Fan (himself a big landowner) reduced the price again. Similar results were achieved by others by just stimulating merchants to import grain into deficit areas. With the social structure of medieval Europe, similar financial and fiscal developments which gave new chances to merchants, eventually led to industrial capitalism and industrial society. In China, however, the gentry in their capacity of officials hindered the growth of independent trade, and permitted its existence only in association with themselves. As they also represented landed property, it was in land that the newly-formed capital was invested. Thus we see in the Sung period, and especially in the eleventh century, the greatest accumulation of estates that there had ever been up to then in China. Many of these estates came into origin as gifts of the emperor to individuals or to temples, others were created on hillsides on land which belonged to the villages. From this time on, the rest of the village commons in China proper disappeared. Villagers could no longer use the top-soil of the hills as fertilizer, or the trees as firewood and building material. In addition, the hillside estates diverted the water of springs and creeks, thus damaging severely the irrigation works of the villagers in the plains. The estates (_chuang_) were controlled by appointed managers who often became hereditary managers. The tenants on the estates were quite often non-registered migrants, of whom we spoke previously as "vagrants", and as such they depended upon the managers who could always denounce them to the authorities which would lead to punishment because nobody was allowed to leave his home without officially changing his registration. Many estates operated mills and even textile factories with non-registered weavers. Others seem to have specialized in sheep breeding. Present-day village names ending with -_chuang_ indicate such former estates. A new development in this period were the "clan estates" (_i-chuang_), created by Fan Chung-yen (989-1052) in 1048. The income of these clan estates were used for the benefit of the whole clan, were controlled by clan-appointed managers and had tax-free status, guaranteed by the government which regarded them as welfare institutions. Technically, they might better be called corporations because they were similar in structure to some of our industrial corporations. Under the Chinese economic system, large-scale landowning always proved socially and politically injurious. Up to very recent times the peasant who rented his land paid 40-50 per cent of the produce to the landowner, who was responsible for payment of the normal land tax. The landlord, however, had always found means of evading payment. As each district had to yield a definite amount of taxation, the more the big landowners succeeded in evading payment the more had to be paid by the independent small farmers. These independent peasants could then either "give" their land to the big landowner and pay rent to him, thus escaping from the attentions of the tax-officer, or simply leave the district and secretly enter another one where they were not registered. In either case the government lost taxes. Large-scale landowning proved especially injurious in the Sung period, for two reasons. To begin with, the official salaries, which had always been small in China, were now totally inadequate, and so the officials were given a fixed quantity of land, the yield of which was regarded as an addition to salary. This land was free from part of the taxes. Before long the officials had secured the liberation of the whole of their land from the chief taxes. In the second place, the taxation system was simplified by making the amount of tax proportional to the amount of land owned. The lowest bracket, however, in this new system of taxation comprised more land than a poor peasant would actually own, and this was a heavy blow to the small peasant-owners, who in the past had paid a proportion of their produce. Most of them had so little land that they could barely live on its yield. Their liability to taxation was at all times a very heavy burden to them while the big landowners got off lightly. Thus this measure, though administratively a saving of expense, proved unsocial. All this made itself felt especially in the south with its great estates of tax-evading landowners. Here the remaining small peasant-owners had to pay the new taxes or to become tenants of the landowners and lose their property. The north was still suffering from the war-devastation of the tenth century. As the landlords were always the first sufferers from popular uprisings as well as from war, they had disappeared, leaving their former tenants as free peasants. From this period on, we have enough data to observe a social "law ": as the capital was the largest consumer, especially of high-priced products such as vegetables which could not be transported over long distances, the gentry always tried to control the land around the capital. Here, we find the highest concentration of landlords and tenants. Production in this circle shifted from rice and wheat to mulberry trees for silk, and vegetables grown under the trees. These urban demands resulted in the growth of an "industrial" quarter on the outskirts of the capital, in which especially silk for the upper classes was produced. The next circle also contained many landlords, but production was more in staple foods such as wheat and rice which could be transported. Exploitation in this second circle was not much less than in the first circle, because of less close supervision by the authorities. In the third circle we find independent subsistence farmers. Some provincial capitals, especially in Szechwan, exhibited a similar pattern of circles. With the shift of the capital, a complete reorganization appeared: landlords and officials gave up their properties, cultivation changed, and a new system of circles began to form around the new capital. We find, therefore, the grotesque result that the thinly populated province of Shensi in the north-west yielded about a quarter of the total revenues of the state: it had no large landowners, no wealthy gentry, with their evasion of taxation, only a mass of newly-settled small peasants' holdings. For this reason the government was particularly interested in that province, and closely watched the political changes in its neighbourhood. In 990 a man belonging to a sinified Toba family, living on the border of Shensi, had made himself king with the support of remnants of Toba tribes. In 1034 came severe fighting, and in 1038 the king proclaimed himself emperor, in the Hsia dynasty, and threatened the whole of north-western China. Tribute was now also paid to this state (250,000 strings), but the fight against it continued, to save that important province. These were the main events in internal and external affairs during the Sung period until 1068. It will be seen that foreign affairs were of much less importance than developments in the country. 3 _Reforms and Welfare schemes_ The situation just described was bound to produce a reaction. In spite of the inflationary measures the revenue fell, partly in consequence of the tax evasions of the great landowners. It fell from 150,000,000 in 1021 to 116,000,000 in 1065. Expenditure did not fall, and there was a constant succession of budget deficits. The young emperor Shen Tsung (1068-1085) became convinced that the policy followed by the ruling clique of officials and gentry was bad, and he gave his adhesion to a small group led by Wang An-shih (1021-1086). The ruling gentry clique represented especially the interests of the large tea producers and merchants in Szechwan and Kiangsi. It advocated a policy of _laisser-faire_ in trade: it held that everything would adjust itself. Wang An-shih himself came from Kiangsi and was therefore supported at first by the government clique, within which the Kiangsi group was trying to gain predominance over the Szechwan group. But Wang An-shih came from a poor family, as did his supporters, for whom he quickly secured posts. They represented the interests of the small landholders and the small dealers. This group succeeded in gaining power, and in carrying out a number of reforms, all directed against the monopolist merchants. Credits for small peasants were introduced, and officials were given bigger salaries, in order to make them independent and to recruit officials who were not big landowners. The army was greatly reduced, and in addition to the paid soldiery a national militia was created. Special attention was paid to the province of Shensi, whose conditions were taken more or less as a model. It seems that one consequence of Wang's reforms was a strong fall in the prices, i.e. a deflation; therefore, as soon as the first decrees were issued, the large plantation owners and the merchants who were allied to them, offered furious opposition. A group of officials and landlords who still had large properties in the vicinity of Loyang--at that time a quiet cultural centre--also joined them. Even some of Wang An-shih's former adherents came out against him. After a few years the emperor was no longer able to retain Wang An-shih and had to abandon the new policy. How really economic interests were here at issue may be seen from the fact that for many of the new decrees which were not directly concerned with economic affairs, such, for instance, as the reform of the examination system, Wang An-shih was strongly attacked though his opponents had themselves advocated them in the past and had no practical objection to offer to them. The contest, however, between the two groups was not over. The monopolistic landowners and their merchants had the upper hand from 1086 to 1102, but then the advocates of the policy represented by Wang again came into power for a short time. They had but little success to show, as they did not remain in power long enough and, owing to the strong opposition, they were never able to make their control really effective. Basically, both groups were against allowing the developing middle class and especially the merchants to gain too much freedom, and whatever freedom they in fact gained, came through extra-legal or illegal practices. A proverb of the time said "People hate their ruler as animals hate the net (of the hunter)". The basic laws of medieval times which had attempted to create stable social classes remained: down to the nineteenth century there were slaves, different classes of serfs or "commoners", and free burghers. Craftsmen remained under work obligation. Merchants were second-class people. Each class had to wear dresses of special colour and material, so that the social status of a person, even if he was not an official and thus recognizable by his insignia, was immediately clear when one saw him. The houses of different classes differed from one another by the type of tiles, the decorations of the doors and gates; the size of the main reception room of the house was prescribed and was kept small for all non-officials; and even size and form of the tombs was prescribed in detail for each class. Once a person had a certain privilege, he and his descendants even if they had lost their position in the bureaucracy, retained these privileges over generations. All burghers were admitted to the examinations and, thus, there was a certain social mobility allowed within the leading class of the society, and a new "small gentry" developed by this system. Yet, the wars of the transition period had created a feeling of insecurity within the gentry. The eleventh and twelfth centuries were periods of extensive social legislation in order to give the lower classes some degree of security and thus prevent them from attempting to upset the status quo. In addition to the "ever-normal granaries" of the state, "social granaries" were revived, into which all farmers of a village had to deliver grain for periods of need. In 1098 a bureau for housing and care was created which created homes for the old and destitute; 1102 a bureau for medical care sent state doctors to homes and hospitals as well as to private homes to care for poor patients; from 1104 a bureau of burials took charge of the costs of burials of poor persons. Doctors as craftsmen were under corvée obligation and could easily be ordered by the state. Often, however, Buddhist priests took charge of medical care, burial costs and hospitalization. The state gave them premiums if they did good work. The Ministry of Civil Affairs made the surveys of cases and costs, while the Ministry of Finances paid the costs. We hear of state orphanages in 1247, a free pharmacy in 1248, state hospitals were reorganized in 1143. In 1167 the government gave low-interest loans to poor persons and (from 1159 on) sold cheap grain from state granaries. Fire protection services in large cities were organized. Finally, from 1141 on, the government opened up to twenty-three geisha houses for the entertainment of soldiers who were far from home in the capital and had no possibility for other amusements. Public baths had existed already some centuries ago; now Buddhist temples opened public baths as social service. Social services for the officials were also extended. Already from the eighth century on, offices were closed every tenth day and during holidays, a total of almost eighty days per year. Even criminals got some leave and exiles had the right of a home leave once every three years. The pensions for retired officials after the age of seventy which amounted to 50 per cent of the salary from the eighth century on, were again raised, though widows did not receive benefits. 4 _Cultural situation (philosophy, religion, literature, painting_) Culturally the eleventh century was the most active period China had so far experienced, apart from the fourth century B.C. As a consequence of the immensely increased number of educated people resulting from the invention of printing, circles of scholars and private schools set up by scholars were scattered all over the country. The various philosophical schools differed in their political attitude and in the choice of literary models with which they were politically in sympathy. Thus Wang An-shih and his followers preferred the rigid classic style of Han Yü (768-825) who lived in the T'ang period and had also been an opponent of the monopolistic tendencies of pre-capitalism. For the Wang An-shih group formed itself into a school with a philosophy of its own and with its own commentaries on the classics. As the representative of the small merchants and the small landholders, this school advocated policies of state control and specialized in the study and annotation of classical books which seemed to favour their ideas. But the Wang An-shih school was unable to hold its own against the school that stood for monopolist trade capitalism, the new philosophy described as Neo-Confucianism or the Sung school. Here Confucianism and Buddhism were for the first time united. In the last centuries, Buddhistic ideas had penetrated all of Chinese culture: the slaughtering of animals and the executions of criminals were allowed only on certain days, in accordance with Buddhist rules. Formerly, monks and nuns had to greet the emperor as all citizens had to do; now they were exempt from this rule. On the other hand, the first Sung emperor was willing to throw himself to the earth in front of the Buddha statues, but he was told he did not have to do it because he was the "Buddha of the present time" and thus equal to the God. Buddhist priests participated in the celebrations on the emperor's birthday, and emperors from time to time gave free meals to large crowds of monks. Buddhist thought entered the field of justice: in Sung time we hear complaints that judges did not apply the laws and showed laxity, because they hoped to gain religious merit by sparing the lives of criminals. We had seen how the main current of Buddhism had changed from a revolutionary to a reactionary doctrine. The new greater gentry of the eleventh century adopted a number of elements of this reactionary Buddhism and incorporated them in the Confucianist system. This brought into Confucianism a metaphysic which it had lacked in the past, greatly extending its influence on the people and at the same time taking the wind out of the sails of Buddhism. The greater gentry never again placed themselves on the side of the Buddhist Church as they had done in the T'ang period. When they got tired of Confucianism, they interested themselves in Taoism of the politically innocent, escapist, meditative Buddhism. Men like Chou Tun-i (1017-1073) and Chang Tsai (1020-1077) developed a cosmological theory which could measure up with Buddhistic cosmology and metaphysics. But perhaps more important was the attempt of the Neo-Confucianists to explain the problem of evil. Confucius and his followers had believed that every person could perfect himself by overcoming the evil in him. As the good persons should be the _élite_ and rule the others, theoretically everybody who was a member of human society, could move up and become a leader. It was commonly assumed that human nature is good or indifferent, and that human feelings are evil and have to be tamed and educated. When in Han time with the establishment of the gentry society and its social classes, the idea that any person could move up to become a leader if he only perfected himself, appeared to be too unrealistic, the theory of different grades of men was formed which found its clearest formulation by Han Yü: some people have a good, others a neutral, and still others a bad nature; therefore, not everybody can become a leader. The Neo-Confucianists, especially Ch'eng Hao (1032-1085) and Ch'eng I (1033-1107), tried to find the reasons for this inequality. According to them, nature is neutral; but physical form originates with the combination of nature with Material Force (_ch'i_). This combination produces individuals in which there is a lack of balance or harmony. Man should try to transform physical form and recover original nature. The creative force by which such a transformation is possible is _jen_, love, the creative, life-giving quality of nature itself. It should be remarked that Neo-Confucianism accepts an inequality of men, as early Confucianism did; and that _jen_, love, in its practical application has to be channelled by _li_, the system of rules of behaviour. The _li_, however, always started from the idea of a stratified class society. Chu Hsi (1130-1200), the famous scholar and systematizer of Neo-Confucian thoughts, brought out rules of behaviour for those burghers who did not belong to the gentry and could not, therefore, be expected to perform all _li_; his "simplified _li_" exercised a great influence not only upon contemporary China, but also upon Korea and Annam and there strengthened a hitherto looser patriarchal, patrilinear family system. The Neo-Confucianists also compiled great analytical works of history and encyclopaedias whose authority continued for many centuries. They interpreted in these works all history in accordance with their outlook; they issued new commentaries on all the classics in order to spread interpretations that served their purposes. In the field of commentary this school of thought was given perfect expression by Chu Hsi, who also wrote one of the chief historical works. Chu Hsi's commentaries became standard works for centuries, until the beginning of the twentieth century. Yet, although Chu became the symbol of conservatism, he was quite interested in science, and in this field he had an open eye for changes. The Sung period is so important, because it is also the time of the greatest development of Chinese science and technology. Many new theories, but also many practical, new inventions were made. Medicine made substantial progress. About 1145 the first autopsy was made, on the body of a South Chinese captive. In the field of agriculture, new varieties of rice were developed, new techniques applied, new plants introduced. The Wang An-shih school of political philosophy had opponents also in the field of literary style, the so-called Shu Group (Shu means the present province of Szechwan), whose leaders were the famous Three Sus. The greatest of the three was Su Tung-p'o (1036-1101); the others were his father, Su Shih, and his brother, Su Che. It is characteristic of these Shu poets, and also of the Kiangsi school associated with them, that they made as much use as they could of the vernacular. It had not been usual to introduce the phrases of everyday life into poetry, but Su Tung-p'o made use of the most everyday expressions, without diminishing his artistic effectiveness by so doing; on the contrary, the result was to give his poems much more genuine feeling than those of other poets. These poets were in harmony with the writings of the T'ang period poet Po Chü-i (772-846) and were supported, like Neo-Confucianism, by representatives of trade capitalism. Politically, in their conservatism they were sharply opposed to the Wang An-shih group. Midway between the two stood the so-called Loyang-School, whose greatest leaders were the historian and poet Ss[)u]-ma Kuang (1019-1086) and the philosopher-poet Shao Yung (1011-1077). In addition to its poems, the Sung literature was famous for the so-called _pi-chi_ or miscellaneous notes. These consist of short notes of the most various sort, notes on literature, art, politics, archaeology, all mixed together. The _pi-chi_ are a treasure-house for the history of the culture of the time; they contain many details, often of importance, about China's neighbouring peoples. They were intended to serve as suggestions for learned conversation when scholars came together; they aimed at showing how wide was a scholar's knowledge. To this group we must add the accounts of travel, of which some of great value dating from the Sung period are still extant; they contain information of the greatest importance about the early Mongols and also about Turkestan and South China. While the Sung period was one of perfection in all fields of art, painting undoubtedly gained its highest development in this time. We find now two main streams in painting: some painters preferred the decorative, pompous, but realistic approach, with great attention to the detail. Later theoreticians brought this school in connection with one school of meditative Buddhism, the so-called northern school. Men who belonged to this school of painting often were active court officials or painted for the court and for other representative purposes. One of the most famous among them, Li Lung-mien (ca. 1040-1106), for instance painted the different breeds of horses in the imperial stables. He was also famous for his Buddhistic figures. Another school, later called the southern school, regarded painting as an intimate, personal expression. They tried to paint inner realities and not outer forms. They, too, were educated, but they did not paint for anybody. They painted in their country houses when they felt in the mood for expression. Their paintings did not stress details, but tried to give the spirit of a landscape, for in this field they excelled most. Best known of them is Mi Fei (ca. 1051-1107), a painter as well as a calligrapher, art collector, and art critic. Typically, his paintings were not much liked by the emperor Hui Tsung (ruled 1101-1125) who was one of the greatest art collectors and whose catalogue of his collection became very famous. He created the Painting Academy, an institution which mainly gave official recognition to painters in form of titles which gave the painter access to and status at court. Ma Yüan (_c_. 1190-1224), member of a whole painter's family, and Hsia Kui (_c_. 1180-1230) continued the more "impressionistic" tradition. Already in Sung time, however, many painters could and did paint in different styles, "copying", i.e. painting in the way of T'ang painters, in order to express their changing emotions by changed styles, a fact which often makes the dating of Chinese paintings very difficult. Finally, art craft has left us famous porcelains of the Sung period. The most characteristic production of that time is the green porcelain known as "Celadon". It consists usually of a rather solid paste, less like porcelain than stoneware, covered with a green glaze; decoration is incised, not painted, under the glaze. In the Sung period, however, came the first pure white porcelain with incised ornamentation under the glaze, and also with painting on the glaze. Not until near the end of the Sung period did the blue and white porcelain begin (blue painting on a white ground). The cobalt needed for this came from Asia Minor. In exchange for the cobalt, Chinese porcelain went to Asia Minor. This trade did not, however, grow greatly until the Mongol epoch; later really substantial orders were placed in China, the Chinese executing the patterns wanted in the West. 5 _Military collapse_ In foreign affairs the whole eleventh century was a period of diplomatic manoeuvring, with every possible effort to avoid war. There was long-continued fighting with the Kitan, and at times also with the Turco-Tibetan Hsia, but diplomacy carried the day: tribute was paid to both enemies, and the effort was made to stir up the Kitan against the Hsia and vice versa; the other parties also intrigued in like fashion. In 1110 the situation seemed to improve for the Sung in this game, as a new enemy appeared in the rear of the Liao (Kitan), the Tungusic Juchên (Jurchen), who in the past had been more or less subject to the Kitan. In 1114 the Juchên made themselves independent and became a political factor. The Kitan were crippled, and it became an easy matter to attack them. But this pleasant situation did not last long. The Juchên conquered Peking, and in 1125 the Kitan empire was destroyed; but in the same year the Juchên marched against the Sung. In 1126 they captured the Sung capital; the emperor and his art-loving father, who had retired a little earlier, were taken prisoner, and the Northern Sung dynasty was at an end. The collapse came so quickly because the whole edifice of security between the Kitan and the Sung was based on a policy of balance and of diplomacy. Neither state was armed in any way, and so both collapsed at the first assault from a military power. (2) The Liao (Kitan) dynasty in the north (937-1125) 1 _Social structure. Claim to the Chinese imperial throne_ The Kitan, a league of tribes under the leadership of an apparently Mongol tribe, had grown steadily stronger in north-eastern Mongolia during the T'ang epoch. They had gained the allegiance of many tribes in the west and also in Korea and Manchuria, and in the end, about A.D. 900, had become the dominant power in the north. The process of growth of this nomad power was the same as that of other nomad states, such as the Toba state, and therefore need not be described again in any detail here. When the T'ang dynasty was deposed, the Kitan were among the claimants to the Chinese throne, feeling fully justified in their claim as the strongest power in the Far East. Owing to the strength of the Sha-t'o Turks, who themselves claimed leadership in China, the expansion of the Kitan empire slowed down. In the many battles the Kitan suffered several setbacks. They also had enemies in the rear, a state named Po-hai, ruled by Tunguses, in northern Korea, and the new Korean state of Kao-li, which liberated itself from Chinese overlordship in 919. In 927 the Kitan finally destroyed Po-hai. This brought many Tungus tribes, including the Jurchen (Juchên), under Kitan dominance. Then, in 936, the Kitan gained the allegiance of the Turkish general Shih Ching-t'ang, and he was set on the Chinese throne as a feudatory of the Kitan. It was hoped now to secure dominance over China, and accordingly the Mongol name of the dynasty was altered to "Liao dynasty" in 937, indicating the claim to the Chinese throne. Considerable regions of North China came at once under the direct rule of the Liao. As a whole, however, the plan failed: the feudatory Shih Ching-t'ang tried to make himself independent; Chinese fought the Liao; and the Chinese sceptre soon came back into the hands of a Sha-t'o dynasty (947). This ended the plans of the Liao to conquer the whole of China. For this there were several reasons. A nomad people was again ruling the agrarian regions of North China. This time the representatives of the ruling class remained military commanders, and at the same time retained their herds of horses. As early as 1100 they had well over 10,000 herds, each of more than a thousand animals. The army commanders had been awarded large regions which they themselves had conquered. They collected the taxes in these regions, and passed on to the state only the yield of the wine tax. On the other hand, in order to feed the armies, in which there were now many Chinese soldiers, the frontier regions were settled, the soldiers working as peasants in times of peace, and peasants being required to contribute to the support of the army. Both processes increased the interest of the Kitan ruling class in the maintenance of peace. That class was growing rich, and preferred living on the income from its properties or settlements to going to war, which had become a more and more serious matter after the founding of the great Sung empire, and was bound to be less remunerative. The herds of horses were a further excellent source of income, for they could be sold to the Sung, who had no horses. Then, from 1004 onward, came the tribute payments from China, strengthening the interest in the maintenance of peace. Thus great wealth accumulated in Peking, the capital of the Liao; in this wealth the whole Kitan ruling class participated, but the tribes in the north, owing to their remoteness, had no share in it. In 988 the Chinese began negotiations, as a move in their diplomacy, with the ruler of the later realm of the Hsia; in 990 the Kitan also negotiated with him, and they soon became a third partner in the diplomatic game. Delegations were continually going from one to another of the three realms, and they were joined by trade missions. Agreement was soon reached on frontier questions, on armament, on questions of demobilization, on the demilitarization of particular regions, and so on, for the last thing anyone wanted was to fight. Then came the rising of the tribes of the north. They had remained military tribes; of all the wealth nothing reached them, and they were given no military employment, so that they had no hope of improving their position. The leadership was assumed by the tribe of the Juchên (1114). In a campaign of unprecedented rapidity they captured Peking, and the Liao dynasty was ended (1125), a year earlier, as we know, than the end of the Sung. 2 _The State of the Kara-Kitai_ A small troop of Liao, under the command of a member of the ruling family, fled into the west. They were pursued without cessation, but they succeeded in fighting their way through. After a few years of nomad life in the mountains of northern Turkestan, they were able to gain the collaboration of a few more tribes, and with them they then invaded western Turkestan. There they founded the "Western Liao" state, or, as the western sources call it, the "Kara-Kitai" state, with its capital at Balasagun. This state must not be regarded as a purely Kitan state. The Kitan formed only a very thin stratum, and the real power was in the hands of autochthonous Turkish tribes, to whom the Kitan soon became entirely assimilated in culture. Thus the history of this state belongs to that of western Asia, especially as the relations of the Kara-Kitai with the Far East were entirely broken off. In 1211 the state was finally destroyed. (3) The Hsi-Hsia State in the north (1038-1227) 1 _Continuation of Turkish traditions_ After the end of the Toba state in North China in 550, some tribes of the Toba, including members of the ruling tribe with the tribal name Toba, withdrew to the borderland between Tibet and China, where they ruled over Tibetan and Tangut tribes. At the beginning of the T'ang dynasty this tribe of Toba joined the T'ang. The tribal leader received in return, as a distinction, the family name of the T'ang dynasty, Li. His dependence on China was, however, only nominal and soon came entirely to an end. In the tenth century the tribe gained in strength. It is typical of the long continuance of old tribal traditions that a leader of the tribe in the tenth century married a woman belonging to the family to which the khans of the Hsiung-nu and all Turkish ruling houses had belonged since 200 B.C. With the rise of the Kitan in the north and of the Tibetan state in the south, the tribe decided to seek the friendship of China. Its first mission, in 982, was well received. Presents were sent to the chieftain of the tribe, he was helped against his enemies, and he was given the status of a feudatory of the Sung; in 988 the family name of the Sung, Chao, was conferred on him. Then the Kitan took a hand. They over-trumped the Sung by proclaiming the tribal chieftain king of Hsia (990). Now the small state became interesting. It was pampered by Liao and Sung in the effort to win it over or to keep its friendship. The state grew; in 1031 its ruler resumed the old family name of the Toba, thus proclaiming his intention to continue the Toba empire; in 1034 he definitely parted from the Sung, and in 1038 he proclaimed himself emperor in the Hsia dynasty, or, as the Chinese generally called it, the "Hsi-Hsia", which means the Western Hsia. This name, too, had associations with the old Hun tradition; it recalled the state of Ho-lien P'o-p'o in the early fifth century. The state soon covered the present province of Kansu, small parts of the adjoining Tibetan territory, and parts of the Ordos region. It attacked the province of Shensi, but the Chinese and the Liao attached the greatest importance to that territory. Thus that was the scene of most of the fighting. [Illustration: 12 Ancient tiled pagoda at Chengting (Hopei). _Photo H. Hammer-Morrisson_.] [Illustration: 13 Horse-training. Painting by Li Lung-mien. Late Sung period. _Manchu Royal House Collection_.] The Hsia state had a ruling group of Toba, but these Toba had become entirely tibetanized. The language of the country was Tibetan; the customs were those of the Tanguts. A script was devised, in imitation of the Chinese script. Only in recent years has it begun to be studied. In 1125, when the Tungusic Juchên destroyed the Liao, the Hsia also lost large territories in the east of their country, especially the province of Shensi, which they had conquered; but they were still able to hold their own. Their political importance to China, however, vanished, since they were now divided from southern China and as partners were no longer of the same value to it. Not until the Mongols became a power did the Hsia recover some of their importance; but they were among the first victims of the Mongols: in 1209 they had to submit to them, and in 1227, the year of the death of Genghiz Khan, they were annihilated. (4) The empire of the Southern Sung dynasty (1127-1279) 1 _Foundation_ In the disaster of 1126, when the Juchên captured the Sung capital and destroyed the Sung empire, a brother of the captive emperor escaped. He made himself emperor in Nanking and founded the "Southern Sung" dynasty, whose capital was soon shifted to the present Hangchow. The foundation of the new dynasty was a relatively easy matter, and the new state was much more solid than the southern kingdoms of 800 years earlier, for the south had already been economically supreme, and the great families that had ruled the state were virtually all from the south. The loss of the north, i.e. the area north of the Yellow River and of parts of Kiangsu, was of no importance to this governing group and meant no loss of estates to it. Thus the transition from the Northern to the Southern Sung was not of fundamental importance. Consequently the Juchên had no chance of success when they arranged for Liu Yü, who came of a northern Chinese family of small peasants and had become an official, to be proclaimed emperor in the "Ch'i" dynasty in 1130. They hoped that this puppet might attract the southern Chinese, but seven years later they dropped him. 2 _Internal situation_ As the social structure of the Southern Sung empire had not been changed, the country was not affected by the dynastic development. Only the policy of diplomacy could not be pursued at once, as the Juchên were bellicose at first and would not negotiate. There were therefore several battles at the outset (in 1131 and 1134), in which the Chinese were actually the more successful, but not decisively. The Sung military group was faced as early as in 1131 with furious opposition from the greater gentry, led by Ch'in K'ui, one of the largest landowners of all. His estates were around Nanking, and so in the deployment region and the region from which most of the soldiers had to be drawn for the defensive struggle. Ch'in K'ui secured the assassination of the leader of the military party, General Yo Fei, in 1141, and was able to conclude peace with the Juchên. The Sung had to accept the status of vassals and to pay annual tribute to the Juchên. This was the situation that best pleased the greater gentry. They paid hardly any taxes (in many districts the greater gentry directly owned more than 30 per cent of the land, in addition to which they had indirect interests in the soil), and they were now free from the war peril that ate into their revenues. The tribute amounted only to 500,000 strings of cash. Popular literature, however, to this day represents Ch'in K'ui as a traitor and Yo Fei as a national hero. In 1165 it was agreed between the Sung and the Juchên to regard each other as states with equal rights. It is interesting to note here that in the treaties during the Han time with the Hsiung-nu, the two countries called one another brothers--with the Chinese ruler as the older and thus privileged brother; but the treaties since the T'ang time with northern powers and with Tibetans used the terms father-in-law and son-in-law. The foreign power was the "father-in-law", i.e. the older and, therefore, in a certain way the more privileged; the Chinese were the "son-in-law", the representative of the paternal lineage and, therefore, in another respect also the more privileged! In spite of such agreements with the Juchên, fighting continued, but it was mainly of the character of frontier engagements. Not until 1204 did the military party, led by Han T'o-wei, regain power; it resolved upon an active policy against the north. In preparation for this a military reform was carried out. The campaign proved a disastrous failure, as a result of which large territories in the north were lost. The Sung sued for peace; Han T'o-wei's head was cut off and sent to the Juchên. In this way peace was restored in 1208. The old treaty relationship was now resumed, but the relations between the two states remained tense. Meanwhile the Sung observed with malicious pleasure how the Mongols were growing steadily stronger, first destroying the Hsia state and then aiming the first heavy blows against the Juchên. In the end the Sung entered into alliance with the Mongols (1233) and joined them in attacking the Juchên, thus hastening the end of the Juchên state. The Sung now faced the Mongols, and were defenceless against them. All the buffer states had gone. The Sung were quite without adequate military defence. They hoped to stave off the Mongols in the same way as they had met the Kitan and the Juchên. This time, however, they misjudged the situation. In the great operations begun by the Mongols in 1273 the Sung were defeated over and over again. In 1276 their capital was taken by the Mongols and the emperor was made prisoner. For three years longer there was a Sung emperor, in flight from the Mongols, until the last emperor perished near Macao in South China. 3 _Cultural situation; reasons for the collapse_ The Southern Sung period was again one of flourishing culture. The imperial court was entirely in the power of the greater gentry; several times the emperors, who personally do not deserve individual mention, were compelled to abdicate. They then lived on with a court of their own, devoting themselves to pleasure in much the same way as the "reigning" emperor. Round them was a countless swarm of poets and artists. Never was there a time so rich in poets, though hardly one of them was in any way outstanding. The poets, unlike those of earlier times, belonged to the lesser gentry who were suffering from the prevailing inflation. Salaries bore no relation to prices. Food was not dear, but the things which a man of the upper class ought to have were far out of reach: a big house cost 2,000 strings of cash, a concubine 800 strings. Thus the lesser gentry and the intelligentsia all lived on their patrons among the greater gentry--with the result that they were entirely shut out of politics. This explains why the literature of the time is so unpolitical, and also why scarcely any philosophical works appeared. The writers took refuge more and more in romanticism and flight from realities. The greater gentry, on the other hand, led a very elegant life, building themselves magnificent palaces in the capital. They also speculated in every direction. They speculated in land, in money, and above all in the paper money that was coming more and more into use. In 1166 the paper circulation exceeded the value of 10,000,000 strings! It seems that after 1127 a good number of farmers had left Honan and the Yellow River plains when the Juchên conquered these places and showed little interest in fostering agriculture; more left the border areas of Southern Sung because of permanent war threat. Many of these lived miserably as tenants on the farms of the gentry between Nanking and Hangchow. Others migrated farther to the south, across Kiangsi into southern Fukien. These migrants seem to have been the ancestors of the Hakka which in the following centuries continued their migration towards the south and who from the nineteenth century on were most strongly concentrated in Kwangtung and Kwangsi provinces as free farmers on hill slopes or as tenants of local landowners in the plains. The influx of migrants and the increase of tenants and their poverty seriously threatened the state and cut down its defensive strength more and more. At this stage, Chia Ssu-tao drafted a reform law. Chia had come to the court through his sister becoming the emperor's concubine, but he himself belonged to the lesser gentry. His proposal was that state funds should be applied to the purchase of land in the possession of the greater gentry over and above a fixed maximum. Peasants were to be settled on this land, and its yield was to belong to the state, which would be able to use it to meet military expenditure. In this way the country's military strength was to be restored. Chia's influence lasted just ten years, until 1275. He began putting the law into effect in the region south of Nanking, where the principal estates of the greater gentry were then situated. He brought upon himself, of course, the mortal hatred of the greater gentry, and paid for his action with his life. The emperor, in entering upon this policy, no doubt had hoped to recover some of his power, but the greater gentry brought him down. The gentry now openly played into the hands of the approaching Mongols, so hastening the final collapse of the Sung. The peasants and the lesser gentry would have fought the Mongols if it had been possible; but the greater gentry enthusiastically went over to the Mongols, hoping to save their property and so their influence by quickly joining the enemy. On a long view they had not judged badly. The Mongols removed the members of the gentry from all political posts, but left them their estates; and before long the greater gentry reappeared in political life. And when, later, the Mongol empire in China was brought down by a popular rising, the greater gentry showed themselves to be the most faithful allies of the Mongols! (5) The empire of the Juchên in the north (1115-1234) 1 _Rapid expansion from northern Korea to the Yangtze_ The Juchên in the past had been only a small league of Tungus tribes, whose name is preserved in that of the present Tungus tribe of the Jurchen, which came under the domination of the Kitan after the collapse of the state of Po-hai in northern Korea. We have already briefly mentioned the reasons for their rise. After their first successes against the Kitan (1114), their chieftain at once proclaimed himself emperor (1115), giving his dynasty the name "Chin" (The Golden). The Chin quickly continued their victorious progress. In 1125 the Kitan empire was destroyed. It will be remembered that the Sung were at once attacked, although they had recently been allied with the Chin against the Kitan. In 1126 the Sung capital was taken. The Chin invasions were pushed farther south, and in 1130 the Yangtze was crossed. But the Chin did not hold the whole of these conquests. Their empire was not yet consolidated. Their partial withdrawal closed the first phase of the Chin empire. 2 _United front of all Chinese_ But a few years after this maximum expansion, a withdrawal began which went on much more quickly than usual in such cases. The reasons were to be found both in external and in internal politics. The Juchên had gained great agrarian regions in a rapid march of conquest. Once more great cities with a huge urban population and immense wealth had fallen to alien conquerors. Now the Juchên wanted to enjoy this wealth as the Kitan had done before them. All the Juchên people counted as citizens of the highest class; they were free from taxation and only liable to military service. They were entitled to take possession of as much cultivable land as they wanted; this they did, and they took not only the "state domains" actually granted to them but also peasant properties, so that Chinese free peasants had nothing left but the worst fields, unless they became tenants on Juchên estates. A united front was therefore formed between all Chinese, both peasants and landowning gentry, against the Chin, such as it had not been possible to form against the Kitan. This made an important contribution later to the rapid collapse of the Chin empire. The Chin who had thus come into possession of the cultivable land and at the same time of the wealth of the towns, began a sort of competition with each other for the best winnings, especially after the government had returned to the old Sung capital, Pien-liang (now K'ai-feng, in eastern Honan). Serious crises developed in their own ranks. In 1149 the ruler was assassinated by his chancellor (a member of the imperial family), who in turn was murdered in 1161. The Chin thus failed to attain what had been secured by all earlier conquerors, a reconciliation of the various elements of the population and the collaboration of at least one group of the defeated Chinese. 3 _Start of the Mongol empire_ The cessation of fighting against the Sung brought no real advantage in external affairs, though the tribute payments appealed to the greed of the rulers and were therefore welcomed. There could be no question of further campaigns against the south, for the Hsia empire in the west had not been destroyed, though some of its territory had been annexed; and a new peril soon made its appearance in the rear of the Chin. When in the tenth century the Sha-t'o Turks had to withdraw from their dominating position in China, because of their great loss of numbers and consequently of strength, they went back into Mongolia and there united with the Ta-tan (Tatars), among whom a new small league of tribes had formed towards the end of the eleventh century, consisting mainly of Mongols and Turks. In 1139 one of the chieftains of the Juchên rebelled and entered into negotiations with the South Chinese. He was killed, but his sons and his whole tribe then rebelled and went into Mongolia, where they made common cause with the Mongols. The Chin pursued them, and fought against them and against the Mongols, but without success. Accordingly negotiations were begun, and a promise was given to deliver meat and grain every year and to cede twenty-seven military strongholds. A high title was conferred on the tribal leader of the Mongols, in the hope of gaining his favour. He declined it, however, and in 1147 assumed the title of emperor of the "greater Mongol empire". This was the beginning of the power of the Mongols, who remained thereafter a dangerous enemy of the Chin in the north, until in 1189 Genghiz Khan became their leader and made the Mongols the greatest power of central Asia. In any case, the Chin had reason to fear the Mongols from 1147 onward, and therefore were the more inclined to leave the Sung in peace. In 1210 the Mongols began the first great assault against the Chin, the moment they had conquered the Hsia. In the years 1215-17 the Mongols took the military key-positions from the Chin. After that there could be no serious defence of the Chin empire. There came a respite only because the Mongols had turned against the West. But in 1234 the empire finally fell to the Mongols. Many of the Chin entered the service of the Mongols, and with their permission returned to Manchuria; there they fell back to the cultural level of a warlike nomad people. Not until the sixteenth century did these Tunguses recover, reorganize, and appear again in history this time under the name of Manchus. The North Chinese under Chin rule did not regard the Mongols as enemies of their country, but were ready at once to collaborate with them. The Mongols were even more friendly to them than to the South Chinese, and treated them rather better. Chapter Ten THE PERIOD OF ABSOLUTISM (A) The Mongol Epoch (1280-1368) 1 _Beginning of new foreign rules_ During more than half of the third period of "Modern Times" which now began, China was under alien rule. Of the 631 years from 1280 to 1911, China was under national rulers for 276 years and under alien rule for 355. The alien rulers were first the Mongols, and later the Tungus Manchus. It is interesting to note that the alien rulers in the earlier period came mainly from the north-west, and only in modern times did peoples from the north-east rule over China. This was due in part to the fact that only peoples who had attained a certain level of civilization were capable of dominance. In antiquity and the Middle Ages, eastern Mongolia and Manchuria were at a relatively low level of civilization, from which they emerged only gradually through permanent contact with other nomad peoples, especially Turks. We are dealing here, of course, only with the Mongol epoch in China and not with the great Mongol empire, so that we need not enter further into these questions. Yet another point is characteristic: the Mongols were the first alien people to rule the whole of China; the Manchus, who appeared in the seventeenth century, were the second and last. All alien peoples before these two ruled only parts of China. Why was it that the Mongols were able to be so much more successful than their predecessors? In the first place the Mongol political league was numerically stronger than those of the earlier alien peoples; secondly, the military organization and technical equipment of the Mongols were exceptionally advanced for their day. It must be borne in mind, for instance, that during their many years of war against the Sung dynasty in South China the Mongols already made use of small cannon in laying siege to towns. We have no exact knowledge of the number of Mongols who invaded and occupied China, but it is estimated that there were more than a million Mongols living in China. Not all of them, of course, were really Mongols! The name covered Turks, Tunguses, and others; among the auxiliaries of the Mongols were Uighurs, men from Central Asia and the Middle East, and even Europeans. When the Mongols attacked China they had the advantage of all the arts and crafts and all the new technical advances of western and central Asia and of Europe. Thus they had attained a high degree of technical progress, and at the same time their number was very great. 2 "_Nationality legislation_" It was only after the Hsia empire in North China, and then the empire of the Juchên, had been destroyed by the Mongols, and only after long and remarkably modern tactical preparation, that the Mongols conquered South China, the empire of the Sung dynasty. They were now faced with the problem of ruling their great new empire. The conqueror of that empire, Kublai, himself recognized that China could not be treated in quite the same way as the Mongols' previous conquests; he therefore separated the empire in China from the rest of the Mongol empire. Mongol China became an independent realm within the Mongol empire, a sort of Dominion. The Mongol rulers were well aware that in spite of their numerical strength they were still only a minority in China, and this implied certain dangers. They therefore elaborated a "nationality legislation", the first of its kind in the Far East. The purpose of this legislation was, of course, to be the protection of the Mongols. The population of conquered China was divided into four groups--(1) Mongols, themselves falling into four sub-groups (the oldest Mongol tribes, the White Tatars, the Black Tatars, the Wild Tatars); (2) Central Asian auxiliaries (Naimans, Uighurs, and various other Turkish people, Tanguts, and so on); (3) North Chinese; (4) South Chinese. The Mongols formed the privileged ruling class. They remained militarily organized, and were distributed in garrisons over all the big towns of China as soldiers, maintained by the state. All the higher government posts were reserved for them, so that they also formed the heads of the official staffs. The auxiliary peoples were also admitted into the government service; they, too, had privileges, but were not all soldiers but in many cases merchants, who used their privileged position to promote business. Not a few of these merchants were Uighurs and Mohammedans; many Uighurs were also employed as clerks, as the Mongols were very often unable to read and write Chinese, and the government offices were bilingual, working in Mongolian and Chinese. The clever Uighurs quickly learned enough of both languages for official purposes, and made themselves indispensable assistants to the Mongols. Persian, the main language of administration in the western parts of the Mongol empire besides Uighuric, also was a _lingua franca_ among the new rulers of China. In the Mongol legislation the South Chinese had the lowest status, and virtually no rights. Intermarriage with them was prohibited. The Chinese were not allowed to carry arms. For a time they were forbidden even to learn the Mongol or other foreign languages. In this way they were to be prevented from gaining official positions and playing any political part. Their ignorance of the languages of northern, central, and western Asia also prevented them from engaging in commerce like the foreign merchants, and every possible difficulty was put in the way of their travelling for commercial purposes. On the other hand, foreigners were, of course, able to learn Chinese, and so to gain a footing in Chinese internal trade. Through legislation of this type the Mongols tried to build up and to safeguard their domination over China. Yet their success did not last a hundred years. 3 _Military position_ In foreign affairs the Mongol epoch was for China something of a breathing space, for the great wars of the Mongols took place at a remote distance from China and without any Chinese participation. Only a few concluding wars were fought under Kublai in the Far East. The first was his war against Japan (1281): it ended in complete failure, the fleet being destroyed by a storm. In this campaign the Chinese furnished ships and also soldiers. The subjection of Japan would have been in the interest of the Chinese, as it would have opened a market which had been almost closed against them in the Sung period. Mongol wars followed in the south. In 1282 began the war against Burma; in 1284 Annam and Cambodia were conquered; in 1292 a campaign was started against Java. It proved impossible to hold Java, but almost the whole of Indo-China came under Mongol rule, to the satisfaction of the Chinese, for Indo-China had already been one of the principal export markets in the Sung period. After that, however, there was virtually no more warfare, apart from small campaigns against rebellious tribes. The Mongol soldiers now lived on their pay in their garrisons, with nothing to do. The old campaigners died and were followed by their sons, brought up also as soldiers; but these young Mongols were born in China, had seen nothing of war, and learned of the soldiers' trade either nothing or very little; so that after about 1320 serious things happened. An army nominally 1,000 strong was sent against a group of barely fifty bandits and failed to defeat them. Most of the 1,000 soldiers no longer knew how to use their weapons, and many did not even join the force. Such incidents occurred again and again. 4 _Social situation_ The results, however, of conditions within the country were of much more importance than events abroad. The Mongols made Peking their capital as was entirely natural, for Peking was near their homeland Mongolia. The emperor and his entourage could return to Mongolia in the summer, when China became too hot or too humid for them; and from Peking they were able to maintain contact with the rest of the Mongol empire. But as the city had become the capital of a vast empire, an enormous staff of officials had to be housed there, consisting of persons of many different nationalities. The emperor naturally wanted to have a magnificent capital, a city really worthy of so vast an empire. As the many wars had brought in vast booty, there was money for the building of great palaces, of a size and magnificence never before seen in China. They were built by Chinese forced labour, and to this end men had to be brought from all over the empire--poor peasants, whose fields went out of cultivation while they were held in bondage far away. If they ever returned home, they were destitute and had lost their land. The rich gentry, on the other hand, were able to buy immunity from forced labour. The immense increase in the population of Peking (the huge court with its enormous expenditure, the mass of officials, the great merchant community, largely foreigners, and the many servile labourers), necessitated vast supplies of food. Now, as mentioned in earlier chapters, since the time of the Later T'ang the region round Nanking had become the main centre of production in China, and the Chinese population had gone over more and more to the consumption of rice instead of pulse or wheat. As rice could not be grown in the north, practically the whole of the food supplies for the capital had to be brought from the south. The transport system taken over by the Mongols had not been created for long-distance traffic of this sort. The capital of the Sung had lain in the main centre of production. Consequently, a great fleet had suddenly to be built, canals and rivers had to be regulated, and some new canals excavated. This again called for a vast quantity of forced labour, often brought from afar to the points at which it was needed. The Chinese peasants had suffered in the Sung period. They had been exploited by the large landowners. The Mongols had not removed these landowners, as the Chinese gentry had gone over to their side. The Mongols had deprived them of their political power, but had left them their estates, the basis of their power. In past changes of dynasty the gentry had either maintained their position or been replaced by a new gentry: the total number of their class had remained virtually unchanged. Now, however, in addition to the original gentry there were about a million Mongols, for whose maintenance the peasants had also to provide, and their standard of maintenance was high. This was an enormous increase in the burdens of the peasantry. Two other elements further pressed on the peasants in the Mongol epoch--organized religion and the traders. The upper classes among the Chinese had in general little interest in religion, but the Mongols, owing to their historical development, were very religious. Some of them and some of their allies were Buddhists, some were still shamanists. The Chinese Buddhists and the representatives of popular Taoism approached the Mongols and the foreign Buddhist monks trying to enlist the interest of the Mongols and their allies. The old shamanism was unable to compete with the higher religions, and the Mongols in China became Buddhist or interested themselves in popular Taoism. They showed their interest especially by the endowment of temples and monasteries. The temples were given great estates, and the peasants on those estates became temple servants. The land belonging to the temples was free from taxation. We have as yet no exact statistics of the Mongol epoch, only approximations. These set the total area under cultivation at some six million _ch'ing_ (a _ch'ing_ is the ideal size of the farm worked by a peasant family, but it was rarely held in practice); the population amounted to fourteen or fifteen million families. Of this total tillage some 170,000 _ch'ing_ were allotted to the temples; that is to say, the farms for some 400,000 peasant families were taken from the peasants and no longer paid taxes to the state. The peasants, however, had to make payments to the temples. Some 200,000 _ch'ing_ with some 450,000 peasant families were turned into military settlements; that is to say, these peasants had to work for the needs of the army. Their taxes went not to the state but to the army. Moreover, in the event of war they had to render service to the army. In addition to this, all higher officials received official properties, the yield of which represented part payment of their salaries. Then, Mongol nobles and dignitaries received considerable grants of land, which was taken away from the free peasants; the peasants had then to work their farms as tenants and to pay dues to their landlords, no longer to the state. Finally, especially in North China, many peasants were entirely dispossessed, and their land was turned into pasturage for the Mongols' horses; the peasants themselves were put to forced labour. On top of this came the exploitation of the peasants by the great landowners of the past. All this meant an enormous diminution in the number of free peasants and thus of taxpayers. As the state was involved in more expenditure than in the past owing to the large number of Mongols who were its virtual pensioners, the taxes had to be continually increased. Meanwhile the many peasants working as tenants of the great landlords, the temples, and the Mongol nobles were entirely at their mercy. In this period, a second migration of farmers into the southern provinces, mainly Fukien and Kwangtung, took place; it had its main source in the lower Yangtze valley. A few gentry families whose relatives had accompanied the Sung emperor on their flight to the south, also settled with their followers in the Canton basin. The many merchants from abroad, especially those belonging to the peoples allied to the Mongols, also had in every respect a privileged position in China. They were free of taxation, free to travel all over the country, and received privileged treatment in the use of means of transport. They were thus able to accumulate great wealth, most of which went out of China to their own country. This produced a general impoverishment of China. Chinese merchants fell more and more into dependence on the foreign merchants; the only field of action really remaining to them was the local trade within China and the trade with Indo-China, where the Chinese had the advantage of knowing the language. The impoverishment of China began with the flow abroad of her metallic currency. To make up for this loss, the government was compelled to issue great quantities of paper money, which very quickly depreciated, because after a few years the government would no longer accept the money at its face value, so that the population could place no faith in it. The depreciation further impoverished the people. Thus we have in the Mongol epoch in China the imposing picture of a commerce made possible with every country from Europe to the Pacific; this, however, led to the impoverishment of China. We also see the rising of mighty temples and monumental buildings, but this again only contributed to the denudation of the country. The Mongol epoch was thus one of continual and rapid impoverishment in China, simultaneously with a great display of magnificence. The enthusiastic descriptions of the Mongol empire in China offered by travellers from the Near East or from Europe, such as Marco Polo, give an entirely false picture: as foreigners they had a privileged position, living in the cities and seeing nothing of the situation of the general population. 5 _Popular risings: National rising_ It took time for the effects of all these factors to become evident. The first popular rising came in 1325. Statistics of 1329 show that there were then some 7,600,000 persons in the empire who were starving; as this was only the figure of the officially admitted sufferers, the figure may have been higher. In any case, seven-and-a-half millions were a substantial percentage of the total population, estimated at 45,000,000. The risings that now came incessantly were led by men of the lower orders--a cloth-seller, a fisherman, a peasant, a salt smuggler, the son of a soldier serving a sentence, an office messenger, and so on. They never attacked the Mongols as aliens, but always the rich in general, whether Chinese or foreign. Wherever they came, they killed all the rich and distributed their money and possessions. As already mentioned, the Mongol garrisons were unable to cope with these risings. But how was it that the Mongol rule did not collapse until some forty years later? The Mongols parried the risings by raising loans from the rich and using the money to recruit volunteers to fight the rebels. The state revenues would not have sufficed for these payments, and the item was not one that could be included in the military budget. What was of much more importance was that the gentry themselves recruited volunteers and fought the rebels on their own account, without the authority or the support of the government. Thus it was the Chinese gentry, in their fear of being killed by the insurgents, who fought them and so bolstered up the Mongol rule. In 1351 the dykes along the Yellow River burst. The dykes had to be reconstructed and further measures of conservancy undertaken. To this end the government impressed 170,000 men. Following this action, great new revolts broke out. Everywhere in Honan, Kiangsu, and Shantung, the regions from which the labourers were summoned, revolutionary groups were formed, some of them amounting to 100,000 men. Some groups had a religious tinge; others declared their intention to restore the emperors of the Sung dynasty. Before long great parts of central China were wrested from the hands of the government. The government recognized the menace to its existence, but resorted to contradictory measures. In 1352 southern Chinese were permitted to take over certain official positions. In this way it was hoped to gain the full support of the gentry, who had a certain interest in combating the rebel movements. On the other hand, the government tightened up its nationality laws. All the old segregation laws were brought back into force, with the result that in a few years the aim of the rebels became no longer merely the expulsion of the rich but also the expulsion of the Mongols: a social movement thus became a national one. A second element contributed to the change in the character of the popular rising. The rebels captured many towns. Some of these towns refused to fight and negotiated terms of submission. In these cases the rebels did not murder the whole of the gentry, but took some of them into their service. The gentry did not agree to this out of sympathy with the rebels, but simply in order to save their own lives. Once they had taken the step, however, they could not go back; they had no alternative but to remain on the side of the rebels. In 1352 Kuo Tz[)u]-hsing rose in southern Honan. Kuo was the son of a wandering soothsayer and a blind beggar-woman. He had success; his group gained control of a considerable region round his home. There was no longer any serious resistance from the Mongols, for at this time the whole of eastern China was in full revolt. In 1353 Kuo was joined by a man named Chu Yüan-chang, the son of a small peasant, probably a tenant farmer. Chu's parents and all his relatives had died from a plague, leaving him destitute. He had first entered a monastery and become a monk. This was a favourite resource--and has been almost to the present day--for poor sons of peasants who were threatened with starvation. As a monk he had gone about begging, until in 1353 he returned to his home and collected a group, mostly men from his own village, sons of peasants and young fellows who had already been peasant leaders. Monks were often peasant leaders. They were trusted because they promised divine aid, and because they were usually rather better educated than the rest of the peasants. Chu at first also had contacts with a secret society, a branch of the White Lotus Society which several times in the course of Chinese history has been the nucleus of rebellious movements. Chu took his small group which identified itself by a red turban and a red banner to Kuo, who received him gladly, entered into alliance with him, and in sign of friendship gave him his daughter in marriage. In 1355 Kuo died, and Chu took over his army, now many thousands strong. In his campaigns against towns in eastern China, Chu succeeded in winning over some capable members of the gentry. One was the chairman of a committee that yielded a town to Chu; another was a scholar whose family had always been opposed to the Mongols, and who had himself suffered injustice several times in his official career, so that he was glad to join Chu out of hatred of the Mongols. These men gained great influence over Chu, and persuaded him to give up attacking rich individuals, and instead to establish an assured control over large parts of the country. He would then, they pointed out, be permanently enriched, while otherwise he would only be in funds at the moment of the plundering of a town. They set before him strategic plans with that aim. Through their counsel Chu changed from the leader of a popular rising into a fighter against the dynasty. Of all the peasant leaders he was now the only one pursuing a definite aim. He marched first against Nanking, the great city of central China, and captured it with ease. He then crossed the Yangtze, and conquered the rich provinces of the south-east. He was a rebel who no longer slaughtered the rich or plundered the towns, and the whole of the gentry with all their followers came over to him _en masse_. The armies of volunteers went over to Chu, and the whole edifice of the dynasty collapsed. The years 1355-1368 were full of small battles. After his conquest of the whole of the south, Chu went north. In 1368 his generals captured Peking almost without a blow. The Mongol ruler fled on horseback with his immediate entourage into the north of China, and soon after into Mongolia. The Mongol dynasty had been brought down, almost without resistance. The Mongols in the isolated garrisons marched northward wherever they could. A few surrendered to the Chinese and were used in southern China as professional soldiers, though they were always regarded with suspicion. The only serious resistance offered came from the regions in which other Chinese popular leaders had established themselves, especially the remote provinces in the west and south-west, which had a different social structure and had been relatively little affected by the Mongol regime. Thus the collapse of the Mongols came for the following reasons: (1) They had not succeeded in maintaining their armed strength or that of their allies during the period of peace that followed Kublai's conquest. The Mongol soldiers had become effeminate through their life of idleness in the towns. (2) The attempt to rule the empire through Mongols or other aliens, and to exclude the Chinese gentry entirely from the administration, failed through insufficient knowledge of the sources of revenue and through the abuses due to the favoured treatment of aliens. The whole country, and especially the peasantry, was completely impoverished and so driven into revolt. (3) There was also a psychological reason. In the middle of the fourteenth century it was obvious to the Mongols that their hold over China was growing more and more precarious, and that there was little to be got out of the impoverished country: they seem in consequence to have lost interest in the troublesome task of maintaining their rule, preferring, in so far as they had not already entirely degenerated, to return to their old home in the north. It is important to bear in mind these reasons for the collapse of the Mongols, so that we may compare them later with the reasons for the collapse of the Manchus. No mention need be made here of the names of the Mongol rulers in China after Kublai. After his death in 1294, grandsons and great-grandsons of his followed each other in rapid succession on the throne; not one of them was of any personal significance. They had no influence on the government of China. Their life was spent in intriguing against one another. There were seven Mongol emperors after Kublai. 6 _Cultural_ During the Mongol epoch a large number of the Chinese scholars withdrew from official life. They lived in retirement among their friends, and devoted themselves mainly to the pursuit of the art of poetry, which had been elaborated in the Later Sung epoch, without themselves arriving at any important innovations in form. Their poems were built up meticulously on the rules laid down by the various schools; they were routine productions rather than the outcome of any true poetic inspiration. In the realm of prose the best achievements were the "miscellaneous notes" already mentioned, collections of learned essays. The foreigners who wrote in Chinese during this epoch are credited with no better achievements by the Chinese historians of literature. Chief of them were a statesman named Yeh-lü Ch'u-ts'ai, a Kitan in the service of the Mongols; and a Mongol named T'o-t'o (Tokto). The former accompanied Genghiz Khan in his great campaign against Turkestan, and left a very interesting account of his journeys, together with many poems about Samarkand and Turkestan. His other works were mainly letters and poems addressed to friends. They differ in no way in style from the Chinese literary works of the time, and are neither better nor worse than those works. He shows strong traces of Taoist influence, as do other contemporary writers. We know that Genghiz Khan was more or less inclined to Taoism, and admitted a Taoist monk to his camp (1221-1224). This man's account of his travels has also been preserved, and with the numerous European accounts of Central Asia written at this time it forms an important source. The Mongol Tokto was the head of an historical commission that issued the annals of the Sung dynasty, the Kitan, and the Juchên dynasty. The annals of the Sung dynasty became the largest of all the historical works, but they were fiercely attacked from the first by Chinese critics on account of their style and their hasty composition, and, together with the annals of the Mongol dynasty, they are regarded as the worst of the annals preserved. Tokto himself is less to blame for this than the circumstance that he was compelled to work in great haste, and had not time to put into order the overwhelming mass of his material. The greatest literary achievements, however, of the Mongol period belong beyond question to the theatre (or, rather, opera). The emperors were great theatre-goers, and the wealthy private families were also enthusiasts, so that gradually people of education devoted themselves to writing librettos for the operas, where in the past this work had been left to others. Most of the authors of these librettos remained unknown: they used pseudonyms, partly because playwriting was not an occupation that befitted a scholar, and partly because in these works they criticized the conditions of their day. These works are divided in regard to style into two groups, those of the "southern" and the "northern" drama; these are distinguished from each other in musical construction and in their intellectual attitude: in general the northern works are more heroic and the southern more sentimental, though there are exceptions. The most famous northern works of the Mongol epoch are _P'i-p'a-chi_ ("The Story of a Lute"), written about 1356, probably by Kao Ming, and _Chao-shih ku-erh-chi_ ("The Story of the Orphan of Chao "), a work that enthralled Voltaire, who made a paraphrase of it; its author was the otherwise unknown Chi Chün-hsiang. One of the most famous of the southern dramas is _Hsi-hsiang-chi_ ("The Romance of the Western Chamber"), by Wang Shih-fu and Kuan Han-ch'ing. Kuan lived under the Juchên dynasty as a physician, and then among the Mongols. He is said to have written fifty-eight dramas, many of which became famous. In the fine arts, foreign influence made itself felt during the Mongol epoch much more than in literature. This was due in part to the Mongol rulers' predilection for the Lamaism that was widespread in their homeland. Lamaism is a special form of Buddhism which developed in Tibet, where remnants of the old national Tibetan cult (_Bon_) were fused with Buddhism into a distinctive religion. During the rise of the Mongols this religion, which closely resembled the shamanism of the ancient Mongols, spread in Mongolia, and through the Mongols it made great progress in China, where it had been insignificant until their time. Religious sculpture especially came entirely under Tibetan influence (particularly that of the sculptor Aniko, who came from Nepal, where he was born in 1244). This influence was noticeable in the Chinese sculptor Liu Yüan; after him it became stronger and stronger, lasting until the Manchu epoch. In architecture, too, Indian and Tibetan influence was felt in this period. The Tibetan pagodas came into special prominence alongside the previously known form of pagoda, which has many storeys, growing smaller as they go upward; these towers originally contained relics of Buddha and his disciples. The Tibetan pagoda has not this division into storeys, and its lower part is much larger in circumference, and often round. To this day Peking is rich in pagodas in the Tibetan style. The Mongols also developed in China the art of carpet-knotting, which to this day is found only in North China in the zone of northern influence. There were carpets before these, but they were mainly of felt. The knotted carpets were produced in imperial workshops--only, of course, for the Mongols, who were used to carpets. A further development probably also due to West Asian influence was that of cloisonné technique in China in this period. Painting, on the other hand, remained free from alien influence, with the exception of the craft painting for the temples. The most famous painters of the Mongol epoch were Chao Mêng-fu (also called Chao Chung-mu, 1254-1322), a relative of the deposed imperial family of the Sung dynasty, and Ni Tsan (1301-1374). (B) The Ming Epoch (1368-1644) 1 _Start. National feeling_ It was necessary to give special attention to the reasons for the downfall of Mongol rule in China, in order to make clear the cause and the character of the Ming epoch that followed it. It is possible that the erroneous impression might be gained that the Mongol epoch in China was entirely without merits, and that the Mongol rule over China differed entirely from the Mongol rule over other countries of Asia. Chinese historians have no good word to say of the Mongol epoch and avoid the subject as far as they can. It is true that the union of the national Mongol culture with Chinese culture, as envisaged by the Mongol rulers, was not a sound conception, and consequently did not endure for long. Nevertheless, the Mongol epoch in China left indelible traces, and without it China's further development would certainly have taken a different course. The many popular risings during the latter half of the period of Mongol rule in China were all of a purely economic and social character, and at first they were not directed at all against the Mongols as representatives of an alien people. The rising under Chu Yüan-chang, which steadily gained impetus, was at first a purely social movement; indeed, it may fairly be called revolutionary. Chu was of the humblest origin; he became a monk and a peasant leader at one and the same time. Only three times in Chinese history has a man of the peasantry become emperor and founder of a dynasty. The first of these three men founded the Han dynasty; the second founded the first of the so-called "Five Dynasties" in the tenth century; Chu was the third. Not until the Mongols had answered Chu's rising with a tightening of the nationality laws did the revolutionary movement become a national movement, directed against the foreigners as such. And only when Chu came under the influence of the first people of the gentry who joined him, whether voluntarily or perforce, did what had been a revolutionary movement become a struggle for the substitution of one dynasty for another without interfering with the existing social system. Both these points were of the utmost importance to the whole development of the Ming epoch. The Mongols were driven out fairly quickly and without great difficulty. The Chinese drew from the ease of their success a sense of superiority and a clear feeling of nationalism. This feeling should not be confounded with the very old feeling of Chinese as a culturally superior group according to which, at least in theory though rarely in practice, every person who assimilated Chinese cultural values and traits was a "Chinese". The roots of nationalism seem to lie in the Southern Sung period, growing up in the course of contacts with the Juchên and Mongols; but the discriminatory laws of the Mongols greatly fostered this feeling. From now on, it was regarded a shame to serve a foreigner as official, even if he was a ruler of China. 2 _Wars against Mongols and Japanese_ It had been easy to drive the Mongols out of China, but they were never really beaten in their own country. On the contrary, they seem to have regained strength after their withdrawal from China: they reorganized themselves and were soon capable of counter-thrusts, while Chinese offensives had as a rule very little success, and at all events no decisive success. In the course of time, however, the Chinese gained a certain influence over Turkestan, but it was never absolute, always challenged. After the Mongol empire had fallen to pieces, small states came into existence in Turkestan, for a long time with varying fortunes; the most important one during the Ming epoch was that of Hami, until in 1473 it was occupied by the city-state of Turfan. At this time China actively intervened in the policy of Turkestan in a number of combats with the Mongols. As the situation changed from time to time, these city-states united more or less closely with China or fell away from her altogether. In this period, however, Turkestan was of no military or economic importance to China. In the time of the Ming there also began in the east and south the plague of Japanese piracy. Japanese contacts with the coastal provinces of China (Kiangsu, Chekiang and Fukien) had a very long history: pilgrims from Japan often went to these places in order to study Buddhism in the famous monasteries of Central China; businessmen sold at high prices Japanese swords and other Japanese products here and bought Chinese products; they also tried to get Chinese copper coins which had a higher value in Japan. Chinese merchants co-operated with Japanese merchants and also with pirates in the guise of merchants. Some Chinese who were or felt persecuted by the government, became pirates themselves. This trade-piracy had started already at the end of the Sung dynasty, when Japanese navigation had become superior to Korean shipping which had in earlier times dominated the eastern seaboard. These conditions may even have been one of the reasons why the Mongols tried to subdue Japan. As early as 1387 the Chinese had to begin the building of fortifications along the eastern and southern coasts of the country; The Japanese attacks now often took the character of organized raids: a small, fast-sailing flotilla would land in a bay, as far as possible without attracting notice; the soldiers would march against the nearest town, generally overcoming it, looting, and withdrawing. The defensive measures adopted from time to time during the Ming epoch were of little avail, as it was impossible effectively to garrison the whole coast. Some of the coastal settlements were transferred inland, to prevent the Chinese from co-operating with the Japanese, and to give the Japanese so long a march inland as to allow time for defensive measures. The Japanese pirates prevented the creation of a Chinese navy in this period by their continual threats to the coastal cities in which the shipyards lay. Not until much later, at a time of unrest in Japan in 1467, was there any peace from the Japanese pirates. The Japanese attacks were especially embarrassing for the Chinese government for one other reason. Large armies had to be kept all along China's northern border, from Manchuria to Central Asia. Food supplies could not be collected in north China which did not have enough surplusses. Canal transportation from Central China was not reliable, as the canals did not always have enough water and were often clogged by hundreds of ships. And even if canals were used, grain still had to be transported by land from the end of the canals to the frontier. The Ming government therefore, had organized an overseas flotilla of grain ships which brought grain from Central China directly to the front in Liao-tung and Manchuria. And these ships, vitally important, were so often attacked by the pirates, that this plan later had to be given up again. These activities along the coast led the Chinese to the belief that basically all foreigners who came by ships were "barbarians"; when towards the end of the Ming epoch the Japanese were replaced by Europeans who did not behave much differently and were also pirate-merchants, the nations of Western Europe, too, were regarded as "barbarians" and were looked upon with great suspicion. On the other side, continental powers, even if they were enemies, had long been regarded as "states", sometimes even as equals. Therefore, when at a much later time the Chinese came into contact with Russians, their attitude towards them was similar to that which they had taken towards other Asian continental powers. 3 _Social legislation within the existing order_ At the time when Chu Yüan-chang conquered Peking, in 1368, becoming the recognized emperor of China (Ming dynasty), it seemed as though he would remain a revolutionary in spite of everything. His first laws were directed against the rich. Many of the rich were compelled to migrate to the capital, Nanking, thus losing their land and the power based on it. Land was redistributed among poor peasants; new land registers were also compiled, in order to prevent the rich from evading taxation. The number of monks living in idleness was cut down and precisely determined; the possessions of the temples were reduced, land exempted from taxation being thus made taxable--all this, incidentally, although Chu had himself been a monk! These laws might have paved the way to social harmony and removed the worst of the poverty of the Mongol epoch. But all this was frustrated in the very first years of Chu's reign. The laws were only half carried into effect or not at all, especially in the hinterland of the present Shanghai. That region had been conquered by Chu at the very beginning of the Ming epoch; in it lived the wealthy landowners who had already been paying the bulk of the taxes under the Mongols. The emperor depended on this wealthy class for the financing of his great armies, and so could not be too hard on it. Chu Yüan-chang and his entourage were also unable to free themselves from some of the ideas of the Mongol epoch. Neither Chu, nor anybody else before and long after him discussed the possibility of a form of government other than that of a monarchy. The first ever to discuss this question, although very timidly, was Huang Tsung-hsi (1610-1695), at the end of the Ming dynasty. Chu's conception of an emperor was that of an absolute monarch, master over life and death of his subjects; it was formed by the Mongol emperors with their magnificence and the huge expenditure of their life in Peking; Chu was oblivious of the fact that Peking had been the capital of a vast empire embracing almost the whole of Asia, and expenses could well be higher than for a capital only of China. It did not occur to Chu and his supporters that they could have done without imperial state and splendour; on the contrary, they felt compelled to display it. At first Chu personally showed no excessive signs of this tendency, though they emerged later; but he conferred great land grants on all his relatives, friends, and supporters; he would give to a single person land sufficient for 20,000 peasant families; he ordered the payment of state pensions to members of the imperial family, just as the Mongols had done, and the total of these pension payments was often higher than the revenue of the region involved. For the capital alone over eight million _shih_ of grain had to be provided in payment of pensions--that is to say, more than 160,000 tons! These pension payments were in themselves a heavy burden on the state; not only that, but they formed a difficult transport problem! We have no close figure of the total population at the beginning of the Ming epoch; about 1500 it is estimated to have been 53,280,000, and this population had to provide some 266,000,000 _shih_ in taxes. At the beginning of the Ming epoch the population and revenue must, however, have been smaller. The laws against the merchants and the restrictions under which the craftsmen worked, remained essentially as they had been under the Sung, but now the remaining foreign merchants of Mongol time also fell under these laws, and their influence quickly diminished. All craftsmen, a total of some 300,000 men with families, were still registered and had to serve the government in the capital for three months once every three years; others had to serve ten days per month, if they lived close by. They were a hereditary caste as were the professional soldiers, and not allowed to change their occupation except by special imperial permission. When a craftsman or soldier died, another family member had to replace him; therefore, families of craftsmen were not allowed to separate into small nuclear families, in which there might not always be a suitable male. Yet, in an empire as large as that of the Ming, this system did not work too well: craftsmen lost too much time in travelling and often succeeded in running away while travelling. Therefore, from 1505 on, they had to pay a tax instead of working for the government, and from then on the craftsmen became relatively free. 4 _Colonization and agricultural developments_ As already mentioned, the Ming had to keep a large army along the northern frontiers. But they also had to keep armies in south China, especially in Yünnan. Here, the Mongol invasions of Burma and Thailand had brought unrest among the tribes, especially the Shan. The Ming did not hold Burma but kept it in a loose dependency as "tributary nation". In order to supply armies so far away from all agricultural surplus centres, the Ming resorted to the old system of "military colonies" which seems to have been invented in the second century B.C. and is still used even today (in Sinkiang). Soldiers were settled in camps called _ying_, and therefore there are so many place names ending with _ying_ in the outlying areas of China. They worked as state farmers and accumulated surplusses which were used in case of war in which these same farmers turned soldiers again. Many criminals were sent to these state farms, too. This system, especially in south China, transformed territories formerly inhabited by native tribes or uninhabited, into solidly Chinese areas. In addition to these military colonies, a steady stream of settlers from Central China and the coast continued to move into Kwangtung and Hunan provinces. They felt protected by the army against attacks by natives. Yet Ming texts are full of reports on major and minor clashes with the natives, from Kiangsi and Fukien to Kwangtung and Kwangsi. But the production of military colonies was still not enough to feed the armies, and the government in Chu's time resorted to a new design. It promised to give merchants who transported grain from Central China to the borders, government salt certificates. Upon the receipt, the merchants could acquire a certain amount of salt and sell it with high profits. Soon, these merchants began to invest some of their capital in local land which was naturally cheap. They then attracted farmers from their home countries as tenants. The rent of the tenants, paid in form of grain, was then sold to the army, and the merchant's gains increased. Tenants could easily be found: the density of population in the Yangtze plains had further increased since the Sung time. This system of merchant colonization did not last long, because soon, in order to curb the profits of the merchants, money was given instead of salt certificates, and the merchants lost interest in grain transports. Thus, grain prices along the frontiers rose and the effectiveness of the armies was diminished. Although the history of Chinese agriculture is as yet only partially known, a number of changes in this field, which began to show up from Sung time on, seem to have produced an "agricultural revolution" in Ming time. We have already mentioned the Sung attempts to increase production near the big cities by deep-lying fields, cultivation on and in lakes. At the same time, there was an increase in cultivation of mountain slopes by terracing and by distributing water over the terraces in balanced systems. New irrigation machines, especially the so-called Persian wheel, were introduced in the Ming time. Perhaps the most important innovation, however, was the introduction of rice from Indo-China's kingdom Champa in 1012 into Fukien from where it soon spread. This rice had three advantages over ordinary Chinese rice: it was drought-resistant and could, therefore, be planted in areas with poor or even no irrigation. It had a great productivity, and it could be sown very early in the year. At first it had the disadvantage that it had a vegetation period of a hundred days. But soon, the Chinese developed a quick-growing Champa rice, and the speediest varieties took only sixty days from transplantation into the fields to the harvest. This made it possible to grow two rice harvests instead of only one and more than doubled the production. Rice varieties which grew again after being cut and produced a second, but very much smaller harvest, disappeared from now on. Furthermore, fish were kept in the ricefields and produced not only food for the farmers but also fertilized the fields, so that continuous cultivation of ricefields without any decrease in fertility became possible. Incidentally, fish control the malaria mosquitoes; although the Chinese did not know this fact, large areas in South China which had formerly been avoided by Chinese because of malaria, gradually became inhabitable. The importance of alternating crops was also discovered and from now on, the old system of fallow cultivation was given up and continuous cultivation with, in some areas, even more than one harvest per field per year, was introduced even in wheat-growing areas. Considering that under the fallow system from one half to one third of all fields remained uncultivated each year, the increase in production under the new system must have been tremendous. We believe that the population revolution which in China started about 1550, was the result of this earlier agrarian revolution. From the eighteenth century on we get reports on depletion of fields due to wrong application of the new system. Another plant deeply affected Chinese agriculture: cotton. It is often forgotten that, from very early times, the Chinese in the south had used kapok and similar fibres, and that the cocoons of different kinds of worms had been used for silk. Real cotton probably came from Bengal over South-East Asia first to the coastal provinces of China and spread quickly into Fukien and Kwangtung in Sung time. On the other side, cotton reached China through Central Asia, and already in the thirteenth century we find it in Shensi in north-western China. Farmers in the north could in many places grow cotton in summer and wheat in winter, and cotton was a high-priced product. They ginned the cotton with iron rods; a mechanical cotton gin was introduced not until later. The raw cotton was sold to merchants who transported it into the industrial centre of the time, the Yangtze valley, and who re-exported cotton cloth to the north. Raw cotton, loosened by the string of the bow (a method which was known since Sung), could now in the north also be used for quilts and padded winter garments. 5 _Commercial and industrial developments_ Intensivation and modernization of agriculture led to strong population increases especially in the Yangtze valley from Sung time on. Thus, in this area commerce and industry also developed most quickly. Urbanization was greatest here. Nanking, the new Ming capital, grew tremendously because of the presence of the court and administration, and even when later the capital was moved, Nanking continued to remain the cultural capital of China. The urban population needed textiles and food. From Ming time on, fashions changed quickly as soon as government regulations which determined colour and material of the dress of each social class were relaxed or as soon as they could be circumvented by bribery or ingenious devices. Now, only factories could produce the amounts which the consumers wanted. We hear of many men who started out with one loom and later ended up with over forty looms, employing many weavers. Shanghai began to emerge as a centre of cotton cloth production. A system of middle-men developed who bought raw cotton and raw silk from the producers and sold it to factories. Consumption in the Yangtze cities raised the value of the land around the cities. The small farmers who were squeezed out, migrated to the south. Absentee landlords in cities relied partly on migratory, seasonal labour supplied by small farmers from Chekiang who came to the Yangtze area after they had finished their own harvest. More and more, vegetables and mulberries or cotton were planted in the vicinity of the cities. As rice prices went up quickly a large organization of rice merchants grew up. They ran large ships up to Hankow where they bought rice which was brought down from Hunan in river boats by smaller merchants. The small merchants again made contracts with the local gentry who bought as much rice from the producers as they could and sold it to these grain merchants. Thus, local grain prices went up and we hear of cases where the local population attacked the grain boats in order to prevent the depletion of local markets. Next to these grain merchants, the above-mentioned salt merchants have to be mentioned again. Their centre soon became the city of Hsin-an, a city on the border of Chekiang and Anhui, or in more general terms, the cities in the district of Hui-chou. When the grain transportation to the frontiers came to an end in early Ming time, the Hsin-an merchants specialized first in silver trade. Later in Ming time, they spread their activities all over China and often monopolized the salt, silver, rice, cotton, silk or tea businesses. In the sixteenth century they had well-established contacts with smugglers on the Fukien coast and brought foreign goods into the interior. Their home was also close to the main centres of porcelain production in Kiangsi which was exported to overseas and to the urban centres. The demand for porcelain had increased so much that state factories could not fulfil it. The state factories seem often to have suffered from a lack of labour: indented artisans were imported from other provinces and later sent back on state expenses or were taken away from other state industries. Thus, private porcelain factories began to develop, and in connection with quickly changing fashions a great diversification of porcelain occurred. One other industry should also be mentioned. With the development of printing, which will be discussed below, the paper industry was greatly stimulated. The state also needed special types of paper for the paper currency. Printing and book selling became a profitable business, and with the application of block print to textiles (probably first used in Sung time) another new field of commercial activity was opened. As already mentioned, silver in form of bars had been increasingly used as currency in Sung time. The yearly government production of silver was _c_. 10,000 kg. Mongol currency was actually based upon silver. The Ming, however, reverted to copper as basic unit, in addition to the use of paper money. This encouraged the use of silver for speculative purposes. The development of business changed the face of cities. From Sung time on, the division of cities into wards with gates which were closed during the night, began to break down. Ming cities had no more wards. Business was no more restricted to official markets but grew up in all parts of the cities. The individual trades were no more necessarily all in one street. Shops did not have to close at sunset. The guilds developed and in some cases were able to exercise locally some influence upon the officials. 6 _Growth of the small gentry_ With the spread of book printing, all kinds of books became easily accessible, including reprints of examination papers. Even businessmen and farmers increasingly learned to read and to write, and many people now could prepare themselves for the examinations. Attendance, however, at the examinations cost a good deal. The candidate had to travel to the local or provincial capital, and for the higher examinations to the capital of the country; he had to live there for several months and, as a rule, had to bribe the examiners or at least to gain the favour of influential people. There were many cases of candidates becoming destitute. Most of them were heavily in debt when at last they gained a position. They naturally set to work at once to pay their debts out of their salary, and to accumulate fresh capital to meet future emergencies. The salaries of officials were, however, so small that it was impossible to make ends meet; and at the same time every official was liable with his own capital for the receipt in full of the taxes for the collection of which he was responsible. Consequently every official began at once to collect more taxes than were really due, so as to be able to cover any deficits, and also to cover his own cost of living--including not only the repayment of his debts but the acquisition of capital or land so as to rise in the social scale. The old gentry had been rich landowners, and had no need to exploit the peasants on such a scale. The Chinese empire was greater than it had been before the Mongol epoch, and the population was also greater, so that more officials were needed. Thus in the Ming epoch there began a certain democratization, larger sections of the population having the opportunity of gaining government positions; but this democratization brought no benefit to the general population but resulted in further exploitation of the peasants. The new "small gentry" did not consist of great families like the original gentry. When, therefore, people of that class wanted to play a political part in the central government, or to gain a position there, they had either to get into close touch with one of the families of the gentry, or to try to approach the emperor directly. In the immediate entourage of the emperor, however, were the eunuchs. A good many members of the new class had themselves castrated after they had passed their state examination. Originally eunuchs were forbidden to acquire education. But soon the Ming emperors used the eunuchs as a tool to counteract the power of gentry cliques and thus to strengthen their personal power. When, later, eunuchs controlled appointments to government posts, long established practices of bureaucratic administration were eliminated and the court, i.e. the emperor and his tools, the eunuchs, could create a rule by way of arbitrary decisions, a despotic rule. For such purposes, eunuchs had to have education, and these new educated eunuchs, when they had once secured a position, were able to gain great influence in the immediate entourage of the emperor; later such educated eunuchs were preferred, especially as many offices were created which were only filled by eunuchs and for which educated eunuchs were needed. Whole departments of eunuchs came into existence at court, and these were soon made use of for confidential business of the emperor's outside the palace. These eunuchs worked, of course, in the interest of their families. On the other hand, they were very ready to accept large bribes from the gentry for placing the desires of people of the gentry before the emperor and gaining his consent. Thus the eunuchs generally accumulated great wealth, which they shared with their small gentry relatives. The rise of the small gentry class was therefore connected with the increased influence of the eunuchs at court. 7 _Literature, art, crafts_ The growth of the small gentry which had its stronghold in the provincial towns and cities, as well as the rise of the merchant class and the liberation of the artisans, are reflected in the new literature of Ming time. While the Mongols had developed the theatre, the novel may be regarded as the typical Ming creation. Its precursors were the stories of story-tellers centuries ago. They had developed many styles, one of which, for instance, consisted of prose with intercalated poetic parts (_pien-wen_). Buddhists monks had used these forms of popular literature and spread their teachings in similar forms; due to them, many Indian stories and tales found their way into the Chinese folklore. Soon, these stories of story-tellers or monks were written down, and out of them developed the Chinese classical novel. It preserved many traits of the stories: it was cut into chapters corresponding with the interruptions which the story-teller made in order to collect money; it was interspersed with poems. But most of all, it was written in everyday language, not in the language of the gentry. To this day every Chinese knows and reads with enthusiasm _Shui-hu-chuan_ ("The Story of the River Bank"), probably written about 1550 by Wang Tao-k'un, in which the ruling class was first described in its decay. Against it are held up as ideals representatives of the middle class in the guise of the gentleman brigand. Every Chinese also knows the great satirical novel _Hsi-yu-chi_ ("The Westward Journey"), by Feng Meng-lung (1574-1645), in which ironical treatment is meted out to all religions and sects against a mythological background, with a freedom that would not have been possible earlier. The characters are not presented as individuals but as representatives of human types: the intellectual, the hedonist, the pious man, and the simpleton, are drawn with incomparable skill, with their merits and defects. A third famous novel is _San-kuo yen-i_ ("The Tale of the Three Kingdoms"), by Lo Kuan-chung. Just as the European middle class read with avidity the romances of chivalry, so the comfortable class in China was enthusiastic over romanticized pictures of the struggle of the gentry in the third century. "The Tale of the Three Kingdoms" became the model for countless historical novels of its own and subsequent periods. Later, mainly in the sixteenth century, the sensational and erotic novel developed, most of all in Nanking. It has deeply influenced Japanese writers, but was mercilessly suppressed by the Chinese gentry which resented the frivolity of this wealthy and luxurious urban class of middle or small gentry families who associated with rich merchants, actors, artists and musicians. Censorship of printed books had started almost with the beginning of book printing as a private enterprise: to the famous historian, anti-Buddhist and conservative Ou-yang Hsiu (1007-1072), the enemy of Wang An-shih, belongs the sad glory of having developed the first censorship rules. Since Ming time, it became a permanent feature of Chinese governments. The best known of the erotic novels is the _Chin-p'ing-mei_ which, for reasons of our own censors can be published only in expurgated translations. It was written probably towards the end of the sixteenth century. This novel, as all others, has been written and re-written by many authors, so that many different versions exist. It might be pointed out that many novels were printed in Hui-chou, the commercial centre of the time. The short story which formerly served the entertainment of the educated only and which was, therefore, written in classical Chinese, now also became a literary form appreciated by the middle classes. The collection _Chin-ku ch'i-kuan_ ("Strange Stories of New Times and Old"), compiled by Feng Meng-lung, is the best-known of these collections in vernacular Chinese. Little original work was done in the Ming epoch in the fields generally regarded as "literature" by educated Chinese, those of poetry and the essay. There are some admirable essays, but these are only isolated examples out of thousands. So also with poetry: the poets of the gentry, united in "clubs", chose the poets of the Sung epoch as their models to emulate. The Chinese drama made further progress in the Ming epoch. Many of the finest Chinese dramas were written under the Ming; they are still produced again and again to this day. The most famous dramatists of the Ming epoch are Wang Shih-chen (1526-1590) and T'ang Hsien-tsu (1556-1617). T'ang wrote the well-known drama _Mu-tan-ting_ ("The Peony Pavilion"), one of the finest love-stories of Chinese literature, full of romance and remote from all reality. This is true also of the other dramas by T'ang, especially his "Four Dreams", a series of four plays. In them a man lives in dream through many years of his future life, with the result that he realizes the worthlessness of life and decides to become a monk. Together with the development of the drama (or, rather, the opera) in the Ming epoch went an important endeavour in the modernization of music, the attempt to create a "well-tempered scale" made in 1584 by Chu Tsai-yü. This solved in China a problem which was not tackled till later in Europe. The first Chinese theorists of music who occupied themselves with this problem were Ching Fang (77-37 B.C.) and Ho Ch'êng-t'ien (A.D. 370-447). In the Mongol epoch, most of the Chinese painters had lived in central China; this remained so in the Ming epoch. Of the many painters of the Ming epoch, all held in high esteem in China, mention must be made especially of Ch'in Ying (_c_. 1525), T'ang Yin (1470-1523), and Tung Ch'i-ch'ang (1555-1636). Ch'in Ying painted in the Academic Style, indicating every detail, however small, and showing preference for a turquoise-green ground. T'ang Yin was the painter of elegant women; Tung became famous especially as a calligraphist and a theoretician of the art of painting; a textbook of the art was written by him. Just as puppet plays and shadow theatre are the "opera of the common man" and took a new development in Ming time, the wood-cut and block-printing developed largely as a cheap substitute of real paintings. The new urbanites wanted to have paintings of the masters and found in the wood-cut which soon became a multi-colour print a cheap mass medium. Block printing in colours, developed in the Yangtze valley, was adopted by Japan and found its highest refinement there. But the Ming are also famous for their monumental architecture which largely followed Mongol patterns. Among the most famous examples is the famous Great Wall which had been in dilapidation and was rebuilt; the great city walls of Peking; and large parts of the palaces of Peking, begun in the Mongol epoch. It was at this time that the official style which we may observe to this day in North China was developed, the style employed everywhere, until in the age of concrete it lost its justification. In the Ming epoch the porcelain with blue decoration on a white ground became general; the first examples, from the famous kilns in Ching-te-chen, in the province of Kiangsi, were relatively coarse, but in the fifteenth century the production was much finer. In the sixteenth century the quality deteriorated, owing to the disuse of the cobalt from the Middle East (perhaps from Persia) in favour of Sumatra cobalt, which did not yield the same brilliant colour. In the Ming epoch there also appeared the first brilliant red colour, a product of iron, and a start was then made with three-colour porcelain (with lead glaze) or five-colour (enamel). The many porcelains exported to western Asia and Europe first influenced European ceramics (Delft), and then were imitated in Europe (Böttger); the early European porcelains long showed Chinese influence (the so-called onion pattern, blue on a white ground). In addition to the porcelain of the Ming epoch, of which the finest specimens are in the palace at Istanbul, especially famous are the lacquers (carved lacquer, lacquer painting, gold lacquer) of the Ming epoch and the cloisonné work of the same period. These are closely associated with the contemporary work in Japan. 8 _Politics at court_ After the founding of the dynasty by Chu Yüan-chang, important questions had to be dealt with apart from the social legislation. What was to be done, for instance, with Chu's helpers? Chu, like many revolutionaries before and after him, recognized that these people had been serviceable in the years of struggle but could no longer remain useful. He got rid of them by the simple device of setting one against another so that they murdered one another. In the first decades of his rule the dangerous cliques of gentry had formed again, and were engaged in mutual struggles. The most formidable clique was led by Hu Wei-yung. Hu was a man of the gentry of Chu's old homeland, and one of his oldest supporters. Hu and his relations controlled the country after 1370, until in 1380 Chu succeeded in beheading Hu and exterminating his clique. New cliques formed before long and were exterminated in turn. Chu had founded Nanking in the years of revolution, and he made it his capital. In so doing he met the wishes of the rich grain producers of the Yangtze delta. But the north was the most threatened part of his empire, so that troops had to be permanently stationed there in considerable strength. Thus Peking, where Chu placed one of his sons as "king", was a post of exceptional importance. In Chu Yüan-chang's last years (he was named T'ai Tsu as emperor) difficulties arose in regard to the dynasty. The heir to the throne died in 1391; and when the emperor himself died in 1398, the son of the late heir-apparent was installed as emperor (Hui Ti, 1399-1402). This choice had the support of some of the influential Confucian gentry families of the south. But a protest against his enthronement came from the other son of Chu Yüan-chang, who as king in Peking had hoped to become emperor. With his strong army this prince, Ch'eng Tsu, marched south and captured Nanking, where the palaces were burnt down. There was a great massacre of supporters of the young emperor, and the victor made himself emperor (better known under his reign name, Yung-lo). As he had established himself in Peking, he transferred the capital to Peking, where it remained throughout the Ming epoch. Nanking became a sort of subsidiary capital. This transfer of the capital to the north, as the result of the victory of the military party and Buddhists allied to them, produced a new element of instability: the north was of military importance, but the Yangtze region remained the economic centre of the country. The interests of the gentry of the Yangtze region were injured by the transfer. The first Ming emperor had taken care to make his court resemble the court of the Mongol rulers, but on the whole had exercised relative economy. Yung-lo (1403-1424), however, lived in the actual palaces of the Mongol rulers, and all the luxury of the Mongol epoch was revived. This made the reign of Yung-lo the most magnificent period of the Ming epoch, but beneath the surface decay had begun. Typical of the unmitigated absolutism which developed now, was the word of one of the emperor's political and military advisors, significantly a Buddhist monk: "I know the way of heaven. Why discuss the hearts of the people?" 9 _Navy. Southward expansion_ After the collapse of Mongol rule in Indo-China, partly through the simple withdrawal of the Mongols, and partly through attacks from various Chinese generals, there were independence movements in south-west China and Indo-China. In 1393 wars broke out in Annam. Yung-lo considered that the time had come to annex these regions to China and so to open a new field for Chinese trade, which was suffering continual disturbance from the Japanese. He sent armies to Yünnan and Indo-China; at the same time he had a fleet built by one of his eunuchs, Cheng Ho. The fleet was successfully protected from attack by the Japanese. Cheng Ho, who had promoted the plan and also carried it out, began in 1405 his famous mission to Indo-China, which had been envisaged as giving at least moral support to the land operations, but was also intended to renew trade connections with Indo-China, where they had been interrupted by the collapse of Mongol rule. Cheng Ho sailed past Indo-China and ultimately reached the coast of Arabia. His account of his voyage is an important source of information about conditions in southern Asia early in the fifteenth century. Cheng Ho and his fleet made some further cruises, but they were discontinued. There may have been several reasons, (1) As state enterprises, the expeditions were very costly. Foreign goods could be obtained more cheaply and with less trouble if foreign merchants came themselves to China or Chinese merchants travelled at their own risk. (2) The moral success of the naval enterprises was assured. China was recognized as a power throughout southern Asia, and Annam had been reconquered. (3) After the collapse of the Mongol emperor Timur, who died in 1406, there no longer existed any great power in Central Asia, so that trade missions from the kingdom of the Shahruk in North Persia were able to make their way to China, including the famous mission of 1409-1411. (4) Finally, the fleet would have had to be permanently guarded against the Japanese, as it had been stationed not in South China but in the Yangtze region. As early as 1411 the canals had been repaired, and from 1415 onward all the traffic of the country went by the canals, so evading the Japanese peril. This ended the short chapter of Chinese naval history. These travels of Cheng Ho seem to have had one more cultural result: a large number of fairy-tales from the Middle East were brought to China, or at all events reached China at that time. The Chinese, being a realistically-minded people, have produced few fairy-tales of their own. The bulk of their finest fairy-tales were brought by Buddhist monks, in the course of the first millennium A.D., from India by way of Central Asia. The Buddhists made use of them to render their sermons more interesting and impressive. As time went on, these stories spread all over China, modified in harmony with the spirit of the people and adapted to the Chinese environment. Only the fables failed to strike root in China: the matter-of-fact Chinese was not interested in animals that talked and behaved to each other like human beings. In addition, however, to these early fairy-tales, there was another group of stories that did not spread throughout China, but were found only in the south-eastern coastal provinces. These came from the Middle East, especially from Persia. The fairy-tales of Indian origin spread not only to Central Asia but at the same time to Persia, where they found a very congenial soil. The Persians made radical changes in the stories and gave them the form in which they came to Europe by various routes--through North Africa to Spain and France; through Constantinople, Venice, or Genoa to France; through Russian Turkestan to Russia, Finland, and Sweden; through Turkey and the Balkans to Hungary and Germany. Thus the stories found a European home. And this same Persian form was carried by sea in Cheng Ho's time to South China. Thus we have the strange experience of finding some of our own finest fairy-tales in almost the same form in South China. 10 _Struggles between cliques_ Yung-lo's successor died early. Under the latter's son, the emperor Hsüan Tsung (1426-1435; reign name Hsüan-tê), fixed numbers of candidates were assigned for the state examinations. It had been found that almost the whole of the gentry in the Yangtze region sat at the examinations; and that at these examinations their representatives made sure, through their mutual relations, that only their members should pass, so that the candidates from the north were virtually excluded. The important military clique in the north protested against this, and a compromise was arrived at: at every examination one-third of the candidates must come from the north and two-thirds from the south. This system lasted for a long time, and led to many disputes. At his death Hsüan Tsung left the empire to his eight-year-old son Ying Tsung (1436-49 and 1459-64), who was entirely in the hands of the Yang clique, which was associated with his grandmother. Soon, however, another clique, led by the eunuch Wang Chen, gained the upper hand at court. The Mongols were very active at this time, and made several raids on the province of Shansi; Wang Chen proposed a great campaign against them, and in this campaign he took with him the young emperor, who had reached his twenty-first birthday in 1449. The emperor had grown up in the palace and knew nothing of the world outside; he was therefore glad to go with Wang Chen; but that eunuch had also lived in the palace and also knew nothing of the world, and in particular of war. Consequently he failed in the organization of reinforcements for his army, some 100,000 strong; after a few brief engagements the Oirat-Mongol prince Esen had the imperial army surrounded and the emperor a prisoner. The eunuch Wang Chen came to his end, and his clique, of course, no longer counted. The Mongols had no intention of killing the emperor; they proposed to hold him to ransom, at a high price. The various cliques at court cared little, however, about their ruler. After the fall of the Wang clique there were two others, of which one, that of General Yü, became particularly powerful, as he had been able to repel a Mongol attack on Peking. Yü proclaimed a new emperor--not the captive emperor's son, a baby, but his brother, who became the emperor Ching Tsung. The Yang clique insisted on the rights of the imperial baby. From all this the Mongols saw that the Chinese were not inclined to spend a lot of money on their imperial captive. Accordingly they made an enormous reduction in the ransom demanded, and more or less forced the Chinese to take back their former emperor. The Mongols hoped that this would at least produce political disturbances by which they might profit, once the old emperor was back in Peking. And this did soon happen. At first the ransomed emperor was pushed out of sight into a palace, and Ching Tsung continued to reign. But in 1456 Ching Tsung fell ill, and a successor to him had to be chosen. The Yü clique wanted to have the son of Ching Tsung; the Yang clique wanted the son of the deposed emperor Ying Tsung. No agreement was reached, so that in the end a third clique, led by the soldier Shih Hêng, who had helped to defend Peking against the Mongols, found its opportunity, and by a _coup d'état_ reinstated the deposed emperor Ying Tsung. This was not done out of love for the emperor, but because Shih Hêng hoped that under the rule of the completely incompetent Ying Tsung he could best carry out a plan of his own, to set up his own dynasty. It is not so easy, however, to carry a conspiracy to success when there are several rival parties, each of which is ready to betray any of the others. Shih Hêng's plan became known before long, and he himself was beheaded (1460). The next forty years were filled with struggles between cliques, which steadily grew in ferocity, particularly since a special office, a sort of secret police headquarters, was set up in the palace, with functions which it extended beyond the palace, with the result that many people were arrested and disappeared. This office was set up by the eunuchs and the clique at their back, and was the first dictatorial organ created in the course of a development towards despotism that made steady progress in these years. In 1505 Wu Tsung came to the throne, an inexperienced youth of fifteen who was entirely controlled by the eunuchs who had brought him up. The leader of the eunuchs was Liu Chin, who had the support of a group of people of the gentry and the middle class. Liu Chin succeeded within a year in getting rid of the eunuchs at court who belonged to other cliques and were working against him. After that he proceeded to establish his power. He secured in entirely official form the emperor's permission for him to issue all commands himself; the emperor devoted himself only to his pleasures, and care was taken that they should keep him sufficiently occupied to have no chance to notice what was going on in the country. The first important decree issued by Liu Chin resulted in the removal from office or the punishment or murder of over three hundred prominent persons, the leaders of the cliques opposed to him. He filled their posts with his own supporters, until all the higher posts in every department were in the hands of members of his group. He collected large sums of money which he quite openly extracted from the provinces as a special tax for his own benefit. When later his house was searched there were found 240,000 bars and 57,800 pieces of gold (a bar was equivalent of ten pieces), 791,800 ounces and 5,000,000 bars of silver (a bar was five ounces), three bushels of precious stones, two gold cuirasses, 3,000 gold rings, and much else--of a total value exceeding the annual budget of the state! The treasure was to have been used to finance a revolt planned by Liu Chin and his supporters. Among the people whom Liu Chin had punished were several members of the former clique of the Yang, and also the philosopher Wang Yang-ming, who later became so famous, a member of the Wang family which was allied to the Yang. In 1510 the Yang won over one of the eunuchs in the palace and so became acquainted with Liu Chin's plans. When a revolt broke out in western China, this eunuch (whose political allegiance was, of course, unknown to Liu Chin) secured appointment as army commander. With the army intended for the crushing of the revolt, Liu Chin's palace was attacked when he was asleep, and he and all his supporters were arrested. Thus the other group came into power in the palace, including the philosopher Wang Yang-ming (1473-1529). Liu Chin's rule had done great harm to the country, as enormous taxation had been expended for the private benefit of his clique. On top of this had been the young emperor's extravagance: his latest pleasures had been the building of palaces and the carrying out of military games; he constantly assumed new military titles and was burning to go to war. 11 _Risings_ The emperor might have had a good opportunity for fighting, for his misrule had resulted in a great popular rising which began in the west, in Szechwan, and then spread to the east. As always, the rising was joined by some ruined scholars, and the movement, which had at first been directed against the gentry as such, was turned into a movement against the government of the moment. No longer were all the wealthy and all officials murdered, but only those who did not join the movement. In 1512 the rebels were finally overcome, not so much by any military capacity of the government armies as through the loss of the rebels' fleet of boats in a typhoon. In 1517 a new favourite of the emperor's induced him to make a great tour in the north, to which the favourite belonged. The tour and the hunting greatly pleased the emperor, so that he continued his journeying. This was the year in which the Portuguese Fernão Pires de Andrade landed in Canton--the first modern European to enter China. In 1518 Wang Yang-ming, the philosopher general, crushed a rising in Kiangsi. The rising had been the outcome of years of unrest, which had two causes: native risings of the sort we described above, and loss for the gentry due to the transfer of the capital. The province of Kiangsi was a part of the Yangtze region, and the great landowners there had lived on the profit from their supplies to Nanking. When the capital was moved to Peking, their takings fell. They placed themselves under a prince who lived in Nanking. This prince regarded Wang Yang-ming's move into Kiangsi as a threat to him, and so rose openly against the government and supported the Kiangsi gentry. Wang Yang-ming defeated him, and so came into the highest favour with the incompetent emperor. When peace had been restored in Nanking, the emperor dressed himself up as an army commander, marched south, and made a triumphal entry into Nanking. One other aspect of Wang Yang-ming's expeditions has not yet been studied: he crushed also the so-called salt-merchant rebels in the southernmost part of Kiangsi and adjoining Kwangtung. These merchants-turned-rebels had dominated a small area, off and on since the eleventh century. At this moment, they seem to have had connections with the rich inland merchants of Hsin-an and perhaps also with foreigners. Information is still too scanty to give more details, but a local movement as persistent as this one deserves attention. Wang Yang-ming became acquainted as early as 1519 with the first European rifles, imported by the Portuguese who had landed in 1517. (The Chinese then called them Fu-lan-chi, meaning Franks. Wang was the first Chinese who spoke of the "Franks".) The Chinese had already had mortars which hurled stones, as early as the second century A.D. In the seventh or eighth century their mortars had sent stones of a couple of hundredweights some four hundred yards. There is mention in the eleventh century of cannon which apparently shot with a charge of a sort of gunpowder. The Mongols were already using true cannon in their sieges. In 1519, the first Portuguese were presented to the Chinese emperor in Nanking, where they were entertained for about a year in a hostel, a certain Lin Hsün learned about their rifles and copied them for Wang Yang-ming. In general, however, the Chinese had no respect for the Europeans, whom they described as "bandits" who had expelled the lawful king of Malacca and had now come to China as its representatives. Later they were regarded as a sort of Japanese, because they, too, practiced piracy. 12 _Machiavellism_ All main schools of Chinese philosophy were still based on Confucius. Wang Yang-ming's philosophy also followed Confucius, but he liberated himself from the Neo-Confucian tendency as represented by Chu Hsi, which started in the Sung epoch and continued to rule in China in his time and after him; he introduced into Confucian philosophy the conception of "intuition". He regarded intuition as the decisive philosophic experience; only through intuition could man come to true knowledge. This idea shows an element of meditative Buddhism along lines which the philosopher Lu Hsiang-shan (1139-1192) had first developed, while classical Neo-Confucianism was more an integration of monastic Buddhism into Confucianism. Lu had felt himself close to Wang An-shih (1021-1086), and this whole school, representing the small gentry of the Yangtze area, was called the Southern or the Lin-ch'uan school, Lin-ch'uan in Kiangsi being Wang An-shih's home. During the Mongol period, a Taoist group, the _Cheng-i-chiao_ (Correct Unity Sect) had developed in Lin-ch'uan and had accepted some of the Lin-ch'uan school's ideas. Originally, this group was a continuation of Chang Ling's church Taoism. Through the _Cheng-i_ adherents, the Southern school had gained political influence on the despotic Mongol rulers. The despotic Yung-lo emperor had favoured the monk Tao-yen (_c_. 1338-1418) who had also Taoist training and proposed a philosophy which also stressed intuition. He was, incidentally, in charge of the compilation of the largest encyclopaedia ever written, the _Yung-lo ta-tien_ commissioned by the Yung-lo emperor. Wang Yang-ming followed the Lin-ch'uan tradition. The introduction of the conception of intuition, a highly subjective conception, into the system of a practical state philosophy like Confucianism could not but lead in the practice of the statesman to Machiavellism. The statesman who followed the teaching of Wang Yang-ming had the opportunity of justifying whatever he did by his intuition. Wang Yang-ming failed to gain acceptance for his philosophy. His disciples also failed to establish his doctrine in China, because it served the interests of an individual despot against those of the gentry as a class, and the middle class, which might have formed a counterweight against them, was not yet politically ripe for the seizure of the opportunity here offered to it. In Japan, however, Wang's doctrine gained many followers, because it admirably served the dictatorial state system which had developed in that country. Incidentally, Chiang Kai-shek in those years in which he showed Fascist tendencies, also got interested in Wang Yang-ming. 13 _Foreign relations in the sixteenth century_ The feeble emperor Wu Tsung died in 1521, after an ineffective reign, without leaving an heir. The clique then in power at court looked among the possible pretenders for the one who seemed least likely to do anything, and their choice fell on the fifteen-year-old Shih Tsung, who was made emperor. The forty-five years of his reign were filled in home affairs with intrigues between the cliques at court, with growing distress in the country, and with revolts on a larger and larger scale. Abroad there were wars with Annam, increasing raids by the Japanese, and, above all, long-continued fighting against the famous Mongol ruler Yen-ta, from 1549 onward. At one time Yen-ta reached Peking and laid siege to it. The emperor, who had no knowledge of affairs, and to whom Yen-ta had been represented as a petty bandit, was utterly dismayed and ready to do whatever Yen-ta asked; in the end he was dissuaded from this, and an agreement was arrived at with Yen-ta for state-controlled markets to be set up along the frontier, where the Mongols could dispose of their goods against Chinese goods on very favourable terms. After further difficulties lasting many years, a compromise was arrived at: the Mongols were earning good profits from the markets, and in 1571 Yen-ta accepted a Chinese title. On the Chinese side, this Mongol trade, which continued in rather different form in the Manchu epoch, led to the formation of a local merchant class in the frontier province of Shansi, with great experience in credit business; later the first Chinese bankers came almost entirely from this quarter. After a brief interregnum there came once more to the throne a ten-year-old boy, the emperor Shen Tsung (reign name Wan-li; 1573-1619). He, too, was entirely under the influence of various cliques, at first that of his tutor, the scholar Chang Chü-chan. About the time of the death, in 1582, of Yen-ta we hear for the first time of a new people. In 1581 there had been unrest in southern Manchuria. The Mongolian tribal federation of the Tümet attacked China, and there resulted collisions not only with the Chinese but between the different tribes living there. In southern and central Manchuria were remnants of the Tungus Juchên. The Mongols had subjugated the Juchên, but the latter had virtually become independent after the collapse of Mongol rule over China. They had formed several tribal alliances, but in 1581-83 these fought each other, so that one of the alliances to all intents was destroyed. The Chinese intervened as mediators in these struggles, and drew a demarcation line between the territories of the various Tungus tribes. All this is only worth mention because it was from these tribes that there developed the tribal league of the Manchus, who were then to rule China for some three hundred years. In 1592 the Japanese invaded Korea. This was their first real effort to set foot on the continent, a purely imperialistic move. Korea, as a Chinese vassal, appealed for Chinese aid. At first the Chinese army had no success, but in 1598 the Japanese were forced to abandon Korea. They revenged themselves by intensifying their raids on the coast of central China; they often massacred whole towns, and burned down the looted houses. The fighting in Korea had its influence on the Tungus tribes: as they were not directly involved, it contributed to their further strengthening. The East India Company was founded in 1600. At this time, while the English were trying to establish themselves in India, the Chinese tried to gain increased influence in the south by wars in Annam, Burma, and Thailand (1594-1604). These wars were for China colonial wars, similar to the colonial fighting by the British in India. But there began to be defined already at that time in the south of Asia the outlines of the states as they exist at the present time. In 1601 the first European, the Jesuit Matteo Ricci, succeeded in gaining access to the Chinese court, through the agency of a eunuch. He made some presents, and the Chinese regarded his visit as a mission from Europe bringing tribute. Ricci was therefore permitted to remain in Peking. He was an astronomer and was able to demonstrate to his Chinese colleagues the latest achievements of European astronomy. In 1613, after Ricci's death, the Jesuits and some Chinese whom they had converted were commissioned to reform the Chinese calendar. In the time of the Mongols, Arabs had been at work in Peking as astronomers, and their influence had continued under the Ming until the Europeans came. By his astronomical labours Ricci won a place of honour in Chinese literature; he is the European most often mentioned. The missionary work was less effective. The missionaries penetrated by the old trade routes from Canton and Macao into the province of Kiangsi and then into Nanking. Kiangsi and Nanking were their chief centres. They soon realized that missionary activity that began in the lower strata would have no success; it was necessary to work from above, beginning with the emperor, and then, they hoped, the whole country could be converted to Christianity. When later the emperors of the Ming dynasty were expelled and fugitives in South China, one of the pretenders to the throne was actually converted--but it was politically too late. The missionaries had, moreover, mistaken ideas as to the nature of Chinese religion; we know today that a universal adoption of Christianity in China would have been impossible even if an emperor had personally adopted that foreign faith: there were emperors who had been interested in Buddhism or in Taoism, but that had been their private affair and had never prevented them, as heads of the state, from promoting the religious system which politically was the most expedient--that is to say, usually Confucianism. What we have said here in regard to the Christian mission at the Ming court is applicable also to the missionaries at the court of the first Manchu emperors, in the seventeenth century. Early in the eighteenth century missionary activity was prohibited--not for religious but for political reasons, and only under the pressure of the Capitulations in the nineteenth century were the missionaries enabled to resume their labours. 14 _External and internal perils_ Towards the end of the reign of Wan-li, about 1620, the danger that threatened the empire became more and more evident. The Manchus complained, no doubt with justice, of excesses on the part of Chinese officials; the friction constantly increased, and the Manchus began to attack the Chinese cities in Manchuria. In 1616, after his first considerable successes, their leader Nurhachu assumed the imperial title; the name of the dynasty was Tai Ch'ing (interpreted as "The great clarity", but probably a transliteration of a Manchurian word meaning "hero"). In 1618, the year in which the Thirty Years War started in Europe, the Manchus conquered the greater part of Manchuria, and in 1621 their capital was Liaoyang, then the largest town in Manchuria. But the Manchu menace was far from being the only one. On the south-east coast a pirate made himself independent; later, with his family, he dominated Formosa and fought many battles with the Europeans there (European sources call him Coxinga). In western China there came a great popular rising, in which some of the natives joined, and which spread through a large part of the southern provinces. This rising was particularly sanguinary, and when it was ultimately crushed by the Manchus the province of Szechwan, formerly so populous, was almost depopulated, so that it had later to be resettled. And in the province of Shantung in the east there came another great rising, also very sanguinary, that of the secret society of the "White Lotus". We have already pointed out that these risings of secret societies were always a sign of intolerable conditions among the peasantry. This was now the case once more. All the elements of danger which we mentioned at the outset of this chapter began during this period, between 1610 and 1640, to develop to the full. Then there were the conditions in the capital itself. The struggles between cliques came to a climax. On the death of Shen Tsung (or Wan-li; 1573-1619), he was succeeded by his son, who died scarcely a month later, and then by his sixteen-year-old grandson. The grandson had been from his earliest youth under the influence of a eunuch, Wei Chung-hsien, who had castrated himself. With the emperor's wet-nurse and other people, mostly of the middle class, this man formed a powerful group. The moment the new emperor ascended the throne, Wei was all-powerful. He began by murdering every eunuch who did not belong to his clique, and then murdered the rest of his opponents. Meanwhile the gentry had concluded among themselves a defensive alliance that was a sort of party; this party was called the Tung-lin Academy. It was confined to literati among the gentry, and included in particular the literati who had failed to make their way at court, and who lived on their estates in Central China and were trying to gain power themselves. This group was opposed to Wei Chung-hsien, who ruthlessly had every discoverable member murdered. The remainder went into hiding and organized themselves secretly under another name. As the new emperor had no son, the attempt was made to foist a son upon him; at his death in 1627, eight women of the harem were suddenly found to be pregnant! He was succeeded by his brother, who was one of the opponents of Wei Chung-hsien and, with the aid of the opposing clique, was able to bring him to his end. The new emperor tried to restore order at court and in the capital by means of political and economic decrees, but in spite of his good intentions and his unquestionable capacity he was unable to cope with the universal confusion. There was insurrection in every part of the country. The gentry, organized in their "Academies", and secretly at work in the provinces, no longer supported the government; the central power no longer had adequate revenues, so that it was unable to pay the armies that should have marched against all the rebels and also against external enemies. It was clear that the dynasty was approaching its end, and the only uncertainty was as to its successor. The various insurgents negotiated or fought with each other; generals loyal to the government won occasional successes against the rebels; other generals went over to the rebels or to the Manchus. The two most successful leaders of bands were Li Tz[)u]-ch'êng and Chang Hsien-chung. Li came from the province of Shensi; he had come to the fore during a disastrous famine in his country. The years around 1640 brought several widespread droughts in North China, a natural phenomenon that was repeated in the nineteenth century, when unrest again ensued. Chang Hsien-chung returned for a time to the support of the government, but later established himself in western China. It was typical, however, of all these insurgents that none of them had any great objective in view. They wanted to get enough to eat for themselves and their followers; they wanted to enrich themselves by conquest; but they were incapable of building up an ordered and new administration. Li ultimately made himself "king" in the province of Shensi and called his dynasty "Shun", but this made no difference: there was no distribution of land among the peasants serving in Li's army; no plan was set into operation for the collection of taxes; not one of the pressing problems was faced. Meanwhile the Manchus were gaining support. Almost all the Mongol princes voluntarily joined them and took part in the raids into North China. In 1637 the united Manchus and Mongols conquered Korea. Their power steadily grew. What the insurgents in China failed to achieve, the Manchus achieved with the aid of their Chinese advisers: they created a new military organization, the "Banner Organization". The men fit for service were distributed among eight "banners", and these banners became the basis of the Manchu state administration. By this device the Manchus emerged from the stage of tribal union, just as before them Turks and other northern peoples had several times abandoned the traditional authority of a hierarchy of tribal leaders, a system of ruling families, in favour of the authority, based on efficiency, of military leaders. At the same time the Manchus set up a central government with special ministries on the Chinese model. In 1638 the Manchus appeared before Peking, but they retired once more. Manchu armies even reached the province of Shantung. They were hampered by the death at the critical moment of the Manchu ruler Abahai (1626-1643). His son Fu Lin was not entirely normal and was barely six years old; there was a regency of princes, the most prominent among them being Prince Dorgon. Meanwhile Li Tz[)u]-ch'êng broke through to Peking. The city had a strong garrison, but owing to the disorganization of the government the different commanders were working against each other; and the soldiers had no fighting spirit because they had no pay for a long time. Thus the city fell, on April 24th, 1644, and the last Ming emperor killed himself. A prince was proclaimed emperor; he fled through western and southern China, continually trying to make a stand, but it was too late; without the support of the gentry he had no resource, and ultimately, in 1659, he was compelled to flee into Burma. Thus Li Tz[)u]-ch'êng was now emperor. It should have been his task rapidly to build up a government, and to take up arms against the other rebels and against the Manchus. Instead of this he behaved in such a way that he was unable to gain any support from the existing officials in the capital; and as there was no one among his former supporters who had any positive, constructive ideas, just nothing was done. This, however, improved the chances of all the other aspirants to the imperial throne. The first to realize this clearly, and also to possess enough political sagacity to avoid alienating the gentry, was General Wu San-kui, who was commanding on the Manchu front. He saw that in the existing conditions in the capital he could easily secure the imperial throne for himself if only he had enough soldiers. Accordingly he negotiated with the Manchu Prince Dorgon, formed an alliance with the Manchus, and with them entered Peking on June 6th, 1644. Li Tz[)u]-ch'eng quickly looted the city, burned down whatever he could, and fled into the west, continually pursued by Wu San-kui. In the end he was abandoned by all his supporters and killed by peasants. The Manchus, however, had no intention of leaving Wu San-kui in power: they established themselves in Peking, and Wu became their general. (C) The Manchu Dynasty (1644-1911) 1 _Installation of Manchus_ The Manchus had gained the mastery over China owing rather to China's internal situation than to their military superiority. How was it that the dynasty could endure for so long, although the Manchus were not numerous, although the first Manchu ruler (Fu Lin, known under the rule name Shun-chih; 1644-1662) was a psychopathic youth, although there were princes of the Ming dynasty ruling in South China, and although there were strong groups of rebels all over the country? The Manchus were aliens; at that time the national feeling of the Chinese had already been awakened; aliens were despised. In addition to this, the Manchus demanded that as a sign of their subjection the Chinese should wear pigtails and assume Manchurian clothing (law of 1645). Such laws could not but offend national pride. Moreover, marriages between Manchus and Chinese were prohibited, and a dual government was set up, with Manchus always alongside Chinese in every office, the Manchus being of course in the superior position. The Manchu soldiers were distributed in military garrisons among the great cities, and were paid state pensions, which had to be provided by taxation. They were the master race, and had no need to work. Manchus did not have to attend the difficult state examinations which the Chinese had to pass in order to gain an appointment. How was it that in spite of all this the Manchus were able to establish themselves? The conquering Manchu generals first went south from eastern China, and in 1645 captured Nanking, where a Ming prince had ruled. The region round Nanking was the economic centre of China. Soon the Manchus were in the adjoining southern provinces, and thus they conquered the whole of the territory of the landowning gentry, who after the events of the beginning of the seventeenth century had no longer trusted the Ming rulers. The Ming prince in Nanking was just as incapable, and surrounded by just as evil a clique, as the Ming emperors of the past. The gentry were not inclined to defend him. A considerable section of the gentry were reduced to utter despair; they had no desire to support the Ming any longer; in their own interest they could not support the rebel leaders; and they regarded the Manchus as just a particular sort of "rebels". Interpreting the refusal of some Sung ministers to serve the foreign Mongols as an act of loyalty, it was now regarded as shameful to desert a dynasty when it came to an end and to serve the new ruler, even if the new regime promised to be better. Many thousands of officials, scholars, and great landowners committed suicide. Many books, often really moving and tragic, are filled with the story of their lives. Some of them tried to form insurgent bands with their peasants and went into the mountains, but they were unable to maintain themselves there. The great bulk of the élite soon brought themselves to collaborate with the conquerors when they were offered tolerable conditions. In the end the Manchus did not interfere in the ownership of land in central China. At the time when in Europe Louis XIV was reigning, the Thirty Years War was coming to an end, and Cromwell was carrying out his reforms in England, the Manchus conquered the whole of China. Chang Hsien-chung and Li Tz[)u]-ch'êng were the first to fall; the pirate Coxinga lasted a little longer and was even able to plunder Nanking in 1659, but in 1661 he had to retire to Formosa. Wu San-kui, who meanwhile had conquered western China, saw that the situation was becoming difficult for him. His task was to drive out the last Ming pretenders for the Manchus. As he had already been opposed to the Ming in 1644, and as the Ming no longer had any following among the gentry, he could not suddenly work with them against the Manchus. He therefore handed over to the Manchus the last Ming prince, whom the Burmese had delivered up to him in 1661. Wu San-kui's only possible allies against the Manchus were the gentry. But in the west, where he was in power, the gentry counted for nothing; they had in any case been weaker in the west, and they had been decimated by the insurrection of Chang Hsien-chung. Thus Wu San-kui was compelled to try to push eastwards, in order to unite with the gentry of the Yangtze region against the Manchus. The Manchus guessed Wu San-kui's plan, and in 1673, after every effort at accommodation had failed, open war came. Wu San-kui made himself emperor, and the Manchus marched against him. Meanwhile, the Chinese gentry of the Yangtze region had come to terms with the Manchus, and they gave Wu San-kui no help. He vegetated in the south-west, a region too poor to maintain an army that could conquer all China, and too small to enable him to last indefinitely as an independent power. He was able to hold his own until his death, although, with the loss of the support of the gentry, he had no prospect of final success. Not until 1681 was his successor, his grandson Wu Shih-fan, defeated. The end of the rule of Wu San-kui and his successor marked the end of the national governments of China; the whole country was now under alien domination, for the simple reason that all the opponents of the Manchus had failed. Only the Manchus were accredited with the ability to bring order out of the universal confusion, so that there was clearly no alternative but to put up with the many insults and humiliations they inflicted--with the result that the national feeling that had just been aroused died away, except where it was kept alive in a few secret societies. There will be more to say about this, once the works which were suppressed by the Manchus are published. In the first phase of the Manchu conquest the gentry had refused to support either the Ming princes or Wu San-kui, or any of the rebels, or the Manchus themselves. A second phase began about twenty years after the capture of Peking, when the Manchus won over the gentry by desisting from any interference with the ownership of land, and by the use of Manchu troops to clear away the "rebels" who were hostile to the gentry. A reputable government was then set up in Peking, free from eunuchs and from all the old cliques; in their place the government looked for Chinese scholars for its administrative posts. Literati and scholars streamed into Peking, especially members of the "Academies" that still existed in secret, men who had been the chief sufferers from the conditions at the end of the Ming epoch. The young emperor Sheng Tsu (1663-1722; K'ang-hsi is the name by which his rule was known, not his name) was keenly interested in Chinese culture and gave privileged treatment to the scholars of the gentry who came forward. A rapid recovery quite clearly took place. The disturbances of the years that had passed had got rid of the worst enemies of the people, the formidable rival cliques and the individuals lusting for power; the gentry had become more cautious in their behaviour to the peasants; and bribery had been largely stamped out. Finally, the empire had been greatly expanded. All these things helped to stabilize the regime of the Manchus. 2 _Decline in the eighteenth century_ The improvement continued until the middle of the eighteenth century. About the time of the French Revolution there began a continuous decline, slow at first and then gathering speed. The European works on China offer various reasons for this: the many foreign wars (to which we shall refer later) of the emperor, known by the name of his ruling period, Ch'ien-lung, his craze for building, and the irruption of the Europeans into Chinese trade. In the eighteenth century the court surrounded itself with great splendour, and countless palaces and other luxurious buildings were erected, but it must be borne in mind that so great an empire as the China of that day possessed very considerable financial strength, and could support this luxury. The wars were certainly not inexpensive, as they took place along the Russian frontier and entailed expenditure on the transport of reinforcements and supplies; the wars against Turkestan and Tibet were carried on with relatively small forces. This expenditure should not have been beyond the resources of an ordered budget. Interestingly enough, the period between 1640 and 1840 belongs to those periods for which almost no significant work in the field of internal social and economic developments has been made; Western scholars have been too much interested in the impact of Western economy and culture or in the military events. Chinese scholars thus far have shown a prejudice against the Manchu dynasty and were mainly interested in the study of anti-Manchu movements and the downfall of the dynasty. On the other hand, the documentary material for this period is extremely extensive, and many years of work are necessary to reach any general conclusions even in one single field. The following remarks should, therefore, be taken as very tentative and preliminary, and they are, naturally, fragmentary. [Illustration: 14 Aborigines of South China, of the 'Black Miao' tribe, at a festival. China-ink drawing of the eighteenth century. _Collection of the Museum für Völkerkunde, Berlin. No. 1D 8756, 68_.] [Illustration: 15 Pavilion on the 'Coal Hill' at Peking, in which the last Ming emperor committed suicide. _Photo Eberhard_.] [Illustration: Chart POPULATION GROWTH OF CHINA] The decline of the Manchu dynasty began at a time when the European trade was still insignificant, and not as late as after 1842, when China had to submit to the foreign Capitulations. These cannot have been the true cause of the decline. Above all, the decline was not so noticeable in the state of the Exchequer as in a general impoverishment of China. The number of really wealthy persons among the gentry diminished, but the middle class, that is to say the people who had education but little or no money and property, grew steadily in number. One of the deeper reasons for the decline of the Manchu dynasty seems to lie in the enormous increase in the population. Here are a few Chinese statistics: _Year_ _Population_ 1578(before the Manchus) 10,621,463 families or 60,692,856 individuals 1662 19,203,233 " 100,000,000 " [*] 1710 23,311,236 " 116,000,000 " [*] 1729 25,480,498 " 127,000,000 " [*] 1741 " 143,411,559 " 1754 184,504,493 " 1778 242,965,618 " 1796 275,662,414 " 1814 374,601,132 " 1850 414,493,899 " (1953) (601,938,035 ") [*] Approximately It may be objected that these figures are incorrect and exaggerated. Undoubtedly they contain errors. But the first figure (for 1578) of some sixty millions is in close agreement with all other figures of early times; the figure for 1850 seems high, but cannot be far wrong, for even after the great T'ai P'ing Rebellion of 1851, which, together with its after-effects, costs the lives of countless millions, all statisticians of today estimate the population of China at more than four hundred millions. If we enter these data together with the census of 1953 into a chart (see p. 273), a fairly smooth curve emerges; the special features are that already under the Ming the population was increasing and, secondly, that the high rate of increase in the population began with the long period of internal peace since about 1700. From that time onwards, all China's wars were fought at so great a distance from China proper that the population was not directly affected. Moreover, in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries the Manchus saw to the maintenance of the river dykes, so that the worst inundations were prevented. Thus there were not so many of the floods which had often cost the lives of many million people in China; and there were no internal wars, with their heavy cost in lives. But while the population increased, the tillage failed to increase in the needed proportion. I have, unfortunately, no statistics for all periods; but the general tendency is shown by the following table: _Date Cultivated area_ mou _per person_ _in_ mou 1578 701,397,600 11.6 1662 531,135,800 1719 663,113,200 1729 878,176,000 6.1 (1953) (1,627,930,000) (2.7) Six _mou_ are about one acre. In 1578, there were 66 _mou_ land per family of the total population. This was close to the figures regarded as ideal by Chinese early economists for the producing family (100 _mou_) considering the fact that about 80 per cent of all families at that time were producers. By 1729 it was only 35 _mou_ per family, i.e. the land had to produce almost twice as much as before. We have shown that the agricultural developments in the Ming time greatly increased the productivity of the land. This then, obviously resulted in an increase of population. But by the middle of the eighteenth century, assuming that production doubled since the sixteenth century, population pressure was again as heavy as it had been then. And after _c_. 1750, population pressure continued to build up to the present time. Internal colonization continued during the Manchu time; there was a continuous, but slow flow of people into Kwangsi, Kweichow, Yünnan. In spite of laws which prohibited emigration, Chinese also moved into South-East Asia. Chinese settlement in Manchuria was allowed only in the last years of the Manchus. But such internal colonization or emigration could alleviated the pressure only in some areas, while it continued to build up in others. In Europe as well as in Japan, we find a strong population increase; in Europe at almost the same time as in China. But before population pressure became too serious in Europe or Japan, industry developed and absorbed the excess population. Thus, farms did not decrease too much in size. Too small farms are always and in many ways uneconomical. With the development of industries, the percentage of farm population decreased. In China, however, the farm population was still as high as 73.3 per cent of the total population in 1932 and the percentage rose to 81 per cent in 1950. From the middle of the seventeenth century on, commercial activities, especially along the coast, continued to increase and we find gentry families who equip sons who were unwilling or not capable to study and to enter the ranks of the officials, but who were too unruly to sit in villages and collect the rent from the tenants of the family, with money to enter business. The newly settled areas of Kwangtung and Kwangsi were ideal places for them: here they could sell Chinese products to the native tribes or to the new settlers at high prices. Some of these men introduced new techniques from the old provinces of China into the "colonial" areas and set up dye factories, textile factories, etc., in the new towns of the south. But the greatest stimulus for these commercial activities was foreign, European trade. American silver which had flooded Europe in the sixteenth century, began to flow into China from the beginning of the seventeenth century on. The influx was stopped not until between 1661 and 1684 when the government again prohibited coastal shipping and removed coastal settlements into the interior in order to stop piracy along the coasts of Fukien and independence movements on Formosa. But even during these twenty-three years, the price of silver was so low that home production was given up because it did not pay off. In the eighteenth century, silver again continued to enter China, while silk and tea were exported. This demand led to a strong rise in the prices of silk and tea, and benefited the merchants. When, from the late eighteenth century on, opium began to be imported, the silver left China again. The merchants profited this time from the opium trade, but farmers had to suffer: the price of silver went up, and taxes had to be paid in silver, while farm products were sold for copper. By 1835, the ounce of silver had a value of 2,000 copper coins instead of one thousand before 1800. High gains in commerce prevented investment in industries, because they would give lower and later profits than commerce. From the nineteenth century on, more and more industrial goods were offered by importers which also prevented industrialization. Finally, the gentry basically remained anti-industrial and anti-business. They tried to operate necessary enterprises such as mining, melting, porcelain production as far as possible as government establishments; but as the operators were officials, they were not too business-minded and these enterprises did not develop well. The businessmen certainly had enough capital, but they invested it in land instead of investing it in industries which could at any moment be taken away by the government, controlled by the officials or forced to sell at set prices, and which were always subject to exploitation by dishonest officials. A businessman felt secure only when he had invested in land, when he had received an official title upon the payment of large sums of money, or when he succeeded to push at least one of his sons into the government bureaucracy. No doubt, in spite of all this, Chinese business and industry kept on developing in the Manchu time, but they did not develop at such a speed as to transform the country from an agrarian into a modern industrial nation. 3 _Expansion in Central Asia; the first State treaty_ The rise of the Manchu dynasty actually began under the K'ang-hsi rule (1663-1722). The emperor had three tasks. The first was the removal of the last supporters of the Ming dynasty and of the generals, such as Wu San-kui, who had tried to make themselves independent. This necessitated a long series of campaigns, most of them in the south-west or south of China; these scarcely affected the population of China proper. In 1683 Formosa was occupied and the last of the insurgent army commanders was defeated. It was shown above that the situation of all these leaders became hopeless as soon as the Manchus had occupied the rich Yangtze region and the intelligentsia and the gentry of that region had gone over to them. A quite different type of insurgent commander was the Mongol prince Galdan. He, too, planned to make himself independent of Manchu overlordship. At first the Mongols had readily supported the Manchus, when the latter were making raids into China and there was plenty of booty. Now, however, the Manchus, under the influence of the Chinese gentry whom they brought, and could not but bring, to their court, were rapidly becoming Chinese in respect to culture. Even in the time of K'ang-hsi the Manchus began to forget Manchurian; they brought tutors to court to teach the young Manchus Chinese. Later even the emperors did not understand Manchurian! As a result of this process, the Mongols became alienated from the Manchurians, and the situation began once more to be the same as at the time of the Ming rulers. Thus Galdan tried to found an independent Mongol realm, free from Chinese influence. The Manchus could not permit this, as such a realm would have threatened the flank of their homeland, Manchuria, and would have attracted those Manchus who objected to sinification. Between 1690 and 1696 there were battles, in which the emperor actually took part in person. Galdan was defeated. In 1715, however, there were new disturbances, this time in western Mongolia. Tsewang Rabdan, whom the Chinese had made khan of the Ölöt, rose against the Chinese. The wars that followed, extending far into Turkestan and also involving its Turkish population together with the Dzungars, ended with the Chinese conquest of the whole of Mongolia and of parts of eastern Turkestan. As Tsewang Rabdan had tried to extend his power as far as Tibet, a campaign was undertaken also into Tibet, Lhasa was occupied, a new Dalai Lama was installed there as supreme ruler, and Tibet was made into a protectorate. Since then Tibet has remained to this day under some form of Chinese colonial rule. This penetration of the Chinese into Turkestan took place just at the time when the Russians were enormously expanding their empire in Asia, and this formed the third problem for the Manchus. In 1650 the Russians had established a fort by the river Amur. The Manchus regarded the Amur (which they called the "River of the Black Dragon") as part of their own territory, and in 1685 they destroyed the Russian settlement. After this there were negotiations, which culminated in 1689 in the Treaty of Nerchinsk. This treaty was the first concluded by the Chinese state with a European power. Jesuit missionaries played a part in the negotiations as interpreters. Owing to the difficulties of translation the text of the treaty, in Chinese, Russian, and Manchurian, contained some obscurities, particularly in regard to the frontier line. Accordingly, in 1727 the Russians asked for a revision of the old treaty. The Chinese emperor, whose rule name was Yung-cheng, arranged for the negotiations to be carried on at the frontier, in the town of Kyakhta, in Mongolia, where after long discussions a new treaty was concluded. Under this treaty the Russians received permission to set up a legation and a commercial agency in Peking, and also to maintain a church. This was the beginning of the foreign Capitulations. From the Chinese point of view there was nothing special in a facility of this sort. For some fifteen centuries all the "barbarians" who had to bring tribute had been given houses in the capital, where their envoys could wait until the emperor would receive them--usually on New Year's Day. The custom had sprung up at the reception of the Huns. Moreover, permission had always been given for envoys to be accompanied by a few merchants, who during the envoy's stay did a certain amount of business. Furthermore the time had been when the Uighurs were permitted to set up a temple of their own. At the time of the permission given to the Russians to set up a "legation", a similar office was set up (in 1729) for "Uighur" peoples (meaning Mohammedans), again under the control of an office, called the Office for Regulation of Barbarians. The Mohammedan office was placed under two Mohammedan leaders who lived in Peking. The Europeans, however, had quite different ideas about a "legation", and about the significance of permission to trade. They regarded this as the opening of diplomatic relations between states on terms of equality, and the carrying on of trade as a special privilege, a sort of Capitulation. This reciprocal misunderstanding produced in the nineteenth century a number of serious political conflicts. The Europeans charged the Chinese with breach of treaties, failure to meet their obligations, and other such things, while the Chinese considered that they had acted with perfect correctness. 4 _Culture_ In this K'ang-hsi period culture began to flourish again. The emperor had attracted the gentry, and so the intelligentsia, to his court because his uneducated Manchus could not alone have administered the enormous empire; and he showed great interest in Chinese culture, himself delved deeply into it, and had many works compiled, especially works of an encyclopaedic character. The encyclopaedias enabled information to be rapidly gained on all sorts of subjects, and thus were just what an interested ruler needed, especially when, as a foreigner, he was not in a position to gain really thorough instruction in things Chinese. The Chinese encyclopaedias of the seventeenth and especially of the eighteenth century were thus the outcome of the initiative of the Manchurian emperor, and were compiled for his information; they were not due, like the French encyclopaedias of the eighteenth century, to a movement for the spread of knowledge among the people. For this latter purpose the gigantic encyclopaedias of the Manchus, each of which fills several bookcases, were much too expensive and were printed in much too limited editions. The compilations began with the great geographical encyclopaedia of Ku Yen-wu (1613-1682), and attained their climax in the gigantic eighteenth-century encyclopaedia _T'u-shu chi-ch'eng_, scientifically impeccable in the accuracy of its references to sources. Here were already the beginnings of the "Archaeological School", built up in the course of the eighteenth century. This school was usually called "Han school" because the adherents went back to the commentaries of the classical texts written in Han time and discarded the orthodox explanations of Chu Hsi's school of Sung time. Later, its most prominent leader was Tai Chen (1723-1777). Tai was greatly interested in technology and science; he can be regarded as the first philosopher who exhibited an empirical, scientific way of thinking. Late nineteenth and early twentieth century Chinese scholarship is greatly obliged to him. The most famous literary works of the Manchu epoch belong once more to the field which Chinese do not regard as that of true literature--the novel, the short story, and the drama. Poetry did exist, but it kept to the old paths and had few fresh ideas. All the various forms of the Sung period were made use of. The essayists, too, offered nothing new, though their number was legion. One of the best known is Yüan Mei (1716-1797), who was also the author of the collection of short stories _Tse-pu-yü_ ("The Master did not tell"), which is regarded very highly by the Chinese. The volume of short stories entitled _Liao-chai chich-i_, by P'u Sung-lin (1640-1715?), is world-famous and has been translated into every civilized language. Both collections are distinguished by their simple but elegant style. The short story was popular among the greater gentry; it abandoned the popular style it had in the Ming epoch, and adopted the polished language of scholars. The Manchu epoch has left to us what is by general consent the finest novel in Chinese literature, _Hung-lou-meng_ ("The Dream of the Red Chamber"), by Ts'ao Hsüeh-ch'in, who died in 1763. It describes the downfall of a rich and powerful family from the highest rank of the gentry, and the decadent son's love of a young and emotional lady of the highest circles. The story is clothed in a mystical garb that does something to soften its tragic ending. The interesting novel _Ju-lin wai-shih_ ("Private Reports from the Life of Scholars"), by Wu Ching-tz[)u] (1701-1754), is a mordant criticism of Confucianism with its rigid formalism, of the social system, and of the examination system. Social criticism is the theme of many novels. The most modern in spirit of the works of this period is perhaps the treatment of feminism in the novel _Ching-hua-yüan_, by Li Yu-chên (d. 1830), which demanded equal rights for men and women. The drama developed quickly in the Manchu epoch, particularly in quantity, especially since the emperors greatly appreciated the theatre. A catalogue of plays compiled in 1781 contains 1,013 titles! Some of these dramas were of unprecedented length. One of them was played in 26 parts containing 240 acts; a performance took two years to complete! Probably the finest dramas of the Manchu epoch are those of Li Yü (born 1611), who also became the first of the Chinese dramatic critics. What he had to say about the art of the theatre, and about aesthetics in general, is still worth reading. About the middle of the nineteenth century the influence of Europe became more and more marked. Translation began with Yen Fu (1853-1921), who translated the first philosophical and scientific books and books on social questions and made his compatriots acquainted with Western thought. At the same time Lin Shu (1852-1924) translated the first Western short stories and novels. With these two began the new style, which was soon elaborated by Liang Ch'i-ch'ao, a collaborator of Sun Yat-sen's, and by others, and which ultimately produced the "literary revolution" of 1917. Translation has continued to this day; almost every book of outstanding importance in world literature is translated within a few months of its appearance, and on the average these translations are of a fairly high level. Particularly fine work was produced in the field of porcelain in the Manchu epoch. In 1680 the famous kilns in the province of Kiangsi were reopened, and porcelain that is among the most artistically perfect in the world was fired in them. Among the new colours were especially green shades (one group is known as _famille verte_) and also black and yellow compositions. Monochrome porcelain also developed further, including very fine dark blue, brilliant red (called "ox-blood"), and white. In the eighteenth century, however, there began an unmistakable decline, which has continued to this day, although there are still a few craftsmen and a few kilns that produce outstanding work (usually attempts to imitate old models), often in small factories. In painting, European influence soon shows itself. The best-known example of this is Lang Shih-ning, an Italian missionary whose original name was Giuseppe Castiglione (1688-1766); he began to work in China in 1715. He learned the Chinese method of painting, but introduced a number of technical tricks of European painters, which were adopted in general practice in China, especially by the official court painters: the painting of the scholars who lived in seclusion remained uninfluenced. Dutch flower-painting also had some influence in China as early as the eighteenth century. The missionaries played an important part at court. The first Manchu emperors were as generous in this matter as the Mongols had been, and allowed the foreigners to work in peace. They showed special interest in the European science introduced by the missionaries; they had less sympathy for their religious message. The missionaries, for their part, sent to Europe enthusiastic accounts of the wonderful conditions in China, and so helped to popularize the idea that was being formed in Europe of an "enlightened", a constitutional, monarchy. The leaders of the Enlightenment read these reports with enthusiasm, with the result that they had an influence on the French Revolution. Confucius was found particularly attractive, and was regarded as a forerunner of the Enlightenment. The "Monadism" of the philosopher Leibniz was influenced by these reports. The missionaries gained a reputation at court as "scientists", and in this they were of service both to China and to Europe. The behaviour of the European merchants who followed the missions, spreading gradually in growing numbers along the coasts of China, was not by any means so irreproachable. The Chinese were certainly justified when they declared that European ships often made landings on the coast and simply looted, just as the Japanese had done before them. Reports of this came to the court, and as captured foreigners described themselves as "Christians" and also seemed to have some connection with the missionaries living at court, and as disputes had broken out among the missionaries themselves in connection with papal ecclesiastical policy, in the Yung-cheng period (1723-1736; the name of the emperor was Shih Tsung) Christianity was placed under a general ban, being regarded as a secret political organization. 5 _Relations with the outer world_ During the Yung-cheng period there was long-continued guerrilla fighting with natives in south-west China. The pressure of population in China sought an outlet in emigration. More and more Chinese moved into the south-west, and took the land from the natives, and the fighting was the consequence of this. At the beginning of the Ch'ien-lung period (1736-1796), fighting started again in Turkestan. Mongols, now called Kalmuks, defeated by the Chinese, had migrated to the Ili region, where after heavy fighting they gained supremacy over some of the Kazaks and other Turkish peoples living there and in western Turkestan. Some Kazak tribes went over to the Russians, and in 1735 the Russian colonialists founded the town of Orenburg in the western Kazak region. The Kalmuks fought the Chinese without cessation until, in 1739, they entered into an agreement under which they ceded half their territory to Manchu China, retaining only the Ili region. The Kalmuks subsequently reunited with other sections of the Kazaks against the Chinese. In 1754 peace was again concluded with China, but it was followed by raids on both sides, so that the Manchus determined to enter on a great campaign against the Ili region. This ended with a decisive victory for the Chinese (1755). In the years that followed, however, the Chinese began to be afraid that the various Kazak tribes might unite in order to occupy the territory of the Kalmuks, which was almost unpopulated owing to the mass slaughter of Kalmuks by the Chinese. Unrest began among the Mohammedans throughout the neighbouring western Turkestan, and the same Chinese generals who had fought the Kalmuks marched into Turkestan and captured the Mohammedan city states of Uch, Kashgar, and Yarkand. The reinforcements for these campaigns, and for the garrisons which in the following decades were stationed in the Ili region and in the west of eastern Turkestan, marched along the road from Peking that leads northward through Mongolia to the far distant Uliassutai and Kobdo. The cost of transport for one _shih_ (about 66 lb.) amounted to 120 pieces of silver. In 1781 certain economies were introduced, but between 1781 and 1791 over 30,000 tons, making some 8 tons a day, was transported to that region. The cost of transport for supplies alone amounted in the course of time to the not inconsiderable sum of 120,000,000 pieces of silver. In addition to this there was the cost of the transported goods and of the pay of soldiers and of the administration. These figures apply to the period of occupation, of relative peace: during the actual wars of conquest the expenditure was naturally far higher. Thus these campaigns, though I do not think they brought actual economic ruin to China, were nevertheless a costly enterprise, and one which produced little positive advantage. In addition to this, these wars brought China into conflict with the European colonial powers. In the years during which the Chinese armies were fighting in the Ili region, the Russians were putting out their feelers in that direction, and the Chinese annals show plainly how the Russians intervened in the fighting with the Kalmuks and Kazaks. The Hi region remained thereafter a bone of contention between China and Russia, until it finally went to Russia, bit by bit, between 1847 and 1881. The Kalmuks and Kazaks played a special part in Russo-Chinese relations. The Chinese had sent a mission to the Kalmuks farthest west, by the lower Volga, and had entered into relations with them, as early as 1714. As Russian pressure on the Volga region continually grew, these Kalmuks (mainly the Turgut tribe), who had lived there since 1630, decided to return into Chinese territory (1771). During this enormously difficult migration, almost entirely through hostile territory, a large number of the Turgut perished; 85,000, however, reached the Hi region, where they were settled by the Chinese on the lands of the eastern Kalmuks, who had been largely exterminated. In the south, too, the Chinese came into direct touch with the European powers. In 1757 the English occupied Calcutta, and in 1766 the province of Bengal. In 1767 a Manchu general, Ming Jui, who had been victorious in the fighting for eastern Turkestan, marched against Burma, which was made a dependency once more in 1769. And in 1790-1791 the Chinese conquered Nepal, south of Tibet, because Nepalese had made two attacks on Tibet. Thus English and Chinese political interests came here into contact. For the Ch'ien-lung period's many wars of conquest there seem to have been two main reasons. The first was the need for security. The Mongols had to be overthrown because otherwise the homeland of the Manchus was menaced; in order to make sure of the suppression of the eastern Mongols, the western Mongols (Kalmuks) had to be overthrown; to make them harmless, Turkestan and the Ili region had to be conquered; Tibet was needed for the security of Turkestan and Mongolia--and so on. Vast territories, however, were conquered in this process which were of no economic value, and most of which actually cost a great deal of money and brought nothing in. They were conquered simply for security. That advantage had been gained: an aggressor would have to cross great areas of unproductive territory, with difficult conditions for reinforcements, before he could actually reach China. In the second place, the Chinese may actually have noticed the efforts that were being made by the European powers, especially Russia and England, to divide Asia among themselves, and accordingly they made sure of their own good share. 6 _Decline; revolts_ The period of Ch'ien-lung is not only that of the greatest expansion of the Chinese empire, but also that of the greatest prosperity under the Manchu regime. But there began at the same time to be signs of internal decline. If we are to fix a particular year for this, perhaps it should be the year 1774, in which came the first great popular rising, in the province of Shantung. In 1775 there came another popular rising, in Honan--that of the "Society of the White Lotus". This society, which had long existed as a secret organization and had played a part in the Ming epoch, had been reorganized by a man named Liu Sung. Liu Sung was captured and was condemned to penal servitude. His followers, however, regrouped themselves, particularly in the province of Anhui. These risings had been produced, as always, by excessive oppression of the people by the government or the governing class. As, however, the anger of the population was naturally directed also against the idle Manchus of the cities, who lived on their state pensions, did no work, and behaved as a ruling class, the government saw in these movements a nationalist spirit, and took drastic steps against them. The popular leaders now altered their program, and acclaimed a supposed descendant from the Ming dynasty as the future emperor. Government troops caught the leader of the "White Lotus" agitation, but he succeeded in escaping. In the regions through which the society had spread, there then began a sort of Inquisition, of exceptional ferocity. Six provinces were affected, and in and around the single city of Wuch'ang in four months more than 20,000 people were beheaded. The cost of the rising to the government ran into millions. In answer to this oppression, the popular leaders tightened their organization and marched north-west from the western provinces of which they had gained control. The rising was suppressed only by a very big military operation, and not until 1802. There had been very heavy fighting between 1793 and 1802--just when in Europe, in the French Revolution, another oppressed population won its freedom. The Ch'ien-lung emperor abdicated on New Year's Day, 1795, after ruling for sixty years. He died in 1799. His successor was Jen Tsung (1796-1821; reign name: Chia-ch'ing). In the course of his reign the rising of the "White Lotus" was suppressed, but in 1813 there began a new rising, this time in North China--again that of a secret organization, the "Society of Heaven's Law". One of its leaders bribed some eunuchs, and penetrated with a group of followers into the palace; he threw himself upon the emperor, who was only saved through the intervention of his son. At the same time the rising spread in the provinces. Once more the government succeeded in suppressing it and capturing the leaders. But the memory of these risings was kept alive among the Chinese people. For the government failed to realize that the actual cause of the risings was the general impoverishment, and saw in them a nationalist movement, thus actually arousing a national consciousness, stronger than in the Ming epoch, among the middle and lower classes of the people, together with hatred of the Manchus. They were held responsible for every evil suffered, regardless of the fact that similar evils had existed earlier. 7 _European Imperialism in the Far East_ With the Tao-kuang period (1821-1850) began a new period in Chinese history, which came to an end only in 1911. In foreign affairs these ninety years were marked by the steadily growing influence of the Western powers, aimed at turning China into a colony. Culturally this period was that of the gradual infiltration of Western civilization into the Far East; it was recognized in China that it was necessary to learn from the West. In home affairs we see the collapse of the dynasty and the destruction of the unity of the empire; of four great civil wars, one almost brought the dynasty to its end. North and South China, the coastal area and the interior, developed in different ways. Great Britain had made several attempts to improve her trade relations with China, but the mission of 1793 had no success, and that of 1816 also failed. English merchants, like all foreign merchants, were only permitted to settle in a small area adjoining Canton and at Macao, and were only permitted to trade with a particular group of monopolists, known as the "Hong". The Hong had to pay taxes to the state, but they had a wonderful opportunity of enriching themselves. The Europeans were entirely at their mercy, for they were not allowed to travel inland, and they were not allowed to try to negotiate with other merchants, to secure lower prices by competition. The Europeans concentrated especially on the purchase of silk and tea; but what could they import into China? The higher the price of the goods and the smaller the cargo space involved, the better were the chances of profit for the merchants. It proved, however, that European woollens or luxury goods could not be sold; the Chinese would probably have been glad to buy food, but transport was too expensive to permit profitable business. Thus a new article was soon discovered--opium, carried from India to China: the price was high and the cargo space involved was very small. The Chinese were familiar with opium, and bought it readily. Accordingly, from 1800 onwards opium became more and more the chief article of trade, especially for the English, who were able to bring it conveniently from India. Opium is harmful to the people; the opium trade resulted in certain groups of merchants being inordinately enriched; a great deal of Chinese money went abroad. The government became apprehensive and sent Lin Tsê-hsü as its commissioner to Canton. In 1839 he prohibited the opium trade and burned the chests of opium found in British possession. The British view was that to tolerate the Chinese action might mean the destruction of British trade in the Far East and that, on the other hand, it might be possible by active intervention to compel the Chinese to open other ports to European trade and to shake off the monopoly of the Canton merchants. In 1840 British ships-of-war appeared off the south-eastern coast of China and bombarded it. In 1841 the Chinese opened negotiations and dismissed Lin Tsê-hsü. As the Chinese concessions were regarded as inadequate, hostilities continued; the British entered the Yangtze estuary and threatened Nanking. In this first armed conflict with the West, China found herself defenceless owing to her lack of a navy, and it was also found that the European weapons were far superior to those of the Chinese. In 1842 China was compelled to capitulate: under the Treaty of Nanking Hong Kong was ceded to Great Britain, a war indemnity was paid, certain ports were thrown open to European trade, and the monopoly was brought to an end. A great deal of opium came, however, into China through smuggling--regrettably, for the state lost the customs revenue! This treaty introduced the period of the Capitulations. It contained the dangerous clause which added most to China's misfortunes--the Most Favoured Nation clause, providing that if China granted any privilege to any other state, that privilege should also automatically be granted to Great Britain. In connection with this treaty it was agreed that the Chinese customs should be supervised by European consuls; and a trade treaty was granted. Similar treaties followed in 1844 with France and the United States. The missionaries returned; until 1860, however, they were only permitted to work in the treaty ports. Shanghai was thrown open in 1843, and developed with extraordinary rapidity from a town to a city of a million and a centre of world-wide importance. The terms of the Nanking Treaty were not observed by either side; both evaded them. In order to facilitate the smuggling, the British had permitted certain Chinese junks to fly the British flag. This also enabled these vessels to be protected by British ships-of-war from pirates, which at that time were very numerous off the southern coast owing to the economic depression. The Chinese, for their part, placed every possible obstacle in the way of the British. In 1856 the Chinese held up a ship sailing under the British flag, pulled down its flag, and arrested the crew on suspicion of smuggling. In connection with this and other events, Britain decided to go to war. Thus began the "Lorcha War" of 1857, in which France joined for the sake of the booty to be expected. Britain had just ended the Crimean War, and was engaged in heavy fighting against the Moguls in India. Consequently only a small force of a few thousand men could be landed in China; Canton, however, was bombarded, and also the forts of Tientsin. There still seemed no prospect of gaining the desired objectives by negotiation, and in 1860 a new expedition was fitted out, this time some 20,000 strong. The troops landed at Tientsin and marched on Peking; the emperor fled to Jehol and did not return; he died in 1861. The new Treaty of Tientsin (1860) provided for (a) the opening of further ports to European traders; (b) the session of Kowloon, the strip of land lying opposite Hong Kong; (c) the establishment of a British legation in Peking; (d) freedom of navigation along the Yangtze; (e) permission for British subjects to purchase land in China; (f) the British to be subject to their own consular courts and not to the Chinese courts; (g) missionary activity to be permitted throughout the country. In addition to this, the commercial treaty was revised, the opium trade was permitted once more, and a war indemnity was to be paid by China. In the eyes of Europe, Britain had now succeeded in turning China not actually into a colony, but at all events into a semi-colony; China must be expected soon to share the fate of India. China, however, with her very different conceptions of intercourse between states, did not realize the full import of these terms; some of them were regarded as concessions on unimportant points, which there was no harm in granting to the trading "barbarians", as had been done in the past; some were regarded as simple injustices, which at a given moment could be swept away by administrative action. But the result of this European penetration was that China's balance of trade was adverse, and became more and more so, as under the commercial treaties she could neither stop the importation of European goods nor set a duty on them; and on the other hand she could not compel foreigners to buy Chinese goods. The efflux of silver brought general impoverishment to China, widespread financial stringency to the state, and continuous financial crises and inflation. China had never had much liquid capital, and she was soon compelled to take up foreign loans in order to pay her debts. At that time internal loans were out of the question (the first internal loan was floated in 1894): the population did not even know what a state loan meant; consequently the loans had to be issued abroad. This, however, entailed the giving of securities, generally in the form of economic privileges. Under the Most Favoured Nation clause, however, these privileges had then to be granted to other states which had made no loans to China. Clearly a vicious spiral, which in the end could only bring disaster. The only exception to the general impoverishment, in which not only the peasants but the old upper classes were involved, was a certain section of the trading community and the middle class, which had grown rich through its dealings with the Europeans. These people now accumulated capital, became Europeanized with their staffs, acquired land from the impoverished gentry, and sent their sons abroad to foreign universities. They founded the first industrial undertakings, and learned European capitalist methods. This class was, of course, to be found mainly in the treaty ports in the south and in their environs. The south, as far north as Shanghai, became more modern and more advanced; the north made no advance. In the south, European ways of thought were learnt, and Chinese and European theories were compared. Criticism began. The first revolutionary societies were formed in this atmosphere in the south. 8 _Risings in Turkestan and within China: the T'ai P'ing Rebellion_ But the emperor Hsüan Tsung (reign name Tao-kuang), a man in poor health though not without ability, had much graver anxieties than those caused by the Europeans. He did not yet fully realize the seriousness of the European peril. [Illustration: 16 The imperial summer palace of the Manchu rulers, at Jehol. _Photo H. Hammer-Morrisson_.] [Illustration: 17 Tower on the city wall of Peking. _Photo H. Hammer-Morrisson_.] In Turkestan, where Turkish Mohammedans lived under Chinese rule, conditions were far from being as the Chinese desired. The Chinese, a fundamentally rationalistic people, regarded religion as a purely political matter, and accordingly required every citizen to take part in the official form of worship. Subject to that, he might privately belong to any other religion. To a Mohammedan, this was impossible and intolerable. The Mohammedans were only ready to practice their own religion, and absolutely refused to take part in any other. The Chinese also tried to apply to Turkestan in other matters the same legislation that applied to all China, but this proved irreconcilable with the demands made by Islam on its followers. All this produced continual unrest. Turkestan had a feudal system of government with a number of feudal lords (_beg_), who tried to maintain their influence and who had the support of the Mohammedan population. The Chinese had come to Turkestan as soldiers and officials, to administer the country. They regarded themselves as the lords of the land and occupied themselves with the extraction of taxes. Most of the officials were also associated with the Chinese merchants who travelled throughout Turkestan and as far as Siberia. The conflicts implicit in this situation produced great Mohammedan risings in the nineteenth century. The first came in 1825-1827; in 1845 a second rising flamed up, and thirty years later these revolts led to the temporary loss of the whole of Turkestan. In 1848, native unrest began in the province of Hunan, as a result of the constantly growing pressure of the Chinese settlers on the native population; in the same year there was unrest farther south, in the province of Kwangsi, this time in connection with the influence of the Europeans. The leader was a quite simple man of Hakka blood, Hung Hsiu-ch'üan (born 1814), who gathered impoverished Hakka peasants round him as every peasant leader had done in the past. Very often the nucleus of these peasant movements had been a secret society with a particular religious tinge; this time the peasant revolutionaries came forward as at the same time the preachers of a new religion of their own. Hung had heard of Christianity from missionaries (1837), and he mixed up Christian ideas with those of ancient China and proclaimed to his followers a doctrine that promised the Kingdom of God on earth. He called himself "Christ's younger brother", and his kingdom was to be called _T'ai P'ing_ ("Supreme Peace"). He made his first comrades, charcoal makers, local doctors, peddlers and farmers, into kings, and made himself emperor. At bottom the movement, like all similar ones before it, was not religious but social; and it produced a great response from the peasants. The program of the T'ai P'ing, in some points influenced by Christian ideas but more so by traditional Chinese thought, was in many points revolutionary: (a) all property was communal property; (b) land was classified into categories according to its fertility and equally distributed among men and women. Every producer kept of the produce as much as he and his family needed and delivered the rest into the communal granary; (c) administration and tax systems were revised; (d) women were given equal rights: they fought together with men in the army and had access to official position. They had to marry, but monogamy was requested; (e) the use of opium, tobacco and alcohol was prohibited, prostitution was illegal; (f) foreigners were regarded as equals, capitulations as the Manchus had accepted were not recognized. A large part of the officials, and particularly of the soldiers sent against the revolutionaries, were Manchus, and consequently the movement very soon became a nationalist movement, much as the popular movement at the end of the Mongol epoch had done. Hung made rapid progress; in 1852 he captured Hankow, and in 1853 Nanking, the important centre in the east. With clear political insight he made Nanking his capital. In this he returned to the old traditions of the beginning of the Ming epoch, no doubt expecting in this way to attract support from the eastern Chinese gentry, who had no liking for a capital far away in the north. He made a parade of adhesion to the ancient Chinese tradition: his followers cut off their pigtails and allowed their hair to grow as in the past. He did not succeed, however, in carrying his reforms from the stage of sporadic action to a systematic reorganization of the country, and he also failed to enlist the elements needed for this as for all other administrative work, so that the good start soon degenerated into a terrorist regime. Hung's followers pressed on from Nanking, and in 1853-1855 they advanced nearly to Tientsin; but they failed to capture Peking itself. The new T'ai P'ing state faced the Europeans with big problems. Should they work with it or against it? The T'ai P'ing always insisted that they were Christians; the missionaries hoped now to have the opportunity of converting all China to Christianity. The T'ai P'ing treated the missionaries well but did not let them operate. After long hesitation and much vacillation, however, the Europeans placed themselves on the side of the Manchus. Not out of any belief that the T'ai P'ing movement was without justification, but because they had concluded treaties with the Manchu government and given loans to it, of which nothing would have remained if the Manchus had fallen; because they preferred the weak Manchu government to a strong T'ai P'ing government; and because they disliked the socialistic element in many of the measured adopted by the T'ai P'ing. At first it seemed as if the Manchus would be able to cope unaided with the T'ai P'ing, but the same thing happened as at the end of the Mongol rule: the imperial armies, consisting of the "banners" of the Manchus, the Mongols, and some Chinese, had lost their military skill in the long years of peace; they had lost their old fighting spirit and were glad to be able to live in peace on their state pensions. Now three men came to the fore--a Mongol named Seng-ko-lin-ch'in, a man of great personal bravery, who defended the interests of the Manchu rulers; and two Chinese, Tsêng Kuo-fan (1811-1892) and Li Hung-chang (1823-1901), who were in the service of the Manchus but used their position simply to further the interests of the gentry. The Mongol saved Peking from capture by the T'ai P'ing. The two Chinese were living in central China, and there they recruited, Li at his own expense and Tsêng out of the resources at his disposal as a provincial governor, a sort of militia, consisting of peasants out to protect their homes from destruction by the peasants of the T'ai P'ing. Thus the peasants of central China, all suffering from impoverishment, were divided into two groups, one following the T'ai P'ing, the other following Tsêng Kuo-fan. Tsêng's army, too, might be described as a "national" army, because Tsêng was not fighting for the interests of the Manchus. Thus the peasants, all anti-Manchu, could choose between two sides, between the T'ai P'ing and Tsêng Kuo-fan. Although Tsêng represented the gentry and was thus against the simple common people, peasants fought in masses on his side, for he paid better, and especially more regularly. Tsêng, being a good strategist, won successes and gained adherents. Thus by 1856 the T'ai P'ing were pressed back on Nanking and some of the towns round it; in 1864 Nanking was captured. While in the central provinces the T'ai P'ing rebellion was raging, China was suffering grave setbacks owing to the Lorcha War of 1856; and there were also great and serious risings in other parts of the country. In 1855 the Yellow River had changed its course, entering the sea once more at Tientsin, to the great loss of the regions of Honan and Anhui. In these two central provinces the peasant rising of the so-called "Nien Fei" had begun, but it only became formidable after 1855, owing to the increasing misery of the peasants. This purely peasant revolt was not suppressed by the Manchu government until 1868, after many collisions. Then, however, there began the so-called "Mohammedan risings". Here there are, in all, five movements to distinguish: (1) the Mohammedan rising in Kansu (1864-5); (2) the Salar movement in Shensi; (3) the Mohammedan revolt in Yünnan (1855-1873); (4) the rising in Kansu (1895); (5) the rebellion of Yakub Beg in Turkestan (from 1866 onward). While we are fairly well informed about the other popular risings of this period, the Mohammedan revolts have not yet been well studied. We know from unofficial accounts that these risings were suppressed with great brutality. To this day there are many Mohammedans in, for instance, Yünnan, but the revolt there is said to have cost a million lives. The figures all rest on very rough estimates: in Kansu the population is said to have fallen from fifteen millions to one million; the Turkestan revolt is said to have cost ten million lives. There are no reliable statistics; but it is understandable that at that time the population of China must have fallen considerably, especially if we bear in mind the equally ferocious suppression of the risings of the T'ai P'ing and the Nien Fei within China, and smaller risings of which we have made no mention. The Mohammedan risings were not elements of a general Mohammedan revolt, but separate events only incidentally connected with each other. The risings had different causes. An important factor was the general distress in China. This was partly due to the fact that the officials were exploiting the peasant population more ruthlessly than ever. In addition to this, owing to the national feeling which had been aroused in so unfortunate a way, the Chinese felt a revulsion against non-Chinese, such as the Salars, who were of Turkish race. Here there were always possibilities of friction, which might have been removed with a little consideration but which swelled to importance through the tactless behaviour of Chinese officials. Finally there came divisions among the Mohammedans of China which led to fighting between themselves. All these risings were marked by two characteristics. They had no general political aim such as the founding of a great and universal Islamic state. Separate states were founded, but they were too small to endure; they would have needed the protection of great states. But they were not moved by any pan-Islamic idea. Secondly, they all took place on Chinese soil, and all the Mohammedans involved, except in the rising of the Salars, were Chinese. These Chinese who became Mohammedans are called Dungans. The Dungans are, of course, no longer pure Chinese, because Chinese who have gone over to Islam readily form mixed marriages with Islamic non-Chinese, that is to say with Turks and Mongols. The revolt, however, of Yakub Beg in Turkestan had a quite different character. Yakub Beg (his Chinese name was An Chi-yeh) had risen to the Chinese governorship when he made himself ruler of Kashgar. In 1866 he began to try to make himself independent of Chinese control. He conquered Ili, and then in a rapid campaign made himself master of all Turkestan. His state had a much better prospect of endurance than the other Mohammedan states. He had full control of it from 1874. Turkestan was connected with China only by the few routes that led between the desert and the Tibetan mountains. The state was supported against China by Russia, which was continually pressing eastward, and in the south by Great Britain, which was pressing towards Tibet. Farther west was the great Ottoman empire; the attempt to gain direct contact with it was not hopeless in itself, and this was recognized at Istanbul. Missions went to and fro, and Turkish officers came to Yakub Beg and organized his army; Yakub Beg recognized the Turkish sultan as Khalif. He also concluded treaties with Russia and Great Britain. But in spite of all this he was unable to maintain his hold of Turkestan. In 1877 the famous Chinese general Tso Tsung-t'ang (1812-1885), who had fought against the T'ai P'ing and also against the Mohammedans in Kansu, marched into Turkestan and ended Yakub Beg's rule. Yakub was defeated, however, not so much by Chinese superiority as by a combination of circumstances. In order to build up his kingdom he was compelled to impose heavy taxation, and this made him unpopular with his own followers: they had to pay taxes under the Chinese, but the Chinese collection had been much less rigorous than that of Yakub Beg. It was technically impossible for the Ottoman empire to give him any aid, even had its internal situation permitted it. Britain and Russia would probably have been glad to see a weakening of the Chinese hold over Turkestan, but they did not want a strong new state there, once they had found that neither of them could control the country while it was in Yakub Beg's hands. In 1881 Russia occupied the Ili region, Yakub's first conquest. In the end the two great powers considered it better for Turkestan to return officially into the hands of the weakened China, hoping that in practice they would be able to bring Turkestan more and more under their control. Consequently, when in 1880, three years after the removal of Yakub Beg, China sent a mission to Russia with the request for the return of the Ili region to her, Russia gave way, and the Treaty of Ili was concluded, ending for the time the Russian penetration of Turkestan. In 1882 the Manchu government raised Turkestan to a "new frontier" (Sinkiang) with a special administration. This process of colonial penetration of Turkestan continued. Until the end of the first world war there was no fundamental change in the situation in the country, owing to the rivalry between Great Britain and Russia. But after 1920 a period began in which Turkestan became almost independent, under a number of rulers of parts of the country. Then, from 1928 onward, a more and more thorough penetration by Russia began, so that by 1940 Turkestan could almost be called a Soviet Republic. The second world war diverted Russian attention to the West, and at the same time compelled the Chinese to retreat into the interior from the Japanese, so that by 1943 the country was more firmly held by the Chinese government than it had been for seventy years. After the creation of the People's Democracy mass immigration into Sinkiang began, in connection with the development of oil fields and of many new industries in the border area between Sinkiang and China proper. Roads and air communications opened Sinkiang. Yet, the differences between immigrant Chinese and local, Muslim Turks, continue to play a role. 9 _Collision with Japan; further Capitulations_ The reign of Wen Tsung (reign name Hsien-feng 1851-1861) was marked throughout by the T'ai P'ing and other rebellions and by wars with the Europeans, and that of Mu Tsung (reign name T'ung-chih: 1862-1874) by the great Mohammedan disturbances. There began also a conflict with Japan which lasted until 1945. Mu Tsung came to the throne as a child of five, and never played a part of his own. It had been the general rule for princes to serve as regents for minors on the imperial throne, but this time the princes concerned won such notoriety through their intrigues that the Peking court circles decided to entrust the regency to two concubines of the late emperor. One of these, called Tz[)u] Hsi (born 1835), of the Manchu tribe of the Yehe-Nara, quickly gained the upper hand. The empress Tz[)u] Hsi was one of the strongest personalities of the later nineteenth century who played an active part in Chinese political life. She played a more active part than any emperor had played for many decades. Meanwhile great changes had taken place in Japan. The restoration of the Meiji had ended the age of feudalism, at least on the surface. Japan rapidly became Westernized, and at the same time entered on an imperialist policy. Her aims from 1868 onward were clear, and remained unaltered until the end of the second World War: she was to be surrounded by a wide girdle of territories under Japanese domination, in order to prevent the approach of any enemy to the Japanese homeland. This girdle was divided into several zones--(1) the inner zone with the Kurile Islands, Sakhalin, Korea, the Ryukyu archipelago, and Formosa; (2) the outer zone with the Marianne, Philippine, and Caroline Islands, eastern China, Manchuria, and eastern Siberia; (3) the third zone, not clearly defined, including especially the Netherlands Indies, Indo-China, and the whole of China, a zone of undefined extent. The outward form of this subjugated region was to be that of the Greater Japanese Empire, described as the Imperium of the Yellow Race (the main ideas were contained in the Tanaka Memorandum 1927 and in the Tada Interview of 1936). Round Japan, moreover, a girdle was to be created of producers of raw materials and purchasers of manufactures, to provide Japanese industry with a market. Japan had sent a delegation of amity to China as early as 1869, and a first Sino-Japanese treaty was signed in 1871; from then on, Japan began to carry out her imperialistic plans. In 1874 she attacked the Ryukyu islands and Formosa on the pretext that some Japanese had been murdered there. Under the treaty of 1874 Japan withdrew once more, only demanding a substantial indemnity; but in 1876, in violation of the treaty and without a declaration of war, she annexed the Ryukyu Islands. In 1876 began the Japanese penetration into Korea; by 1885 she had reached the stage of a declaration that Korea was a joint sphere of interest of China and Japan; until then China's protectorate over Korea had been unchallenged. At the same time (1876) Great Britain had secured further Capitulations in the Chefoo Convention; in 1862 France had acquired Cochin China, in 1864 Cambodia, in 1874 Tongking, and in 1883 Annam. This led in 1884 to war between France and China, in which the French did not by any means gain an indubitable victory; but the Treaty of Tientsin left them with their acquisitions. Meanwhile, at the beginning of 1875, the young Chinese emperor died of smallpox, without issue. Under the influence of the two empresses, who still remained regents, a cousin of the dead emperor, the three-year-old prince Tsai T'ien was chosen as emperor Tê Tsung (reign name Kuang-hsü: 1875-1909). He came of age in 1889 and took over the government of the country. The empress Tz[)u] Hsi retired, but did not really relinquish the reins. In 1894 the Sino-Japanese War broke out over Korea, as an outcome of the undefined position that had existed since 1885 owing to the imperialistic policy of the Japanese. China had created a North China squadron, but this was all that can be regarded as Chinese preparation for the long-expected war. The Governor General of Chihli (now Hopei--the province in which Peking is situated), Li Hung-chang, was a general who had done good service, but he lost the war, and at Shimonoseki (1895) he had to sign a treaty on very harsh terms, in which China relinquished her protectorate over Korea and lost Formosa. The intervention of France, Germany, and Russia compelled Japan to content herself with these acquisitions, abandoning her demand for South Manchuria. 10 _Russia in Manchuria_ After the Crimean War, Russia had turned her attention once more to the East. There had been hostilities with China over eastern Siberia, which were brought to an end in 1858 by the Treaty of Aigun, under which China ceded certain territories in northern Manchuria. This made possible the founding of Vladivostok in 1860. Russia received Sakhalin from Japan in 1875 in exchange for the Kurile Islands. She received from China the important Port Arthur as a leased territory, and then tried to secure the whole of South Manchuria. This brought Japan's policy of expansion into conflict with Russia's plans in the Far East. Russia wanted Manchuria in order to be able to pursue a policy in the Pacific; but Japan herself planned to march into Manchuria from Korea, of which she already had possession. This imperialist rivalry made war inevitable: Russia lost the war; under the Treaty of Portsmouth in 1905 Russia gave Japan the main railway through Manchuria, with adjoining territory. Thus Manchuria became Japan's sphere of influence and was lost to the Manchus without their being consulted in any way. The Japanese penetration of Manchuria then proceeded stage by stage, not without occasional setbacks, until she had occupied the whole of Manchuria from 1932 to 1945. After the end of the second world war, Manchuria was returned to China, with certain reservations in favour of the Soviet Union, which were later revoked. 11 _Reform and reaction: the Boxer Rising_ China had lost the war with Japan because she was entirely without modern armament. While Japan went to work at once with all her energy to emulate Western industrialization, the ruling class in China had shown a marked repugnance to any modernization; and the centre of this conservatism was the dowager empress Tz[)u] Hsi. She was a woman of strong personality, but too uneducated--in the modern sense--to be able to realize that modernization was an absolute necessity for China if it was to remain an independent state. The empress failed to realize that the Europeans were fundamentally different from the neighbouring tribes or the pirates of the past; she had not the capacity to acquire a general grasp of the realities of world politics. She felt instinctively that Europeanization would wreck the foundations of the power of the Manchus and the gentry, and would bring another class, the middle class and the merchants, into power. There were reasonable men, however, who had seen the necessity of reform--especially Li Hung-chang, who has already been mentioned. In 1896 he went on a mission to Moscow, and then toured Europe. The reformers were, however, divided into two groups. One group advocated the acquisition of a certain amount of technical knowledge from abroad and its introduction by slow reforms, without altering the social structure of the state or the composition of the government. The others held that the state needed fundamental changes, and that superficial loans from Europe were not enough. The failure in the war with Japan made the general desire for reform more and more insistent not only in the country but in Peking. Until now Japan had been despised as a barbarian state; now Japan had won! The Europeans had been despised; now they were all cutting bits out of China for themselves, extracting from the government one privilege after another, and quite openly dividing China into "spheres of interest", obviously as the prelude to annexation of the whole country. In Europe at that time the question was being discussed over and over again, why Japan had so quickly succeeded in making herself a modern power, and why China was not succeeding in doing so; the Japanese were praised for their capacity and the Chinese blamed for their lassitude. Both in Europe and in Chinese circles it was overlooked that there were fundamental differences in the social structures of the two countries. The basis of the modern capitalist states of the West is the middle class. Japan had for centuries had a middle class (the merchants) that had entered into a symbiosis with the feudal lords. For the middle class the transition to modern capitalism, and for the feudal lords the way to Western imperialism, was easy. In China there was only a weak middle class, vegetating under the dominance of the gentry; the middle class had still to gain the strength to liberate itself before it could become the support for a capitalistic state. And the gentry were still strong enough to maintain their dominance and so to prevent a radical reconstruction; all they would agree to were a few reforms from which they might hope to secure an increase of power for their own ends. In 1895 and in 1698 a scholar, K'ang Yo-wei, who was admitted into the presence of the emperor, submitted to him memoranda in which he called for radical reform. K'ang was a scholar who belonged to the empiricist school of philosophy of the early Manchu period, the so-called Han school. He was a man of strong and persuasive personality, and had such an influence on the emperor that in 1898 the emperor issued several edicts ordering the fundamental reorganization of education, law, trade, communications, and the army. These laws were not at all bad in themselves; they would have paved the way for a liberalization of Chinese society. But they aroused the utmost hatred in the conservative gentry and also in the moderate reformers among the gentry. K'ang Yo-wei and his followers, to whom a number of well-known modern scholars belonged, had strong support in South China. We have already mentioned that owing to the increased penetration of European goods and ideas, South China had become more progressive than the north; this had added to the tension already existing for other reasons between north and south. In foreign policy the north was more favourable to Russia and radically opposed to Japan and Great Britain; the south was in favour of co-operation with Britain and Japan, in order to learn from those two states how reform could be carried through. In the north the men of the south were suspected of being anti-Manchu and revolutionary in feeling. This was to some extent true, though K'ang Yo-wei and his friends were as yet largely unconscious of it. When the empress Tz[)u] Hsi saw that the emperor was actually thinking about reforms, she went to work with lightning speed. Very soon the reformers had to flee; those who failed to make good their escape were arrested and executed. The emperor was made a prisoner in a palace near Peking, and remained a captive until his death; the empress resumed her regency on his behalf. The period of reforms lasted only for a few months of 1898. A leading part in the extermination of the reformers was played by troops from Kansu under the command of a Mohammedan, Tung Fu-hsiang. General Yüan Shih-k'ai, who was then stationed at Tientsin in command of 7,000 troops with modern equipment, the only ones in China, could have removed the empress and protected the reformers; but he was already pursuing a personal policy, and thought it safer to give the reformers no help. There now began, from 1898, a thoroughly reactionary rule of the dowager empress. But China's general situation permitted no breathing-space. In 1900 came the so-called Boxer Rising, a new popular movement against the gentry and the Manchus similar to the many that had preceded it. The Peking government succeeded, however, in negotiations that brought the movement into the service of the government and directed it against the foreigners. This removed the danger to the government and at the same time helped it against the hated foreigners. But incidents resulted which the Peking government had not anticipated. An international army was sent to China, and marched from Tientsin against Peking, to liberate the besieged European legations and to punish the government. The Europeans captured Peking (1900); the dowager empress and her prisoner, the emperor, had to flee; some of the palaces were looted. The peace treaty that followed exacted further concessions from China to the Europeans and enormous war indemnities, the payment of which continued into the 1940's, though most of the states placed the money at China's disposal for educational purposes. When in 1902 the dowager empress returned to Peking and put the emperor back into his palace-prison, she was forced by what had happened to realize that at all events a certain measure of reform was necessary. The reforms, however, which she decreed, mainly in 1904, were very modest and were never fully carried out. They were only intended to make an impression on the outer world and to appease the continually growing body of supporters of the reform party, especially numerous in South China. The south remained, nevertheless, a focus of hostility to the Manchus. After his failure in 1898, K'ang Yo-wei went to Europe, and no longer played any important political part. His place was soon taken by a young Chinese physician who had been living abroad, Sun Yat-sen (1866-1925), who turned the reform party into a middle-class revolutionary party. 12 _End of the dynasty_ Meanwhile the dowager empress held her own. General Yüan Shih-k'ai, who had played so dubious a part in 1898, was not impeccably loyal to her, and remained unreliable. He was beyond challenge the strongest man in the country, for he possessed the only modern army; but he was still biding his time. In 1908 the dowager empress fell ill; she was seventy-four years old. When she felt that her end was near, she seems to have had the captive emperor Tê Tsung assassinated (at 5 p.m. on November 14th); she herself died next day (November 15th, 2 p.m.): she was evidently determined that this man, whom she had ill-treated and oppressed all his life, should not regain independence. As Tê Tsung had no children, she nominated on the day of her death the two-year-old prince P'u Yi as emperor (reign name Hsüan-t'ung, 1909-1911). The fact that another child was to reign and a new regency to act for him, together with all the failures in home and foreign policy, brought further strength to the revolutionary party. The government believed that it could only maintain itself if it allowed Yüan Shih-k'ai, the commander of the modern troops, to come to power. The chief regent, however, worked against Yüan Shih-k'ai and dismissed him at the beginning of 1909; Yüan's supporters remained at their posts. Yüan himself now entered into relations with the revolutionaries, whose centre was Canton, and whose undisputed leader was now Sun Yat-sen. At this time Sun and his supporters had already made attempts at revolution, but without success, as his following was as yet too small. It consisted mainly of young intellectuals who had been educated in Europe and America; the great mass of the Chinese people remained unconvinced: the common people could not understand the new ideals, and the middle class did not entirely trust the young intellectuals. The state of China in 1911 was as lamentable as could be: the European states, Russia, America, and Japan regarded China as a field for their own plans, and in their calculations paid scarcely any attention to the Chinese government. Foreign capital was penetrating everywhere in the form of loans or railway and other enterprises. If it had not been for the mutual rivalries of the powers, China would long ago have been annexed by one of them. The government needed a great deal of money for the payment of the war indemnities, and for carrying out the few reforms at last decided on. In order to get money from the provinces, it had to permit the viceroys even more freedom than they already possessed. The result was a spectacle altogether resembling that of the end of the T'ang dynasty, about A.D. 900: the various governors were trying to make themselves independent. In addition to this there was the revolutionary movement in the south. The government made some concession to the progressives, by providing the first beginnings of parliamentary rule. In 1910 a national assembly was convoked. It had a Lower House with representatives of the provinces (provincial diets were also set up), and an Upper House, in which sat representatives of the imperial house, the nobility, the gentry, and also the protectorates. The members of the Upper House were all nominated by the regent. It very soon proved that the members of the Lower House, mainly representatives of the provincial gentry, had a much more practical outlook than the routineers of Peking. Thus the Lower House grew in importance, a fact which, of course, brought grist to the mills of the revolutionary movement. In 1910 the first risings directed actually against the regency took place, in the province of Hunan. In 1911 the "railway disturbances" broke out in western China as a reply of the railway shareholders in the province of Szechwan to the government decree of nationalization of all the railways. The modernist students, most of whom were sons of merchants who owned railway shares, supported the movement, and the government was unable to control them. At the same time a great anti-Manchu revolution began in Wuch'ang, one of the cities of which Wuhan, on the Yangtze, now consists. The revolution was the result of government action against a group of terrorists. Its leader was an officer named Li Yüan-hung. The Manchus soon had some success in this quarter, but the other provincial governors now rose in rapid succession, repudiated the Manchus, and declared themselves independent. Most of the Manchu garrisons in the provinces were murdered. The governors remained at the head of their troops in their provinces, and for the moment made common cause with the revolutionaries, from whom they meant to break free at the first opportunity. The Manchus themselves failed at first to realize the gravity of the revolutionary movement; they then fell into panic-stricken desperation. As a last resource, Yüan Shih-k'ai was recalled (November 10th, 1911) and made prime minister. Yüan's excellent troops were loyal to his person, and he could have made use of them in fighting on behalf of the dynasty. But a victory would have brought no personal gain to him; for his personal plans he considered that the anti-Manchu side provided the springboard he needed. The revolutionaries, for their part, had no choice but to win over Yüan Shih-k'ai for the sake of his troops, since they were not themselves strong enough to get rid of the Manchus, or even to wrest concessions from them, so long as the Manchus were defended by Yüan's army. Thus Yüan and the revolutionaries were forced into each other's arms. He then began negotiations with them, explaining to the imperial house that the dynasty could only be saved by concessions. The revolutionaries--apart from their desire to neutralize the prime minister and general, if not to bring him over to their side--were also readier than ever to negotiate, because they were short of money and unable to obtain loans from abroad, and because they could not themselves gain control of the individual governors. The negotiations, which had been carried on at Shanghai, were broken off on December 18th, 1911, because the revolutionaries demanded a republic, but the imperial house was only ready to grant a constitutional monarchy. Meanwhile the revolutionaries set up a provisional government at Nanking (December 29th, 1911), with Sun Yat-sen as president and Li Yüan-hung as vice-president. Yüan Shih-k'ai now declared to the imperial house that the monarchy could no longer be defended, as his troops were too unreliable, and he induced the Manchu government to issue an edict on February 12th, 1912, in which they renounced the throne of China and declared the Republic to be the constitutional form of state. The young emperor of the Hsüan-t'ung period, after the Japanese conquest of Manchuria in 1931, was installed there. He was, however, entirely without power during the melancholy years of his nominal rule, which lasted until 1945. In 1912 the Manchu dynasty came in reality to its end. On the news of the abdication of the imperial house, Sun Yat-sen resigned in Nanking, and recommended Yüan Shih-k'ai as president. Chapter Eleven THE REPUBLIC (1912-1948) 1 _Social and intellectual position_ In order to understand the period that now followed, let us first consider the social and intellectual position in China in the period between 1911 and 1927. The Manchu dynasty was no longer there, nor were there any remaining real supporters of the old dynasty. The gentry, however, still existed. Alongside it was a still numerically small middle class, with little political education or enlightenment. The political interests of these two groups were obviously in conflict. But after 1912 there had been big changes. The gentry were largely in a process of decomposition. They still possessed the basis of their existence, their land, but the land was falling in value, as there were now other opportunities of capital investment, such as export-import, shareholding in foreign enterprises, or industrial undertakings. It is important to note, however, that there was not much fluid capital at their disposal. In addition to this, cheaper rice and other foodstuffs were streaming from abroad into China, bringing the prices for Chinese foodstuffs down to the world market prices, another painful business blow to the gentry. Silk had to meet the competition of Japanese silk and especially of rayon; the Chinese silk was of very unequal quality and sold with difficulty. On the other hand, through the influence of the Western capitalistic system, which was penetrating more and more into China, land itself became "capital", an object of speculation for people with capital; its value no longer depended entirely on the rents it could yield but, under certain circumstances, on quite other things--the construction of railways or public buildings, and so on. These changes impoverished and demoralized the gentry, who in the course of the past century had grown fewer in number. The gentry were not in a position to take part fully in the capitalist manipulations, because they had never possessed much capital; their wealth had lain entirely in their land, and the income from their rents was consumed quite unproductively in luxurious living. Moreover, the class solidarity of the gentry was dissolving. In the past, politics had been carried on by cliques of gentry families, with the emperor at their head as an unchangeable institution. This edifice had now lost its summit; the struggles between cliques still went on, but entirely without the control which the emperor's power had after all exercised, as a sort of regulative element in the play of forces among the gentry. The arena for this competition had been the court. After the destruction of the arena, the field of play lost its boundaries: the struggles between cliques no longer had a definite objective; the only objective left was the maintenance or securing of any and every hold on power. Under the new conditions cliques or individuals among the gentry could only ally themselves with the possessors of military power, the generals or governors. In this last stage the struggle between rival groups turned into a rivalry between individuals. Family ties began to weaken and other ties, such as between school mates, or origin from the same village or town, became more important than they had been before. For the securing of the aim in view any means were considered justifiable. Never was there such bribery and corruption among the officials as in the years after 1912. This period, until 1927, may therefore be described as a period of dissolution and destruction of the social system of the gentry. Over against this dying class of the gentry stood, broadly speaking, a tripartite opposition. To begin with, there was the new middle class, divided and without clear political ideas; anti-dynastic of course, but undecided especially as to the attitude it should adopt towards the peasants who, to this day, form over 80 per cent of the Chinese population. The middle class consisted mainly of traders and bankers, whose aim was the introduction of Western capitalism in association with foreign powers. There were also young students who were often the sons of old gentry families and had been sent abroad for study with grants given them by their friends and relatives in the government; or sons of businessmen sent away by their fathers. These students not always accepted the ideas of their fathers; they were influenced by the ideologies of the West, Marxist or non-Marxist, and often created clubs or groups in the University cities of Europe or the United States. Such groups of people who had studied together or passed the exams together, had already begun to play a role in politics in the nineteenth century. Now, the influence of such organizations of usually informal character increased. Against the returned students who often had difficulties in adjustment, stood the students at Chinese Universities, especially the National University in Peking (Peita). They represented people of the same origin, but of the lower strata of the gentry or of business; they were more nationalistic and politically active and often less influenced by Western ideologies. In the second place, there was a relatively very small genuine proletariat, the product of the first activities of big capitalists in China, found mainly in Shanghai. Thirdly and finally, there was a gigantic peasantry, uninterested in politics and uneducated, but ready to give unthinking allegiance to anyone who promised to make an end of the intolerable conditions in the matter of rents and taxes, conditions that were growing steadily worse with the decay of the gentry. These peasants were thinking of popular risings on the pattern of all the risings in the history of China--attacks on the towns and the killing of the hated landowners, officials, and moneylenders, that is to say of the gentry. Such was the picture of the middle class and those who were ready to support it, a group with widely divergent interests, held together only by its opposition to the gentry system and the monarchy. It could not but be extremely difficult, if not impossible, to achieve political success with such a group. Sun Yat-sen (1866-1925), the "Father of the Republic", accordingly laid down three stages of progress in his many works, of which the best-known are _San-min chu-i_, ("The Three Principles of the People"), and _Chien-kuo fang-lüeh_ ("Plans for the Building up of the Realm"). The three phases of development through which republican China was to pass were: the phase of struggle against the old system, the phase of educative rule, and the phase of truly democratic government. The phase of educative rule was to be a sort of authoritarian system with a democratic content, under which the people should be familiarized with democracy and enabled to grow politically ripe for true democracy. Difficult as was the internal situation from the social point of view, it was no less difficult in economic respects. China had recognized that she must at least adopt Western technical and industrial progress in order to continue to exist as an independent state. But the building up of industry demanded large sums of money. The existing Chinese banks were quite incapable of providing the capital needed; but the acceptance of capital from abroad led at once, every time, to further political capitulations. The gentry, who had no cash worth mention, were violently opposed to the capitalization of their properties, and were in favour of continuing as far as possible to work the soil in the old style. Quite apart from all this, all over the country there were generals who had come from the ranks of the gentry, and who collected the whole of the financial resources of their region for the support of their private armies. Investors had little confidence in the republican government so long as they could not tell whether the government would decide in favour of its right or of its left wing. No less complicated was the intellectual situation at this time. Confucianism, and the whole of the old culture and morality bound up with it, was unacceptable to the middle-class element. In the first place, Confucianism rejected the principle, required at least in theory by the middle class, of the equality of all people; secondly, the Confucian great-family system was irreconcilable with middle-class individualism, quite apart from the fact that the Confucian form of state could only be a monarchy. Every attempt to bolster up Confucianism in practice or theory was bound to fail and did fail. Even the gentry could scarcely offer any real defence of the Confucian system any longer. With Confucianism went the moral standards especially of the upper classes of society. Taoism was out of the question as a substitute, because of its anarchistic and egocentric character. Consequently, in these years, part of the gentry turned to Buddhism and part to Christianity. Some of the middle class who had come under European influence also turned to Christianity, regarding it as a part of the European civilization they had to adopt. Others adhered to modern philosophic systems such as pragmatism and positivism. Marxist doctrines spread rapidly. Education was secularized. Great efforts were made to develop modern schools, though the work of development was continually hindered by the incessant political unrest. Only at the universities, which became foci of republican and progressive opinion, was any positive achievement possible. Many students and professors were active in politics, organizing demonstrations and strikes. They pursued a strong national policy, often also socialistic. At the same time real scientific work was done; many young scholars of outstanding ability were trained at the Chinese universities, often better than the students who went abroad. There is a permanent disagreement between these two groups of young men with a modern education: the students who return from abroad claim to be better educated, but in reality they often have only a very superficial knowledge of things modern and none at all of China, her history, and her special circumstances. The students of the Chinese universities have been much better instructed in all the things that concern China, and most of them are in no way behind the returned students in the modern sciences. They are therefore a much more serviceable element. The intellectual modernization of China goes under the name of the "Movement of May Fourth", because on May 4th, 1919, students of the National University in Peking demonstrated against the government and their pro-Japanese adherents. When the police attacked the students and jailed some, more demonstrations and student strikes and finally a general boycott of Japanese imports were the consequence. In these protest actions, professors such as Ts'ai Yüan-p'ei, later president of the Academia Sinica (died 1940), took an active part. The forces which had now been mobilized, rallied around the journal "New Youth" (_Hsin Ch'ing-nien_), created in 1915 by Ch'en Tu-hsiu. The journal was progressive, against the monarchy, Confucius, and the old traditions. Ch'en Tu-hsiu who put himself strongly behind the students, was more radical than other contributors but at first favoured Western democracy and Western science; he was influenced mainly by John Dewey who was guest professor in Peking in 1919-20. Similarly tending towards liberalism in politics and Dewey's ideas in the field of philosophy were others, mainly Hu Shih. Finally, some reformers criticized conservatism purely on the basis of Chinese thought. Hu Shih (born 1892) gained greatest acclaim by his proposal for a "literary revolution", published in the "New Youth" in 1917. This revolution was the logically necessary application of the political revolution to the field of education. The new "vernacular" took place of the old "classical" literary language. The language of the classical works is so remote from the language of daily life that no uneducated person can understand it. A command of it requires a full knowledge of all the ancient literature, entailing decades of study. The gentry had elaborated this style of speech for themselves and their dependants; it was their monopoly; nobody who did not belong to the gentry and had not attended its schools could take part in literary or in administrative life. The literary revolution introduced the language of daily life, the language of the people, into literature: newspapers, novels, scientific treatises, translations, appeared in the vernacular, and could thus be understood by anyone who could read and write, even if he had no Confucianist education. It may be said that the literary revolution has achieved its main objects. As a consequence of it, a great quantity of new literature has been published. Not only is every important new book that appears in the West published in translation within a few months, but modern novels and short stories and poems have been written, some of them of high literary value. At the same time as this revolution there took place another fundamental change in the language. It was necessary to take over a vast number of new scientific and technical terms. As Chinese, owing to the character of its script, is unable to write foreign words accurately and can do no more than provide a rather rough paraphrase, the practice was started of expressing new ideas by newly formed native words. Thus modern Chinese has very few foreign words, and yet it has all the new ideas. For example, a telegram is a "lightning-letter"; a wireless telegram is a "not-have-wire-lightning-communication"; a fountain-pen is a "self-flow-ink-water-brush"; a typewriter is a "strike-letter-machine". Most of these neologisms are similar in the modern languages of China and Japan. There had been several proposals in recent decades to do away with the Chinese characters and to introduce an alphabet in their place. They have all proved to be unsatisfactory so far, because the character of the Chinese language, as it is at this moment, is unsuited to an alphabetical script. They would also destroy China's cultural unity: there are many dialects in China that differ so greatly from each other that, for instance, a man from Canton cannot understand a man from Shanghai. If Chinese were written with letters, the result would be a Canton literature and another literature confined to Shanghai, and China would break up into a number of areas with different languages. The old Chinese writing is independent of pronunciation. A Cantonese and a Pekinger can read each other's newspapers without difficulty. They pronounce the words quite differently, but the meaning is unaltered. Even a Japanese can understand a Chinese newspaper without special study of Chinese, and a Chinese with a little preparation can read a Japanese newspaper without understanding a single word of Japanese. The aim of modern education in China is to work towards the establishment of "High Chinese", the former official (Mandarin) language, throughout the country, and to set limits to the use of the various dialects. Once this has been done, it will be possible to proceed to a radical reform of the script without running the risk of political separatist movements, which are always liable to spring up, and also without leading, through the adoption of various dialects as the basis of separate literatures, to the break-up of China's cultural unity. In the last years, the unification of the spoken language has made great progress. Yet, alphabetic script is used only in cases in which illiterate adults have to be enabled in a short time to read very simple informations. More attention is given to a simplification of the script as it is; Japanese had started this some forty years earlier. Unfortunately, the new Chinese abbreviated forms of characters are not always identical with long-established Japanese forms, and are not developed in such a systematic form as would make learning of Chinese characters easier. 2 _First period of the Republic: The warlords_ The situation of the Republic after its foundation was far from hopeful. Republican feeling existed only among the very small groups of students who had modern education, and a few traders, in other words, among the "middle class". And even in the revolutionary party to which these groups belonged there were the most various conceptions of the form of republican state to be aimed at. The left wing of the party, mainly intellectuals and manual workers, had in view more or less vague socialistic institutions; the liberals, for instance the traders, thought of a liberal democracy, more or less on the American pattern; and the nationalists merely wanted the removal of the alien Manchu rule. The three groups had come together for the practical reason that only so could they get rid of the dynasty. They gave unreserved allegiance to Sun Yat-sen as their leader. He succeeded in mobilizing the enthusiasm of continually widening circles for action, not only by the integrity of his aims but also because he was able to present the new socialistic ideology in an alluring form. The anti-republican gentry, however, whose power was not yet entirely broken, took a stand against the party. The generals who had gone over to the republicans had not the slightest intention of founding a republic, but only wanted to get rid of the rule of the Manchus and to step into their place. This was true also of Yüan Shih-k'ai, who in his heart was entirely on the side of the gentry, although the European press especially had always energetically defended him. In character and capacity he stood far above the other generals, but he was no republican. Thus the first period of the Republic, until 1927, was marked by incessant attempts by individual generals to make themselves independent. The Government could not depend on its soldiers, and so was impotent. The first risings of military units began at the outset of 1912. The governors and generals who wanted to make themselves independent sabotaged every decree of the central government; especially they sent it no money from the provinces and also refused to give their assent to foreign loans. The province of Canton, the actual birthplace of the republican movement and the focus of radicalism, declared itself in 1912 an independent republic. Within the Peking government matters soon came to a climax. Yüan Shih-k'ai and his supporters represented the conservative view, with the unexpressed but obvious aim of setting up a new imperial house and continuing the old gentry system. Most of the members of the parliament came, however, from the middle class and were opposed to any reaction of this sort. One of their leaders was murdered, and the blame was thrown upon Yüan Shih-k'ai; there then came, in the middle of 1912, a new revolution, in which the radicals made themselves independent and tried to gain control of South China. But Yüan Shih-k'ai commanded better troops and won the day. At the end of October 1912 he was elected, against the opposition, as president of China, and the new state was recognized by foreign countries. China's internal difficulties reacted on the border states, in which the European powers were keenly interested. The powers considered that the time had come to begin the definitive partition of China. Thus there were long negotiations and also hostilities between China and Tibet, which was supported by Great Britain. The British demanded the complete separation of Tibet from China, but the Chinese rejected this (1912); the rejection was supported by a boycott of British goods. In the end the Tibet question was left undecided. Tibet remained until recent years a Chinese dependency with a good deal of internal freedom. The Second World War and the Chinese retreat into the interior brought many Chinese settlers into Eastern Tibet which was then separated from Tibet proper and made a Chinese province (Hsi-k'ang) in which the native Khamba will soon be a minority. The communist regime soon after its establishment conquered Tibet (1950) and has tried to change the character of its society and its system of government which lead to the unsuccessful attempt of the Tibetans to throw off Chinese rule (1959) and the flight of the Dalai Lama to India. The construction of highways, air and missile bases and military occupation have thus tied Tibet closer to China than ever since early Manchu times. In Outer Mongolia Russian interests predominated. In 1911 there were diplomatic incidents in connection with the Mongolian question. At the end of 1911 the Hutuktu of Urga declared himself independent, and the Chinese were expelled from the country. A secret treaty was concluded in 1912 with Russia, under which Russia recognized the independence of Outer Mongolia, but was accorded an important part as adviser and helper in the development of the country. In 1913 a Russo-Chinese treaty was concluded, under which the autonomy of Outer Mongolia was recognized, but Mongolia became a part of the Chinese realm. After the Russian revolution had begun, revolution was carried also into Mongolia. The country suffered all the horrors of the struggles between White Russians (General Ungern-Sternberg) and the Reds; there were also Chinese attempts at intervention, though without success, until in the end Mongolia became a Soviet Republic. As such she is closely associated with Soviet Russia. China, however, did not quickly recognize Mongolia's independence, and in his work _China's Destiny_ (1944) Chiang Kai-shek insisted that China's aim remained the recovery of the frontiers of 1840, which means among other things the recovery of Outer Mongolia. In spite of this, after the Second World War Chiang Kai-shek had to renounce _de jure_ all rights in Outer Mongolia. Inner Mongolia was always united to China much more closely; only for a time during the war with Japan did the Japanese maintain there a puppet government. The disappearance of this government went almost unnoticed. At the time when Russian penetration into Mongolia began, Japan had entered upon a similar course in Manchuria, which she regarded as her "sphere of influence". On the outbreak of the first world war Japan occupied the former German-leased territory of Tsingtao, at the extremity of the province of Shantung, and from that point she occupied the railways of the province. Her plan was to make the whole province a protectorate; Shantung is rich in coal and especially in metals. Japan's plans were revealed in the notorious "Twenty-one Demands" (1915). Against the furious opposition especially of the students of Peking, Yüan Shih-k'ai's government accepted the greater part of these demands. In negotiations with Great Britain, in which Japan took advantage of the British commitments in Europe, Japan had to be conceded the predominant position in the Far East. Meanwhile Yüan Shih-k'ai had made all preparations for turning the Republic once more into an empire, in which he would be emperor; the empire was to be based once more on the gentry group. In 1914 he secured an amendment of the Constitution under which the governing power was to be entirely in the hands of the president; at the end of 1914 he secured his appointment as president for life, and at the end of 1915 he induced the parliament to resolve that he should become emperor. This naturally aroused the resentment of the republicans, but it also annoyed the generals belonging to the gentry, who had the same ambition. Thus there were disturbances, especially in the south, where Sun Yat-sen with his followers agitated for a democratic republic. The foreign powers recognized that a divided China would be much easier to penetrate and annex than a united China, and accordingly opposed Yüan Shih-k'ai. Before he could ascend the throne, he died suddenly--and this terminated the first attempt to re-establish monarchy. Yüan was succeeded as president by Li Yüan-hung. Meanwhile five provinces had declared themselves independent. Foreign pressure on China steadily grew. She was forced to declare war on Germany, and though this made no practical difference to the war, it enabled the European powers to penetrate further into China. Difficulties grew to such an extent in 1917 that a dictatorship was set up and soon after came an interlude, the recall of the Manchus and the reinstatement of the deposed emperor (July 1st-8th, 1917). This led to various risings of generals, each aiming simply at the satisfaction of his thirst for personal power. Ultimately the victorious group of generals, headed by Tuan Ch'i-jui, secured the election of Fêng Kuo-chang in place of the retiring president. Fêng was succeeded at the end of 1918 by Hsü Shih-ch'ang, who held office until 1922. Hsü, as a former ward of the emperor, was a typical representative of the gentry, and was opposed to all republican reforms. The south held aloof from these northern governments. In Canton an opposition government was set up, formed mainly of followers of Sun Yat-sen; the Peking government was unable to remove the Canton government. But the Peking government and its president scarcely counted any longer even in the north. All that counted were the generals, the most prominent of whom were: (1) Chang Tso-lin, who had control of Manchuria and had made certain terms with Japan, but who was ultimately murdered by the Japanese (1928); (2) Wu P'ei-fu, who held North China; (3) the so-called "Christian general", Fêng Yü-hsiang, and (4) Ts'ao K'un, who became president in 1923. At the end of the first world war Japan had a hold over China amounting almost to military control of the country. China did not sign the Treaty of Versailles, because she considered that she had been duped by Japan, since Japan had driven the Germans out of China but had not returned the liberated territory to the Chinese. In 1921 peace was concluded with Germany, the German privileges being abolished. The same applied to Austria. Russia, immediately after the setting up of the Soviet government, had renounced all her rights under the Capitulations. This was the first step in the gradual rescinding of the Capitulations; the last of them went only in 1943, as a consequence of the difficult situation of the Europeans and Americans in the Pacific produced by the Second World War. At the end of the first world war the foreign powers revised their attitude towards China. The idea of territorial partitioning of the country was replaced by an attempt at financial exploitation; military friction between the Western powers and Japan was in this way to be minimized. Financial control was to be exercised by an international banking consortium (1920). It was necessary for political reasons that this committee should be joined by Japan. After her Twenty-one Demands, however, Japan was hated throughout China. During the world war she had given loans to the various governments and rebels, and in this way had secured one privilege after another. Consequently China declined the banking consortium. She tried to secure capital from her own resources; but in the existing political situation and the acute economic depression internal loans had no success. In an agreement between the United States and Japan in 1917, the United States, in consequence of the war, had to give their assent to special rights for Japan in China. After the war the international conference at Washington (November 1921-February 1922) tried to set narrower limits to Japan's influence over China, and also to re-determine the relative strength in the Pacific of the four great powers (America, Britain, France, Japan). After the failure of the banking plan this was the last means of preventing military conflicts between the powers in the Far East. This brought some relief to China, as Japan had to yield for the time to the pressure of the western powers. The years that followed until 1927 were those of the complete collapse of the political power of the Peking government--years of entire dissolution. In the south Sun Yat-sen had been elected generalissimo in 1921. In 1924 he was re-elected with a mandate for a campaign against the north. In 1924 there also met in Canton the first general congress of the Kuomintang ("People's Party"). The Kuomintang (in 1929 it had 653,000 members, or roughly 0.15 per cent of the population) is the continuation of the Komingtang ("Revolutionary Party") founded by Sun Yat-sen, which as a middle-class party had worked for the removal of the dynasty. The new Kuomintang was more socialistic, as is shown by its admission of Communists and the stress laid upon land reform. At the end of 1924 Sun Yat-sen with some of his followers went to Peking, to discuss the possibility of a reunion between north and south on the basis of the program of the People's Party. There, however, he died at the beginning of 1925, before any definite results had been attained; there was no prospect of achieving anything by the negotiations, and the south broke them off. But the death of Sun Yat-sen had been followed after a time by tension within the party between its right and left wings. The southern government had invited a number of Russian advisers in 1923 to assist in building up the administration, civil and military, and on their advice the system of government had been reorganized on lines similar to those of the soviet and commissar system. This change had been advocated by an old friend of Sun Yat-sen, Chiang Kai-shek, who later married Sun's sister-in-law. Chiang Kai-shek, who was born in 1886, was the head of the military academy at Whampoa, near Canton, where Russian instructors were at work. The new system was approved by Sun Yat-sen's successor, Hu Han-min (who died in 1936), in his capacity of party leader. It was opposed by the elements of the right, who at first had little influence. Chiang Kai-shek soon became one of the principal leaders of the south, as he had command of the efficient troops of Canton, who had been organized by the Russians. The People's Party of the south and its governments, at that time fairly radical in politics, were disliked by the foreign powers; only Japan supported them for a time, owing to the anti-British feeling of the South Chinese and in order to further her purpose of maintaining disunion in China. The first serious collision with the outer world came on May 30th, 1925, when British soldiers shot at a crowd demonstrating in Shanghai. This produced a widespread boycott of British goods in Canton and in British Hong Kong, inflicting a great loss on British trade with China and bringing considerable advantages in consequence to Japanese trade and shipping: from the time of this boycott began the Japanese grip on Chinese coastwise shipping. The second party congress was held in Canton in 1926. Chiang Kai-shek already played a prominent part. The People's Party, under Chiang Kai-shek and with the support of the communists, began the great campaign against the north. At first it had good success: the various provincial governors and generals and the Peking government were played off against each other, and in a short time one leader after another was defeated. The Yangtze was reached, and in 1926 the southern government moved to Hankow. All over the southern provinces there now came a genuine rising of the masses of the people, mainly the result of communist propaganda and of the government's promise to give land to the peasants, to set limits to the big estates, and to bring order into the taxation. In spite of its communist element, at the beginning of 1927 the southern government was essentially one of the middle class and the peasantry, with a socialistic tendency. 3 _Second period of the Republic: Nationalist China_ With the continued success of the northern campaign, and with Chiang Kai-shek's southern army at the gates of Shanghai (March 21st, 1927), a decision had to be taken. Should the left wing be allowed to gain the upper hand, and the great capitalists of Shanghai be expropriated as it was proposed to expropriate the gentry? Or should the right wing prevail, an alliance be concluded with the capitalists, and limits be set to the expropriation of landed estates? Chiang Kai-shek, through his marriage with Sun Yat-sen's wife's sister, had become allied with one of the greatest banking families. In the days of the siege of Shanghai Chiang, together with his closest colleagues (with the exception of Hu Han-min and Wang Chying-wei, a leader who will be mentioned later), decided on the second alternative. Shanghai came into his hands without a struggle, and the capital of the Shanghai financiers, and soon foreign capital as well, was placed at his disposal, so that he was able to pay his troops and finance his administration. At the same time the Russian advisers were dismissed or executed. The decision arrived at by Chiang Kai-shek and his friends did not remain unopposed, and he parted from the "left group" (1927) which formed a rival government in Hankow, while Chiang Kai-shek made Nanking the seat of his government (April 1927). In that year Chiang not only concluded peace with the financiers and industrialists, but also a sort of "armistice" with the landowning gentry. "Land reform" still stood on the party program, but nothing was done, and in this way the confidence and co-operation of large sections of the gentry was secured. The choice of Nanking as the new capital pleased both the industrialists and the agrarians: the great bulk of China's young industries lay in the Yangtze region, and that region was still the principal one for agricultural produce; the landowners of the region were also in a better position with the great market of the capital in their neighbourhood. Meanwhile the Nanking government had succeeded in carrying its dealings with the northern generals to a point at which they were largely out-manoeuvred and became ready for some sort of collaboration (1928). There were now four supreme commanders--Chiang Kai-shek, Fêng Yü-hsiang (the "Christian general"), Yen Hsi-shan, the governor of Shansi, and the Muslim Li Chung-yen. Naturally this was not a permanent solution; not only did Chiang Kai-shek's three rivals try to free themselves from his ever-growing influence and to gain full power themselves, but various groups under military leadership rose again and again, even in the home of the Republic, Canton itself. These struggles, which were carried on more by means of diplomacy and bribery than at arms, lasted until 1936. Chiang Kai-shek, as by far the most skilful player in this game, and at the same time the man who had the support of the foreign governments and of the financiers of Shanghai, gained the victory. China became unified under his dictatorship. As early as 1928, when there seemed a possibility of uniting China, with the exception of Manchuria, which was dominated by Japan, and when the European powers began more and more to support Chiang Kai-shek, Japan felt that her interests in North China were threatened, and landed troops in Shantung. There was hard fighting on May 3rd, 1928. General Chang Tso-lin, in Manchuria, who was allied to Japan, endeavoured to secure a cessation of hostilities, but he fell victim to a Japanese assassin; his place was taken by his son, Chang Hsüeh-liang, who pursued an anti-Japanese policy. The Japanese recognized, however, that in view of the international situation the time had not yet come for intervention in North China. In 1929 they withdrew their troops and concentrated instead on their plans for Manchuria. Until the time of the "Manchurian incident" (1931), the Nanking government steadily grew in strength. It gained the confidence of the western powers, who proposed to make use of it in opposition to Japan's policy of expansion in the Pacific sphere. On the strength of this favourable situation in its foreign relations, the Nanking government succeeded in getting rid of one after another of the Capitulations. Above all, the administration of the "Maritime Customs", that is to say of the collection of duties on imports and exports, was brought under the control of the Chinese government: until then it had been under foreign control. Now that China could act with more freedom in the matter of tariffs, the government had greater financial resources, and through this and other measures it became financially more independent of the provinces. It succeeded in building up a small but modern army, loyal to the government and superior to the still existing provincial armies. This army gained its military experience in skirmishes with the Communists and the remaining generals. It is true that when in 1931 the Japanese occupied Manchuria, Nanking was helpless, since Manchuria was only loosely associated with Nanking, and its governor, Chang Hsüeh-liang, had tried to remain independent of it. Thus Manchuria was lost almost without a blow. On the other hand, the fighting with Japan that broke out soon afterwards in Shanghai brought credit to the young Nanking army, though owing to its numerical inferiority it was unsuccessful. China protested to the League of Nations against its loss of Manchuria. The League sent a commission (the Lytton Commission), which condemned Japan's action, but nothing further happened, and China indignantly broke away from her association with the Western powers (1932-1933). In view of the tense European situation (the beginning of the Hitler era in Germany, and the Italian plans of expansion), the Western powers did not want to fight Japan on China's behalf, and without that nothing more could be done. They pursued, indeed, a policy of playing off Japan against China, in order to keep those two powers occupied with each other, and so to divert Japan from Indo-China and the Pacific. China had thus to be prepared for being involved one day in a great war with Japan. Chiang Kai-shek wanted to postpone war as long as possible. He wanted time to establish his power more thoroughly within the country, and to strengthen his army. In regard to external relations, the great powers would have to decide their attitude sooner or later. America could not be expected to take up a clear attitude: she was for peace and commerce, and she made greater profits out of her relations with Japan than with China; she sent supplies to both (until 1941). On the other hand, Britain and France were more and more turning away from Japan, and Russo-Japanese relations were at all times tense. Japan tried to emerge from her isolation by joining the "axis powers", Germany and Italy (1936); but it was still doubtful whether the Western powers would proceed with Russia, and therefore against Japan, or with the Axis, and therefore in alliance with Japan. Japan for her part considered that if she was to raise the standard of living of her large population and to remain a world power, she must bring into being her "Greater East Asia", so as to have the needed raw material sources and export markets in the event of a collision with the Western powers; in addition to this, she needed a security girdle as extensive as possible in case of a conflict with Russia. In any case, "Greater East Asia" must be secured before the European conflict should break out. 4 _The Sino-Japanese war_ (1937-1945) Accordingly, from 1933 onward Japan followed up her conquest of Manchuria by bringing her influence to bear in Inner Mongolia and in North China. She succeeded first, by means of an immense system of smuggling, currency manipulation, and propaganda, in bringing a number of Mongol princes over to her side, and then (at the end of 1935) in establishing a semi-dependent government in North China. Chiang Kai-shek took no action. The signal for the outbreak of war was an "incident" by the Marco Polo Bridge, south of Peking (July 7th, 1937). The Japanese government profited by a quite unimportant incident, undoubtedly provoked by the Japanese, in order to extend its dominion a little further. China still hesitated; there were negotiations. Japan brought up reinforcements and put forward demands which China could not be expected to be ready to fulfil. Japan then occupied Peking and Tientsin and wide regions between them and south of them. The Chinese soldiers stationed there withdrew almost without striking a blow, but formed up again and began to offer resistance. In order to facilitate the planned occupation of North China, including the province of Shantung, Japan decided on a diversionary campaign against Shanghai. The Nanking government sent its best troops to the new front, and held it for nearly three months against superior forces; but meanwhile the Japanese steadily advanced in North China. On November 9th Nanking fell into their hands. By the beginning of January 1938, the province of Shantung had also been conquered. Chiang Kai-shek and his government fled to Ch'ung-k'ing (Chungking), the most important commercial and financial centre of the interior after Hankow, which was soon threatened by the Japanese fleet. By means of a number of landings the Japanese soon conquered the whole coast of China, so cutting off all supplies to the country; against hard fighting in some places they pushed inland along the railways and conquered the whole eastern half of China, the richest and most highly developed part of the country. Chiang Kai-shek had the support only of the agriculturally rich province of Szechwan, and of the scarcely developed provinces surrounding it. Here there was as yet no industry. Everything in the way of machinery and supplies that could be transported from the hastily dismantled factories was carried westward. Students and professors went west with all the contents of their universities, and worked on in small villages under very difficult conditions--one of the most memorable achievements of this war for China. But all this was by no means enough for waging a defensive war against Japan. Even the famous Burma Road could not save China. By 1940-1941 Japan had attained her war aim: China was no longer a dangerous adversary. She was still able to engage in small-scale fighting, but could no longer secure any decisive result. Puppet governments were set up in Peking, Canton, and Nanking, and the Japanese waited for these governments gradually to induce supporters of Chiang Kai-shek to come over to their side. Most was expected of Wang Ching-wei, who headed the new Nanking government. He was one of the oldest followers of Sun Yat-sen, and was regarded as a democrat. In 1925, after Sun Yat-sen's death, he had been for a time the head of the Nanking government, and for a short time in 1930 he had led a government in Peking that was opposed to Chiang Kai-shek's dictatorship. Beyond any question Wang still had many followers, including some in the highest circles at Chungking, men of eastern China who considered that collaboration with Japan, especially in the economic field, offered good prospects. Japan paid lip service to this policy: there was talk of sister peoples, which could help each other and supply each other's needs. There was propaganda for a new "Greater East Asian" philosophy, _Wang-tao_, in accordance with which all the peoples of the East could live together in peace under a thinly disguised dictatorship. What actually happened was that everywhere Japanese capitalists established themselves in the former Chinese industrial plants, bought up land and securities, and exploited the country for the conduct of their war. After the great initial successes of Hitlerite Germany in 1939-1941, Japan became convinced that the time had come for a decisive blow against the positions of the Western European powers and the United States in the Far East. Lightning blows were struck at Hong Kong and Singapore, at French Indo-China, and at the Netherlands East Indies. The American navy seemed to have been eliminated by the attack on Pearl Harbour, and one group of islands after another fell into the hands of the Japanese. Japan was at the gates of India and Australia. Russia was carrying on a desperate defensive struggle against the Axis, and there was no reason to expect any intervention from her in the Far East. Greater East Asia seemed assured against every danger. The situation of Chiang Kai-shek's Chungking government seemed hopeless. Even the Burma Road was cut, and supplies could only be sent by air; there was shortage of everything. With immense energy small industries were begun all over western China, often organized as co-operatives; roads and railways were built--but with such resources would it ever be possible to throw the Japanese into the sea? Everything depended on holding out until a new page was turned in Europe. Infinitely slow seemed the progress of the first gleams of hope--the steady front in Burma, the reconquest of the first groups of inlands; the first bomb attacks on Japan itself. Even in May, 1945, with the war ended in Europe, there seemed no sign of its ending in the Far East. Then came the atom bomb, bringing the collapse of Japan; the Japanese armies receded from China, and suddenly China was free, mistress once more in her own country as she had not been for decades. Chapter Twelve PRESENT-DAY CHINA 1 _The growth of communism_ In order to understand today's China, we have to go back in time to report events which were cut short or left out of our earlier discussion in order to present them in the context of this chapter. Although socialism and communism had been known in China long ago, this line of development of Western philosophy had interested Chinese intellectuals much less than liberalistic, democratic Western ideas. It was widely believed that communism had no real prospects for China, as a dictatorship of the proletariat seemed to be relevant only in a highly industrialized and not in an agrarian society. Thus, in its beginning the "Movement of May Fourth" of 1919 had Western ideological traits but was not communistic. This changed with the success of communism in Russia and with the theoretical writings of Lenin. Here it was shown that communist theories could be applied to a country similar to China in its level of development. Already from 1919 on, some of the leaders of the Movement turned towards communism: the National University of Peking became the first centre of this movement, and Ch'en Tu-hsiu, then dean of the College of Letters, from 1920 on became one of its leaders. Hu Shih did not move to the left with this group; he remained a liberal. But another well-known writer, Lu Hsün (1881-1936), while following Hu Shih in the "Literary Revolution," identified politically with Ch'en. There was still another man, the Director of the University Library, Li Ta-chao, who turned towards communism. With him we find one of his employees in the Library, Mao Tse-tung. In fact, the nucleus of the Communist Party, which was officially created as late as 1921, was a student organization including some professors in Peking. On the other hand, a student group in Paris had also learned about communism and had organized; the leaders of this group were Chou En-lai and Li Li-san. A little later, a third group organized in Germany; Chu Tê belonged to this group. The leadership of Communist China since 1949 has been in the hands of men of these three former student groups. After 1920, Sun Yat-sen, too, became interested in the developments in Soviet Russia. Yet, he never actually became a communist; his belief that the soil should belong to the tiller cannot really be combined with communism, which advocates the abolition of individual land-holdings. Yet, Soviet Russia found it useful to help Sun Yat-sen and advised the Chinese Communist Party to collaborate with the KMT (Kuomintang). This collaboration, not always easy, continued until the fall of Shanghai in 1927. In the meantime, Mao Tse-tung had given up his studies in Peking and had returned to his home in Hunan. Here, he organized his countrymen, the farmers of Hunan. It is said that at the verge of the northern expedition of Chiang Kai-shek, Mao's adherents in Hunan already numbered in the millions; this made the quick and smooth advance of the communist-advised armies of Chiang Kai-shek possible. Mao developed his ideas in written form in 1927; he showed that communism in China could be successful only if it was based upon farmers. Because of this unorthodox attitude, he was for years severely attacked as a deviationist. When Chiang Kai-shek separated from the KMT in 1927, the main body of the KMT remained in Hankow as the legal government. But now, while Chiang Kai-shek executed all leftists, union leaders, and communists who fell into his hands, tensions in Hankow increased between the Chinese Communist Party and the rest of the KMT. Finally, the KMT turned against the communists and reunited with Chiang Kai-shek. The remaining communists retreated to the Hunan-Kiangsi border area, the centre of Mao's activities; even the orthodox communist wing, which had condemned Mao, now had to come to him for protection from the KMT. A small communist state began to develop in Kiangsi, in spite of pressure and, later, attacks of the KMT against them. By 1934, this pressure became so strong that Kiangsi had to be abandoned, and in the epic "Long March" the rest of the communists and their army fought their way through all of western and north-western China into the sparsely inhabited, underdeveloped northern part of Shensi, where a new socialistic state was created with Yen-an as its capital. After the fall of the communist enclave in Kiangsi, the prospects for the Nationalist regime were bright; indeed, the unification of China was almost achieved. At this moment a new Japanese invasion threatened and demanded the full attention of the regime. Thus, in spite of talk about land reform and other reforms which might have led to a liberalization of the government, no attention was given to internal and social problems except to the suppression of communist thought. Although all leftist publications were prohibited, most historians and sociologists succeeded in writing Marxist books without using Marxist terminology, so that they escaped Chiang's censors. These publications contributed greatly to preparing China's intellectuals and youth for communism. When the Japanese War began, the communists in Yen-an and the Nationalists under Chiang Kai-shek agreed to co-operate against the invaders. Yet, each side remembered its experiences in 1927 and distrusted the other. Chiang's resistance against the invaders became less effective after the Japanese occupied all of China's ports; supplies could reach China only in small quantities by airlift or via the Burma Road. There was also the belief that Japan could be defeated only by an attack on Japan itself and that this would have to be undertaken by the Western powers, not by China. The communists, on their side, set up a guerrilla organization behind the Japanese lines, so that, although the Japanese controlled the cities and the lines of communication, they had little control over the countryside. The communists also attempted to infiltrate the area held by the Nationalists, who in turn were interested in preventing the communists from becoming too strong; so, Nationalist troops guarded also the borders of communist territory. American politicians and military advisers were divided in their opinions. Although they recognized the internal weakness of the Nationalist government, the fighting between cliques within the government, and the ever-increasing corruption, some advocated more help to the Nationalists and a firm attitude against the communists. Others, influenced by impressions gained during visits to Yen-an, and believing in the possibility of honest co-operation between a communist regime and any other, as Roosevelt did, attempted to effect a coalition of the Nationalists with the communists. At the end of the war, when the Nationalist government took over the administration, it lacked popular support in the areas liberated from the Japanese. Farmers who had been given land by the communists, or who had been promised it, were afraid that their former landlords, whether they had remained to collaborate with the Japanese or had fled to West China, would regain control of the land. Workers hoped for new social legislation and rights. Businessmen and industrialists were faced with destroyed factories, worn-out or antiquated equipment, and an unchecked inflation which induced them to shift their accounts into foreign banks or to favour short-term gains rather than long-term investments. As in all countries which have suffered from a long war and an occupation, the youth believed that the old regime had been to blame, and saw promise and hope on the political left. And, finally, the Nationalist soldiers, most of whom had been separated for years from their homes and families, were not willing to fight other Chinese in the civil war now well under way; they wanted to go home and start a new life. The communists, however, were now well organized militarily and well equipped with arms surrendered by the Japanese to the Soviet armies as well as with arms and ammunition sold to them by KMT soldiers; moreover, they were constantly strengthened by deserters from the KMT. The civil war witnessed a steady retreat by the KMT armies, which resisted only sporadically. By the end of 1948, most of mainland China was in the hands of the communists, who established their new capital in Peking. 2 _Nationalist China in Taiwan_ The Nationalist government retreated to Taiwan with those soldiers who remained loyal. This island was returned to China after the defeat of Japan, though final disposition of its status had not yet been determined. Taiwan's original population had been made up of more than a dozen tribes who are probably distant relatives of tribes in the Philippines. These are Taiwan's "aborigines," altogether about 200,000 people in 1948. At about the time of the Sung dynasty, Chinese began to establish outposts on the island; these developed into regular agricultural settlements toward the end of the Ming dynasty. Immigration increased in the eighteenth and especially the nineteenth centuries. These Chinese immigrants and their descendants are the "Taiwanese," Taiwan's main population of about eight million people as of 1948. Taiwan was at first a part of the province of Fukien, whence most of its Chinese settlers came; there was also a minority of Hakka, Chinese from Kuangtung province. When Taiwan was ceded to Japan, it was still a colonial area with much lawlessness and disorder, but with a number of flourishing towns and a growing population. The Japanese, who sent administrators but no settlers, established law and order, protected the aborigines from land-hungry Chinese settlers, and attempted to abolish headhunting by the aborigines and to raise the cultural level in general. They built a road and railway system and strongly stressed the production of sugar cane and rice. During the Second World War, the island suffered from air attacks and from the inability of the Japanese to protect its industries. After Chiang Kai-shek and the remainder of his army and of his government officials arrived in Taiwan, they were followed by others fleeing from the communist regime, mainly from Chekiang, Kiangsu, and the northern provinces of the mainland. Eventually, there were on Taiwan about two million of these "mainlanders," as they have sometimes been called. When the Chinese Nationalists took over from the Japanese, they assumed all the leading positions in the government. The Taiwanese nationals who had opposed the Japanese were disappointed; for their part, the Nationalists felt threatened because of their minority position. The next years, especially up to 1952, were characterized by terror and bloodshed. Tensions persisted for many years, but have lessened since about 1960. The new government of Taiwan resembled China's pre-war government under Chiang Kai-shek. First, to maintain his claim to the legitimate rule of all of China, Chiang retained--and controlled through his party, the KMT--his former government organization, complete with cabinet ministers, administrators, and elected parliament, under the name "Central Government of China." Secondly, the actual government of Taiwan, which he considered one of China's provinces, was organized as the "Provincial Government of Taiwan," whose leading positions were at first in the hands of KMT mainlanders. There have since been elections for the provincial assembly, for local government councils and boards, and for various provincial and local positions. Thirdly, the military forces were organized under the leadership and command of mainlanders. And finally, the education system was set up in accordance with former mainland practices by mainland specialists. However, evolutionary changes soon occurred. The government's aim was to make Mandarin Chinese the language of all Chinese in Taiwan, as it had been in mainland China long before the War, and to weaken the Taiwanese dialects. Soon almost every child had a minimum of six years of education (increased in 1968 to nine years), with Mandarin Chinese as the medium of instruction. In the beginning few Taiwanese qualified as teachers because, under Japanese rule, Japanese had been the medium of instruction. As the children of Taiwanese and mainland families went to school together, the Taiwanese children quickly learned Mandarin, while most mainland children became familiar with the Taiwan dialect. For the generation in school today, the difference between mainlander and Taiwanese has lost its importance. At the same time, more teachers of Taiwanese origin, but with modern training, have begun to fill first the ranks of elementary, later of high-school, and now even of university instructors, so that the end of mainland predominance in the educational system is foreseeable. The country is still ruled by the KMT, but although at first hardly any Taiwanese belonged to the Party, many of the elective jobs and almost all positions in the provincial government are at present (1969) in the hands of Taiwanese independents, or KMT members, more of whom are entering the central government as well. Because military service is compulsory, the majority of common soldiers are Taiwanese: as career officers grow older and their sons show little interest in an army career, more Taiwan-Chinese are occupying higher army positions. Foreign policy and major political decisions still lie in the hands of mainland Chinese, but economic power, once monopolized by them, is now held by Taiwan-Chinese. This shift gained impetus with the end of American economic aid, which had tied local businessmen to American industry and thus worked to the advantage of mainland Chinese, for these had contacts in the United States, whereas the Taiwan-Chinese had contacts only in Japan. After the termination of American economic aid, Taiwanese trade with Japan, the Philippines, and Korea grew in importance and with it the economic strength of Taiwan-Chinese businessmen. After 1964, Taiwan became a strong competitor of Hong Kong and Japan in some export industries, such as electronics and textiles. We can regard Taiwan from 1964 on as occupying the "takeoff" stage, to use Rostow's terminology--a stage of rapid development of new, principally light and consumer, industries. There has been a rapid rise of industrial towns around the major cities, and there are already many factories in the countryside, even in some villages. Electrification is essentially completed, and heavy industries, such as fertilizer and assembly plants and oil refineries, now exist. This rapid industrialization was accompanied by an unusually fast development of agriculture. A land-reform program limited land ownership, reduced rents, and redistributed formerly Japanese-owned land. This was the program that the Nationalist government had attempted unsuccessfully to enforce in liberated China after the Pacific War. It is well known that the abolition of landlordism and the distribution of land to small farmers do not in themselves improve or enlarge production. The Joint Council on Rural Reconstruction, on which American advisers worked with Chinese specialists to devise a system comparable to American agricultural extension services but possessing added elements of community development, introduced better seeds, more and better fertilizers, and numerous other innovations which the farmers quickly adopted, with the result that the island became self-supporting, in spite of a steadily growing population (thirteen million in 1968). At the same time, the government succeeded in stabilizing the currency and in eliminating corruption, thus re-establishing public confidence and security. Good incomes from farming as well as from industries were invested on the island instead of flowing into foreign banks. In addition, the population had enough surplus money to buy the products of the new domestic industries as these appeared. Thus, the industrialization of Taiwan may be called "industrialization without tears," without the suffering, that is, of proletarian masses who produce objects which they cannot afford for themselves. Today, even lower middle-class families have television consoles which cost the equivalent of US $200; they own electric fans and radios; they are buying Taiwan-produced refrigerators and air conditioners; and more and more think of buying Taiwan-assembled cars. They encourage their children to finish high school and to attend college if at all possible; competition for admission is very strong in spite of the continuous building of new schools and universities. Education to the level of the B.A. is of good quality, but for most graduate study students are still sent abroad. Taiwan complains about the "brain drain," as about 93 per cent of its students who go overseas do not return, but in many fields it has sufficient trained manpower to continue its development, and in any case there would not be enough jobs available if all the students returned. Most of these expatriates would be available to develop mainland China, if conditions there were to change in a way that would make them compatible with the values with which these expatriates grew up on Taiwan, or with the Western democratic values which they absorbed abroad. Chiang Kai-shek's government still hopes that one day its people will return to the mainland. This hope has changed from hope of victory in a civil war to hope of revolutionary developments within Communist China which might lead to the creation of a more liberal government in which men with KMT loyalties could find a place. Because they are Chinese, the present government and, it is believed, the majority of the people, consider themselves a part of China from which they are temporarily separated. Therefore they reject the idea, proposed by some American politicians, that Taiwan should become an independent state. There are, mainly in the United States and Japan, groups of Taiwan-Chinese who favour an independent Taiwan, which naturally would be close to Japan politically and economically. One may agree with their belief that Taiwan, now larger than many European countries, could exist and flourish as an independent country; yet few Chinese will wish to divorce themselves from the world's largest society. 3 _Communist China_ Both Taiwan and mainland China have developed extremely quickly. The reasons do not seem to lie solely in the form of government, for the pre-conditions for a "takeoff" existed in China as early as the 1920's, if not earlier. That is, the quick development of China could have started forty years ago but was prevented, primarily for political reasons. One of the main pre-conditions for quick development is that a large part of the population is inured to hard and repetitive work. The Chinese farmer was accustomed to such work; he put more time and energy into his land than any other farmer. He and his fellows were the industrial workers of the future: reliable, hard-working, tractable, intelligent. To train them was easy, and absenteeism was never a serious problem, as it is in other developing nations. Another pre-condition is the existence of sufficient trained people to manage industry. Forty years ago China had enough such men to start modernization; foreign assistance would have been necessary in some fields, but only briefly. Another requirement (at least in the period before radio and television) is general literacy. Meaningful statistical data on literacy in China before 1937 are lacking. Some authors remark that before 1800 probably all upper-class sons and most daughters were educated, and that men in the middle and even in the lower classes often had some degree of literacy. In this context "educated" means that these persons could read classical poetry and essays written in literary Chinese, which was not the language of daily conversation. "Literacy," however, might mean only that a person could read and write some 600 characters, enough to conduct a business and to read simple stories. Although newspapers today have a stock of about 6,000 characters, only some 600 characters are commonly used, and a farmer or worker can manage well with a knowledge of about 100 characters. Statements to the effect that in 1935 some 70 per cent of all men and 95 per cent of all women were illiterate must include the last category in these figures. In any case, the literacy program of the Nationalist government had penetrated the countryside and had reached even outlying villages before the Pacific War. The transportation system in China before the war was not highly developed, but numerous railroads connecting the main industrial centers did exist, and bus and truck services connected small towns with the larger centers. What were missing in the pre-war years were laws to protect the investor, efficient credit facilities, an insurance system supported by law, and a modern tax structure. In addition, the monetary system was inflation-prone. Although sufficient capital probably could have been mobilized within the country, the available resources either went into foreign banks or were invested in enterprises providing a quick return. The failure to capitalize on existing means of development before the War resulted from the chronic unrest caused by warlordism, revolutionaries and foreign invaders, which occupied the energies of the Nationalist government from its establishment to its fall. Once a stable government free from internal troubles arose, national development, whether private or socialist, could proceed at a rapid pace. Thus, the development of Communist China is not a miracle, possible only because of its form of government. What is unusual about Communist China is the fact that it is the only nation possessing a highly developed culture of its own to have jettisoned it in favour of a foreign one. What missionaries had dreamed of for centuries and knew they would never accomplish, Mao Tse-tung achieved; he imposed an ideology created by Europeans and understandable only in the context of Central Europe in the nineteenth century. How long his success will last is uncertain. One school of analysts believes that the friction between Soviet Russia and Communist China indicates that China's communism has become Chinese. These men point out that Communist Chinese practices are often direct continuations of earlier Chinese practices, customs, and attitudes. And they predict that this trend will continue, resulting in a form of socialism or communism distinctly different from that found in any other country. Another school, however, believes that communism precedes "Sinism," and that the regime will slowly eliminate traits which once were typical of China and replace them with institutions developed out of Marxist thinking. In any case, for the present, although the Communist government's aim is to impose communist thought and institutions in the country, typically Chinese traits are still omnipresent. Soon after the establishment of the Peking regime, a pact of friendship and alliance with the Soviet Union was concluded (February 1950), and Soviet specialists and civil and military products poured into China to speed its development. China had to pay for this assistance as well as for the loans it received from Russia, but the application of Russian experience, often involving the duplication of whole factories, was successful. In a few years, China developed its heavy industry, just as Russia had done. It should not be forgotten that Manchuria, as well as other parts of China, had modern heavy industries long before 1949. The Manchurian factories ceased production because, when the Russians invaded Manchuria at the end of the war, they removed the machinery to Russia. Russian aid to Communist China continued to 1960. Its termination slowed development briefly but was not disastrous. Russian assistance was a "shot in the arm," as stimulating and about as lasting as American aid to Taiwan or to European countries. The stress laid upon heavy industry, in imitation of Russia, increased China's military strength quickly, but the consumer had to wait for goods which would make his life more enjoyable. One cause of friction in China today concerns the relative desirability of heavy industry versus consumer industry, a problem which arose in Russia after the death of Stalin. China's military strength was first demonstrated in the Korean War when Chinese armies entered Korea (October 1950). Their successes contributed to the prestige of the Peking regime at home and abroad, but they also foreshadowed a conflict with Soviet Russia, which regarded North Korea as lying within its own sphere of influence. In the same year, China invaded and conquered Tibet. Tibet, under Manchu rule until 1911, had achieved a certain degree of independence thereafter: no republican Chinese regime ever ruled Lhasa. The military conquest of Tibet is regarded by many as an act of Chinese imperialism, or colonialism, as the Tibetans certainly did not want to belong to China or be forced to change their traditional form of government. Having regarded themselves as subjects of the Manchu but not of the Chinese, they rose against the communist rulers in March 1959, but without success. Chinese control of Tibet, involving the construction of numerous roads, airstrips, and military installations, as well as differences concerning the international border, led in 1959 to conflicts with India, a country which had previously sided with the new China in international affairs. Indeed, the borders were uncertain and looked different depending on whether one used Manchu or Indian maps. China's other border problem was with Burma. Early in 1960 the two countries concluded a border agreement which ended disputes dating from British colonial times. Very early in its existence Communist China assumed control of Sinkiang, Chinese Central Asia, a large area originally inhabited by Turkish and Mongolian tribes and states, later conquered by the Manchu, and then integrated into China in the early nineteenth century. The communist action was to be expected, although after the Revolution of 1911 Chinese rule over this area had been spotty, and during the Pacific War some Soviet-inspired hope had existed that Sinkiang might gain independence, following the example of Outer Mongolia, another country which had been attached to the Manchu until 1911 and which, with Russian assistance, had gained its independence from China. Sinkiang is of great importance to Communist China as the site of large sources of oil and of atomic industries and testing grounds. The government has stimulated and often forced Chinese immigration into Sinkiang, so that the erstwhile Turkish and Mongolian majorities have become minorities, envious of their ethnic brothers in Soviet Central Asia who enjoy a much higher standard of living and more freedom. Inner Mongolia had a brief dream of independence under Japanese protection during the war. But the majority of the population were Chinese, and already before the Pacific War, the country had been divided into three Chinese provinces, of which the Chinese Communists gained control without delay. In general, when the Chinese Communists discuss territorial claims, they appear to seek the restoration of borders that China claimed in the eighteenth century. Thus, they make occasional remarks about the Hi area and parts of Eastern Siberia, which the Manchu either lost to the Russians or claimed as their territory. North Vietnam is probably aware that Imperial China exercised political rights over Tongking and Annam (the present-day North and part of South Vietnam). And, treaty or no, the Sino-Burmese question may be reopened one day, for Burma was semi-dependent on China under the Manchu. The build-up of heavy industry enabled China to conduct an aggressive policy towards the countries surrounding her, but industrialization had to be paid for, and, as in other countries, it was basically agriculture that had to create the necessary capital. Therefore, in June 1950 a land-reform law was promulgated. By October 1952 it had been implemented at an estimated cost of two million human lives: the landlords. The next step, socialization of the land, began in 1953. The co-operative farms were supposed to achieve higher production than small individual farms. It may be that any farmer, but particularly the Chinese, is emotionally involved in his crop, in contrast to the industrial worker, who often is alienated from the product he makes. Thus the farmer is unwilling to put unlimited energy and time into working on a farm that does not belong to him. But it may also be that the application of principles of industrial operation to agriculture fails because emergencies often occur in farming and are followed by periods of leisure, whereas in industry steady work is possible. In any case, in 1956 strains began to appear in China's economy. In early 1958 the "Great Leap Forward" was promoted in an attempt to speed production in all sectors. Soon after, the first communes were created, against the advise of Russian specialists. The objective of the communes seems to have been not only the creation of a new organizational form which would allow the government to exercise more pressure upon farmers to increase production, but also the correlation of labor and other needs of industry with agriculture. The communes may have represented an attempt to set up an organization which could function independently, even in the event of a governmental breakdown in wartime. At the same time, the decentralization of industries began and a people's militia was created. The "back-yard furnaces," which produced high-cost iron of low quality, seem to have had a similar purpose: to teach citizens how to produce iron for armaments in case of war and enemy occupation, when only guerrilla resistance would be possible. In the same year, aggressive actions against offshore, Nationalist-held islands increased. China may have believed that war with the United States was imminent. Perhaps as a result of Russian talks with China, a detente followed in 1959, but so too did increased tension between Russia and China, while the results of the Great Leap and its policies proved catastrophic. The years 1961-64 provided a needed respite from the failures of the Great Leap. Farmers regained limited rights to income from private efforts, and improved farm techniques such as better seed and the use of fertilizer began to produce results. China can now feed her population in normal years. Chinese leaders realize that an improved level of living is difficult to attain while the birth rate remains high. They have hesitated to adopt a family-planning policy, which would fly in the face of Marxist doctrine, although for a short period family planning was openly recommended. Their most efficient method of limiting the birth rate has been to recommend postponement of marriage. First the limitation of private enterprise and business and then the nationalization of all important businesses following the completion of land reform deprived many employers as well as small shopkeepers of an occupation. But the new industries could not absorb all of the labor that suddenly became available. When rural youth inundated the cities in search of employment, the government returned the excess urban population to die countryside and recruited students and other urban youth to work on farms. Reeducation camps in outlying areas also provided cheap farm labor. The problem facing China or any nation that modernizes and industrializes in the twentieth century can be simply stated. Nineteenth-century industry needed large masses of workers which only the rural areas could supply; and, with the development of farming methods, the countryside could afford to send its youth to the cities. Twentieth-century industry, on the other hand, needs technicians and highly qualified personnel, often with college degrees, but few unskilled workers. China has traditionally employed human labor where machines would have been cheaper and more efficient, simply because labor was available and capital was not. But since, with the growth of modern industry and modern farming, the problem will arise again, the policy of employing urban youth on farms is shortsighted. The labor force also increased as a result of the "liberation" of women, in which the marriage law of April 1950 was the first step. Nationalist China had earlier created a modern and liberal marriage law; moreover, women were never the slaves that they have sometimes been painted. In many parts of China, long before the Pacific War, women worked in the fields with their husbands. Elsewhere they worked in secondary agricultural industries (weaving, preparation of food conserves, home industries, and even textile factories) and provided supplementary income for their families. All that "liberation" in 1950 really meant was that women had to work a full day as their husbands did, and had, in addition, to do house work and care for their children much as before. The new marriage law did, indeed, make both partners equal; it also made it easier for men to divorce their wives, political incompatibility becoming a ground for divorce. The ideological justification for a new marriage law was the desirability of destroying the traditional Chinese family and its economic basis because a close family, and all the more an extended family or a clan, could obviously serve as a center of resistance. Land collectivization and the nationalization of business destroyed the economic basis of families. The "liberation" of women brought them out of the house and made it possible for the government to exploit dissension between husband and wife, thereby increasing its control over the family. Finally, the new education system, which indoctrinated all children from nursery to the end of college, separated children from parents, thus undermining parental control and enabling the state to intimidate parents by encouraging their children to denounce their "deviations." Sporadic efforts to dissolve the family completely by separating women from men in communes--recalling an attempt made almost a century earlier by the T'ai-p'ing--were unsuccessful. The best formula for a revolution seems to involve turning youth against its elders, rather than turning one class against another. Not all societies have a class system so clear-cut that class antagonism is effective. On the other hand, Chinese youth, in its opposition to the "establishment," to conservatism, to traditional religion, to blind emulation of Western customs and institutions, to the traditional family structure and the position of women, had hopes that communism would eradicate the specific "evil" which each individual wanted abolished. Mao and his followers had once been such rebellious youths, but by the 1960's they were mostly old men and a new youth had appeared, a generation of revolutionaries for whom the "old regime" was dim history, not reality. In the struggle between Mao and Liu Shao-ch'i, which became increasingly apparent in 1966, Mao tried to retain his power by mobilizing young people as "Red Guards" and by inciting them to make the "Great Proletarian Revolution." The motives behind the struggle are diverse. It is on the one hand a conflict of persons contending for power, but there are also disagreements over theory: for example, should China's present generation toil to make possible a better life only for the next generation, or should it enjoy the fruits of its labor, after its many years of suffering? Mao opposes such "weakening" and favours a new generation willing to endure hardships, as he did in his youth. There is also a question whether the Chinese Communist Party under the banner of Maoism should replace the Russian party, establish Mao as the fourth founder after Marx, Lenin, and Stalin, and become the leader of world communism, or whether it should collaborate with the Russian party, at least temporarily, and thus ensure China Russian support. When, however, Chinese youth was summoned to take up the fight for Mao and his group, forces were loosed which could not be controlled. Following independent action by youth groups similar in nature to youth revolts in Western countries, the power and prestige of older leaders suffered. Even now (1969) it is impossible to re-establish unity and order; the Mao and Liu groups still oppose each other, and local factions have arisen. Violent confrontations, often resulting in hundreds of deaths, occur in many provinces. The regime is no longer so strong and unified as it was before 1966, although its end is not in sight. Quite possibly far-reaching changes may occur in the future. Three factors will probably influence the future of China. First, the emergence of neo-communism, as in Czechoslovakia in 1968, in an attempt to soften traditional communist practice. Second, the outcome of the war in Vietnam. Will China be able to continue its eighteenth-century dream of direct or indirect domination of South-east Asia? Will North Vietnam detach itself from China and attach itself more closely to Russia? Will Russia and China continue to create separate spheres of influence in Asia, Africa, and South America? The first factor depends on developments inside China, the second on events outside, and at least in part on decisions in the United States, Japan, and Europe. The third factor has to do with human nature. One may justifiably ask whether the change in human personality which Chinese communism has attempted to achieve is possible, let alone desirable. Studies of animals and of human beings have demonstrated a tendency to identify with a territory, with property, and with kin. Can the Chinese eradicate this tendency? The Chinese have been family-centered and accustomed to subordinating their individual inclinations to the requirements of family and neighborhood. But beyond these established frameworks they have been individualistic and highly idiosyncratic at all times. Under the communist regime, however, the government is omnipresent, and people must toe the official line. One senses the tragedy that affects well-known scholars, writers and poets, who must degrade themselves, their work, their past and their families in order to survive. They may hope for comprehension of their actions, but nonetheless they must suffer shame. Will the present government change the minds of these men and eradicate their feelings? Communist China has made great progress, no doubt. Soon it may equal other developed nations. But its progress has been achieved at an unnecessary cost in human lives and happiness. That the regime is no longer so strong and unified as it was before 1966 does not mean that its end is in sight. Far-reaching changes may occur in the near future. Public opinion is impressed with mainland China's progress, as the world usually is with strong nations. And public opinion is still unimpressed by the achievements of Taiwan and has hardly begun to change its attitude toward the government of the "Republic of China." To the historian and the sociologist, the experience of Taiwan indicates that China, if left alone and freed from ideological pressures, could industrialize more quickly than any other presently underdeveloped nation. Taiwan offers a model with which to compare mainland China. NOTES AND REFERENCES The following notes and references are intended to help the interested reader. They draw his attention to some more specialized literature in English, and occasionally in French and German. They also indicate for the more advanced reader the sources for some of the interpretations of historical events. As such sources are most often written in Chinese or Japanese and, therefore, inaccessible to most readers, only brief hints and not full bibliographical data are given. The specialists know the names and can easily find details in the standard bibliographies. The general reader will profit most from the bibliography on Chinese history published each year in the _Journal of Asian Studies_. These Notes do not mention the original Chinese sources which are the factual basis of this book. _Chapter One_ p. 7: Reference is made here to the _T'ung-chien kang-mu_ and its translation by de Mailla (1777-85). Criticism by O. Franke, Ku Chieh-kang and his school, also by G. Haloun. p. 8: For the chronology, I rely here upon Ijima Tadao and my own research. Excavations at Chou-k'ou-tien still continue and my account should be taken as very preliminary. An earlier analysis is given by E. von Eickstedt (_Rassendynamik von Ostasien_, Berlin 1944). For the following periods, the best general study is still J.G. Andersson, _Researches into the Prehistory of the Chinese_, Stockholm 1943. A great number of new findings has been made recently, but no comprehensive analysis in a Western language is available. p. 9: Comparison with Ainu has been made by Weidenreich. The theory of desiccation of Asia is not the Huntington theory, but I rely here upon arguments by J.G. Andersson and Sven Hedin. p. 10. The earlier theories of R. Heine-Geldern have been used here. p. 11: This is a summary of my own theories. Concerning the Tungus tribes, K. Jettmar (_Wiener Beiträge zur Kulturgeschichte_, vol. 9, 1952, p. 484f and later studies) has proposed a more refined theory; other parts of the theory, as far as it is concerned with conditions in Central Asia, have been modified by F. Kussmaul (in: _Tribus_, vol. 1952-3, pp. 305-60). Archaeological data from Central Asia have been analysed again by K. Jettmar (in: _The Museum of Far Eastern Antiquities, Bulletin_ No. 23, 1951). The discussion on domestication of large animals relies on the studies by C.O. Sauer, H. von Wissmann, Menghin, Amschler, Flohr and, most recently, F. Han[vc]ar (in: _Saeculum_, vol. 10, 1959, pp. 21-37 with further literature), and also on my own research. p. 12: An analysis of the situation in the South according to Western and Chinese studies is found in H.J. Wiens, _China's March toward the Tropics_, Hamden 1954. Much further work is now published by Ling Shun-sheng, Rui Yi-fu and other anthropologists in Taipei. The best analysis of denshiring in the Far East is still the book by K.J. Pelzer, _Population and Land Utilization_, New York 1941. The anthropological theories on this page are my own, influenced by ideas of R. Heine-Geldern and Gordon Luce. p. 14: Sociological theory, as developed by R. Thurnwald and others, has been used as a theoretical tool here, together with observations by A. Credner and H. Bernatzik. Concerning rice in Yang-shao see R. Heine-Geldern in _Anthropos_, vol. 27, p. 595. p. 15: Wu Chin-ting defended the local origin of Yang-shao; T.J. Arne, J.G. Andersson and many others suggested Western influences. Most recently R. Heine-Geldern elaborated this theory. The allusion to Indo-Europeans refers to the studies by G. Haloun and others concerning the Ta-Hsia, the later Yüeh-chih, and the Tocharian problem. p. 16: R. Heine-Geldern proposed a "Pontic migration". Yin Huan-chang discussed most recently Lung-shan culture and the mound-dwellers. p. 17: The original _Chu-shu chi-nien_ version of the stories about Yao has been accepted here, together with my own research and the studies by B. Karlgren, M. Loehr, G. Haloun, E.H. Minns and others concerning the origin and early distribution of bronze and the animal style. Smith families or tribes are well known from Central Asia, but also from India and Africa (see W. Ruben, _Eisenschmiede und Dämonen in Indien_, Leiden 1939, for general discussion).--For a discussion of the Hsia see E. Erkes. _Chapter Two_ p. 19: The discussion in this chapter relies mainly upon the Anyang excavation reports and the studies by Tung Tso-pin and, most strongly, Ch'en Meng-chia. In English, the best work is still H.G. Creel, _The Birth of China_, London 1936 and his more specialized _Studies in Early Chinese Culture_, Baltimore 1937. p. 20: The possibility of a "megalithic" culture in the Far East has often been discussed, by O. Menghin, R. Heine-Geldern, Cheng Tê-k'un, Ling Shun-sheng and others. Megaliths occur mainly in South-East Asia, southern China, Korea and Japan.--Teng Ch'u-min and others believe that silk existed already in the time of Yang-shao. p. 21: Kuo Mo-jo believes, that the Shang already used a real plough drawn by animals. The main discussion on ploughs in China is by Hsü Chung-shu; for general anthropological discussion see E. Werth and H. Kothe. p. 22: For the discussion of the T'ao-t'ieh see the research by B. Karlgren and C. Hentze. p. 23: I follow here mainly Ch'en Meng-chia, but work by B. Schindler, C. Hentze, H. Maspero and also my own research has been considered. p. 24: I am accepting here a narrow definition of feudalism (see my _Conquerors and Rulers_, Leiden 1952).--The division of armies into "right" and "left" is interesting in the light of the theories concerning the importance of systems of orientation (Fr. Rock and others). p. 25: Here, the work by W. Koppers, O. Spengler, F. Han[vc]ar, V.G. Childe and many others, concerning the domestication of the horse and the introduction of the war-chariot in general, and work by Shih Chang-ju, Ch'en Meng-chia, O. Maenchen, Uchida Gimpu and others concerning horses, riding and chariots in China has been used, in addition to my own research. p. 26: Concerning the wild animals, I have relied upon Ch'en Meng-chia, Hsü Chung-shu and Tung Tso-pin.--The discussion as to whether there was a period of "slave society" (as postulated by Marxist theory) in China, and when it flourished, is still going on under the leadership of Kuo Mo-jo and his group. I prefer to differentiate between slaves and serfs, and relied for factual data upon texts from oracle bones, not upon historical texts.--The problem of Shang chronology is still not solved, in spite of extensive work by Liu Ch'ao-yang, Tung Tso-pin and many Japanese and Western scholars. The old chronology, however, seems to be rejected by most scholars now. _Chapter Three_ p. 29: Discussing the early script and language, I refer to the great number of unidentified Shang characters and, especially, to the composite characters which have been mentioned often by C. Hentze in his research; on the other hand, the original language of the Chou may have been different from classical Chinese, if we can judge from the form of the names of the earliest Chou ancestors. Problems of substrata languages enter at this stage. Our first understanding of Chou language and dialects seems to come through the method applied by P. Serruys, rather than through the more generally accepted theories and methods of B. Karlgren and his school. p. 30: I reject here the statement of classical texts that the last Shang ruler was unworthy, and accept the new interpretation of Ch'en Meng-chia which is based upon oracle bone texts,--The most recent general study on feudalism, and on feudalism in China, is in R. Coulborn, _Feudalism in History_, Princeton 1956. Stimulating, but in parts antiquated, is M. Granet, _La Féodalité Chinoise_, Oslo 1952. I rely here on my own research. The instalment procedure has been described by H. Maspero and Ch'i Sz[)u]-ho. p. 31: The interpretation of land-holding and clans follows my own research which is influenced by Niida Noboru, Kat[=o] Shigeru and other Japanese scholars, as well as by G. Haloun.--Concerning the origin of family names see preliminarily Yang Hsi-mei; much further research is still necessary. The general development of Chinese names is now studied by Wolfgang Bauer.--The spread of cities in this period has been studied by Li Chi, _The Formation of the Chinese People_, Cambridge 1928. My interpretation relies mainly upon a study of the distribution of non-Chinese tribes and data on early cities coming from excavation reports (see my "Data on the Structure of the Chinese City" in _Economic Development and Cultural Change_, 1956, pp. 253-68, and "The Formation of Chinese Civilization" in _Sociologus_ 7, 1959, pp. 97-112). p. 32: The work on slaves by T. Pippon, E. Erkes, M. Wilbur, Wan Kuo-ting, Kuo Mo-jo, Niida Noboru, Kao Nien-chih and others has been consulted; the interpretation by E.G. Pulleyblank, however, was not accepted. p. 33: This interpretation of the "well-field" system relies in part upon the work done by Hsü Ti-shan, in part upon M. Granet and H. Maspero, and attempts to utilize insight from general anthropological theory and field-work mainly in South-East Asia. Other interpretations have been proposed by Yang Lien-sheng, Wan Kuo-ting, Ch'i Sz[)u]-ho P. Demiéville, Hu Shih, Chi Ch'ao-ting, K.A. Wittfogel, and others Some authors, such as Kuo Mo-jo, regard the whole system as an utopia, but believe in an original "village community".--The characterization of the _Chou-li_ relies in part upon the work done by Hsü Chung-shu and Ku Chieh-kang on the titles of nobility, research by Yang K'uan and textual criticism by B. Karlgren, O. Franke, and again Ku Chieh-kang and his school.--The discussion on twin cities is intended to draw attention to its West Asian parallels, the "acropolis" or "ark" city, as well as to the theories on the difference between Western and Asian cities (M. Weber) and the specific type of cities in "dual societies" (H. Boeke). p. 34: This is a modified form of the Hu Shih theory.--The problem of nomadic agrarian inter-action and conflict has been studied for a later period mainly by O. Lattimore. Here, general anthropological research as well as my own have been applied. p. 36: The supra-stratification theory as developed by R. Thurnwald has been used as analytic tool here. p. 38: For this period, a novel interpretation is presented by R.L. Walker, _The Multi-State System of China_, Hamden 1953. For the concepts of sovereignty, I have used here the _Chou-li_ text and interpretations based upon this text. p. 40: For the introduction of iron and the importance of Ch'i, see Chu Hsi-tsu, Kuo Mo-jo, Yang K'uan, Sekino, Takeshi.--Some scholars (G. Haloun) tend to interpret attacks such as the one of 660 B.C. as attacks from outside the borders of China. p. 41: For Confucius see H.G. Creel, _Confucius_, New York 1949. I do not, however, follow his interpretation, but rather the ideas of Hu Shih, O. Franke and others. p. 42: For "chün-tz[)u]" and its counterpart "hsiao-jen" see D. Bodde and Ch'en Meng-chia. p 43: I rely strongly here upon O. Franke and Ku Chieh-kang and upon my own work on eclipses. p. 44: I regard the Confucian traditions concerning the model emperors of early time as such a falsification. The whole concept of "abdication" has been analysed by M. Granet. The later ceremony of abdication was developed upon the basis of the interpretations of Confucius and has been studied by Ku Chieh-kang and Miyakawa Hisayuki. Already Confucius' disciple Meng Tz[)u], and later Chuang Tz[)u] and Han Fei Tz[)u] were against this theory.--As a general introduction to the philosophy of this period, Y.L. Feng's _History of Chinese Philosophy_, London 1937 has still to be recommended, although further research has made many advances.--My analysis of the role of Confucianism in society is influenced by theories in the field of Sociology of religion. p. 45: The temple in Turkestan was in Khotan and is already mentioned in the _Wei-shu_ chapter 102. The analysis of the famous "Book on the transfiguration of Lao Tz[)u] into a Western Barbarian" by Wang Wei-cheng is penetrating and has been used here. The evaluation of Lao Tz[)u] and his pupils as against Confucius by J. Needham, in his _Science and Civilization in China_, Cambridge 1954 _et seq_. (in volume 2) is very stimulating, though necessarily limited to some aspects only. p. 47: The concept of _wu-wei_ has often been discussed; some, such as Masaaki Matsumoto, interpreted the concept purely in social terms as "refusal of actions carrying worldly estimation". p. 49 Further literature concerning alchemy and breathing exercises is found in J. Needham's book. _Chapter Four_ p. 51: I have used here the general framework of R.L. Walker, but more upon Yang K'uan's studies. p. 52: The interpretation of the change of myths in this period is based in part upon the work done by H. Maspero, G. Haloun, and Ku Chieh-kang. The analysis of legends made by B. Karlgren from a philological point of view ("Legends and Cults in Ancient China", _The Museum of Far Eastern Antiquities, Bulletin_ No. 18, 1946, pp. 199-365) follows another direction. p. 53: The discussion on riding involves the theories concerning horse-nomadic tribes and the period of this way of life. It also involves the problem of the invention of stirrup and saddle. The saddle seems to have been used in China already at the beginning of our period; the stirrup seems to be as late as the fifth century A.D. The article by A. Kroeber, _The Ancient Oikumene as an Historic Culture Aggregate_, Huxley Memorial Lecture for 1945, is very instructive for our problems and also for its theoretical approach.--The custom of attracting settlers from other areas in order to have more production as well as more manpower seems to have been known in India at the same time. p. 54: The work done by Kat[=o] Shigeru and Niida Noboru on property and family has been used here. For the later period, work done by Makino Tatsumi has also been incorporated.--Literature on the plough and on iron for implements has been mentioned above. Concerning the fallow system, I have incorporated the ideas of Kat[=o] Shigeru, [=O]shima Toshikaza, Hsü Ti-shan and Wan Kuo-ting. Hsü Ti-shan believes that a kind of 3-field system had developed by this time. Traces of such a system have been observed in modern China (H.D. Scholz). For these questions, the translation by N. Lee Swann, _Food and Money in Ancient China_, 1959 is very important. p. 55: For all questions of money and credit from this period down to modern times, the best brief introduction is by Lien-sheng Yang, _Money and Credit in China_, Cambridge 1952. The _Introduction to the Economic History of China_, London 1954, by E. Stuart Kirby is certainly still the best brief introduction into all problems of Chinese Economic history and contains a bibliography in Western and Chinese-Japanese languages. Articles by Chinese authors on economic problems have been translated in E-tu Zen Sun and J. de Francis, _Chinese Social History_, Washington 1956.--Data on the size of early cities have been collected by T. Sekino and Kat[=o] Shigeru. p. 56: T. Sekino studied the forms of cities. C. Hentze believes that the city even in the Shang period normally had a square plan.--T. Sekino has also made the first research on city coins. Such a privilege and such independence of cities disappear later, but occasionally the privilege of minting was given to persons of high rank.--K.A. Wittfogel, _Oriental Despotism_, New Haven 1957 regards irrigation as a key economic and social factor and has built up his theory around this concept. I do not accept his theory here or later. Evidence seems to point towards the importance of transportation systems rather than of government-sponsored or operated irrigation systems.--Concerning steel, we follow Yang K'uan; a special study by J. Needham is under preparation. Centre of steel production at this time was Wan (later Nanyang in Honan).--For early Chinese law, the study by A.F.P. Hulsewé, _Remnants of Han Law_, Leiden 1955 is the best work in English. He does not, however, regard Li K'ui as the main creator of Chinese law, though Kuo Mo-jo and others do. It is obvious, however, that Han law was not a creation of the Han Chinese alone and that some type of code must have existed before Han, even if such a code was not written by the man Li K'ui. A special study on Li was made by O. Franke. p. 57: In the description of border conditions, research by O. Lattimore has been taken into consideration. p. 59: For Shang Yang and this whole period, the classical work in English is still J.J.L. Duyvendak, _The Book of Lord Shang_, London 1928; the translation by Ma Perleberg of _The Works of Kung-sun Lung-tzu_, Hongkong 1952 as well as the translation of the _Economic Dialogues in Ancient China: The Kuan-tzu_, edited by L. Maverick, New Haven 1954 have not found general approval, but may serve as introductions to the way philosophers of our period worked. Han Fei Tz[)u]; has been translated by W.K. Liao, _The Complete Works of Han Fei Tz[)u]_, London 1939 (only part 1). p. 60: Needham does not have such a positive attitude towards Tsou Yen, and regards Western influences upon Tsou Yen as not too likely. The discussion on pp. 60-1 follows mainly my own researches. p. 61: The interpretation of secret societies is influenced by general sociological theory and detailed reports on later secret societies. S. Murayama and most modern Chinese scholars stress almost solely the social element in the so-called "peasant rebellions". _Chapter Five_ p. 63: The analysis of the emergence of Ch'in bureaucracy has profited from general sociological theory, especially M. Weber (see the new analysis by R. Bendix, _Max Weber, an Intellectual Portrait_, Garden City 1960, p. 117-157). Early administration systems of this type in China have been studied in several articles in the journal _Yü-kung_ (vol. 6 and 7). p. 65: In the discussion of language, I use arguments which have been brought forth by P. Serruys against the previously generally accepted theories of B. Karlgren.--For weights and measures I have referred to T. Sekino, Liu Fu and Wu Ch'eng-lo. p. 66: For this period, D. Bodde's _China's First Unifier_, Leiden 1938 and his _Statesman, Patriot, and General in Ancient China_, New Haven 1940 remain valuable studies. _Chapter Six_ p. 71: The basic historical text for this whole period, the _Dynastic History of the Han Dynasty_, is now in part available in English translation (H.H. Dubs, _The History of the Former Han Dynasty_, Baltimore 1938, 3 volumes). p. 72: The description of the gentry is based upon my own research. Other scholars define the word "gentry", if applied to China, differently (some of the relevant studies are discussed in my note in the _Bull. School of Orient. & African Studies_, 1955, p. 373 f.). p. 73: The theory of the cycle of mobility has been brought forth by Fr. L.K. Hsu and others. I have based my criticism upon a forthcoming study of _Social Mobility in Traditional Chinese Society_. The basic point is not the momentary economic or political power of such a family, but the social status of the family (_Li-shih yen-chiu_, Peking 1955, No. 4, p. 122). The social status was, increasingly, defined and fixed by law (Ch'ü T'ung-tsu).--The difference in the size of gentry and other families has been pointed out by a number of scholars such as Fr. L.K. Hsu, H.T. Fei, O. Lang. My own research seems to indicate that gentry families, on the average, married earlier than other families. p. 74: The Han system of examinations or rather of selection has been studied by Yang Lien-sheng; and analysis of the social origin of candidates has been made in the _Bull. Chinese Studies_, vol. 2, 1941, and 3, 1942.--The meaning of the term "Hundred Families" has been discussed by W. Eichhorn, Kuo Mo-jo, Ch'en Meng-chia and especially by Hsü T'ung-hsin. It was later also a fiscal term. p. 75: The analysis of Hsiung-nu society is based mainly upon my own research. There is no satisfactory history of these northern federations available in English. The compilation of W.M. MacGovern, _The Early Empires of Central Asia_, Chapel Hill 1939, is now quite antiquated.--An attempt to construct a model of Central Asian nomadic social structure has been made by E.E. Bacon, _Obok, a Study of Social Structure in Eurasia_, New York 1958, but the model constructed by B. Vladimirtsov and modified by O. Lattimore remains valuable.--For origin and early-development of Hsiung-nu society see O. Maenchen, K. Jettmar, B. Bernstam, Uchida Gimpu and many others. p. 79: Material on the "classes" (_sz[)u] min_) will be found in a forthcoming book. Studies by Ch'ü T'ung-tsu and Tamai Korehiro are important here. An up-to-date history of Chinese education is still a desideratum. p. 80: For Tung Chung-shu, I rely mainly upon O. Franke.--Some scholars do not accept this "double standard", although we have clear texts which show that cases were evaluated on the basis of Confucian texts and not on the basis of laws. In fact, local judges probably only in exceptional cases knew the text of the law or had the code. They judged on the basis of "customary law". p. 81: Based mainly upon my own research. K.A. Wittfogel, _Oriental Despotism_, New Haven 1957, has a different interpretation. p. 82: Cases in which the Han emperors disregarded the law code were studied by Y. Hisamura.--I have used here studies published in the _Bull, of Chinese Studies_, vol. 2 and 3 and in _Tôyô gakuho_, vol. 8 and 9, in addition to my own research. p. 85: On local administration see Kat[=o] Shigeru and Yen Keng-wang's studies. p. 86: The problem of the Chinese gold, which will be touched upon later again, has gained theoretical interest, because it could be used as a test of M. Lombard's theories concerning the importance of gold in the West (_Annales, Economies, Sociétés, Civilisations_, vol. 12, Paris 1957, No. 1, p. 7-28). It was used in China from c. 600 B.C. on in form of coins or bars, but disappeared almost completely from A.D. 200 on, i.e. the period of economic decline (see L.S. Yang, Kat[=o] Shigeru).--The payment to border tribes occurs many times again in Chinese history down to recent times; it has its parallel in British payments to tribes in the North-West Frontier Province in India which continued even after the Independence. p. 88: According to later sources, one third of the tributary gifts was used in the Imperial ancestor temples, one third in the Imperial mausolea, but one third was used as gifts to guests of the Emperor.--The trade aspect of the tributes was first pointed but by E. Parker, later by O. Lattimore, recently by J.K. Fairbank.--The importance of Chang Ch'ien for East-West contacts was systematically studied by B. Laufer; his _Sino-Iranica_, Chicago 1919 is still a classic. p. 89: The most important trait which points to foreign trade, is the occurrence of glass in Chinese tombs in Indo-China and of glass in China proper from the fifth century B.C. on; it is assumed that this glass was imported from the Near East, possibly from Egypt (O. Janse, N. Egami, Seligman). p. 91: Large parts of the "Discussions" have been translated by Esson M. Gale, _Discourses on Salt and Iron_, Leiden 1931; the continuation of this translation is in _Jour. Royal As. Society, North-China Branch_ 1934.--The history of eunuchs in China remains to be written. They were known since at least the seventh century B.C. The hypothesis has been made that this custom had its origin in Asia Minor and spread from there (R.F. Spencer in _Ciba Symposia_, vol. 8, No. 7, 1946 with references). p. 92: The main source on Wang Mang is translated by C.B. Sargent, _Wang Mang, a translation_, Shanghai 1950 and H.H. Dubs, _History of the Former Han Dynasty_, vol, 3, Baltimore 1955. p. 93: This evaluation of the "Old character school" is not generally accepted. A quite different view is represented by Tjan Tjoe Som and R.P. Kramers and others who regard the differences between the schools as of a philological and not a political kind. I follow here most strongly the Chinese school as represented by Ku Chieh-kang and his friends, and my own studies. p. 93: Falsification of texts refers to changes in the Tso-chuan. My interpretation relies again upon Ku Chieh-kang, and Japanese astronomical studies (Ijima Tadao), but others, too, admit falsifications (H.H. Dubs); B. Karlgren and others regard the book as in its main body genuine. The other text mentioned here is the _Chou-li_ which is certainly not written by Wang Mang (_Jung-chai Hsü-pi_ 16), but heavily mis-used by him (in general see S. Uno). p. 94: I am influenced here by some of H.H. Dubs's studies. For this and the following period, the work by H. Bielenstein, _The Restoration of the Han Dynasty_, Stockholm 1953 and 1959 is the best monograph.--The "equalization offices" and their influence upon modern United States has been studied by B. Bodde in the _Far Eastern Quarterly_, vol. 5, 1946. p. 95: H. Bielenstein regards a great flood as one of the main reasons for the breakdown of Wang Mang's rule. p. 98: For the understanding of Chinese military colonies in Central Asia as well as for the understanding of military organization, civil administration and business, the studies of Lao Kan on texts excavated in Central Asia and Kansu are of greatest importance. p. 101: Mazdaistic elements in this rebellion have been mentioned mainly by H.H. Dubs. Zoroastrism (Zoroaster born 569 B.C.) and Mazdaism were eminently "political" religions from their very beginning on. Most scholars admit the presence of Mazdaism in China only from 519 on (Ishida Mikinosuke, O. Franke). Dubs's theory can be strengthened by astronomical material.--The basic religious text of this group, the "Book of the Great Peace" has been studied by W. Eichhorn Maspero and Ho Ch'ang-ch'ün. p. 102: For the "church" I rely mainly upon H. Maspero and W. Eichhorn. p. 103: I use here concepts developed by Cheng Chen-to and especially by Jung Chao-tsu. p. 104: Wang Ch'ung's importance has recently been mentioned again by J. Needham. p. 105: These "court poets" have their direct parallel in Western Asia. This trend, however, did not become typical in China.--On the general history of paper read A. Kroeber, _Anthropology_, New York 1948, p. 490f., and Dard Hunter, _Paper Making_, New York 1947 (2nd ed.). _Chapter Seven_ p. 109: The main historical sources for this period have been translated by Achilles Fang, _The Chronicle of the Three Kingdoms_, Cambridge, Mass. 1952; the epic which describes this time is C.H. Brewitt-Taylor, _San Kuo, or Romance of the Three Kingdoms_, Shanghai 1925. p. 112: For problems of migration and settlement in the South, we relied in part upon research by Ch'en Yüan and Wang Yi-t'ung. p. 114: For the history of the Hsiung-nu I am relying mainly upon my own studies. p. 117: This analysis of tribal structure is based mainly upon my own research; it differs in detail from the studies by E. Bacon, _Obok, a Study of Social Structure in Eurasia_, New York 1958, B. Vladimirtsov, O. Lattimore's _Inner Asian Frontiers of China_, New York 1951 (2nd edit.) and the studies by L.M.J. Schram, _The Monguors of the Kansu-Tibetan Frontier_, Philadelphia 1954 and 1957. p. 118: The use of the word "Huns" does not imply that we identify the early or the late Hsiung-nu with the European Huns. This question is still very much under discussion (O. Maenchen, W. Haussig, W. Henning, and others). p. 119: For the history of the early Hsien-pi states see the monograph by G. Schreiber, "The History of the Former Yen Dynasty", in _Monomenta Serica_, vol. 14 and 15 (1949-56). For all translations from Chinese Dynastic Histories of the period between 220 and 960 the _Catalogue of Translations from the Chinese Dynastic Histories for the Period 220-960_, by Hans H. Frankel, Berkeley 1957, is a reliable guide. p. 125: For the description of conditions in Turkestan, especially in Tunhuang, I rely upon my own studies, but studies by A. von Gabein, L. Ligeti, J.R. Ware, O. Franke and Tsukamoto Zenryû have been used, too. p. 133: These songs have first been studied by Hu Shih, later by Chinese folklorists. p. 134: For problems of Chinese Buddhism see Arthur F. Wright, _Buddhism in Chinese History_, Stanford 1959, with further bibliography. I have used for this and later periods, in addition to my own sociological studies, R. Michihata, J. Gernet, and Tamai Korehiro.--It is interesting that the rise of landowning temples in India occurred at exactly the same time (R.S. Sharma in _Journ. Econ. and Soc. Hist. Orient_, vol. 1, 1958, p. 316). Perhaps even more interesting, but still unstudied, is the existence of Buddhist temples in India which owned land and villages which were donated by contributions from China.--For the use of foreign monks in Chinese bureaucracies, I have used M. Weber's theory as an interpretative tool. p. 135: The important deities of Khotan Buddhism are Vai['s]ramana and Kubera, (research by P. Demiéville, R. Stein and others).--Where, how, and why Hinayana and Mahayana developed as separate sects, is not yet studied. Also, a sociological analysis of the different Buddhist sects in China has not even been attempted yet. p. 136: Such public religious disputations were known also in India. p. 137: Analysis of the tribal names has been made by L. Bazin. pp. 138-9: The personality type which was the ideal of the Toba corresponded closely to the type described by G. Geesemann, _Heroische Lebensform_, Berlin 1943. p. 142: The Toba occur in contemporary Western sources as Tabar, Tabgaç, Tafkaç and similar names. The ethnic name also occurs as a title (O. Pritsak, P. Pelliot, W. Haussig and others).--On the _chün-t'ien_ system cf. the article by Wan Kuo-ting in E-tu Zen Sun, _Chinese Social History_, Washington 1956, p. 157-184. I also used Yoshimi Matsumoto and T'ang Ch'ang-ju.--Census fragments from Tunhuang have been published by L. Giles, Niida Noboru and other Japanese scholars. p. 143: On slaves for the earlier time see M. Wilbur, _Slavery in China during the Former Han Dynasty_, Chicago 1943. For our period Wang Yi-t'ung and especially Niida Noboru and Ch'ü T'ung-tsu. I used for this discussion Niida, Ch'ü and Tamai Korehiro.--For the _pu-ch'ü_ I used in addition Yang Chung-i, H. Maspero, E. Balazs, W. Eichhorn. Yang's article is translated in E-tu Zen Sun's book, _Chinese Social History_, pp. 142-56.--The question of slaves and their importance in Chinese society has always been given much attention by Chinese Communist authors. I believe that a clear distinction between slaves and serfs is very important. p. 145: The political use of Buddhism has been asserted for Japan as well as for Korea and Tibet (H. Hoffmann, _Quellen zur Geschichte der tibetischen Bon-Religion_, Mainz 1950, p. 220 f.). A case could be made for Burma. In China, Buddhism was later again used as a tool by rulers (see below). p. 146: The first text in which such problems of state versus church are mentioned is Mou Tz[)u] (P. Pelliot transl.). More recently, some of the problems have been studied by R. Michihata and E. Zürcher. Michihata also studied the temple slaves. Temple families were slightly different. They have been studied mainly by R. Michihata, J. Gernet and Wang Yi-t'ung. The information on T'an-yao is mainly in _Wei-shu_ 114 (transl. J. Ware).--The best work on Yün-kang is now Seiichi Mizuno and Toshio Nagahiro, _Yün-kang. The Buddhist Cave-Temples of the Fifth Century A.D. in North China_, Kyoto 1951-6, thus far 16 volumes. For Chinese Buddhist art, the work by Tokiwa Daijô and Sekino Tadashi, _Chinese Buddhist Monuments_, Tokyo 1926-38, 5 volumes, is most profusely illustrated.--As a general reader for the whole of Chinese art, Alexander Soper and L. Sickman's _The Art and Architecture of China_, Baltimore 1956 may be consulted. p, 147: Zenryû Tsukamoto has analysed one such popular, revolutionary Buddhist text from the fifth century A.D. I rely here for the whole chapter mainly upon my own research. p. 150: On the Ephtalites (or Hephtalites) see R. Ghirshman and Enoki.--The carpet ceremony has been studied by P. Boodberg, and in a comparative way by L. Olschki, _The Myth of Felt_, Berkeley 1949. p. 151: For Yang Chien and his time see now A.F. Wright, "The Formation of Sui Ideology" in John K. Fairbank, _Chinese Thought and Institutions_, Chicago 1957, pp. 71-104. p. 153: The processes described here, have not yet been thoroughly analysed. A preliminary review of literature is given by H. Wiens, _China's March towards the Tropics_, Hamden 1954. I used Ch'en Yüan, Wang Yi-t'ung and my own research. p. 154: It is interesting to compare such hunting parks with the "_paradeisos"_ (Paradise) of the Near East and with the "Garden of Eden".--Most of the data on gardens and manors have been brought together and studied by Japanese scholars, especially by Kat[=o] Shigeru, some also by Ho Tzû-ch'üan.--The disappearance of "village commons" in China should be compared with the same process in Europe; both processes, however, developed quite differently. The origin of manors and their importance for the social structure of the Far East (China as well as Japan) is the subject of many studies in Japan and in modern China. This problem is connected with the general problem of feudalism East and West. The manor (_chuang_: Japanese _shô_) in later periods has been studied by Y. Sudô. H. Maspero also devotes attention to this problem. Much more research remains to be done. p. 158: This popular rebellion by Sun En has been studied by W. Eichhorn. p. 163: On foreign music in China see L.C. Goodrich and Ch'ü T'ung-tsu, H.G. Farmer, S. Kishibe and others.--Niida Noboru pointed out that musicians belonged to one of the lower social classes, but had special privileges because of their close relations to the rulers. p. 164: Meditative or _Ch'an_ (Japanese: _Zen_) Buddhism in this period has been studied by Hu Shih, but further analysis is necessary.--The philosophical trends of this period have been analysed by E. Balazs.--Mention should also be made of the aesthetic-philosophical conversation which was fashionable in the third century, but in other form still occurred in our period, the so-called "pure talk" (_ch'ing-t'an_) (E. Balazs, H. Wilhelm and others). _Chapter Eight_ p. 167: For genealogies and rules of giving names, I use my own research and the study by W. Bauer. p. 168: For Emperor Wen Ti, I rely mainly upon A.F. Wright's above-mentioned article, but also upon O. Franke. p. 169: The relevant texts concerning the T'u-chüeh are available in French (E. Chavannes) and recently also in German translation (Liu Mau-tsai, _Die chinesischen Nachrichten zur Geschichte der Ost-T[vu]rken_, Wiesbaden 1958, 2 vol.).--The Tölös are called T'e-lo in Chinese sources; the T'u-yü-hun are called Aza in Central Asian sources (P. Pelliot, A. Minorsky, F.W. Thomas, L. Hambis, _et al_.). The most important text concerning the T'u-yü-hun had been translated by Th. D. Caroll, _Account of the T'u-yü-hun in the History of the Chin Dynasty_, Berkeley 1953. p. 171: The transcription of names on this and on the other maps could not be adjusted to the transcription of the text for technical reasons. p. 172: It is possible that I have underestimated the role of Li Yüan. I relied here mainly upon O. Franke and upon W. Bingham's _The Founding of the T'ang Dynasty_, Baltimore 1941. p. 173: The best comprehensive study of T'ang economy in a Western language is still E. Balazs's work. I relied, however, strongly upon Wan Kuo-ting, Yang Chung-i, Kat[=o] Shigeru, J. Gernet, T. Naba, Niida Noboru, Yoshimi Matsumoto. pp. 173-4: For the description of the administration I used my own studies and the work of R. des Rotours; for the military organization I used Kikuchi Hideo. A real study of Chinese army organization and strategy does not yet exist. The best detailed study, but for the Han period, is written by H. Maspero. p. 174: For the first occurrence of the title _tu-tu_ we used W. Eichhorn; in the form _tutuq_ the title occurs since 646 in Central Asia (J. Hamilton). p. 177: The name T'u-fan seems to be a transcription of Tüpöt which, in turn, became our Tibet. (J. Hamilton).--The Uighurs are the Hui-ho or Hui-hu of Chinese sources. p. 179: On relations with Central Asia and the West see Ho Chien-min and Hsiang Ta, whose classical studies on Ch'ang-an city life have recently been strongly criticized by Chinese scholars.--Some authors (J.K. Rideout) point to the growing influence of eunuchs in this period.--The sources paint the pictures of the Empress Wu in very dark colours. A more detailed study of this period seems to be necessary. p. 180: The best study of "family privileges" (_yin_) in general is by E.A. Kracke, _Civil Service in Early Sung China_, Cambridge, Mass. 1953. p. 180-1: The economic importance of organized Buddhism has been studied by many authors, especially J. Gernet, Yang Lien-sheng, Ch'üan Han-sheng, K. Tamai and R. Michihata. p. 182: The best comprehensive study on T'ang prose in English is still E.D. Edwards, _Chinese Prose Literature of the T'ang Period_, London 1937-8, 2 vol. On Li T'ai-po and Po Chü-i we have well-written books by A. Waley, _The Poetry and Career of Li Po_, London 1951 and _The Life and Times of Po Chü-i_, London 1950.--On the "free poem" (_tz[)u]_), which technically is not a free poem, see A. Hoffmann and Hu Shih. For the early Chinese theatre, the classical study is still Wang Kuo-wei's analysis, but there is an almost unbelievable number of studies constantly written in China and Japan, especially on the later theatre and drama. p. 184: Conditions at the court of Hsüan Tsung and the life of Yang Kui-fei have been studied by Howard Levy and others, An Lu-shan's importance mainly by E.G. Pulleyblank, _The Background of the Rebellion of An Lu-shan_, London 1955. p. 187: The tax reform of Yang Yen has been studied by K. Hino; the most important figures in T'ang economic history are Liu Yen (studied by Chü Ch'ing-yüan) and Lu Chih (754-805; studied by E. Balazs and others). pp. 187-8: The conditions at the time of this persecution are well described by E.O. Reischauer, _Ennin's Travels in T'ang China_, New York 1955, on the basis of his _Ennin's Diary. The Record of a Pilgrimage to China_, New York 1955. The persecution of Buddhism has been analysed in its economic character by Niida Noboru and other Japanese scholars.--Metal statues had to be delivered to the Salt and Iron Office in order to be converted into cash; iron statues were collected by local offices for the production of agricultural implements; figures in gold, silver or other rare materials were to be handed over to the Finance Office. Figures made of stone, clay or wood were not affected (Michihata). p. 189: It seems important to note that popular movements are often not led by simple farmers of members of the lower classes. There are other salt merchants and persons of similar status known as leaders. p. 190: For the Sha-t'o, I am relying upon my own research. Tatars are the Ta-tan of the Chinese sources. The term is here used in a narrow sense. _Chapter Nine_ p. 195: Many Chinese and Japanese authors have a new period begin with the early (Ch'ien Mu) or the late tenth century (T'ao Hsi-sheng, Li Chien-nung), while others prefer a cut already in the Middle of the T'ang Dynasty (Teng Ch'u-min, Naito Torajiro). For many Marxists, the period which we called "Modern Times" is at best a sub-period within a larger period which really started with what we called "Medieval China". p. 196: For the change in the composition of the gentry, I am using my own research.--For clan rules, clan foundations, etc., I used D.C. Twitchett, J. Fischer, Hu Hsien-chin, Ch'ü T'ung-tsu, Niida Noboru and T. Makino. The best analysis of the clan rules is by Wang Hui-chen in D.S. Nivison, _Confucianism in Action_, Stanford 1959, p. 63-96.--I do not regard such marriage systems as "survivals" of ancient systems which have been studied by M. Granet and systematically analysed by C. Lévy-Strauss in his _Les structures élémentaires de la parenté_, Paris 1949, pp. 381-443. In some cases, the reasons for the establishment of such rules can still be recognized.--A detailed study of despotism in China still has to be written. K.A. Wittfogel's _Oriental Despotism_, New Haven 1957 does not go into the necessary detailed work. p. 197: The problem of social mobility is now under study, after preliminary research by K.A. Wittfogel, E. Kracke, myself and others. E. Kracke, Ho Ping-ti, R.M. Marsh and I are now working on this topic.--For the craftsmen and artisans, much material has recently been collected by Chinese scholars. I have used mainly Li Chien-nung and articles in _Li-shih yen-chiu_ 1955, No. 3 and in _Mem. Inst. Orient. Cult_. 1956.--On the origin of guilds see Kat[=o] Shigeru; a general study of guilds and their function has not yet been made (preliminary work by P. Maybon, H.B. Morse, J. St. Burgess, K.A. Wittfogel and others). Comparisons with Near-Eastern guilds on the one hand and with Japanese guilds on the other, are quite interesting but parallels should not be over-estimated. The _tong_ of U.S. Chinatowns (_tang_ in Mandarin) are late and organizations of businessmen only (S. Yokoyama and Laai Yi-faai). They are not the same as the _hui-kuan_. p. 198: For the merchants I used Ch'ü T'ung-tsu, Sung Hsi and Wada Kiyoshi.--For trade, I used extensively Ch'üan Han-sheng and J. Kuwabara.--On labour legislation in early modern times I used Ko Ch'ang-chi and especially Li Chien-nung, also my own studies.--On strikes I used Kat[=o] Shigeru and modern Chinese authors.--The problem of "vagrants" has been taken up by Li Chien-nung who always refers to the original sources and to modern Chinese research.--The growth of cities, perhaps the most striking event in this period, has been studied for the earlier part of our period by Kat[=o] Shigeru. Li Chien-nung also deals extensively with investments in industry and agriculture. The problem as to whether China would have developed into an industrial society without outside stimulus is much discussed by Marxist authors in China. p. 199: On money policy see Yang Lien-sheng, Kat[=o] Shigeru and others. p. 200: The history of one of the Southern Dynasties has been translated by Ed. H. Schafer, _The Empire of Min_, Tokyo 1954; Schafer's annotations provide much detail for the cultural and economic conditions of the coastal area.--For tea and its history, I use my own research; for tea trade a study by K. Kawakami and an article in the _Frontier Studies_, vol. 3, 1943.--Salt consumption according to H.T. Fei, _Earthbound China, 1945, p_. 163. p. 201: For salt I used largely my own research. For porcelain production Li Chien-nung and other modern articles.--On paper, the classical study is Th. F. Carter, _The Invention of Printing in China_, New York 1925 (a revised edition now published by L.C. Goodrich). p. 202: For paper money in the early period, see Yang Lien-sheng, _Money and Credit in China_, Cambridge, Mass., 1952. Although the origin of paper money seems to be well established, it is interesting to note that already in the third century A.D. money made of paper was produced and was burned during funeral ceremonies to serve as financial help for the dead. This money was, however, in the form of coins.--On iron money see Yang Lien-sheng; I also used an article in _Tung-fang tsa-chih_, vol. 35, No. 10. p. 203: For the Kitan (Chines: Ch'i-tan) and their history see K.A. Wittfogel and Feng Chia-sheng, _History of Chinese Society. Liao_, Philadelphia 1949. p. 204: For these dynasties, I rely upon my own research.--Niida Noboru and Kat[=o] Shigeru have studied adoption laws; our specific case has in addition been studied by M. Kurihara. This system of adoptions is non-Chinese and has its parallels among Turkish tribes (A. Kollantz, Abdulkadir Inan, Osman Turan). p. 207: For the persecution I used K. Tamai and my own research. p. 211: This is based mainly upon my own research.--The remark on tax income is from Ch'üan Han-sheng. p. 212: Fan Chung-yen has been studied recently by J. Fischer and D. Twitchett, but these notes on price policies are based upon my own work.--I regard the statement, that it was the gentry which prevented the growth of an industrial society--a statement which has often been made before--as preliminary, and believe that further research, especially in the growth of cities and urban institutions may lead to quite different explanations.--On estate management I relied on Y. Sudô's work. p. 213: Research on place names such as mentioned here, has not yet been systematically done.--On _i-chuang_ I relied upon the work by T. Makino and D. Twitchett.--This process of tax-evasion has been used by K.A. Wittfogel (1938) to construct a theory of a crisis cycle in China. I do not think that such far-reaching conclusions are warranted. p. 214: This "law" was developed on the basis of Chinese materials from different periods as well as on materials from other parts of Asia.--In the study of tenancy, cases should be studied in which wealthier farmers rent additional land which gets cultivated by farm labourers. Such cases are well known from recent periods, but have not yet been studied in earlier periods. At the same time, the problem of farm labourers should be investigated. Such people were common in the Sung time. Research along these lines could further clarify the importance of the so-called "guest families" (_k'o-hu_) which were alluded to in these pages. They constituted often one third of the total population in the Sung period. The problem of migration and mobility might also be clarified by studying the _k'o-hu_. p. 215: For Wang An-shih, the most comprehensive work is still H. Williamson's _Wang An-shih_, London 1935, 3 vol., but this work in no way exhausts the problems. We have so much personal data on Wang that a psychological study could be attempted; and we have since Williamson's time much deeper insight into the reforms and theories of Wang. I used, in addition to Williamson, O. Franke, and my own research. p. 216: Based mainly upon Ch'ü T'ung-tsu.--For the social legislation see Hsü I-t'ang; for economic problems I used Ch'üan Han-sheng, Ts'en Chung-mien and Liu Ming-shu.--Most of these relief measures had their precursors in the T'ang period. p. 217: It is interesting to note that later Buddhism gave up its "social gospel" in China. Buddhist circles in Asian countries at the present time attempt to revive this attitude. p. 218: For slaughtering I used A. Hulsewé; for greeting R. Michihata; on law Ch'ü T'ung-tsu; on philosophy I adapted ideas from Chan Wing-sit. p. 219: A comprehensive study of Chu Hsi is a great desideratum. Thus far, we have in English mainly the essays by Feng Yu-lan (transl. and annotated by D. Bodde) in the _Harvard Journal of Asiat. Stud_., vol. 7, 1942. T. Makino emphasized Chu's influence upon the Far East, J. Needham his interest in science. p. 220: For Su Tung-p'o as general introduction see Lin Yutang, _The Gay Genius. The Life and Times of Su Tung-p'o_, New York 1947.--For painting, I am using concepts of A. Soper here. p. 222: For this period the standard work is K.A. Wittfogel and Feng Chia-sheng, _History of Chinese Society, Liao_, Philadelphia 1949.--Po-hai had been in tributary relations with the dynasties of North China before its defeat, and resumed these from 932 on; there were even relations with one of the South Chinese states; in the same way, Kao-li continuously played one state against the other (M. Rogers _et al_.). p. 223: On the Kara-Kitai see Appendix to Wittfogel-Feng. p. 228: For the Hakka, I relied mainly upon Lo Hsiang-lin; for Chia Ssu-tao upon H. Franke. p. 229: The Juchên (Jurchen) are also called Nü-chih and Nü-chen, but Juchên seems to be correct (_Studia Serica_, vol. 3, No. 2). _Chapter Ten_ p. 233: I use here mainly Meng Ssu-liang, but also others, such as Chü Ch'ing-yüan and Li Chien-nung.--The early political developments are described by H.D. Martin, _The Rise of Chingis Khan and his Conquest of North China_, Baltimore 1950. p. 236: I am alluding here to such Taoist sects as the Cheng-i-chiao (Sun K'o-k'uan and especially the study in _Kita Aziya gakuh[=o]_, vol. 2). pp. 236-7: For taxation and all other economic questions I have relied upon Wan Kuo-ting and especially upon H. Franke. The first part of the main economic text is translated and annotated by H.F. Schurmann, _Economic Structure of the Yüan Dynasty_, Cambridge, Mass., 1956. p. 237: On migrations see T. Makino and others.--For the system of communications during the Mongol time and the privileges of merchants, I used P. Olbricht. p. 238: For the popular rebellions of this time, I used a study in the _Bull. Acad. Sinica_, vol. 10, 1948, but also Meng Ssu-liang and others. p. 239: On the White Lotus Society (Pai-lien-hui) see note to previous page and an article by Hagiwara Jumpei. p. 240: H. Serruys, _The Mongols in China during the Hung-wu Period_, Bruges 1959, has studied in this book and in an article the fate of isolated Mongol groups in China after the breakdown of the dynasty. pp. 241-2: The travel report of Ch'ang-ch'un has been translated by A. Waley, _The Travels of an Alchemist_, London 1931. p. 242: _Hsi-hsiang-chi_ has been translated by S.I. Hsiung. _The Romance of the Western Chamber_, London 1935. All important analytic literature on drama and theatre is written by Chinese and Japanese authors, especially by Yoshikawa Kôjirô.--For Bon and early Lamaism, I used H. Hoffmann. p. 243: Lamaism in Mongolia disappeared later, however, and was reintroduced in the reformed form (Tsong-kha-pa, 1358-1419) in the sixteenth century. See R.J. Miller, _Monasteries and Culture Change in Inner Mongolia_, Wiesbaden 1959. p. 245: Much more research is necessary to clarify Japanese-Chinese relations in this period, especially to determine the size of trade. Good material is in the article by S. Iwao. Important is also S. Sakuma and an article in _Li-shih yen-chiu_ 1955, No. 3. For the loss of coins, I relied upon D. Brown. p. 246: The necessity of transports of grain and salt was one of the reasons for the emergence of the Hsin-an and Hui-chou merchants. The importance of these developments is only partially known (studies mainly by H. Fujii and in _Li-shih-yen-chiu_ 1955, No. 3). Data are also in an unpublished thesis by Ch. Mac Sherry, _The Impairment of the Ming Tributary System_, and in an article by Wang Ch'ung-wu. p. 247: The tax system of the Ming has been studied among others by Liang Fang-chung. Yoshiyuki Suto analysed the methods of tax evasion in the periods before the reform. For the land grants, I used Wan Kuo-ting's data. p. 248: Based mainly upon my own research. On the progress of agriculture wrote Li Chien-nung and also Kat[=o] Shigeru and others. p. 250: I believe that further research would discover that the "agrarian revolution" was a key factor in the economic and social development of China. It probably led to another change in dietary habits; it certainly led to a greater labour input per person, i.e. a higher number of full working days per year than before. It may be--but only further research can try to show this--that the "agrarian revolution" turned China away from technology and industry.--On cotton and its importance see the studies by M. Amano, and some preliminary remarks by P. Pelliot. pp. 250-1: Detailed study of Central Chinese urban centres in this time is a great desideratum. My remarks here have to be taken as very preliminary. Notice the special character of the industries mentioned!--The porcelain centre of Ching-tê-chen was inhabited by workers and merchants (70-80 per cent of population); there were more than 200 private kilns.--On indented labour see Li Chien-nung, H. Iwami and Y. Yamane. p. 253: On _pien-wen_ I used R. Michihata, and for this general discussion R. Irvin, _The Evolution of a Chinese Novel_, Cambridge, Mass., 1953, and studies by J. Jaworski and J. Pru[vs]ek. Many texts of _pien-wen_ and related styles have been found in Tunhuang and have been recently republished by Chinese scholars. p. 254: _Shui-hu-chuan_ has been translated by Pearl Buck, _All Men are Brothers_. Parts of _Hsi-yu-chi_ have been translated by A. Waley, _Monkey_, London 1946. _San-kuo yen-i_ is translated by C.H. Brewitt-Taylor, _San Kuo, or Romance of the Three Kingdoms_, Shanghai 1925 (a new edition just published). A purged translation of Chin-p'ing-mei is published by Fr. Kuhn _Chin P'ing Mei_, New York 1940. p. 255: Even the "murder story" was already known in Ming time. An example is R.H. van Gulik, _Dee Gong An. Three Murder Cases solved by Judge Dee_, Tokyo 1949. p. 256: For a special group of block-prints see R.H. van Gulik, _Erotic Colour Prints of the Ming Dynasty_, Tokyo 1951. This book is also an excellent introduction into Chinese psychology. p. 257: Here I use work done by David Chan. p. 258: I use here the research of J.J.L. Duyvendak; the reasons for the end of such enterprises, as given here, may not exhaust the problem. It may not be without relevance that Cheng came from a Muslim family. His father was a pilgrim (_Bull. Chin. Studies_, vol. 3, pp. 131-70). Further research is desirable.--Concerning folk-tales, I use my own research. The main Buddhist tales are the _Jataka_ stories. They are still used by Burmese Buddhists in the same context. p. 260: The Oirat (Uyrat, Ojrot, Ölöt) were a confederation of four tribal groups: Khosud, Dzungar, Dörbet and Turgut. p. 261: I regard this analysis of Ming political history as unsatisfactory, but to my knowledge no large-scale analysis has been made.--For Wang Yang-ming I use mainly my own research. p. 262: For the coastal salt-merchants I used Lo Hsiang-lin's work. p. 263: On the rifles I used P. Pelliot. There is a large literature on the use of explosives and the invention of cannons, especially L.C. Goodrich and Feng Chia-sheng in _Isis_, vol. 36, 1946 and 39, 1948; also G. Sarton, Li Ch'iao-p'ing, J. Pru[vs]ek, J. Needham, and M. Ishida; a comparative, general study is by K. Huuri, _Studia Orientalia_ vol. 9, 1941.--For the earliest contacts of Wang with Portuguese, I used Chang Wei-hua's monograph.--While there is no satisfactory, comprehensive study in English on Wang, for Lu Hsiang-shan the book by Huang Siu-ch'i, _Lu Hsiang-shan, a Twelfth-century Chinese Idealist Philosopher_, New Haven 1944, can be used. p. 264: For Tao-yen, I used work done by David Chan.--Large parts of the _Yung-lo ta-tien_ are now lost (Kuo Po-kung, Yüan T'ung-li studied this problem). p. 265: Yen-ta's Mongol name is Altan Qan (died 1582), leader of the Tümet. He is also responsible for the re-introduction of Lamaism into Mongolia (1574).--For the border trade I used Hou Jen-chih; for the Shansi bankers Ch'en Ch'i-t'ien and P. Maybon. For the beginnings of the Manchu see Fr. Michael, _The Origins of Manchu Rule in China_, Baltimore 1942. p. 266: M. Ricci's diary (Matthew Ricci, _China in the Sixteenth Century_. The Journals of M. Ricci, transl. by L.J. Gallagher, New York 1953) gives much insight into the life of Chinese officials in this period. Recently, J. Needham has tried to show that Ricci and his followers did not bring much which was not already known in China, but that they actually attempted to prevent the Chinese from learning about the Copernican theory. p. 267: For Coxinga I used M. Eder's study.--The Szechwan rebellion was led by Chang Hsien-chung (1606-1647); I used work done by James B. Parsons. Cheng T'ien-t'ing, Sun Yueh and others have recently published the important documents concerning all late Ming peasant rebellions.--For the Tung-lin academy see Ch. O. Hucker in J.K. Fairbank, _Chinese Thought and Institutions_, Chicago 1957. A different interpretation is indicated by Shang Yüeh in _Li-shih yen-chiu_ 1955, No. 3. p. 268: Work on the "academies" (shu-yüan) in the earlier time is done by Ho Yu-shen. pp. 273-4: Based upon my own, as yet unfinished research. p. 274: The population of 1953 as given here, includes Chinese outside of mainland China. The population of mainland China was 582.6 millions. If the rate of increase of about 2 per cent per year has remained the same, the population of mainland China in 1960 may be close to 680 million. In general see P.T. Ho. _Studies on the Population of China, 1368-1953_, Cambridge, Mass., 1960. p. 276: Based upon my own research.--A different view of the development of Chinese industry is found in Norman Jacobs, _Modern Capitalism and Eastern Asia_, Hong Kong 1958. Jacobs attempted a comparison of China with Japan and with Europe. Different again is Marion Levy and Shih Kuo-heng, _The Rise of the Modern Chinese Business Class_, New York 1949. Both books are influenced by the sociological theories of T. Parsons. p. 277: The Dzungars (Dsunghar; Chun-ko-erh) are one of the four Ölöt (Oirat) groups. I am here using studies by E. Haenisch and W. Fuchs. p. 278: Tibetan-Chinese relations have been studied by L. Petech, _China and Tibet in the Early 18th Century_, Leiden 1950. A collection of data is found in M.W. Fisher and L.E. Rose, _England, India, Nepal, Tibet, China, 1765-1958_, Berkeley 1959. For diplomatic relations and tributary systems of this period, I referred to J.K. Fairbank and Teng Ssu-yü. p. 279: For Ku Yen-wu, I used the work by H. Wilhelm.--A man who deserves special mention in this period is the scholar Huang Tsung-hsi (1610-1695) as the first Chinese who discussed the possibility of a non-monarchic form of government in his treatise of 1662. For him see Lin Mou-sheng, _Men and Ideas_, New York 1942, and especially W.T. de Bary in J.K. Fairbank, _Chinese Thought and Institutions_, Chicago 1957. pp. 280-1: On Liang see now J.R. Levenson, _Liang Ch'i-ch'ao and the Mind of Modern China_, London 1959. p. 282: It should also be pointed out that the Yung-cheng emperor was personally more inclined towards Lamaism.--The Kalmuks are largely identical with the above-mentioned Ölöt. p. 286: The existence of _hong_ is known since 1686, see P'eng Tse-i and Wang Chu-an's recent studies. For details on foreign trade see H.B. Morse, _The Chronicles of the East India Company Trading to China 1635-1834_, Oxford 1926, 4 vols., and J.K. Fairbank, _Trade and Diplomacy on the China Coast. The Opening of the Treaty Ports, 1842-1854_, Cambridge, Mass., 1953, 2 vols.--For Lin I used G.W. Overdijkink's study. p. 287: On customs read St. F. Wright, _Hart and the Chinese Customs_, Belfast 1950. p. 288: For early industry see A. Feuerwerker, _China's Early Industrialization: Sheng Hsuan-huai (1844-1916_), Cambridge, Mass., 1958. p. 289: The Chinese source materials for the Mohammedan revolts have recently been published, but an analysis of the importance of the revolts still remains to be done.--On T'ai-p'ing much has been published, especially in the last years in China, so that all documents are now available. I used among other studies, details brought out by Lo Hsiang-lin and Jen Yu-wen. p. 291: For Tsêng Kuo-fan see W.J. Hail, _Tsêng Kuo-fan and the T'ai-p'ing Rebellion_, New Haven 1927, but new research on him is about to be published.--The Nien-fei had some connection with the White Lotus, and were known since 1814, see Chiang Siang-tseh, _The Nien Rebellion_, Seattle 1954. p. 292: Little is known about Salars, Dungans and Yakub Beg's rebellion, mainly because relevant Turkish sources have not yet been studied. On Salars see L. Schram, _The Monguors of Kansu_, Philadelphia 1954, p. 23 and P. Pelliot; on Dungans see I. Grebe. p. 293: On Tso Tsung-t'ang see G. Ch'en, _Tso Tung T'ang, Pioneer Promotor of the Modern Dockyard and Woollen Mill in China_, Peking 1938, and _Yenching Journal of Soc. Studies_, vol. I. p. 294: For the T'ung-chih period, see now Mary C. Wright, _The Last Stand of Chinese Conservativism. The T'ung-chih Restoration, 1862-1874_, Stanford 1957. p. 295: Ryukyu is Chinese: Liu-ch'iu; Okinawa is one of the islands of this group.--Formosa is Chinese: T'ai-wan (Taiwan). Korea is Chinese: Chao-hsien, Japanese: Chôsen. p. 297: M.C. Wright has shown the advisers around the ruler before the Empress Dowager realized the severity of the situation.--Much research is under way to study the beginning of industrialization of Japan, and my opinions have changed greatly, due to the research done by Japanese scholars and such Western scholars as H. Rosovsky and Th. Smith. The eminent role of the lower aristocracy has been established. Similar research for China has not even seriously started. My remarks are entirely preliminary. p. 298: For K'ang Yo-wei, I use work done by O. Franke and others. See M.E. Cameron, _The Reform Movement in China, 1898-1921_, Stanford 1921. The best bibliography for this period is J.K. Fairbank and Liu Kwang-ching, _Modern China: A Bibliographical Guide to Chinese Works, 1898-1937_, Cambridge, Mass., 1950. The political history of the time, as seen by a Chinese scholar, is found in Li Chien-nung, _The Political History of China 1840-1928_, Princeton 1956.--For the social history of this period see Chang Chung-li, _The Chinese Gentry_, Seattle 1955.--For the history of Tz[)u] Hsi Bland-Backhouse, _China under the Empress Dowager_, Peking 1939 (Third ed.) is antiquated, but still used. For some of K'ang Yo-wei's ideas, see now K'ang Yo-wei: _Ta T'ung Shu. The One World Philosophy of K'ang Yu Wei_, London 1957. _Chapter Eleven_ p. 305: I rely here partly upon W. Franke's recent studies. For Sun Yat-sen (Sun I-hsien; also called Sun Chung-shan) see P. Linebarger, _Sun Yat-sen and the Chinese Republic_, Cambridge, Mass., 1925 and his later _The Political Doctrines of Sun Yat-sen_, Baltimore 1937.--Independently, Atatürk in Turkey developed a similar theory of the growth of democracy. p. 306: On student activities see Kiang Wen-han, _The Ideological Background of the Chinese Student Movement_, New York 1948. p. 307: On Hu Shih see his own _The Chinese Renaissance_, Chicago 1934 and J. de Francis, _Nationalism and Language Reform in China_, Princeton 1950. p. 310: The declaration of Independence of Mongolia had its basis in the early treaty of the Mongols with the Manchus (1636): "In case the Tai Ch'ing Dynasty falls, you will exist according to previous basic laws" (R.J. Miller, _Monasteries and Culture Change in Inner Mongolia_, Wiesbaden 1959, p. 4). p. 315: For the military activities see F.F. Liu, _A Military History of Modern China, 1924-1949_, Princeton 1956. A Marxist analysis of the 1927 events is Manabendra Nath Roy, _Revolution and Counter-Revolution in China_, Calcutta 1946; the relevant documents are translated in C. Brandt, B. Schwartz, J.K. Fairbank, _A Documentary History of Chinese Communism_, Cambridge, Mass., 1952. _Chapter Twelve_ For Mao Tse-tung, see B. Schwartz, _Chinese Communism and the Rise of Mao_, second ed., Cambridge, Mass., 1958. For Mao's early years; see J.E. Rue, _Mao Tse-tung in Opposition_, 1927-1935, Stanford 1966. For the civil war, see L.M. Chassin, _The Communist Conquest of China: A History of the Civil War, 1945-1949_, Cambridge, Mass., 1965. For brief information on communist society, see Franz Schurmann and Orville Schell, _The China Reader_, vol. 3, _Communist China_, New York 1967. For problems of organization, see Franz Schurmann, _Ideology and Organization in Communist China_, Berkeley 1966. For cultural and political problems, see Ho Ping-ti, _China in Crisis_, vol. 1, _China's Heritage and the Communist Political System_, Chicago 1968. For a sympathetic view of rural life in communist China, see J. Myrdal, _Report from a Chinese Village_, New York 1966; for Taiwanese village life, see Bernard Gallin, _Hsin Hsing, Taiwan: A Chinese Village in Change_, Berkeley 1966. INDEX Abahai, ruler Abdication Aborigines Absolutism (_see_ Despotism, Dictator, Emperor, Monarchy) Academia Sinica Academies Administration; provincial (_see_ Army, Feudalism, Bureaucracy) Adobe (Mud bricks) Adoptions Afghanistan Africa Agriculture; development; Origin of; of Shang; shifting (denshiring) (_see_ Wheat, Millet, Rice, Plough, Irrigation, Manure, Canals, Fallow) An Ti, ruler of Han Ainu, tribes Ala-shan mountain range Alchemy (_see_ Elixir) Alexander the Great America (_see_ United States) Amithabha, god Amur, river An Chi-yeh, rebel An Lu-shan, rebel Analphabetism Anarchists Ancestor, cult Aniko, sculptor Animal style Annam (Vietnam) Anyang (Yin-ch'ü) Arabia; Arabs Architecture Aristocracy (_see_ Nobility, Feudalism) Army, cost of; organization of; size of; Tibetan (_see_ War, Militia, tu-tu, pu-ch'ü) Art, Buddhist (_see_ Animal style, Architecture, Pottery, Painting, Sculpture, Wood-cut) Arthashastra, book, attributed to Kautilya Artisans; Organizations of (_see_ Guilds, Craftsmen) Assimilation (_see_ Colonization) Astronomy Austroasiatics Austronesians Avars, tribe (_see_ Juan-juan) Axes, prehistoric Axis, policy Babylon Baghdad, city Balasagun, city Ballads Banks Banner organization Barbarians (Foreigners) Bastards Bath Beg, title Beggar Bengal Boat festival Bokhara (Bukhara), city Bon, religion Bondsmen (_see pu-ch'ü_, Serfs, Feudalism) Book, printing; B burning Böttger, inventor Boxer rebellion Boycott Brahmans, Indian caste Brain drain Bronze (_see_ Metal, Copper) Brothel (Tea-house) Buddha; Buddhism (_see_ Ch'an, Vinaya, Sects, Amithabha, Maitreya, Hinayana, Mahayana, Monasteries, Church, Pagoda, Monks, Lamaism) Budget (_see_ Treasury, Inflation, Deflation) Bullfights Bureaucracy; religious B (_see_ Administration; Army) Burgher (_liang-min_) Burma Businessmen (_see_ Merchants, Trade) Byzantium Calcutta, city Caliph (Khaliph) Cambodia Canals; Imperial C (_see_ Irrigation) Cannons Canton (Kuang-chou), city Capital of Empire (_see_ Ch'ang-an, Sian, Loyang, etc.) Capitalism (_see_ Investments, Banks, Money, Economy, etc.) Capitulations (privileges of foreign nations) Caravans (_see_ Silk road, Trade) Carpet Castes, (_see_ Brahmans) Castiglione, G., painter Cattle, breeding Cavalry, (_see_ Horse) Cave temples (_see_ Lung-men, Yün-kang, Tunhuang) Censorate Censorship Census (_see_ Population) Central Asia (_see_ Turkestan, Sinkiang, Tarim, City States) Champa, State Ch'an (Zen), meditative Buddhism Chan-kuo Period (Contending States) Chancellor Ch'ang-an, capital of China (_see_ Sian) Chang Ch'ien, ambassador Chang Chü-chan, teacher Chang Hsien-chung, rebel Chang Hsüeh-hang, war lord Chang Ling, popular leader Chang Ti, ruler Chang Tsai, philosopher Chang Tso-lin, war lord Chao, state; Earlier Chao; Later Chao Chao K'uang-yin (T'ai Tsu), ruler Chao Mêng-fu, painter Charters Chefoo Convention Ch'en, dynasty Ch'en Pa-hsien, ruler Ch'en Tu-hsiu, intellectual Ch'eng Hao, philosopher Cheng Ho, navy commander Ch'eng I, philosopher Cheng-i-chiao, religion Ch'eng Ti, ruler of Han; ruler of Chin Ch'eng Tsu, ruler of Manchu Ch'engtu, city Ch'i, state; short dynasty; Northern Ch'i Ch'i-fu, clan Chi-nan, city Ch'i-tan (_see_ Kitan) Ch'i Wan-nien, leader Chia, clan Chia-ch'ing, period Chia Ss[)u]-tao, politician Ch'iang, tribes, (_see_ Tanguts) Chiang Kai-shek, president Ch'ien-lung, period _ch'ien-min_ (commoners), Chin, dynasty, (_see_ Juchên); dynasty; Eastern Chin dynasty; Later Chin dynasty, Ch'in, state; Ch'in, dynasty; Earlier Ch'in dynasty; Later Ch'in dynasty; Western Ch'in dynasty Ch'in K'ui, politician Chinese, origin of Ching Fang, scholar Ching-tê (-chen), city _ching-t'ien_ system Ching Tsung, Manchu ruler Ch'iu Ying, painter Chou, dynasty; short Chou dynasty; Later Chou dynasty; Northern Chou dynasty Chou En-lai, politician Chou-k'ou-tien, archaeological site Chou-kung (Duke of Chou) Chou-li, book Chou Tun-i, philosopher Christianity (_see_ Nestorians, Jesuits, Missionaries) Chronology Ch'u, state Chu Ch'üan-chung, general and ruler Chu Hsi, philosopher Chu-ko Liang, general Chu Tê, general Chu Tsai-yü, scholar Chu Yüan-chang (T'ai Tsu), ruler _chuang_ (_see_ Manors, Estates) Chuang Tz[)u], philosopher Chün-ch'en, ruler Ch'un-ch'iu, book _chün-t'ien_ system (land equalization system) _chün-tz[)u]_ (gentleman) Chung-ch'ang T'ung, philosopher Chungking (Ch'ung-ch'ing), city Church, Buddhistic Taoistic (_see_ Chang Ling) Cities spread and growth of cities origin of cities twin cities (_see_ City states, Ch'ang-an, Sian, Loyang, Hankow, etc.) City States (of Central Asia) Clans Classes, social classes (_see_ Castes, _ch'ien-min, liang-min_, Gentry, etc.) Climate, changes Cliques Cloisonné Cobalt Coins (_see_ Money) Colonialism (_see_ Imperialism) Colonization (_see_ Migration, Assimilation) Colour prints Communes Communism (_see_ Marxism, Socialism, Soviets) Concubines Confessions Confucian ritual Confucianism Confucian literature false Confucian literature Confucians (_see_ Neo-Confucianism) Conquests (_see_ War, Colonialism) Conservatism Constitution Contending States Co-operatives Copper (_see_ Bronze, Metal) Corruption Corvée (forced labour) (_see_ Labour) Cotton Courtesans (_see_ Brothel) Coxinga, rebel Craftsmen (_see_ Artisans) Credits Criminals Crop rotation Dalai Lama, religious ruler of Tibet Dance Deflation Deities (_see_ T'ien, Shang Ti, Maitreya, Amithabha, etc.) Delft, city Demands, the twenty-one Democracy Denshiring Despotism (_see_ Absolutism) Dewey, J., educator Dialects (_see_ Language) Dialecticians Dictators (_see_ Despotism) Dictionaries Diploma, for monks Diplomacy Disarmament Discriminatory laws (_see_ Double Standard) Dog Dorgon, prince Double standard, legal Drama Dress, changes Dungan, tribes Dynastic histories (_see_ History) Dzungars, people Eclipses Economy Money economy Natural economy (_see_ Agriculture, Nomadism, Industry, Denshiring, Money, Trade, etc.) Education (_see_ Schools, Universities, Academies, Script, Examination system, etc.) Elements, the five Elephants Élite (_see_ Intellectuals, Students, Gentry) Elixir (_see_ Alchemy) Emperor, position of Emperor and church (_see_ Despotism, King, Absolutism, Monarchy, etc.) Empress (_see_ Lü, Wu, Wei, Tz[)u] Hsi) Encyclopaedias England (_see_ Great Britain) Ephtalites, tribe Epics Equalization Office (_see chün-t'ien_) Erotic literature Estates (_chuang_) Ethics (_see_ Confucianism) Eunuchs Europe Europeans Examination system Examinations for Buddhists Fables Factories Fallow system Falsifications (_see_ Confucianism) Family structure Family ethics Family planning Fan Chung-yen, politician Fascism Federations, tribal Felt Fêng Kuo-chang, politician Fêng Meng-lung, writer Fêng Tao, politician Fêng Yü-hsiang, war lord Ferghana, city Fertility cults differential fertility Fertilizer Feudalism end of feudalism late feudalism new feudalism nomadic feudalism (_see_ Serfs, Aristocracy, Fiefs, Bondsmen, etc.) Fiefs Finances (_see_ Budget, Inflation, Money, Coins) Fire-arms (_see_ Rifles, Cannons) Fishing Folk-tales Food habits Foreign relations (_see_ Diplomacy, Treaty, Tribute, War) Forests Formosa (T'aiwan) France Frontier, concept of Frugality Fu Chien, ruler Fu-lan-chi (Franks) Fu-lin, Manchu ruler Fu-yü, country Fukien, province Galdan, leader Gandhara, country Gardens Geisha (_see_ Courtesans) Genealogy Genghiz Khan, ruler Gentry (Upper class) colonial gentry definition of gentry gentry state southern gentry Germany Gök Turks Governors, role of Grain (_see_ Millet, Rice, Wheat) Granaries Great Britain (_see_ England) Great Leap Forward Great Proletarian Cultural Revolution Great Wall Greeks Guilds Hakka, ethnic group Hami, city state Han, dynasty Later Han dynasty Han Fei Tz[)u], philosopher Han T'o-wei, politician Han Yü, philosopher Hankow (Han-k'ou), city Hangchow (Hang-chou), city Heaven (_see_ Shang Ti, T'ien) Hermits (_see_ Monks, Sages) Hinayana, religion Historians Histories, dynastic falsification of histories Historiography Hitler, Adolf, dictator Hittites, ethnic group Ho Ch'êng-t'ien, scholar Ho-lien P'o-p'o, ruler Ho Ti, Han ruler _hong_, association Hong Kong, colony Hopei, province Horse horse chariot horse riding horse trade Hospitals Hou Ching, ruler Houses (_see_ Adobe) Hsi-hsia, kingdom Hsi-k'ang, Tibet Hsia, dynasty Hunnic Hsia dynasty (_see_ Hsi-hsia) Hsia-hou, clan Hsia Kui, painter Hsiao Tao-ch'eng, general Hsiao Wu Ti, Chin ruler Hsieh, clan Hsieh Hsüan, general Hsien-feng, period Hsien-pi, tribal federation Hsien Ti, Han ruler Hsien-yün, tribes Hsin, dynasty Hsin-an merchants _Hsin Ch'ing-nien_, journal Hsiung-nu, tribal federation (_see_ Huns) Hsü Shih-ch'ang, president Hsüan-tê, period Hsüan-tsang, Buddhist Hsüan Tsung, T'ang ruler Manchu ruler Hsüan-t'ung, period Hsün Tz[)u], philosopher Hu, name of tribes (_see_ Huns) Hu Han-min, politician Hu Shih, scholar and politician Hu Wei-yung, politician Huai-nan Tz[)u], philosopher Huai, Ti, Chin ruler Huan Hsüan, general Huan Wen, general Huang Ch'ao, leader of rebellion Huang Ti, ruler Huang Tsung-hsi, philosopher Hui-chou merchants _hui-kuan_, association Hui Ti, Chin ruler Manchu ruler Hui Tsung, Sung ruler Hui Tz[)u], philosopher Human sacrifice Hung Hsiu-ch'üan, leader of rebellion Huns (_see_ Hu, Hsiung-nu) Hunting Hutuktu, religious ruler Hydraulic society _i-chuang_, clan manors Ili, river Imperialism (_see_ Colonialism) India (_see_ Brahmans, Bengal, Gandhara, Calcutta, Buddhism) Indo-China (_see_ Cambodia, Annam, Laos). Indo-Europeans, language group (_see_ Yüeh-chih, Tocharians, Hittites) Indonesia, (_see_ Java) Industries Industrialization Industrial society (_see_ Factories) Inflation Inheritance, laws of Intellectuals (_see_ Élite, Students) Investments Iran (Persia) Iron Cast iron Iron money (_see_ Steel) Irrigation Islam (_see_ Muslims) Istanbul (Constantinople) Italy Japan (_see_ Meiji, Tada, Tanaka) Java Jedzgerd, ruler, Jehol, province, Jen Tsung, Manchu ruler Jesuits Jews _Ju_ (scribes) Juchên (Chin Dynasty, Jurchen) Juan-juan, tribal federation Jurchen (_see_ Juchên) K'ai-feng, city (_see_ Yeh, Pien-liang) Kalmuk, Mongol tribes (_see_ Ölöt) K'ang-hsi, period K'ang Yo-wei, politician and scholar Kansu, province (_see_ Tunhuang) Kao-ch'ang, city state Kao, clan Kao-li, state (_see_ Korea) Kao Ming, writer Kao Tsu, Han ruler Kao Tsung, T'ang ruler Kao Yang, ruler Kapok, textile fibre Kara Kitai, tribal federation Kashgar, city Kazak, tribal federation Khalif (_see_ Caliph) Khamba, Tibetans Khan, Central Asian title Khocho, city Khotan, city King, position of first kings religious character of kingship (_see_ Yao, Shun, Hsia dynasty, Emperor, Wang, Prince) Kitan (Ch'i-tan), tribal federation (_see_ Liao dynasty) Ko-shu Han, general Korea (_see_ Kao-li, Pai-chi, Sin-lo) K'ou Ch'ien-chih, Taoist Kowloon, city Ku Yen-wu, geographer Kuan Han-ch'ing, writer Kuang-hsü, period Kuang-wu Ti, Han ruler Kub(i)lai Khan, Mongol ruler Kung-sun Lung, philosopher K'ung Tz[)u] (Confucius) Kuomintang (KMT), party Kuo Wei, ruler Kuo Tz[)u]-hsing, rebel leader Kuo Tz[)u]-i, loyal general Kyakhta (Kiachta), city Labour, forced (_see_ Corvée) Labour laws Labour shortage Lacquer Lamaism, religion Land ownership (_see_ Property) Land reform (_see chün-t'ien, ching-t'ien_) Landlords temples as landlords Language dialects Language reform Lang Shih-ning, painter La Tz[)u], philosopher Laos, country Law codes (_see_ Li K'ui, Property law, Inheritance, Legalists) Leadership League of Nations Leibniz, philosopher Legalists (_fa-chia_) Legitimacy of rule (_see_ Abdication) Lenin, V. Lhasa, city Li An-shih, economist Li Chung-yen, governor Li Hung-chang, politician Li K'o-yung, ruler Li Kuang-li, general Li K'ui, law-maker Li Li-san, politician Li Lin-fu, politician Li Lung-mien, painter Li Shih-min (_see_ T'ai Tsung), T'ang ruler Li Ss[)u], politician Li Ta-chao, librarian Li T'ai-po, poet Li Tz[)u]-ch'eng, rebel Li Yu, writer Li Yu-chên, writer Li Yüan, ruler Li Yüan-hung, politician Liang dynasty, Earlier Later Liang Northern Liang Southern Liang Western Liang Liang Ch'i-ch'ao, journalist _liang-min_ (burghers) Liao, tribes, Liao dynasty (_see_ Kitan) Western Liao dynasty _Liao-chai chih-i_, short-story collection Libraries Lin-chin, city Lin-ch'uan, city Lin Shu, translator Lin Tsê-hsü, politician Literati, (_see_ Scholars, Confucianists) Literature (_see pien-wen, pi-chi_, Poetry, Drama, Novels, Epics, Theatre, ballads, Folk-tales, Fables, History, Confucians, Writers, Scholars, Scribes) Literary revolution Liu Chi, Han ruler Liu Chin-yüan, ruler Liu Chin, eunuch Liu Hsiu (_see_ Kuang wu Ti), Han ruler Liu Lao-chih, general _liu-min_ (vagrants) Liu Pang (_see_ Liu Chi) Liu Pei, general and ruler Liu Shao-ch'i, political leader Liu Sung, rebel Liu Tsung-yüan, writer Liu Ts'ung, ruler Liu Yao, ruler Liu Yü, general emperor Liu Yüan, sculptor emperor Lo Kuan-chung, writer Loans, to farmers foreign Loess, soil formation Logic Long March Lorcha War Loyang (Lo-yang), capital of China Lu, state Lü, empress Lu Hsiang-shan, philosopher Lu Hsün, writer Lü Kuang, ruler Lü Pu, general Lü Pu-wei, politician Lun, prince _Lun-heng_, book Lung-men, place Lung-shan, excavation site Lytton Commission Ma Yin, ruler Ma Yüan, general painter Machiavellism Macao, Portuguese colony Mahayana, Buddhist sect Maitreya, Buddhist deity (_see_ Messianic movements) Malacca, state Malaria Managers Manchu, tribal federation and dynasty Manchuria Manichaeism, Iranian religion Manors (_chuang, see_ Estates) Mao Tun, Hsiung-nu ruler Mao Tse-tung, party leader Marco Polo, businessman Market Market control Marriage systems Marxism Marxist theory of history (_see_ Materialism, Communism, Lenin, Mao Tse-tung) Materialism Mathematics Matrilinear societies Mazdaism, Iranian religion May Fourth Movement Medicine Medical doctors Meditation (_see_ Ch'an) Megalithic culture Meiji, Japanese ruler Melanesia Mencius (Meng Tz[)u]), philosopher Merchants foreign merchants (_see_ Trade, Salt, Caravans, Businessmen) Messianic movements Metal (_see_ Bronze, Copper, Iron) Mi Fei, painter Middle Class (_see_ Burgher, Merchant, Craftsmen, Artisans) Middle East (_see_ Near East) Migrations forced migrations (_see_ Colonization, Assimilation, Settlement) Militarism Militia Millet Mills Min, state in Fukien Ming dynasty Ming Jui, general Min Ti, Chin ruler Ming Ti, Han ruler Wei ruler Later T'ang ruler Minorate Missionaries, Christian (_see_ Jesuits) Mo Ti, philosopher Modernization Mohammedan rebellions (_see_ Muslim) Mon-Khmer tribes Monarchy (_see_ King, Emperor, Absolutism, Despotism) Monasteries, Buddhist economic importance Money Money economy Origin of money paper money (_see_ Coins, Paper, Silver) Mongolia Mongols, tribes, tribal federation, dynasty (_see_ Yüan dynasty, Kalmuk, Tümet, Oirat, Ölöt, Naiman, Turgut, Timur, Genghiz, Kublai) Monks, Buddhist Monopolies Mound-dwellers Mu-jung, tribes Mu Ti, East Chin ruler Mu Tsung, Manchu ruler Mulberries Munda tribes Music (_see_ Theatre, Dance, Geisha) Muslims Muslim rebellions (_see_ Islam, Mohammedans) Mysticism Naiman, Mongol tribe Nan-chao, state Nanyang, city Nanking (Nan-ching), capital of China Nanking regime Nationalism (_see_ Kuomintang) Nature Nature philosophers Navy Near East (_see_ Arabs, Iran, etc.) Neo-Confucianism Neolithicum Nepal Nerchinsk, place Nestorian Christianity Ni Tsan, painter Nien Fei, rebels Niu Seng-yu, politician Nobility Nomadic nobility (_see_ Aristocracy) Nomadism Economy of nomads Nomadic society structure Novels Oil Oirat, Mongol tribes Okinawa (_see_ Ryukyu) Ölöt, Mongol tribes Opera Opium Opium War Oracle bones Ordos, area Orenburg, city Organizations (_see hui-kuan_ Guilds, _hong_, Secret Societies) Orphanages Ottoman (Turkish) Empire Ou-yang Hsiu, writer Outer Mongolia Pagoda Pai-chi (Paikche), state in Korea Pai-lien-hui (_see_ White Lotus) Painting Palaeolithicum Pan Ch'ao, general _pao-chia_, security system Paper Paper money (_see_ Money) Parliament Party (_see_ Kuomintang, Communists) Pearl Harbour Peasant rebellions (_see_ Rebellions) Peking, city Peking Man Pensions People's Democracy Persecution, religious Persia (Iran) Persian language Peruz, ruler Philippines, state Philosophy, (_see_ Confucius, Lao Tz[)u], Chuang Tz[)u], Huai-nan Tz[)u], Hsün Tz[)u], Mencius, Hui Tz[)u], Mo Ti, Kung-sun Lung, Shang Tz[)u], Han Fei Tz[)u], Tsou Yen, Legalists, Chung-ch'ang, T'ung, Yüan Chi, Liu Ling, Chu Hsi, Ch'eng Hao, Lu Hsiang-shan, Wang Yang-ming, etc.) _pi-chi_, literary form _pieh-yeh_ (_see_ Manor) Pien-liang, city (_see_ K'ai-feng) _pien-wen_, literary form Pig Pilgrims P'ing-ch'êng, city Pirates Plantation economy Plough Po Chü-i, poet Po-hai, state Poetry Court Poetry Northern Poetry Poets (_see_ T'ao Ch'ien, Po Chü-i, Li T'ai-po, Tu Fu, etc.) Politicians, migratory Pontic migration Population changes Population decrease (_see_ Census, Fertility) Porcelain Port Arthur, city Portsmouth, treaty Portuguese (_see_ Fu-lan-chi, Macao) Potter Pottery black pottery (_see_ Porcelain) Price controls Priests (_see_ Shamans, Ju, Monks) Primogeniture Princes Printing (_see_ Colour, Book) Privileges of gentry Proletariat (_see_ Labour) Propaganda Property relations (_see_ Laws, Inheritance, Primogeniture) Protectorate Provinces, administration _pu-ch'ü_, bondsmen P'u-ku Huai-en, general P'u Sung-lin, writer P'u Yi, Manchu ruler Puppet plays Railways Manchurian Railway Rebellions (_see_ Peasants, Secret Societies, Revolutions) Red Eyebrows, peasant movement Red Guards Reforms; Reform of language (_see_ Land reform) Regents Religion popular religion (_see_ Bon, Shintoism, Persecution, Sacrifice, Ancestor cult, Fertility cults, Deities, Temples, Monasteries, Christianity, Islam, Buddhism, Mazdaism, Manichaeism, Messianic religions, Secret societies, Soul, Shamanism, State religion) Republic Revolutions; legitimization of revolution (_see_ Rebellions) Ricci, Matteo, missionary Rice Rifles Ritualism Roads Roman Empire Roosevelt, F.D., president Russia (_see_ Soviet Republics) Ryukyu (Liu-ch'iu), islands Sacrifices Sages Sakhalin (Karafuto), island Salar, ethnic group Salary Salt Salt merchants Salt trade Samarkand, city _San-min chu-i_, book Sang Hung-yang, economist Sassanids, Iranian dynasty Scholars (_Ju_) (_see_ Literati, Scribes, Intellectuals, Confucianists) Schools, (_see_ Education) Science, (_see_ Mathematics, Astronomy, Nature) Scribes Script, Chinese Sculpture Buddhist sculptures _sê-mu_ (auxiliary troops) Seal, imperial Secret societies (_see_ Red Eyebrows; Yellow Turbans; White Lotus; Boxer; Rebellions) Sects Buddhist sects Seng-ko-lin-ch'in, general Serfs (_see_ Slaves, Servants, Bondsmen) Servants Settlement, of foreigners military (_see_ Colonization) Sha-t'o, tribal federation Shadow theatre Shahruk, ruler Shamans Shamanism Shan tribes of South East Asia _Shan-hai-ching_, book Shan-yü, title of nomadic ruler Shang dynasty Shang Ti, deity Shang Tz[)u], philosopher (Shang Yang) Shanghai, city Shao Yung, philosopher Sheep Shen Nung, mythical figure Shen Tsung, Sung ruler Manchu ruler Sheng Tsu, Manchu ruler _Shih-chi_, book Shih Ching-t'ang, ruler Shih Ch'ung, writer Shih Hêng, soldier Shih Hu, ruler Shih Huang-ti, ruler Shih Lo, ruler Shih-pi, ruler Shih Ss[)u]-ming Shih Tsung, Manchu ruler Shih-wei, Mongol tribes Shintoism, Japanese religion Ships (_see_ Navy) Short stories Shoulder axes Shu (Szechwan), area and/or state Shu-Han dynasty Shun, dynasty mythical ruler Shun-chih, reign period Sian (Hsi-an, Ch'ang-an), city Siao Ho (Hsiao Ho), jurist Silk Silk road Silver Sin-lo (Hsin-lo, Silla), state of Korea Sinanthropos Sinkiang (Hsin-Chiang, Turkestan) Slash and burn agriculture (denshiring) Slaves Slave society Temple slaves Social mobility Social structure of tribes Socialism (_see_ Marxism, Communism) Sogdiana, country in Central Asia Soul, concept of soul South-East Asia (_see_ Burma, Champa, Cambodia, Annam, Laos, Vietnam, Tonking, Indonesia, Philippines, Thailand, Mon-Khmer) Soviet Republics (_see_ Russia) Speculations, financial Ss[)u]-ma, clan Ss[)u]-ma Ch'ien, historian Ss[)u]-ma Kuang, historian Ss[)u]-ma Yen, ruler Standardization States, territorial and national State religion Statistics (_see_ Population) Steel Steppe Stone age Stratification, social (_see_ Classes, Social mobility) Strikes Students Su Chün, rebel Su Tsung, T'ang ruler Su Tung-p'o, poet _su-wang_ (uncrowned king) Sui, dynasty Sun Ts'ê, ruler Sun Yat-sen (Sun I-hsien), revolutionary leader, president Sung, dynasty Liu-Sung dynasty Szechwan (Ss[)u]-ch'uan), province (_see_ Shu) Ta-tan (Tatars), tribal federation Tada, Japanese militarist Tai, tribes (_see_ Thailand) Tai Chen, philosopher Tai Ch'ing dynasty (Manchu) T'ai P'ing, state T'ai Tsu, Sung ruler Manchu ruler T'ai Tsung, T'ang ruler (_see_ Li Shih-min) Taiwan (T'ai-wan, _see_ Formosa) T'an-yao, priest Tanaka, Japanese militarist T'ang, dynasty Later T'ang dynasty T'ang Hsien-tsu, writer T'ang Yin, painter Tanguts, Tibetan tribal federation and/or state (_see_ Ch'iang) Tao, philosophical term Tao-kuang, reign period _Tao-tê-ching_, book T'ao-t'ieh, mythical emblem Tao-yen, monk Taoism, religion Taoists (_see_ Lao Tz[)u], Chuang Tz[)u], Chang Ling, etc.) Tarim basin Tatars (Ta-tan) Mongolian tribal federation Taxation Tax collectors Tax evasion Tax exemptions Taxes for monks Tax reform Tê Tsung, Manchu ruler Tea Tea trade Tea house (_see_ Brothel) Teachers (_see_ Schools) Technology Tell, archaeological term Temples (_see_ Monasteries) Tengri khan, ruler Textile industry (_see_ Silk, Cotton) Thailand, state (_see_ Tai tribes) Theatre (_see_ Shadow, Puppet, Opera) Throne, accession to (_see_ Abdication, Legitimacy) Ti, Tibetan tribes Tibet (_see_ Ch'iang, Ti, T'u-fan, T'u-yü-hun, Lhasa Tanguts) T'ien, deity Tientsin (T'ien-chin), city Timur, ruler Tin Ting-ling, tribal federation T'o-pa (_see_ Toba) T'o-t'o, writer Toba, Turkish tribal federation Tocharians, Central Asian ethnic group Tokto (_see_ T'o-t'o) Tölös, Turkish tribal group Tombs Tonking, state Tortoise Totalitarianism (_see_ Dictatorship, Fascism, Communism) Tou Ku, general T'ou-man, ruler Towns (_see_ City) Trade barter trade international trade (_see_ Merchants, Commerce, Caravans, Silk road) Translations Transportation (_see_ Roads, Canals, Ships, Post, Caravans, Horses) Travels of emperors Treasury Treaty, international Tribal organization (_see_ Banner, Army, Nomads) Tribes, disappearance of social organization military organization Tribute (_kung_) _tsa-hu_, social class Tsai T'ien, prince Ts'ai Yüan-p'ei, scholar Ts'ao Chih, poet Ts'ao Hsüeh-ch'in, writer Ts'ao K'un, politician Ts'ao P'ei, ruler Ts'ao Ts'ao, general Tsewang Rabdan, general Tsêng Kuo-fan, general Tso Tsung-t'ang, general Tsou Yen, philosopher Ts'ui, clan T'u-chüeh, Gök Turk tribes (_see_ Turks) Tu Fu, poet T'u-fan, Tibetan tribal group Tu-ku, Turkish tribe _T'u-shu chi-ch'eng_, encyclopaedia _tu-tu_, title T'u-yü-hun, Tibetan tribal federation Tuan Ch'i-jui, president Tümet, Mongol tribal group Tung Ch'i-ch'ang, painter T'ung-chien kang-mu, historical encyclopaedia T'ung-chih, reign period Tung Chung-shu, thinker Tung Fu-hsiang, politician Tung-lin academy Tungus tribes (_see_ Juchên, Po-hai, Manchu) Tunhuang (Tun-huang), city Turfan, city state Turgut, Mongol tribal federation Turkestan (_see_ Central Asia, Tarim, Turfan, Sinkiang, Ferghana, Samarkand, Khotcho, Tocharians, Yüeh-chih, Sogdians, etc.) Turkey Turks (_see_ Gök Turks, T'u-chüeh, Toba, Tölös, Ting-ling, Uighur, Sha-t'o, etc.) Tz[)u] Hsi, empress Uighurs, Turkish federation United States (_see_ America) Ungern-Sternberg, general Urbanization (_see_ City) Urga, city University Usury Vagrants (_liu-min_) Vietnam (_see_ Annam) Village Village commons Vinaya Buddhism Voltaire, writer Walls Great Wall Wan-li, reign period _Wang_ (king) Wang An-shih, statesman Wang Chen, eunuch Wang Ching-wei, collaborator Wang Ch'ung, philosopher Wang Hsien-chih, peasant leader Wang Kung, general Wang Mang, ruler Wang Shih-chen, writer Wang Shih-fu, writer Wang Tao-k'un, writer Wang Tun, rebel Wang Yang-ming, general and philosopher War size of wars War-chariot cost of wars War lords Warrior-nomads (_see_ Army, World War, Opium War, Lorcha War, Fire-arms) Washington, conference Wei, dynasty small state empress Wei Chung-hsien, eunuch Wei T'o, ruler in South China Welfare state Well-field system (_ching-t'ien_), Wen Ti, Han ruler Wei ruler Toba ruler Sui ruler Wen Tsung, Manchu ruler Whampoa, military academy Wheat White Lotus sect (Pai-lien) Wholesalers Wine Wood-cut (_see_ Colour print) Wool (_see_ Felt) World Wars Women rights Writing, invention (_see_ Script) Wu, empress state Wuch'ang, city (_see_ Hankow) Wu Ching-tz[)u], writer Wu-huan, tribal federation Wu P'ei-fu, war lord Wu San-kui, general Wu Shih-fan, ruler Wu-sun, tribal group Wu Tai (Five Dynasties period) Wu Tao-tz[)u], painter Wu (Ti), Han ruler Chin ruler Liang ruler Wu Tsung, Manchu ruler Wu Wang, Chou ruler _wu-wei_, philosophical term Yakub beg, ruler Yamato, part of Japan Yang, clan Yang Chien, ruler (_see_ Wen Ti) Yang (Kui-fei), concubine Yang-shao, archaeological site Yang Ti, Sui ruler Yao, mythical ruler tribes in South China Yarkand, city in Turkestan Yeh (K'ai-feng), city Yeh-ta (_see_ Ephtalites) Yehe-Nara, tribe Yellow Turbans, secret society Yeh-lü Ch'u-ts'ai, politician Yen, state dynasty Earlier Yen dynasty Later Yen dynasty Western Yen dynasty Yen-an, city Yen Fu, translator Yen Hsi-shan, war lord Yen-ta (Altan), ruler _Yen-t'ieh-lun_ (Discourses on Salt and Iron), book Yin Chung-k'an, general Yin-ch'ü, city Yin and Yang, philosophical terms Ying Tsung, Manchu ruler Yo Fei, general Yü Liang, general Yü-wen, tribal group Yüan Chen Yüan Chi, philosopher Yüan Mei, writer Yüan Shao, general Yüan Shih-k'ai, general and president Yüan Ti, Han ruler Chin ruler Yüeh, tribal group and area Yüeh-chih, Indo-European-speaking ethnic group Yün-kang, caves Yünnan (Yün-nan), province Yung-cheng, reign period Yung-lo, reign period Zen Buddhism (_see_ Ch'an) Zoroaster, founder of religion 13420 ---- ACROSS CHINA ON FOOT _By_ EDWIN JOHN DINGLE 1911 IN GRATEFUL ESTEEM DURING MY TRAVELS IN INTERIOR CHINA I ONCE LAY AT THE POINT OF DEATH. FOR THEIR UNREMITTING KINDNESS DURING A LONG ILLNESS, I NOW AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBE THIS VOLUME TO MY FRIENDS, MR. AND MRS. A. EVANS, OF TONG-CH'UAN-FU, YÜN-NAN, SOUTH-WEST CHINA, TO WHOSE DEVOTED NURSING AND UNTIRING CARE I OWE MY LIFE. CONTENTS BOOK I. FROM THE STRAITS TO SHANGHAI--INTRODUCTORY FIRST JOURNEY. CHAPTER I. FROM SHANGHAI UP THE LOWER YANGTZE TO ICHANG SECOND JOURNEY--ICHANG TO CHUNG-KING THROUGH THE YANGTZE GORGES. CHAPTER II. THE ICHANG GORGE CHAPTER III. THE YANGTZE RAPIDS CHAPTER IV. THE YEH T'AN RAPID. ARRIVAL AT KWEIEU THIRD JOURNEY--CHUNG-KING TO SUI-FU (VIA LUCHOW). CHAPTER V. BEGINNING OF THE OVERLAND JOURNEY CHAPTER VI. THE PEOPLE OF SZECH'WAN FOURTH JOURNEY--SUI-FU TO CHAO-T'ONG-FU (VIA LAO-WA-T'AN). CHAPTER VII. DESCRIPTION OF JOURNEY FROM SUI-FU CHAPTER VIII. SZECH'WAN AND YÜN-NAN THE CHAO-T'ONG REBELLION OF 1910. CHAPTER IX. THE TRIBES OF NORTH-EAST YÜN-NAN, AND MISSION WORK AMONG THEM. CHAPTER X. FIFTH JOURNEY--CHAO-T'ONG-FU TO TONG-CH'UAN-FU. CHAPTER XI. AUTHOR MEETS WITH ACCIDENT CHAPTER XII. YÜN-NAN'S CHECKERED CAREER. ILLNESS OF AUTHOR BOOK II. FIRST JOURNEY--TONG-CH'UAN-FU TO THE CAPITAL. CHAPTER XIII. DEPARTURE FOR BURMA. DISCOMFORTS OF TRAVEL CHAPTER XIV. YÜN-NAN-FU, THE CAPITAL SECOND JOURNEY--YÜN-NAN-FU TO TALI-FU (VIA CH'U-HSIONG-FU). CHAPTER XV. DOES CHINA WANT THE FOREIGNER? CHAPTER XVI. LU-FENG-HSIEN. MOUNTAINOUS COUNTRY. CHINESE UNTRUTHFULNESS CHAPTER XVII. KWANG-TUNG-HSIEN TO SHACHIAO-KA CHAPTER XVIII. STORM IN THE MOUNTAINS. AT HUNGAY CHAPTER XIX. THE REFORM MOVEMENT IN YÜN-NAN. ARRIVAL AT TALI-FU THIRD JOURNEY--TALI-FU TO THE MEKONG VALLEY. CHAPTER XX. HARDEST PART OF THE JOURNEY.HWAN-LIEN-P'U CHAPTER XXI. THE MOUNTAINS OF YÜN-NAN. SHAYUNG. OPIUM SMOKING FOURTH JOURNEY--THE MEKONG VALLEY TO TENGYUEH. CHAPTER XXII. THE RIVER MEKONG CHAPTER XXIII. THROUGH THE SALWEN VALLEY TO TENGYUEH CHAPTER XXIV. THE LI-SU TRIBE OF THE SALWEN VALLEY FIFTH JOURNEY--TENGYUEH (MOMIEN) TO BHAMO IN UPPER BURMA. CHAPTER XXV. SHANS AND KACHINS CHAPTER XXVI. END OF LONG JOURNEY. ARRIVAL IN BURMA _To travel in China is easy. To walk across China, over roads acknowledgedly worse than are met with in any civilized country in the two hemispheres, and having accommodation unequalled for crudeness and insanitation, is not easy. In deciding to travel in China, I determined to cross overland from the head of the Yangtze Gorges to British Burma on foot; and, although the strain nearly cost me my life, no conveyance was used in any part of my journey other than at two points described in the course of the narrative. For several days during my travels I lay at the point of death. The arduousness of constant mountaineering_--_for such is ordinary travel in most parts of Western China_--_laid the foundation of a long illness, rendering it impossible for me to continue my walking, and as a consequence I resided in the interior of China during a period of convalescence of several months duration, at the end of which I continued my cross-country tramp. Subsequently I returned into Yün-nan from Burma, lived again in Tong-ch'uan-fu and Chao-t'ong-fu, and traveled in the wilds of the surrounding country. Whilst traveling I lived on Chinese food, and in the Miao country, where rice could not be got, subsisted for many days on maize only. My sole object in going to China was a personal desire to see China from the inside. My trip was undertaken for no other purpose. I carried no instruments (with the exception of an aneroid), and did not even make a single survey of the untrodden country through which I occasionally passed. So far as I know, I am the only traveler, apart from members of the missionary community, who has ever resided far away in the interior of the Celestial Empire for so long a time. Most of the manuscript for this book was written as I went along>--a good deal of it actually by the roadside in rural China. When my journey was completed, the following news paragraph in the North China Daily News (of Shanghai) was brought to my notice:-- "All the Legations (at Peking) have received anonymous letters from alleged revolutionaries in Shanghai, containing the warning that an extensive anti-dynastic uprising is imminent. If they do not assist the Manchus, foreigners will not be harmed; otherwise, they will be destroyed in a general massacre. "The missives were delivered mysteriously, bearing obliterated postmarks. "In view of the recent similar warnings received by the Consuls, uneasiness has been created." The above appeared in the journal quoted on June 3rd, 1910. The reader, in perusing my previously written remarks on the spirit of reform and how far it has penetrated into the innermost corners of the empire, should bear this paragraph in mind, for there is more Boxerism and unrest in China than we know of. My account of the Hankow riots of January, 1911, through which I myself went, will, with my experience of rebellions in Yün-nan, justify my assertion. I should like to thank all those missionaries who entertained me as I proceeded through China, especially Mr. John Graham and Mr. C.A. Fleischmann, of the China Inland Mission, who transacted a good deal of business for me and took all trouble uncomplainingly. I am also indebted to Dr. Clark, of Tali-fu, and to the Revs. H. Parsons and S. Pollard, for several photographs illustrating that section of this book dealing with the tribes of Yün-nan. I wish to express my acknowledgments to several well-known writers on far Eastern topics, notably to Dr. G.E. Morrison, of Peking, the Rev. Sidney L. Hulick, M.A., D.D., and Mr. H.B. Morse, whose works are quoted. Much information was also gleaned from other sources. My thanks are due also to Mr. W. Brayton Slater and to my brother, Mr. W.R. Dingle, for their kindness in having negotiated with my publishers in my absence in Inland China; and to the latter, for unfailing courtesy and patience, I am under considerable obligation. "Across China on Foot" would have appeared in the autumn of 1910 had the printers' proofs, which were several times sent to me to different addresses in China, but which dodged me repeatedly, come sooner to hand_. [Signature: Edwin Dingle] HANKOW, HUPEH, CHINA. Across China on Foot _From the Straits to Shanghai_ INTRODUCTORY _The scheme_. _Why I am walking across Interior China_. _Leaving Singapore_. _Ignorance of life and travel in China_. _The "China for the Chinese" cry_. _The New China and the determination of the Government_. _The voice of the people_. _The province of Yün-nan and the forward movement_. _A prophecy_. _Impressions of Saigon_. _Comparison of French and English methods_. _At Hong-Kong_. _Cold sail up the Whang-poo_. _Disembarkation_. _Foreign population of Shanghai_. _Congestion in the city_. _Wonderful Shanghai._ Through China from end to end. From Shanghai, 1,500 miles by river and 1,600 miles walking overland, from the greatest port of the Chinese Empire to the frontier of British Burma. That is my scheme. * * * * * I am a journalist, one of the army of the hard-worked who go down early to the Valley. I state this because I would that the truth be told; for whilst engaged in the project with which this book has mainly to deal I was subjected to peculiar designations, such as "explorer" and other newspaper extravagances, and it were well, perhaps, for my reader to know once for all that the writer is merely a newspaper man, at the time on holiday. The rather extreme idea of walking across this Flowery Land came to me early in the year 1909, although for many years I had cherished the hope of seeing Interior China ere modernity had robbed her and her wonderful people of their isolation and antediluvianism, and ever since childhood my interest in China has always been considerable. A little prior to the Chinese New Year, a friend of mine dined with me at my rooms in Singapore, in the Straits Settlements, and the conversation about China resulted in our decision then and there to travel through the Empire on holiday. He, because at the time he had little else to do; the author, because he thought that a few months' travel in mid-China would, from a journalistic standpoint, be passed profitably, the intention being to arrive home in dear old England late in the summer of the same year. We agreed to cross China on foot, and accordingly on February 22, 1909, just as the sun was sinking over the beautiful harbor of Singapore--that most valuable strategic Gate of the Far East, where Crown Colonial administration, however, is allowed by a lethargic British Government to become more and more bungled every year--we settled down on board the French mail steamer _Nera_, bound for Shanghai. My friends, good fellows, in reluctantly speeding me on my way, prophesied that this would prove to be my last long voyage to a last long rest, that the Chinese would never allow me to come out of China alive. Such is the ignorance of the average man concerning the conditions of life and travel in the interior of this Land of Night. Here, then, was I on my way to that land towards which all the world was straining its eyes, whose nation, above all nations of the earth, was altering for better things, and coming out of its historic shell. "Reform, reform, reform," was the echo, and I myself was on the way to hear it. At the time I started for China the cry of "China for the Chinese" was heard in all countries, among all peoples. Statesmen were startled by it, editors wrote the phrase to death, magazines were filled with copy--good, bad and indifferent--mostly written, be it said, by men whose knowledge of the question was by no means complete: editorial opinion, and contradiction of that opinion, were printed side by side in journals having a good name. To one who endeavored actually to understand what was being done, and whither these broad tendencies and strange cravings of the Chinese were leading a people who formerly were so indifferent to progress, it seemed essential that he should go to the country, and there on the spot make a study of the problem. Was the reform, if genuine at all, universal in China? Did it reach to the ends of the Empire? That a New China had come into being, and was working astounding results in the enlightened provinces above the Yangtze and those connected with the capital by railway, was common knowledge; but one found it hard to believe that the west and the south-west of the empire were moved by the same spirit of Europeanism, and it will be seen that China in the west moves, if at all, but at a snail's pace: the second part of this volume deals with that portion of the subject. And it may be that the New China, as we know it in the more forward spheres of activity, will only take her proper place in the family of nations after fresh upheavals. Rivers of blood may yet have to flow as a sickening libation to the gods who have guided the nation for forty centuries before she will be able to attain her ambition of standing line to line with the other powers of the eastern and western worlds. But it seems that no matter what the cost, no matter what she may have to suffer financially and nationally, no matter how great the obstinacy of the people towards the reform movement, the change is coming, has already come with alarming rapidity, and has come to stay. China is changing--let so much be granted; and although the movement may be hampered by a thousand general difficulties, presented by the ancient civilization of a people whose customs and manners and ideas have stood the test of time since the days contemporary with those of Solomon, and at one time bade fair to test eternity, the Government cry of "China for the Chinese" is going to win. Chinese civilization has for ages been allowed to get into a very bad state of repair, and official corruption and deceit have prevented the Government from making an effectual move towards present-day aims; but that she is now making an honest endeavor to rectify her faults in the face of tremendous odds must, so it appears to the writer, be apparent to all beholders. That is the Government view-point. It is important to note this. In China, however, the Government is not the people. It never has been. It is not to be expected that great political and social reforms can be introduced into such an enormous country as China, and among her four hundred and thirty millions of people, merely by the issue of a few imperial edicts. The masses have to be convinced that any given thing is for the public good before they accept, despite the proclamations, and in thus convincing her own people China has yet to go through the fire of a terrible ordeal. Especially will this be seen in the second part of this volume, where in Yün-nan there are huge areas absolutely untouched by the forward movement, and where the people are living the same life of disease, distress and dirt, of official, social, and moral degradation as they lived when the Westerner remained still in the primeval forest stage. But despite the scepticism and the cynicism of certain writers, whose pessimism is due to a lack of foresight, and despite the fact that she is being constantly accused of having in the past ignominiously failed at the crucial moment in endeavors towards minor reforms, I am one of those who believe that in China we shall see arising a Government whose power will be paramount in the East, and upon the integrity of whose people will depend the peace of Europe. It is much to say. We shall not see it, but our children will. The Government is going to conquer the people. She has done so already in certain provinces, and in a few years the reform--deep and real, not the make-believe we see in many parts of the Empire to-day--will be universal. * * * * * Between Singapore and Shanghai the opportunity occurred of calling at Saigon and Hong-Kong, two cities offering instructive contrasts of French and British administration in the Far East. Saigon is not troubled much by the Britisher. The nationally-exacting Frenchman has brought it to represent fairly his loved Paris in the East. The approach to the city, through the dirty brown mud of the treacherous Mekong, which is swept down vigorously to the China sea between stretches of monotonous mangrove, with no habitation of man anywhere visible, is distinctly unpicturesque; but Saigon itself, apart from the exorbitance of the charges (especially so to the spendthrift Englishman), is worth the dreary journey of numberless twists and quick turns up-river, annoying to the most patient pilot. In the daytime, Saigon is as hot as that last bourne whither all evil-doers wander--Englishmen and dogs alone are seen abroad between nine and one. But in the soothing cool of the soft tropical evening, gay-lit boulevards, a magnificent State-subsidized opera-house, alfresco cafés where dawdle the domino-playing absinthe drinkers, the fierce-moustached gendarmes, and innumerable features typically and picturesquely French, induced me easily to believe myself back in the bewildering whirl of the Boulevard des Capucines or des Italiennes. Whether the narrow streets of the native city are clean or dirty, whether garbage heaps lie festering in the broiling sun, sending their disgusting effluvia out to annoy the sense of smell at every turn, the municipality cares not a little bit. Indifference to the well-being of the native pervades it; there is present no progressive prosperity. Every second person I met was, or seemed to be, a Government official. He was dressed in immaculate white clothes of the typical ugly French cut, trimmed elaborately with an _ad libitum_ decoration of gold braid and brass buttons. All was so different from Singapore and Hong-Kong, and one did not feel, in surroundings which made strongly for the _laissez-faire_ of the Frenchman in the East, ashamed of the fact that he was an Englishman. Three days north lies Hong-Kong, an all-important link in the armed chain of Britain's empire east of Suez, bone of the bone and flesh of the flesh of Great Britain beyond the seas. The history of this island, ceded to us in 1842 by the Treaty of Nanking, is known to everyone in Europe, or should be. Four and a half days more, and we anchored at Woo-sung; and a few hours later, after a terribly cold run up the river in the teeth of a terrific wind, we arrived at Shanghai. The average man in Europe and America does not know that this great metropolis of the Far East is far removed from salt water, and that it is the first point on entering the Yangtze-kiang at which a port could be established. It is twelve miles up the Whang-poo. Junks whirled past with curious tattered brown sails, resembling dilapidated verandah blinds, merchantmen were there flying the flags of the nations of the world, all churning up the yellow stream as they hurried to catch the flood-tide at the bar. Then came the din of disembarkation. Enthusiastic hotel-runners, hard-worked coolies, rickshaw men, professional Chinese beggars, and the inevitable hangers-on of a large eastern city crowded around me to turn an honest or dishonest penny. Some rude, rough-hewn lout, covered with grease and coal-dust, pushed bang against me and hurled me without ceremony from his path. My baggage, meantime, was thrown onto a two-wheeled van, drawn by four of those poor human beasts of burden--how horrible to have been born a Chinese coolie!--and I was whirled away to my hotel for tucker. The French mail had given us coffee and rolls at six, but the excitement of landing at a foreign port does not usually produce the net amount of satisfaction to or make for the sustenance of the inner man of the phlegmatic Englishman, as with the wilder-natured Frenchman. Therefore were our spirits ruffled. However, my companion and I fed later. Subsequently to this we agreed not to be drawn to the clubs or mix in the social life of Shanghai, but to consider ourselves as two beings entirely apart from the sixteen thousand and twenty-three Britishers, Americans, Frenchmen, Germans, Russians, Danes, Portuguese, and other sundry internationals at that moment at Shanghai. They lived there: we were soon to leave. The city was suffering from the abnormal congestion common to the Orient, with a big dash of the West. Trams, motors, rickshaws, the peculiar Chinese wheelbarrow, horrid public shaky landaus in miniature, conveyances of all kinds, and the swarming masses of coolie humanity carrying or hauling merchandise amid incessant jabbering, yelling, and vociferating, made intense bewilderment before breakfast. Wonderful Shanghai! FIRST JOURNEY FROM SHANGHAI UP THE LOWER YANGTZE TO ICHANG CHAPTER I. _To Ichang, an everyday trip_. _Start from Shanghai, and the city's appearance_. _At Hankow_. _Meaning of the name_. _Trio of strategic and military points of the empire_. _Han-yang and Wu-ch'ang_. _Commercial and industrial future of Hankow_. _Getting our passports_. _Britishers in the city_. _The commercial Chinaman_. _The native city: some impressions_. _Clothing of the people_. _Cotton and wool_. _Indifference to comfort_. _Surprise at our daring project_. _At Ichang_. _British gunboat and early morning routine_. _Our vain quest for aid_. _Laying in stores and commissioning our boat_. _Ceremonies at starting gorges trip_. _Raising anchor, and our departure_. Let no one who has been so far as Ichang, a thousand miles from the sea, imagine that he has been into the interior of China. It is quite an everyday trip. Modern steamers, with every modern convenience and luxury, probably as comfortable as any river steamers in the world, ply regularly in their two services between Shanghai and this port, at the foot of the Gorges. The Whang-poo looked like the Thames, and the Shanghai Bund like the Embankment, when I embarked on board a Jap boat _en route_ for Hankow, and thence to Ichang by a smaller steamer, on a dark, bitterly cold Saturday night, March 6th, 1909. I was to travel fifteen hundred miles up that greatest artery of China. The Yangtze surpasses in importance to the Celestial Empire what the Mississippi is to America, and yet even in China there are thousands of resident foreigners who know no more about this great river than the average Smithfield butcher. Ask ten men in Fleet Street or in Wall Street where Ichang is, and nine will be unable to tell you. Yet it is a port of great importance, when one considers that the handling of China's vast river-borne trade has been opened to foreign trade and residence since the Chefoo Convention was signed in 1876, that Ichang is a city of forty thousand souls, and has a gross total of imports of nearly forty millions of taels. Of Hankow, however, more is known. Here we landed after a four days' run, and, owing to the low water, had to wait five days before the shallower-bottomed steamer for the higher journey had come in. The city is made up of foreign concessions, as in other treaty ports, but away in the native quarter there is the real China, with her selfish rush, her squalidness and filth among the teeming thousands. There dwell together, literally side by side, but yet eternally apart, all the conflicting elements of the East and West which go to make up a city in the Far East, and particularly the China coast. Hankow means literally Han Mouth, being situated at the juncture of the Han River and the Yangtze. Across the way, as I write, I can see Han-yang, with its iron works belching out black curls of smoke, where the arsenal turns out one hundred Mauser rifles daily. (This is but a fraction of the total work done.) It is, I believe, the only steel-rolling mill in China. Long before the foreigner set foot so far up the Yangtze, Hankow was a city of great importance--the Chinese used to call it the centre of the world. Ten years ago I should have been thirty days' hard travel from Peking; at the present moment I might pack my bag and be in Peking within thirty-six hours. Hankow, with Tientsin and Nanking, makes up the trio of principal strategic points of the Empire, the trio of centers also of greatest military activity. On the opposite bank of the river I can see Wu-ch'ang, the provincial capital, the seat of the Viceroyalty of two of the most turbulent and important provinces of the whole eighteen. Hankow, Han-yang, and Wu-ch'ang have a population of something like two million people, and it is safe to prophesy that no other centre in the whole world has a greater commercial and industrial future than Hankow. Here we registered as British subjects, and secured our Chinese passports, resembling naval ensigns more than anything else, for the four provinces of Hu-peh, Kwei-chow, Szech'wan, and Yün-nan. The Consul-General and his assistants helped us in many ways, disillusioning us of the many distorted reports which have got into print regarding the indifference shown to British travelers by their own consuls at these ports. We found the brethren at the Hankow Club a happy band, with every luxury around them for which hand and heart could wish; so that it were perhaps ludicrous to look upon them as exiles, men out in the outposts of Britain beyond the seas, building up the trade of the Empire. Yet such they undoubtedly were, most of them having a much better time than they would at home. There is not the roughing required in Hankow which is necessary in other parts of the empire, as in British East Africa and in the jungles of the Federated Malay States, for instance. Building the Empire where there is an abundance of the straw wherewith to make the bricks, is a matter of no difficulty. And then the Chinese is a good man to manage in trade, and in business dealings his word is his bond, generally speaking, although we do not forget that not long ago a branch in North China of the Hong-kong and Shanghai Bank was swindled seriously by a shroff who had done honest duty for a great number of years. It cannot, however, be said that such behavior is a common thing among the commercial class. My personal experience has been that John does what he says he will do, and for years he will go on doing that one thing; but it should not surprise you if one fine morning, with the infinite sagacity of his race, he ceases to do this when you are least expecting it--and he "does" you. Keep an eye on him, and the Chinese to be found in Hankow having dealings with Europeans in business is as good as the best of men. We wended our way one morning into the native city, and agreed that few inconveniences of the Celestial Empire make upon the western mind a more speedy impression than the entire absence of sanitation. In Hankow we were in mental suspense as to which was the filthier native city--Hankow or Shanghai. But we are probably like other travelers, who find each city visited worse than the last. Should there arise in their midst a man anxious to confer an everlasting blessing upon his fellow Chinese, no better work could he do than to institute a system approaching what to our Western mind is sanitation. We arrived, of course, in the winter, and, having seen it at a time when the sun could do but little in increasing the stenches, we leave to the imagination what it would be in the summer, in a city which for heat is not excelled by Aden.[A] During the summer of 1908 no less than twenty-eight foreigners succumbed to cholera, and the native deaths were numberless. The people were suffering very much from the cold, and it struck me as one of the unaccountable phenomena of their civilization that in their ingenuity in using the gifts of Nature they have never learned to weave wool, and to employ it in clothing--that is, in a general sense. There are a few exceptions in the empire. The nation is almost entirely dependent upon cotton for clothing, which in winter is padded with a cheap wadding to an abnormal thickness. The common people wear no underclothing whatever. When they sleep they strip to the skin, and wrap themselves in a single wadded blanket, sleeping the sleep of the tired people their excessive labor makes them. And, although their clothes might be the height of discomfort, they show their famous indifference to comfort by never complaining. These burdensome clothes hang around them like so many bags, with the wide gaps here and there where the wind whistles to the flesh. It is a national characteristic that they are immune to personal inconveniences, a philosophy which I found to be universal, from the highest to the lowest. Everybody we met, from the British Consul-General downward, was surprised to know that my companion and I had no knowledge of the Chinese language, and seemed to look lightly upon our chances of ever getting through. It was true. Neither my companion nor myself knew three words of the language, but went forward simply believing in the good faith of the Chinese people, with our passports alone to protect us. That we should encounter difficulties innumerable, that we should be called upon to put up with the greatest hardships of life, when viewed from the standard to which one had been accustomed, and that we should be put to great physical endurance, we could not doubt. But we believed in the Chinese, and believed that should any evil befall us it would be the outcome of our own lack of forbearance, or of our own direct seeking. We knew that to the Chinese we should at once be "foreign devils" and "barbarians," that if not holding us actually in contempt, they would feel some condescension in dealing and mixing with us; but I was personally of the opinion that it was easier for us to walk through China than it would be for two Chinese, dressed as Chinese, to walk through Great Britain or America. What would the canny Highlander or the rural English rustic think of two pig-tailed men tramping through his countryside? We anchored at Ichang at 7:30 a.m. on March 19th. I fell up against a boatman who offered to take us ashore. An uglier fellow I had never seen in the East. The morning sunshine soon dried the decks of the gunboat _Kinsha_ (then stationed in the river for the defense of the port) which English jack-tars were swabbing in a half-hearted sort of way, and all looked rosy enough.[B] But for the author, who with his companion was a literal "babe in the wood," the day was most eventful and trying to one's personal serenity. We had asked questions of all and sundry respecting our proposed tramp and the way we should get to work in making preparations. Each individual person seemed vigorously to do his best to induce us to turn back and follow callings of respectable members of society. From Shanghai upwards we might have believed ourselves watched by a secret society, which had for its motto, "Return, oh, wanderer, return!" Hardly a person knew aught of the actual conditions of the interior of the country in which he lived and labored, and everyone tried to dissuade us from our project. Coming ashore in good spirits, we called at the Consulate, at the back of the city graveyard, and were smoking his cigars and giving his boy an examination in elementary English, when the Consul came down. It was not possible, however, for us to get much more information than we had read up, and the Consul suggested that the most likely person to be of use to us would be the missionary at the China Inland Mission. Thither we repaired, following a sturdy employé of Britain, but we found that the C.I.M. representative was not to be found--despite our repairing. So off we trotted to the chief business house of the town, at the entrance to which we were met by a Chinese, who bowed gravely, asked whether we had eaten our rice, and told us, quietly but pointedly, that our passing up the rough stone steps would be of no use, as the manager was out. A few minutes later I stood reading the inscription on the gravestone near the church, whilst my brave companion, The Other Man, endeavored fruitlessly to pacify a fierce dog in the doorway of the Scottish Society's missionary premises--but that missionary, too, was out! What, then, was the little game? Were all the foreigners resident in this town dodging us, afraid of us--or what? "The latter, the blithering idiots!" yelled The Other Man. He was infuriated. "Two Englishmen with English tongues in their heads, and unable to direct their own movements. Preposterous!" And then, making an observation which I will not print, he suggested mildly that we might fix up all matters ourselves. Within an hour an English-speaking "one piece cook" had secured the berth, which carried a salary of twenty-five dollars per month, we were well on the way with the engaging of our boat for the Gorges trip, and one by one our troubles vanished. Laying in stores, however, was not the lightest of sundry perplexities. Curry and rice had been suggested as the staple diet for the river journey; and we ordered, with no thought to the contrary, a picul of best rice, various brands of curries, which were raked from behind the shelves of a dingy little store in a back street, and presented to us at alarming prices--enough to last a regiment of soldiers for pretty well the number of days we two were to travel; and, for luxuries, we laid in a few tinned meats. All was practically settled, when The Other Man, settling his eyes dead upon me, yelled-- "Dingle, you've forgotten the milk!" And then, after a moment, "Oh, well, we can surely do without milk; it's no use coming on a journey like this unless one can rough it a bit." And he ended up with a rude reference to the disgusting sticky condensed milk tins, and we wandered on. Suddenly he stopped, did The Other Man. He looked at a small stone on the pavement for a long time, eventually cruelly blurting out, directly at me, as if it were all my misdoing: "The sugar, the sugar! We _must_ have sugar, man." I said nothing, with the exception of a slight remark that we might do without sugar, as we were to do without milk. There was a pause. Then, raising his stick in the air, The Other Man perorated: "Now, I have no wish to quarrel" (and he put his nose nearer to mine), "you know that, of course. But to _think_ we can do without sugar is quite unreasonable, and I had no idea you were such a cantankerous man. We have sugar, or--I go back." * * * * * We had sugar. It was brought on board in upwards of twenty small packets of that detestable thin Chinese paper, and The Other Man, with commendable meekness, withdrew several pleasantries he had unwittingly dropped anent deficiencies in my upbringing. Fifty pounds of this sugar were ordered, and sugar--that dirty, brown sticky stuff--got into everything on board--my fingers are sticky even as I write--and no less than exactly one-half went down to the bottom of the Yangtze. Travelers by houseboat on the Upper Yangtze should have some knowledge of commissariat. Getting away was a tedious business. Later, the fellows pressed us to spend a good deal of time in the small, dingy, ill-lighted apartment they are pleased to call their club; and the skipper had to recommission his boat, get in provisions for the voyage, engage his crew, pay off debts, and attend to a thousand and one minute details--all to be done after the contract to carry the madcap passengers had been signed and sealed, added to the more practical triviality of three-fourths of the charge being paid down. And then our captain, to add to the dilemma, vociferously yelled to us, in some unknown jargon which got on our nerves terribly, that he was waiting for a "lucky" day to raise anchor. However, we did, as the reader will be able to imagine, eventually get away, amid the firing of countless deafening crackers, after having watched the sacrifice of a cock to the God of the River, with the invocation that we might be kept in safety. Poling and rowing through a maze of junks, our little floating caravan, with the two magnates on board, and their picul of rice, their curry and their sugar, and slenderest outfits, bowled along under plain sail, the fore-deck packed with a motley team of somewhat dirty and ill-fed trackers, who whistled and halloed the peculiar hallo of the Upper Yangtze for more wind. The little township of Ichang was soon left astern, and we entered speedily to all intents and purposes into a new world, a world untrammelled by conventionalism and the spirit of the West. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote A: This was written at the time I was in Hankow. When I revised my copy, after I had spent a year and a half rubbing along with the natives in the interior, I could not suppress a smile at my impressions of a great city like Hankow. Since then I have seen more native life, and--more native dirt!--E.J.D.] [Footnote B: The _Kinsha_ was the first British gunboat on the Upper Yangtze.] SECOND JOURNEY ICHANG TO CHUNG-KING, THROUGH THE YANGTZE GORGES CHAPTER II. _Gloom in Ichang Gorge_. _Lightning's effect_. _Travellers' fear_. _Impressive introduction to the Gorges_. _Boat gets into Yangtze fashion_. _Storm and its weird effects_. _Wu-pan: what it is_. _Heavenly electricity and its vagaries_. _Beautiful evening scene, despite heavy rain_. _Bedding soaked_. _Sleep in a Burberry_. _Gorges and Niagara Falls compared_. _Bad descriptions of Yangtze_. _World of eternity_. _Man's significant insignificance_. _Life on board briefly described_. _Philosophy of travel_. _Houseboat life not luxurious_. _Lose our only wash-basin_. _Remarks on the "boy." A change in the kitchen: questionable soup_. _Fairly low temperature_. _Troubles in the larder_. _General arrangements on board_. _Crew's sleeping-place_. _Sacking makes a curtain_. _Journalistic labors not easy_. _Rats preponderate_. _Gorges described statistically_. Deeper and deeper drooped the dull grey gloom, like a curtain falling slowly and impenetrably over all things. A vivid but broken flash of lightning, blazing in a flare of blue and amber, poured livid reflections, and illuminated with dreadful distinctness, if only for one ghastly moment, the stupendous cliffs of the Ichang Gorge, whose wall-like steepness suddenly became darkened as black as ink. Thus, with a grand impressiveness, this great gully in the mountains assumed hugely gigantic proportions, stretching interminably from east to west, up to heaven and down to earth, silhouetted to the north against a small remaining patch of golden purple, whose weird glamour seemed awesomely to herald the coming of a new world into being, lasting but for a moment longer, until again the blue blaze quickly cut up the sky into a thousand shreds and tiny silver bars. And then, suddenly, with a vast down swoop, as if some colossal bird were taking the earth under her far-outstretching wings, dense darkness fell--impenetrable, sooty darkness, that in a moment shut out all light, all power of sight. Then from out the sombre heavens deep thunder boomed ominously as the reverberating roar of a pack of hunger-ridden lions, and the two men, aliens in an alien land, stood beneath the tattered matting awning with a peculiar fear and some foreboding. We were tied in fast to the darkened sides of the great Ichang Gorge--a magnificent sixteen-mile stretch, opening up the famous gorges on the fourth of the great rivers of the world, which had cleaved its course through a chain of hills, whose perpendicular cliffs form wonderful rock-bound banks, dispelling all thought of the monotony of the Lower Yangtze. Upstream we had glided merrily upon a fresh breeze, which bore the warning of a storm. All on board was settling down into Yangtze fashion, and the barbaric human clamor of our trackers, which now mutteringly died away, was suddenly taken up, as above recorded, and all unexpectedly answered by a grander uproar--a deep threatening boom of far-off thunder. In circling tones and semitones of wrath it volleyed gradually through the dark ravines, and, startled by the sound, the two travelers, roused for the first time from their natural engrossment in the common doings of the _wu-pan_,[C] saw the reflection of the sun on the waters, now turned to a livid murkiness, deepening with a threatening ink-like aspect as the river rushed voluminously past our tiny floating haven. Strangely silenced were we by this weird terror, and watched and listened, chained to the deck by a thousand mingled fears and fascinations, which breathed upon our nerves like a chill wind. As we became accustomed then to the yellow darkness, we beheld about the landscape a spectral look, and the sepulchral sound of the moving thunder seemed the half-muffled clang of some great iron-tongued funeral bell. Then came the rain, introduced swiftly by the deafening clatter of another thunder crash that made one stagger like a ship in a wild sea, and we strained our eyes to gaze into a visionary chasm cleaved in twain by the furious lightning. Playing upon the face of the unruffled river, with a brilliancy at once awful and enchanting, this singular flitting and wavering of the heavenly electricity, as it flashed haphazardly around all things, threw about one an illumination quite indescribable. For hours we sat upon a beam athwart the afterdeck, in silence drinking in the strange phenomenon. We watched, after a small feed of curry and rice, long into the dark hours, when the thunder had passed us by, and in the distant booming one could now imagine the lower notes streaming forth from some great solemn organ symphony. The fierce lightning twitched, as it danced in and out the crevices--inwards, outwards, upwards, then finally lost in one downward swoop towards the river, tearing open the liquid blackness with its crystal blade of fire. The rain ceased not. But soon the moon, peeping out from the tops of a jagged wall above us, looking like a soiled, half-melted snowball, shone full down the far-stretching gorge, and now its broad lustre shed itself, like powdered silver, over the whole scene, so that one could have imagined oneself in the living splendor of some eternal sphere of ethereal sweetness. And so it might have been had the rain abated--a curious accompaniment to a moonlight night. Down it came, straight and determined and businesslike, in the windless silence, dancing like a shower of diamonds of purest brilliance on the background of the placid waters. Very beautiful, reader, for a time. But would that the rain had been all moonshine! Glorious was it to revel in for a time. But, during the weary night watches, in a bed long since soaked through, and one's safest nightclothes now the stolid Burberry, with face protected by a twelve-cent umbrella, even one's curry and rice saturated to sap with the constant drip, and everything around one rendered cold and uncomfortable enough through a perforation in its slenderest part of the worn-out bamboo matting--ah, it was then, _then_ that one would have foregone with alacrity the dreams of the nomadic life of the _wu-pan_. Our introduction, therefore, to the great Gorges of the Upper Yangtze--to China what the Niagara Falls are to America--was not remarkable for its placidity, albeit taken with as much complacency as the occasion allowed. I do not, however, intend to weary or to entertain the reader, as may be, by a long description of the Yangtze gorges. Time and time again have they fallen to the imaginative pens of travelers--mostly bad or indifferent descriptions, few good; none better, perhaps, than Mrs. Bishop's. But at best they are imaginative--they lack reality. It has been said that the world of imagination is the world of eternity, and as of eternity, so of the Gorges--they cannot be adequately described. As I write now in the Ichang Gorge, I seem veritably to have reached eternity. I seem to have arrived at the bosom of an after-life, where one's body has ceased to vegetate, and where, in an infinite and eternal world of imagination, one's soul expands with fullest freedom. There seems to exist in this eternal world of unending rock and invulnerable precipice permanent realities which stand from eternity to eternity. As the oak dies and leaves its eternal image in the seed which never dies, so these grand river-forced ravines, abused and disabused as may be, go on for ever, despite the scribblers, and one finds the best in his imagination returning by some back-lane to contemplative thought. But as a casual traveler, may I say that the first experience I had of the gorges made me modest, patient, single-minded, conscious of man's significant insignificance, conscious of the unspeakable, wondrous grandeur of this unvisited corner of the world--a spot in which blustering, selfish, self-conceited persons will not fare well? Humility and patience are the first requisites in traveling on the Upper Yangtze. Reader, for your sake I refrain from a description. But may I, for perhaps your sake too, if you would wander hither ere the charm of things as they were in the beginning is still unrobbed and unmolested, give you some few impressions of a little of the life--grave, gay, but never unhappy--which I spent with my excellent co-voyager, The Other Man. It is a part of wisdom, when starting any journey, not to look forward to the end with too much eagerness: hear my gentle whisper that you may never get there, and if you do, congratulate yourself; interest yourself in the progress of the journey, for the present only is yours. Each day has its tasks, its rapids, its perils, its glories, its fascinations, its surprises, and--if you will live as we did, its _curry and rice_. Then, if you are traveling with a companion, remember that it is better to yield a little than to quarrel a great deal. Most disagreeable and undignified is it anywhere to get into the habit of standing up for what people are pleased to call their little rights, but nowhere more so than on the Upper Yangtze houseboat, under the gaze of a Yangtze crew. Life is really too short for continual bickering, and to my way of thinking it is far quieter, happier, more prudent and productive of more peace, if one could yield a little of those precious little rights than to incessantly squabble to maintain them. Therefore, from the beginning to the end of the trip, make the best of everything in every way, and I can assure you, if you are not ill-tempered and suffer not from your liver, Nature will open her bosom and lead you by these strange by-ways into her hidden charms and unadorned recesses of sublime beauty, uneclipsed for their kind anywhere in the world. Think not that the life will be luxurious--houseboat life on the Upper Yangtze is decidedly not luxurious. Were it not for the magnificence of the scenery and ever-changing outdoor surroundings, as a matter of fact, the long river journey would probably become unbearably dull. * * * * * Our _wu-pan_ was to get through the Gorges in as short a time as was possible, and for that reason we traveled in the discomfort of the smallest boat used to face the rapids. People entertaining the smallest idea of doing things travel in nothing short of a _kwadze_, the orthodox houseboat, with several rooms and ordinary conveniences. Ours was a _wu-pan_--literally five boards. We had no conveniences whatever, and the second morning out we were left without even a wash-basin. As I was standing in the stern, I saw it swirling away from us, and inquiring through a peep-hole, heard the perplexing explanation of my boy. Gesticulating violently, he told us how, with the wash-basin in his hand, he had been pushed by one of the crew, and how, loosened from his grasp, my toilet ware had been gripped by the river--and now appeared far down the stream like a large bead. The Other Man was alarmed at the boy's discomfiture, ejaculated something about the loss being quite irreparable, and with a loud laugh and quite natural hilarity proceeded quietly to use a saucepan as a combined shaving-pot and wash-basin. It did quite well for this in the morning, and during the day resumed its duty as seat for me at the typewriter. Our boy, apart from this small misfortune, comported himself pretty well. His English was understandable, and he could cook anything. He dished us up excellent soup in enamelled cups and, as we had no ingredients on board so far as we knew to make soup, and as The Other Man had that day lost an old Spanish tam-o'-shanter, we naturally concluded that he had used the old hat for the making of the soup, and at once christened it as "consommé à la maotsi"--and we can recommend it. After we had grown somewhat tired of the eternal curry and rice, we asked him quietly if he could not make us something else, fearing a rebuff. He stood hesitatingly before us, gazing into nothingness. His face was pallid, his lips hard set, and his stooping figure looking curiously stiff and lifeless on that frozen morning--the temperature below freezing point, and our noses were red, too! "God bless the man, you no savee! I wantchee good chow. Why in the name of goodness can't you give us something decent! What on earth did you come for?" "Alas!" he shouted, for we were at a rapid, "my savee makee good chow. No have got nothing!" "No have got nothing! No have got nothing!" Mysterious words, what could they mean? Where, then, was our picul of rice, and our curry, and our sugar? "The fellow's a swindler!" cried The Other Man in an angry semitone. But that's all very well. "No have got nothing!" Ah, there lay the secret. Presently The Other Man, head of the general commissariat, spoke again with touching eloquence. He gave the boy to understand that we were powerless to alter or soften the conditions of the larder, that we were victims of a horrible destiny, that we entertained no stinging malice towards him personally--but ... _could he do it?_ Either a great wrath or a great sorrow overcame the boy; he skulked past, asked us to lie down on our shelves, where we had our beds, to give him room, and then set to work. In twenty-five minutes we had a three-course meal (all out of the same pot, but no matter), and onwards to our destination we fed royally. In parting with the men after our safe arrival at Chung-king, we left with them about seven-eighths of the picul--and were not at all regretful. I should not like to assert--because I am telling the truth here--that our boat was bewilderingly roomy. As a matter of fact, its length was some forty feet, its width seven feet, its depth much less, and it drew eight inches of water. Yet in it we had our bed-rooms, our dressing-rooms, our dining-rooms, our library, our occasional medicine-room, our cooking-room--and all else. If we stood bolt upright in the saloon amidships we bumped our heads on the bamboo matting which formed an arched roof. On the nose of the boat slept seven men--you may question it, reader, but they did; in the stern, on either side of a great rudder, slept our boy and a friend of his; and between them and us, laid out flat on the top of a cellar (used by the ship's cook for the storing of rice, cabbage, and other uneatables, and the breeding-cage of hundreds of rats, which swarm all around one) were the captain and commodore--a fat, fresh-complexioned, jocose creature, strenuous at opium smoking. Through the holes in the curtain--a piece of sacking, but one would not wish this to be known--dividing them from us, we could see him preparing his globules to smoke before turning in for the night, and despite our frequent raving objections, our words ringing with vibrating abuse, it continued all the way to Chung-king: he certainly gazed in disguised wonderment, but we could not get him to say anything bearing upon the matter. Temperature during the day stood at about 50 degrees, and at night went down to about 30 degrees above freezing point. Rains were frequent. Journalistic labors, seated upon the upturned saucepan aforesaid, without a cushion, went hard. At night the Chinese candle, much wick and little wax, stuck in the center of an empty "Three Castles" tin, which the boy had used for some days as a pudding dish, gave us light. We generally slept in our overcoats, and as many others as we happened to have. Rats crawled over our uncurtained bodies, and woke us a dozen times each night by either nibbling our ears or falling bodily from the roof on to our faces. Our joys came not to us--they were made on board. The following are the Gorges, with a remark or two about each, to be passed through before one reaches Kweifu:-- NAME OF GORGE LENGTH REMARKS Ichang Gorge 16 miles First and probably one of the finest of the Gorges. Niu Kan Ma Fee 4 miles An hour's journey after (or Ox Liver coming out of the Gorge) Ichang Gorge, if the breeze be favorable; an arduous day's journey during high river, with no wind. Mi Tsang (or Rice 2 miles Finest view is obtained Granary Gorge) from western extremity; exceedingly precipitous. Niu Kou (or Buffalo --- Very quiet in low-water Mouth Reach) season; wild stretch during high river. At the head of this reach H.M.S. _Woodlark_ came to grief on her maiden trip. Urishan Hsia (or --- Over thirty miles in Gloomy Mountain length. Grandest Gorge) and highest gorge _en route to_ Chung-king. Half-way through is the boundary between Hu-peh and Szech'wan. Fang Hsian Hsia --- Last of the gorges; (or Windbox Gorge) just beyond is the city of Kweifu. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote C: A _wu-pan_ (literally _wu_ of five and _pan_ of boards) is a small boat, the smallest used by travelers on the Upper Yangtze. They are of various shapes, made according to the nature of the part of the river on which they ply.--E.J.D.] CHAPTER III. THE YANGTZE RAPIDS The following is a rough list of the principal rapids to be negotiated on the river upward from Ichang. One of the chief discomforts the traveler first experiences is due to a total ignorance of the vicinity of the main rapids, and often, therefore, when he is least expecting it perhaps, he is called upon by the _laoban_ to go ashore. He has then to pack up the things he values, is dragged ashore himself, his gear follows, and one who has no knowledge of the language and does not know the ropes is, therefore, never quite happy for fear of some rapid turning up. By comparing the rapids with the Gorges the traveler would, however, from the lists given, be able easily to trace the whereabouts of the more dangerous rushes; which are distributed with alarming frequency on the river between Ichang and Kweifu. TA TONG T'AN (OTTER CAVE RAPID) Low water rapid. Swirling volume of coffee and milk color; round about a maze of rapids and races, in the Yao-cha Ho reach. TONG LING RAPID At the foot of the Ox Liver Gorge. An enormous black rock lies amid stream some forty feet below, or perhaps as much above the surface, but unless experienced at low water will not appeal to the traveler as a rapid; passage dangerous, dreaded during low-water season. On Dec. 28th, 1900, the German steamer, _Sui-Hsiang_ was lost here. She foundered in twenty-five fathoms of water, with an immense hole ripped in her bottom by the black rock; all on board saved by the red boats, with the exception of the captain. HSIN T'AN RAPIDS (OR CHIN T'AN RAPIDS) During winter quite formidable; the head, second and third rapids situated in close proximity, the head rapid being far the worst to negotiate. On a bright winter's day one of the finest spectacles on the Upper Yangtze. Wrecks frequent. Just at head of Ox Liver Gorge. YEH T'AN (OR WILD RAPID) River reduced suddenly to half its width by an enormous detritus of boulders, taking the form of a huge jagged tongue, with curling on edges; commonly said to be high when the Hsin T'an is low. At its worst during early summer and autumn. Wrecks frequent, after Mi Tsang Gorge is passed, eight miles from Kwei-chow. NIU K'EO T'AN (BUFFALO MOUTH RAPID) Situated at the head of Buffalo Mouth Reach, said to be more difficult to approach than even the Yeh T'an, because of the great swirls in the bay below. H.M.S. _Woodlark_ came to grief here on her maiden trip up river. HSIN MA T'AN (OR DISMOUNT HORSE RAPID) Encountered through the Urishan Hsia or Gloomy Mountain Gorge, particularly nasty during mid-river season. Just about here, in 1906, the French gunboat _Olry_ came within an ace of destruction by losing her rudder. Immediately, like a riderless horse, she dashed off headlong for the rocky shore; but at the same instant her engines were working astern for all they were worth, and fortunately succeeded in taking the way off her just as her nose grazed the rocks, and she slid back undamaged into the swirly bay, only to be waltzed round and tossed to and fro by the violent whirlpools. However, by good luck and management she was kept from dashing her brains out on the reefs, and eventually brought in to a friendly sand patch and safely moored, whilst a wooden jury rudder was rigged, with which she eventually reached her destination. HEH SHÏH T'AN (OR BLACK ROCK RAPID) Almost at the end of the Wind Box Gorge. HSIN LONG T'AN (OR NEW DRAGON RAPID) Twenty-five miles below Wan Hsien. Sometimes styled Glorious Dragon Rapid, it constitutes the last formidable stepping-stone during low river onward to Chung-king; was formed by a landslip as recently as 1896, when the whole side of a hill falling into the stream reduced its breadth to less than a fourth of what it was previously, and produced this roaring rapid. This pent-up volume of water, always endeavoring to break away the rocky bonds which have harnessed it, rushes roaring as a huge, tongue-shaped, tumbling mass between its confines of rock and reef. Breaking into swift back-wash and swirls in the bay below, it lashes back in a white fury at its obstacles. Fortunately for the junk traffic, it improves rapidly with the advent of the early spring freshets, and at mid-level entirely disappears. The rapid is at its worst during the months of February and March, when it certainly merits the appellation of "Glorious Dragon Rapid," presenting a fine spectacle, though perhaps a somewhat fearsome one to the traveler, who is about to tackle it with his frail barque. A hundred or more wretched-looking trackers, mostly women and children, are tailed on to the three stout bamboo hawsers, and amid a mighty din of rushing water, beating drums, cries of pilots and boatmen, the boat is hauled slowly and painfully over. According to Chinese myths, the landslip which produced the rapid was caused by the following circumstance. The ova of a dragon being deposited in the bowels of the earth at this particular spot, in due course became hatched out in some mysterious manner. The baby dragon grew and grew, but remained in a dormant state until quite full grown, when, as is the habit of the dragon, it became active, and at the first awakening shook down the hill-side by a mighty effort, freed himself from the bowels of the earth, and made his way down river to the sea; hence the landslip, the rapid, and its name. FUH T'AN RAPID (OR TIGER RAPID) Eight miles beyond Wan Hsien. Very savage during summer months, but does not exist during low-water season. Beyond this point river widens considerably. Twenty-five miles further on travelers should look out for Shïh Pao Chai, or Precious Stone Castle, a remarkable cliff some 250 or 300 feet high. A curious eleven-storied pavilion, built up the face of the cliff, contains the stairway to the summit, on which stands a Buddhist temple. There is a legend attached to this remarkable rock that savors very much of the goose with the golden eggs. Once upon a time, from a small natural aperture near the summit, a supply of rice sufficient for the needs of the priests flowed daily into a basin-shaped hole, just large enough to hold the day's supply. The priests, however, thinking to get a larger daily supply, chiselled out the basin-shaped hole to twice its original size, since when the flow of rice ceased. KWAN ÏN T'AN (OR GODDESS OF MERCY RAPID) Two miles beyond the town of Feng T'ou. Like the Fuh T'an, is an obstacle to navigation only during the summer months, when junks are often obliged to wait for several days for a favorable opportunity to cross the rapid. CHAPTER IV. _Scene at the Rapid_. _Dangers of the Yeh T'an_. _Gear taken ashore_. _Intense cold_. _Further preparation_. _Engaging the trackers_. _Fever of excitement_. _Her nose is put to it_. _Struggles for mastery_. _Author saves boatman_. _Fifteen-knot current_. _Terrific labor on shore_. _Man nearly falls overboard_. _Straining hawsers carry us over safely_. _The merriment among the men_. _The thundering cataract_. _Trackers' chanting_. _Their life_. _"Pioneer" at the Yeh T'an_. _The Buffalo Mouth Reach_. _Story of the "Woodlark."_ _How she was saved_. _Arrival at Kweifu_. _Difficulty in landing_. _Laying in provisions_. _Author laid up with malaria_. _Survey of trade in Shanghai and Hong-Kong_. _Where and why the Britisher fails_. _Comparison with Germans_. _Three western provinces and pack-horse traffic_. _Advantages of new railway_. _Yangtze likely to be abandoned_. _East India Company. French and British interests_. _Hint to Hong-Kong Chamber of Commerce._ Wild shrieking, frantic yelling, exhausted groaning, confusion and clamor,--one long, deafening din. A bewildering, maddening mob of reckless, terrified human beings rush hither and thither, unseeingly and distractedly. Will she go? Yes! No! Yes! Then comes the screeching, the scrunching, the straining, and then--a final snap! Back we go, sheering helplessly, swayed to and fro most dangerously by the foaming waters, and almost, but not quite, turn turtle. The red boat follows us anxiously, and watches our timid little craft bump against the rock-strewn coast. But we are safe, and raise unconsciously a cry of gratitude to the deity of the river. We were at the Yeh T'an, or the Wild Rapid, some distance on from the Ichang Gorge, were almost over the growling monster, when the tow-line, straining to its utmost limit, snapped suddenly with little warning, and we drifted in a moment or two away down to last night's anchorage, far below, where we were obliged to bring up the last of the long tier of boats of which we were this morning the first. And now we are ready again to take our turn. Our gear is all taken ashore. Seated on a stone on shore, watching operations, is The Other Man. The sun vainly tries to get through, and the intense cold is almost unendurable. No hitch is to occur this time. The toughest and stoutest bamboo hawsers are dexterously brought out, their inboard ends bound in a flash firmly round the mast close down to the deck, washed by the great waves of the rapid, just in front of the 'midships pole through which I breathlessly watch proceedings. I want to feel again the sensation. The captain, in essentially the Chinese way, is engaging a crew of demon-faced trackers to haul her over. Pouring towards the boat, in a fever of excitement that rises higher every moment, the natural elements of hunger and constant struggle against the great river swell their fury; they bellow like wild beasts, _they are like beasts_, for they have known nothing but struggle all their lives; they have always, since they were tiny children, been fighting this roaring water monster--they know none else. And now, as I say, they bellow like beasts, each man ravenously eager to be among the number chosen to earn a few cash.[D] The arrangement at last is made, and the discordant hubbub, instead of lessening, grows more and more deafening. It is a miserable, desperate, wholly panic-stricken crowd that then harnesses up with their great hooks joined to a rough waist-belt, with which they connect themselves to the straining tow-lines. And now her nose is put into the teeth of this trough of treachery--a veritable boiling cauldron, stirring up all past mysteries. Waves rush furiously towards us, with the growl of a thousand demons, whose anger is only swelled by the thousands of miles of her course from far-away Tibet. It seems as if they must instantly devour her, and that we must now go under to swell the number of their victims. But they only beat her back, for she rides gracefully, faltering timidly with frightened creaks and groans, whilst the waters shiver her frail bulwarks with their cruel message of destruction, which might mean her very death-rattle. I get landed in the stomach with the end of a gigantic bamboo boat-hook, used by one of the men standing in the bows whose duty is to fend her off the rocks. He falls towards the river. I grab his single garment, give one swift pull, and he comes up again with a jerky little laugh and asks if he has hurt me--yelling through his hands in my ears, for the noise is terrible. To look out over the side makes me giddy, for the fifteen-knot current, blustering and bubbling and foaming and leaping, gives one the feeling that he is in an express train tearing through the sea. On shore, far ahead, I can see the trackers--struggling forms of men and women, touching each other, grasping each other, wrestling furiously and mightily, straining on all fours, now gripping a boulder to aid them forward, now to the right, now to the left, always fighting for one more inch, and engaged in a task which to one seeing it for the first time looks as if it were quite beyond human effort. Fagged and famished beings are these trackers, whose life day after day, week in week out, is harder than that of the average costermonger's donkey. They throw up their hands in a dumb frenzy of protest and futile appeal to the presiding deity; and here on the river, depending entirely upon those men on the shore, slowly, inch by inch, the little craft, feeling her own weakness, forges ahead against the leaping current in the gapway in the reef. None come to offer assistance to our crowd, who are now turned facing us, and strain almost flat on their backs, giving the strength of every drop of blood and fibre of their being; and the scene, now lit up by a momentary glimmer of feeble sunlight, assumes a wonderful and terrible picturesqueness. I am chained to the spot by a horrible fascination, and I find myself unconsciously saying, "I fear she will not go. I fear--" But a man has fallen exhausted, he almost fell overboard, and now leans against the mast in utter weariness and fatigue, brought on by the morning's exertions. He is instantly relieved by a bull-dog fellow of enormous strength. Now comes the culminating point, a truly terrifying moment, the very anguish of which frightened me, as I looked around for the lifeboat, and I saw that even the commodore's cold and self-satisfied dignity was disturbed. The hawsers strain again. Creak, crack! creak, crack! The lifeboat watches and comes nearer to us. There is a mighty yell. We cannot go! Yes, we can! There is a mighty pull, and you feel the boat almost torn asunder. Another mighty pull, a tremendous quiver of the timbers, and you turn to see the angry water, which sounds as if a hundred hounds are beating under us for entry at the barred door. There is another deafening yell, the men tear away like frightened horses. Another mighty pull, and another, and another, and we slide over into smooth water. Then I breathe freely, and yell myself. The little boat seems to gasp for breath as a drowning man, saved in the nick of time, shudders in every limb with pain and fear. As we tied up in smooth water, all the men, from the _laoban_ to the meanest tracker, laughed and yelled and told each other how it was done. We baled the water out of the boat, and one was glad to pull away from the deafening hum of the thundering cataract. A faulty tow-line, a slippery hitch, one false step, one false maneuver, and the shore might have been by that time strewn with our corpses. As it was, we were safe and happy. But the trackers are strange creatures. At times they are a quarter of a mile ahead. Soft echoes of their coarse chanting came down the confines of the gully, after the rapid had been passed, and in rounding a rocky promontory mid-stream, one would catch sight of them bending their bodies in pulling steadily against the current of the river. Occasionally one of these poor fellows slips; there is a shriek, his body is dashed unmercifully against the jagged cliffs in its last journey to the river, which carries the multilated corpse away. And yet these men, engaged in this terrific toil, with utmost danger to their lives, live almost exclusively on boiled rice and dirty cabbage, and receive the merest pittance in money at the journey's end. Some idea of the force of this enormous volume of water may be given by mentioning the exploits of the steamer _Pioneer_, which on three consecutive occasions attacked the Yeh T'an when at its worst, and, though steaming a good fourteen knots, failed to ascend. She was obliged to lay out a long steel-wire hawser, and heave herself over by means of her windlass, the engines working at full speed at the same time. Hard and heavy was the heave, gaining foot by foot, with a tension on the hawser almost to breaking strain in a veritable battle against the dragon of the river. Yet so complete are the changes which are wrought by the great variation in the level of the river, that this formidable mid-level rapid completely disappears at high level. After we had left this rapid--and right glad were we to get away--we came, after a couple of hours' run, to the Niu K'eo, or Buffalo Mouth Reach, quiet enough during the low-water season, but a wild stretch during high river, where many a junk is caught by the violently gyrating swirls, rendered unmanageable, and dashed to atoms on some rocky promontory or boulder pile in as short a space of time as it takes to write it. It was here that the _Woodlark_, one of the magnificent gunboats which patrol the river to safeguard the interests of the Union Jack in this region, came to grief on her maiden trip to Chung-king. One of these strong swirls caught the ship's stern, rendering her rudders useless for the moment, and causing her to sheer broadside into the foaming rapid. The engines were immediately reversed to full speed astern; but the swift current, combined with the momentum of the ship, carried her willy-nilly to the rock-bound shore, on which she crumpled her bows as if they were made of tin. Fortunately she was built in water-tight sections; her engineers removed the forward section, straightened out the crumpled plates, riveted them together, and bolted the section back into its place again so well, that on arrival at Chung-king not a trace of the accident was visible. * * * * * Upon arrival at Kweifu one bids farewell to the Gorges. This town, formerly a considerable coaling center, overlooks most beautiful hillocks, with cottage gardens cultivated in every accessible corner, and a wide sweep of the river. We landed with difficulty. "Chor, chor!" yelled the trackers, who marked time to their cry, swinging their arms to and fro at each short step; but they almost gave up the ghost. However, we did land, and so did our boy, who bought excellent provisions and meat, which, alas! too soon disappeared. The mutton and beef gradually grew less and daily blackened, wrapped up in opposite corners of the cabin, under the protection from the wet of a couple of sheets of the "Pink 'Un." From Kweifu to Wan Hsien there was the same kind of scenery--the clear river winding among sand-flats and gravel-banks, with occasional stiff rapids. But after having been in a _wu-pan_ for several days, suffering that which has been detailed, and much besides, the journey got a bit dreary. These, however, are ordinary circumstances; but when one has been laid up on a bench of a bed for three days with a high temperature, a legacy of several years in the humid tropics, the physical discomfort baffles description. Malaria, as all sufferers know, has a tendency to cause trouble as soon as one gets into cold weather, and in my case, as will be seen in subsequent parts of this book, it held faithfully to its best traditions. Fever on the Yangtze in a _wu-pan_ would require a chapter to itself, not to mention the kindly eccentricities of a companion whose knowledge of malaria was most elementary and whose knowledge of nursing absolutely _nil_. But I refrain. As also do I of further talk about the Yangtze gorges and the rapids. From Kweifu to Wan Hsien is a tedious journey. The country opens out, and is more or less monotonously flat. The majority of the dangers and difficulties, however, are over, and one is able to settle down in comparative peace. Fortunately for the author, nothing untoward happened, but travelers are warned not to be too sanguine. Wrecks have happened within a few miles of the destination, generally to be accounted for by the unhappy knack the Chinese boatman has of taking all precautions where the dangerous rapids exist, and leaving all to chance elsewhere. Some two years later, as I was coming down the river from Chung-king in December, I counted no less than nine wrecks, one boat having on board a cargo for the China Inland Mission authorities of no less than 480 boxes. The contents were spread out on the banks to dry, while the boat was turned upside down and repaired on the spot. * * * * * A hopeless cry is continually ascending in Hong-Kong and Shanghai that trade is bad, that the palmy days are gone, and that one might as well leave business to take care of itself. And it is not to be denied that increased trade in the Far East does not of necessity mean increased profits. Competition has rendered buying and selling, if they are to show increased dividends, a much harder task than some of the older merchants had when they built up their businesses twenty or thirty years ago. There is no comparison. But Hong-Kong, by virtue of her remarkably favorable position geographically, should always be able to hold her own; and now that the railway has pierced the great province of Yün-nan, and brought the provinces beyond the navigable Yangtze nearer to the outside world, she should be able to reap a big harvest in Western China, if merchants will move at the right time. More often than not the Britisher loses his trade, not on account of the alleged reason that business is not to be done, but because, content with his club life, and with playing games when he should be doing business, he allows the German to rush past him, and this man, an alien in the colony, by persistent plodding and other more or less commendable traits of business which I should like to detail, but for which I have no space, takes away the trade while the Britisher looks on. The whole of the trade of the three western provinces--Yün-nan, Kwei-chow and Szech'wan--has for all time been handled by Shanghai, going into the interior by the extremely hazardous route of these Yangtze rapids, and then over the mountains by coolie or pack-horse. This has gone on for centuries. But now the time has come for the Hong-Kong trader to step in and carry away the lion share of the greatly increasing foreign trade for those three provinces by means of the advantage the new Tonkin-Yün-nan Railway has given him. The railway runs from Haiphong in Indo-China to Yün-nan-fu, the capital of Yün-nan province. And it appears certain to the writer that, with such an important town three or four days from the coast, shippers will not be content to continue to ship via the Yangtze, with all its risk. British and American merchants, who carry the greater part of the imports to Western China, will send their goods direct to Hong-Kong, where transhipment will be made to Haiphong, and thence shipped by rail to Yün-nan-fu, the distributing center for inland trade. To my mind, Hong-Kong merchants might control the whole of the British trade of Western China if they will only push, for although the tariff of Tonkin may be heavy, it would be compensated by the fact that transit would be so much quicker and safer. But it needs push. The history of our intercourse with China, from the days of the East India Company till now, is nothing but a record of a continuous struggle to open up and develop trade. Opening up trade, too, with a people who have something pathetic in the honest persistency with which their officials have vainly struggled to keep themselves uncontaminated from the outside world. Trade in China cannot be left to take care of itself, as is done in Western countries. However invidious it may seem, we must admit the fact that past progress has been due to pressure. Therefore, if the opportunities were placed near at hand to the Hong-Kong shipper, he would be an unenterprising person indeed were he not to avail himself of the opportunity. Shanghai has held the trump card formerly. This cannot be denied. But I think the railway is destined to turn the trade route to the other side of the empire. It is merely a question as to who is to get the trade--the French or the British. The French are on the alert. They cannot get territory; now they are after the trade. It is my opinion that it would be to the advantage of the colony of Hong-Kong were the Chamber of Commerce there to investigate the matter thoroughly. Now is the time. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote D: _Cash_, a small brass coin with a hole through the middle. Nominally 1,000 cash to the dollar.] THIRD JOURNEY CHUNG-KING TO SUI-FU (VIA LUCHOW) CHAPTER V. _Beginning of the overland journey_. _The official halo around the caravan_. _The people's goodbyes_. _Stages to Sui-fu_. _A persistent coolie_. _My boy's indignation, and the sequel_. _Kindness of the people of Chung-king_. _The Chung-king Consulate_. _Need of keeping fit in travelling in China_. _Walking tabooed_. _The question of "face" and what it means_. _Author runs the gauntlet_. _Carrying coolie's rate of pay_. _The so-called great paved highways of China, and a few remarks thereon_. _The garden of China_. _Magnificence of the scenery of Western China_. _The tea-shops_. _The Chinese coolie's thirst and how the author drank_. _Population of Szech-wan_. _Minerals found_. _Salt and other things_. _The Chinese inn: how it holds the palm for unmitigated filth_. _Description of the rooms_. _Szech-wan and Yün-nan caravanserais_. _Need of a camp bed_. _Toileting in unsecluded publicity_. _How the author was met at market towns_. _How the days do not get dull_. In a manner admirably befitting my rank as an English traveler, apart from the fact that I was the man who was endeavoring to cross China on foot, I was led out of Chung-king _en route_ for Bhamo alone, my companion having had to leave me here. It was Easter Sunday, a crisp spring morning. First came a public sedan-chair, bravely borne by three of the finest fellows in all China, at the head of which on either side were two uniformed persons called soldiers--incomprehensible to one who has no knowledge of the interior, for they bore no marks whatever of the military--whilst uniformed men also solemnly guarded the back. Then came the grinning coolies, carrying that meager portion of my worldly goods which I had anticipated would have been engulfed in the Yangtze. And at the head of all, leading them on as captains do the Salvation Army, was I myself, walking along triumphantly, undoubtedly looking a person of weight, but somehow peculiarly unable to get out of my head that little adage apropos the fact that when the blind shall lead the blind both shall fall into a ditch! But Chinese decorum forbade my falling behind. I had determined to walk across China, every inch of the way or not at all; and the chair coolies, unaware of my intentions presumably, thought it a great joke when at the western gate, through which I departed, I gave instructions that one hundred cash be doled out to each man for his graciousness in escorting me through the town. All the people were in the middle of the streets--those slippery streets of interminable steps--to give me at parting their blessings or their curses, and only with difficulty and considerable shouting and pushing could I sufficiently take their attention from the array of official and civil servants who made up my caravan as to effect an exit. The following were to be stages:-- 1st day--Ts'eo-ma-k'ang 80 li. 2nd day--Üin-ch'uan hsien 120 " 3rd day--Li-shïh-ch'ang 105 " 4th day--Luchow 75 " 5th day--Lan-ching-ch'ang 80 " 6th day--Lan-chï-hsien 75 " 7th day--Sui-fu 120 " In my plainest English and with many cruel gestures, four miles from the town, I told a man that he narrowly escaped being knocked down, owing to his extremely rude persistence in accosting me and obstructing my way. He acquiesced, opened his large mouth to the widest proportions, seemed thoroughly to understand, but continued more noisily to prevent me from going onwards, yelling something at the top of his husky voice--a voice more like a fog-horn than a human voice--which made me fear that I had done something very wrong, but which later I interpreted ignorantly as impudent humor. I owed nothing; so far as I knew, I had done nothing wrong. "Hi, fellow! come out of the way! Reverse your carcass a bit, old chap! Get----! What the---- who the----?" "Oh, master, he wantchee makee much bobbery. He no b'long my pidgin, d---- rogue! He wantchee catch one more hundred cash! He b'long one piecee chairman!" This to me from my boy in apologetic explanation. Then, turning wildly upon the man, after the manner of his kind raising his little fat body to the tips of his toes and effectively assuming the attitude of the stage actor, he cursed loudly to the uttermost of eternity the impudent fellow's ten thousand relatives and ancestry; which, although it called forth more mutual confidences of a like nature, and made T'ong (my boy) foam at the mouth with rage at such an inopportune proceeding happening so early in his career, rendering it necessary for him to push the man in the right jaw, incidentally allowed him to show his master just a little that he could do. The man had been dumped against the wall, but he was still undaunted. With thin mud dropping from one leg of his flimsy pantaloons, he came forward again, did this chair coolie, whom I had just paid off--for it was assuredly one of the trio--leading out again one of those little wiry, shaggy ponies, and wished to do another deal. He had, however, struck a snag. We did not come to terms. I merely lifted the quadruped bodily from my path and walked on. Chung-king people treated us well, and had it not been for their kindness the terrible three days spent still in our _wu-pan_ on the crowded beach would have been more terrible still. At the Consulate we found Mr. Phillips, the Acting-Consul, ready packed up to go down to Shanghai, and Mr. H.E. Sly, whom we had met in Shanghai, was due to relieve him. Mr. J.L. Smith, of the Consular Service, was here also, just reaching a state of convalescence after an attack of measles, and was to go to Chen-tu to take up duty as soon as he was fit. But despite the topsy-turvydom, we were made welcome, and both Phillips and Smith did their best to entertain. Chung-king Consulate is probably the finest--certainly one of the finest--in China, built on a commanding site overlooking the river and the city, with the bungalow part over in the hills. It possesses remarkably fine grounds, has every modern convenience, not the least attractive features being the cement tennis-court and a small polo ground adjoining. I had hoped to see polo on those little rats of ponies, but it could not be arranged. I should have liked to take a stick as a farewell. People were shocked indeed that I was going to walk across China. Let me say here that travel in the Middle Kingdom is quite possible anywhere provided that you are fit. You have merely to learn and to maintain untold patience, and you are able to get where you like, if you have got the money to pay your way;[E] but walking is a very different thing. It is probable that never previously has a traveler actually walked across China, if we except the Rev. J. McCarthy, of the China Inland Mission, who some thirty years or so ago did walk across to Burma, although he went through Kwei-chow province over a considerably easier country. Not because it is by any means physically impossible, but because the custom of the country--and a cursed custom too--is that one has to keep what is called his "face." And to walk tends to make a man lose "face." A quiet jaunt through China on foot was, I was told, quite out of the question; the uneclipsed audacity of a man mentioning it, and especially a man such as I was, was marvelled at. Did I not know that the foreigner _must_ have a chair? (This was corroborated by my boy, on his oath, because he would have to pay the men.) Did I not know that no traveler in Western China, who at any rate had any sense of self-respect, would travel without a chair, not necessarily as a conveyance, but for the honor and glory of the thing? And did I not know that, unfurnished with this undeniable token of respect, I should be liable to be thrust aside on the highway, to be kept waiting at ferries, to be relegated to the worst inn's worst room, and to be generally treated with indignity? This idea of mine of crossing China on foot was preposterous! Even Mr. Hudson Broomhall, of the China Inland Mission, who with Mrs. Broomhall was extremely kind, and did all he could to fit me up for the journey (it is such remembrances that make the trip one which I would not mind doing again), was surprised to know that I was walking, and tried to persuade me to take a chair. But I flew in the face of it all. These good people certainly impressed me, but I decided to run the gauntlet and take the risk. The question of "face" is always merely one of theory, never of fact, and the principles that govern "face" and its attainment were wholly beyond my apprehension. "I shall probably be more concerned in saving my life than in saving my face," I thought. Therefore it was that when I reached a place called Fu-to-gwan I discarded all superfluities of dress, and strode forward, just at that time in the early morning when the sun was gilding the dewdrops on the hedgerows with a grandeur which breathed encouragement to the traveler, in a flannel shirt and flannel pants--a terrible breach of foreign etiquette, no doubt, but very comfortable to one who was facing the first eighty li he had ever walked on China's soil. My three coolies--the typical Chinese coolie of Szech'wan, but very good fellows with all their faults--were to land me at Sui-fu, 230 miles distant (some 650 li), in seven days' time. They were to receive four hundred cash per man per day, were to find themselves, and if I reached Sui-fu within the specified time I agreed to _kumshaw_ them to the extent of an extra thousand.[F] They carried, according to the arrangement, ninety catties apiece, and their rate of pay I did not consider excessive until I found that each man sublet his contract for a fourth of his pay, and trotted along light-heartedly and merry at my side; then I regretted that I had not thought twice before closing with them. It is probable that the solidity of the great paved highways of China have been exaggerated. I have not been on the North China highways, but have had considerable experience of them in Western China, Szech'wan and Yün-nan particularly, and have very little praise to lavish upon them. Certain it is that the road to Sui-fu does not deserve the nice things said about it by various travelers. The whole route from Chung-king to Sui-fu, paved with flagstones varying in width from three to six or seven feet--the only main road, of course--is creditably regular in some places, whilst other portions, especially over the mountains, are extremely bad and uneven. In some places, I could hardly get along at all, and my boy would call out as he came along in his chair behind me-- "Master, I thinkee you makee catch two piecee men makee carry. This b'long no proper road. P'raps you makee bad feet come." And truly my feet were shamefully blistered. One had to step from stone to stone with considerable agility. In places bridges had fallen in, nobody had attempted to put them into a decent state of repair--though this is never done in China--and one of the features of every day was the wonderful fashion in which the mountain ponies picked their way over the broken route; they are as sure-footed as goats. As I gazed admiringly along the miles and miles of ripening wheat and golden rape, pink-flowering beans, interspersed everywhere with the inevitable poppy, swaying gently as in a sea of all the dainty colors of the rainbow, I did not wonder that Szech'wan had been called the Garden of China. Greater or denser cultivation I had never seen. The amphitheater-like hills smiled joyously in the first gentle touches of spring and enriching green, each terrace being irrigated from the one below by a small stream of water regulated in the most primitive manner (the windlass driven by man power), and not a square inch lost. Even the mud banks dividing these fertile areas are made to yield on the sides cabbages and lettuces and on the tops wheat and poppy. There are no fences. You see before you a forest of mountains, made a dark leaden color by thick mists, from out of which gradually come the never-ending pictures of green and purple and brown and yellow and gold, which roll hither and thither under a cloudy sky in indescribable confusion. The chain may commence in the south or the north in two or three soft, slow-rising undulations, which trend away from you and form a vapory background to the landscape. From these (I see such a picture even as I write, seated on the stone steps in the middle of a mountain path), at once united and peculiarly distinct, rise five masses with rugged crests, rough, and cut into shady hollows on the sides, a faint pale aureola from the sun on the mists rising over the summits and sharp outlines. Looking to the north, an immense curved line shows itself, growing ever greater, opening like the arch of a gigantic bridge, and binding this first group to a second, more complicated, each peak of which has a form of its own, and does in some sort as it pleases without troubling itself about its neighbor. The most remarkable point about these mountains is the life they seem to possess. It is an incredible confusion. Angles are thrown fantastically by some mad geometer, it would seem. Splendid banyan trees shelter one after toiling up the unending steps, and dotted over the landscape, indiscriminately in magnificent picturesqueness, are pretty farmhouses nestling almost out of sight in groves of sacred trees. Oftentimes perpendicular mountains stand sheer up for three thousand feet or more, their sides to the very summits ablaze with color coming from the smiling face of sunny Nature, in spots at times where only a twelve-inch cultivation is possible. A dome raises its head curiously over the leaning shoulder of a round hill, and a pyramid reverses itself, as if to the music of some wild orchestra, whose symphonies are heard in the mountain winds. Seen nearer and in detail, these mountains are all in delicious keeping with all of what the imagination in love with the fantastic, attracted by their more distant forms, could dream. Valleys, gorges, somber gaps, walls cut perpendicularly, rough or polished by water, cavities festooned with hanging stalactites and notched like Gothic sculptures--all make up a strange sight which cannot but excite admiration. Every mile or so there are tea-houses, and for a couple of cash a coolie can get a cup of tea, with leaves sufficient to make a dozen cups, and as much boiling water as he wants. Szech'wan, the country, its people, their ways and methods, and much information thereto appertaining, is already in print. It were useless to give more of it here--and, reader, you will thank me! But the thirst of Szech'wan--that thirst which is unique in the whole of the Empire, and eclipsed nowhere on the face of the earth, except perhaps on the Sahara--one does not hear about. Many an Englishman would give much for the Chinese coolie's thirst--so very, very much. I wonder whether you, reader, were ever thirsty? Probably not. You get a thirst which is not insatiable. Yours is born of nothing extraordinary; yours can be satisfied by a gulp or two of water, or perhaps by a drink--or perhaps two, or perhaps three--of something stronger. The Chinese coolie's thirst arises from the grilling sun, from a dancing glare, from hard hauling, struggling with 120 pounds slung over his shoulders, dangling at the end of a bamboo pole. I have had this thirst of the Chinese coolie--I know it well. It is born of sheer heat and sheer perspiration. Every drop of liquid has been wrung out of my body; I have seemed to have swum in my clothes, and inside my muscles have seemed to shrink to dry sponge and my bones to dry pith. My substance, my strength, my self has drained out of me. I have been conscious of perpetual evaporation and liquefaction. And I have felt that I must stop and wet myself again. I really _must_ wet myself and swell to life again. And here we sit at the tea-shop. People come and stare at me, and wonder what it is. They, too, are thirsty, for they are all coolies and have the coolie thirst. I wet myself. I pour in cup after cup, and my body, my self sucks it in, draws it in as if it were the water of life. Instantly it gushes out again at every pore. I swill in more, and out it rushes again, madly rushes out as quickly as it can. I swill in more and more, and out it comes defiantly. I can keep none inside me. Useless--I _cannot_ quench my thirst. At last the thirst thinks its conquest assured, taking the hot tea for a signal of surrender; but I pour in more, and gradually feel the tea settling within me. I am a degree less torrid, a shade more substantial. And then here comes my boy. "Master, you wantchee makee one drink brandy-and-soda. No can catchee soda this side--have got water. Can do?" Ah! shall I? Shall I? No! I throw it away from me, fling a bottle of cheap brandy which he had bought for me at Chung-king away from me, and the boy looks forlorn. Tea is the best of all drinks in China; for the traveler unquestionably the best. Good in the morning, good at midday, good in the evening, good at night, even after the day's toil has been forgotten. To-morrow I shall have more walking, more thirsting, more tea. China tea, thou art a godsend to the wayfarer in that great land! I endeavored to get the details of the population of the province of Szech'wan, the variability of the reports providing an excellent illustration of the uncertainty impending over everything statistical in China--estimates ranged from thirty-five to eighty millions. The surface of this province is made up of masses of rugged mountains, through which the Yangtze has cut its deep and narrow channel. The area is everywhere intersected by steep-sided valleys and ravines. The world-famed plain of Chen-tu, the capital, is the only plain of any size in the province, the system of irrigation employed on it being one of the wonders of the world. Every food crop flourishes in Szech'wan, an inexhaustible supply of products of the Chinese pharmacopoeia enrich the stores and destroy the stomachs of the well-to-do; and with the exception of cotton, all that grows in Eastern China grows better in this great Garden of the Empire. Its area is about that of France, its climate is even superior--a land delightfully _accidentée_. Among the minerals found are gold, silver, cinnabar, copper, iron, coal and petroleum; the chief products being opium, white wax, hemp, yellow silk. Szech'wan is a province rich in salt, obtained from artesian borings, some of which extend 2,500 feet below the surface, and from which for centuries the brine has been laboriously raised by antiquated windlass and water buffalo. The best conditions of Chinese inns are far and away worse than anything the traveler would be called upon to encounter anywhere in the British Isles, even in the most isolated places in rural Ireland. There can be no comparison. And my reader will understand that there is much which the European misses in the way of general physical comfort and cleanliness. Sanitation is absent _in toto_. Ordinary decency forbids one putting into print what the uninitiated traveler most desires to know--if he would be saved a severe shock at the outset; but everyone has to go through it, because one cannot write what one sees. All travelers who have had to put up at the caravanseries in Central and Western China will bear me out in my assertion that all of them reek with filth and are overrun by vermin of every description. The traveler whom misfortune has led to travel off the main roads of Russia may probably hesitate in expressing an opinion as to which country carries off the palm for unmitigated filth; but, with this exception, travelers in the Eastern Archipelago, in Central Asia, in Africa among the wildest tribes, are pretty well unanimous that compared with all these for dirt, disease, discomfort, an utter lack of decency and annoyance, the Chinese inn holds its own. And in no part of China more than in Szech'wan and Yün-nan is greater discomfort experienced. The usual wooden bedstead stands in the corner of the room with the straw bedding (this, by the way, should on no account be removed if one wishes to sleep in peace), sometimes there is a table, sometimes a couple of chairs. If these are steady it is lucky, if unbroken it is the exception; there are never more. Over the bedstead (more often than not, by the way, it is composed of four planks of varying lengths and thickness, placed across two trestles) I used first to place my oilskin, then my _p'u-k'ai_, and that little creeper which rhymes with hug did not disturb me much. Rats ran round and over me in profusion, and, of course, the best room being invariably nearest to the pigsties, there were the usual stenches. The floor was Mother Earth, which in wet weather became mud, and quite a common thing it was for my joys to be enhanced during a heavy shower of rain by my having to sleep, almost suffocated, mackintosh over my head, owing to a slight break in the continuity of the roof--my umbrella being unavailable, as one of my men dropped it over a precipice two days out. For many reasons a camp-bed is to Europeans an indispensable part of even the most modest traveling equipment. I was many times sorry that I had none with me. The inns of Szech'wan, however, are by many degrees better than those of Yün-nan, which are sometimes indescribable. Earthen floors are saturated with damp filth and smelling decay; there are rarely the paper windows, but merely a sort of opening of woodwork, through which the offensive smells of decaying garbage and human filth waft in almost to choke one; tables collapse under the weight of one's dinner; walls are always in decay and hang inwards threateningly; wicked insects, which crawl and jump and bite, creep over the side of one's rice bowl--and much else. Who can describe it? It makes one ill to think of it. Throughout my journeyings it was necessary for my toileting, in fact, everything, to be performed in absolute unalloyed publicity. Three days out my boy fixed up a cold bath for me, and barricaded a room which had a certain amount of privacy about it, owing to its secluded position; but even grown men and women, anxious to see what _it_ was like when it had no clothes on, came forward, poked their fingers through the paper in the windows (of course, glass is hardly known in the interior), and greedily peeped in. This and the profound curiosity the people evince in one's every action and movement I found most trying. It was my misfortune each day at this stage to come into a town or village where market was in progress. Catching a sight of the foreign visage, people opened their eyes widely, turned from me, faced me again with a little less of fear, and then came to me, not in dozens, but in hundreds, with open arms. They shouted and made signs, and walking excitedly by my side, they examined at will the texture of my clothes, and touched my boots with sticks to see whether the feet were encased or not. For the time I was their hero. When I walked into an inn business brightened immediately. Tea was at a premium, and only the richer class could afford nine cash instead of three to drink tea with the bewildered foreigner. The most inquisitive came behind me, rubbing their unshaven pates against the side of my head in enterprising endeavor to see through the sides of my spectacles. They would speak to me, yelling in their coarsest tones thinking my hearing was defective. I would motion then to go away, always politely, cleverly suppressing my sense of indignation at their conduct; and they would do so, only to make room for a worse crowd. The town's business stopped; people left their stalls and shops to glare aimlessly at or to ask inane and unintelligible questions about the barbarian who seemed to have dropped suddenly from the heavens. When I addressed a few words to them in strongest Anglo-Saxon, telling them in the name of all they held sacred to go away and leave me in peace, something like a cheer would go up, and my boy would swear them all down in his choicest. When I slowly rose to move the crowd looked disappointed, but allowed me to go forward on my journey in peace. * * * * * Thus the days passed, and things were never dull. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote E: This refers to the main roads There are many places in isolated and unsurveyed districts where it is extremely difficult and often impossible to get along at all--E.J.D.] [Footnote F: This rate of four hundred cash per day per man was maintained right up to Tong-ch'uan-fu, although after Chao-t'ong the usual rate paid is a little higher, and the bad cash in that district made it difficult for my men to arrange four hundred "big" cash current in Szech'wan in the Yün-nan equivalent. After Tong-ch'uan-fu, right on to Burma, the rate of coolie pay varies considerably. Three tsien two fen (thirty-two tael cents) was the highest I paid until I got to Tengyueh, where rupee money came into circulation, and where expense of living was considerably higher.--E.J.D.] CHAPTER VI. _Szech-wan people a mercenary lot_. _Adaptability to trading_. _None but nature lovers should come to Western China_. _The life of the Nomad_. _The opening of China, and some impressions_. _China's position in the eyes of her own people_. _Industrialism, railways, and the attitude of the populace_. _Introduction of foreign machinery_. _Different opinions formed in different provinces_. _Climate, and what it is responsible for_. _Recent Governor of Szech-wan's tribute to Christianity_. _New China and the new student_. _Revolutionary element in Yün-nan_. _Need of a new life, and how China is to get it_. _Luchow, and a little about it_. _Fusong from the military_. _Necessity of the sedan-chair_. _Cost of lodging_. _An impudent woman_. _Choice pidgin-English_. _Some of the annoyances of travel_. _Canadian and China Inland missionaries_. _Exchange of yarns_. _Exasperating Chinese life, and its effects on Europeans_. _Men refuse to walk to Sui-fu. Experiences in arranging up-river trip_. _Unmeaning etiquette of Chinese officials toward foreigners_. _Rude awakening in the morning_. _A trying early-morning ordeal_. _Reckonings do not tally_. _An eventful day_. _At the China Inland Mission_. _Impressions of Sui-fu. Fictitious partnerships_. The people of Szech'wan, compared with other Yangtze provinces, must be called a mercenary, if a go-ahead, one. Balancing myself on a three-inch form in a tea-shop at a small town midway between Li-shïh-ch'ang and Luchow, I am endeavoring to take in the scene around me. The people are so numerous in this province that they must struggle in order to live. Vain is it for the most energetic among them to escape from the shadow of necessity and hunger; all are similarly begirt, so they settle down to devote all their energies to trade. And trade they do, in very earnest. Everything is labeled, from the earth to the inhabitants; these primitives, these blissfully "heathen" people, have become the most consummate of sharpers. I walk up to buy something of the value of only a few cash, and on all sides are nets and traps, like spider-webs, and the fly that these gentry would catch, as they see me stalk around inspecting their wares, is myself. They seem to lie in wait for one, and for an article for which a coolie would pay a few cash as many dollars are demanded of the foreigner. My boy stands by, however, magnificently proud of his lucrative and important post, yelling precautions to the curious populace to stand away. He hints, he does not declare outright, but by ungentle innuendo allows them to understand that, whatever their private characters may be, to him they are all liars and rogues and thieves. It is all so funny, that one's fatigue is minimized to the last degree by the humor one gets and the novel changes one meets everywhere. Onward again, my men singing, perhaps quarreling, always swearing. Their language is low and coarse and vulgar, but happily ignorant am I. The country, too, is fascinating in the extreme. A man must not come to China for pleasure unless he love his mistress Nature when she is most rudely clad. Some of her lovers are fascinated most in by-places, in the cool of forests, on the summit of lofty mountains, high up from the mundane, in the cleft of cañons, everywhere that the careless lover is not admitted to her contemplation. It is for such that China holds out an inviting hand, but she offers little else to the Westerner--the student of Nature and of man can alone be happy in the interior. Forgetting time and the life of my own world, I sometimes come to inviolate stillnesses, where Nature opens her arms and bewitchingly promises embraces in soft, unending, undulating vastnesses, where even the watching of a bird building its nest or brooding over its young, or some little groundling at its gracious play, seems to hold one charmed beyond description. It is, some may say, a nomadic life. Yes, it is a nomadic life. But how beautiful to those of us, and there are many, who love less the man-made comforts of our own small life than the entrancing wonders of the God-made world in spots where nothing has changed. Gladly did I quit the dust and din of Western life, the artificialities of dress, and the unnumbered futile affectations of our own maybe not misnamed civilization, to go and breathe freely and peacefully in those far-off nooks of the silent mountain-tops where solitude was broken only by the lulling or the roaring of the winds of heaven. Thank God there are these uninvaded corners. The realm of silence is, after all, vaster than the realm of noise, and the fact brought a consolation, as one watched Nature effecting a sort of coquetry in masking her operations. And as I look upon it all I wonder--wonder whether with the "Opening of China" this must all change? The Chinese--I refer to the Chinese of interior provinces such as Szech-wan--are realizing that they hold an obscure position. I have heard educated Chinese remark that they look upon themselves as lost, like shipwrecked sailors, whom a night of tempest has cast on some lonely rock; and now they are having recourse to cries, volleys, all the signals imaginable, to let it be known that they are still there. They have been on this lonely isolated rock as far as history can trace. Now they are launching out towards progress, towards the making of things, towards the buying and selling of things--launching out in trade and in commerce, in politics, in literature, in science, in all that has spelt advance in the West. The modern spirit is spreading speedily into the domains of life everywhere--in places swiftly, in places slowly, but spreading inevitably, _si sit prudentia_. Nothing will tend, in this particular part of the country, to turn it upside down and inside out more than the cult of industrialism. In a number of centers in Eastern China, such as Han-yang and Shanghai, foreign mills, iron works, and so on, furnish new employments, but in the interior the machine of the West to the uneducated Celestial seems to be the foe of his own tools; and when railways and steam craft appear--steam has appeared, of course, on the Upper Yangtze, although it has not yet taken much of the junk trade, and Szech'wan has her railways now under construction (the sod was cut at Ichang in 1909)[G]--and a single train and steamer does the work of hundreds of thousands of carters, coolies, and boatmen, it is wholly natural that their imperfect and short-sighted views should lead them to rise against a seeming new peril. Whilst in the end the Empire will profit greatly by the inventions of the Occident, the period of transition in Szech'wan, especially if machines are introduced too rapidly and unwisely, is one that will disturb the peace. It will be interesting to watch the attitude of the people towards the railway, for Szech'wan is essentially the province of the farmer. Szech'wan was one of the provinces where concessions were demanded, and railways had been planned by European syndicates, and where the gentry and students held mass meetings, feverishly declaring that none shall build Chinese lines but the people themselves. I have no space in a work of this nature to go fully into the question of industrialism, railways, and other matters immediately vital to the interests of China, but if the peace of China is to be maintained, it is incumbent upon every foreigner to "go slowly." Machines of foreign make have before now been scrapped, railways have been pulled up and thrown into the sea, telegraph lines have been torn down and sold, and on every hand among this wonderful people there has always been apparent a distinct hatred to things and ideas foreign. But industrially particularly the benefits of the West are being recognized in Eastern China, and gradually, if foreigners who have to do the pioneering are tactful, trust in the foreign-manufactured machine will spread to Western China, and enlarged industrialism will bring all-round advantages to Western trade. Thus far there has been little shifting of the population from hamlets and villages to centers of new industries--even in the more forward areas quoted--but when this process begins new elements will enter into the Chinese industrial problem. As we hear of the New China, so is there a "new people," a people emboldened by the examples of officials in certain areas to show a friendliness towards progress and innovation. They were not friendly a decade ago. It may, perhaps, be said that this "new people" were born after the Boxer troubles, and in Szech'wan they have a large influence. Cotton mills, silk filatures, flour and rice mills employing western machinery, modern mining plants and other evidences of how China is coming out of her shell, cause one to rejoice in improved conditions. The animosity occasioned by these inventions that are being so gradually and so surely introduced into every nook and cranny of East and North China is very marked; but on close inspection, and after one has made a study of the subject, one is inclined to feel that it is more or less theoretical. So it is to be hoped it will be in Szech'wan and Far Western China. Readers may wonder at the differences of opinions expressed in the course of these pages--a hundred pages on one may get a totally different impression. But the absolute differences of conditions existing are quite as remarkable. From Chung-king to Sui-fu one breathed an air of progress--after one had made allowance for the antagonistic circumstances under which China lives--a manifest desire on every hand for things foreign, and a most lively and intelligent interest in what the foreigner could bring. In many parts of Yün-nan, again, conditions were completely reversed; and one finding himself in Yün-nan, after having lived for some time at a port in the east of the Empire, would assuredly find himself surrounded by everything antagonistic to that to which he has become accustomed, and the people would seem of a different race. This may be due to the differences of climate--climate, indeed, is ultimately the first and the last word in the East; it is the arbiter, the builder, the disintegrator of everything. A leading writer on Eastern affairs says that the "climate is the explanation of all this history of Asia, and the peoples of the East can only be understood and accounted for by the measuring of the heat of the sun's rays. In China, with climate and weather charts in your hands, you may travel from the Red River on the Yün-nan frontier to the great Sungari in lusty Manchuria, and be able to understand and account for everything." However that may be, traveling in China, through a wonderful province like Szech'wan, whose chief entrepôt is fifteen hundred miles from the coast, convinces one that she has come to the parting of the ways. You can, in any city or village in Szech'wan--or in Yün-nan, for that matter, in a lesser degree--always find the new nationalism in the form of the "New China" student. Despite the opposition he gets from the old school, and although the old order of things, by being so strong as almost to overwhelm him, allows him to make less progress than he would, this new student, the hope of the Empire, is there. I do not wish to enter into a controversy on this subject, but I should like to quote the following from a speech delivered by Tseh Ch'un Hsüan, when he was leaving his post as Governor of Szech'wan:-- "The officials of China are gradually acquiring a knowledge of the great principles of the religions of Europe and America. And the churches are also laboring night and day to readjust their methods, and to make known their aims in their propagation of religion. Consequently, Chinese and foreigners are coming more and more into cordial relations. This fills me with joy and hopefulness.... My hope is that the teachers of both countries [Great Britain and America] will spread the Gospel more wisely than ever, that hatred may be banished, and disputes dispelled, and that the influence of the Gospel may create boundless happiness for my people of China. And I shall not be the only one to thank you for coming to the front in this good work.... May the Gospel prosper!" There are various grades of people in China, among which the scholar has always come first, because mind is superior to wealth, and it is the intellect that distinguishes man above the lower order of beings, and enables him to provide food and raiment and shelter for himself and for others. At the time when Europe was thrilled and cut to the quick with news of the massacres of her compatriots in the Boxer revolts, the scholar was a dull, stupid fellow--day in day out, week in week out, month in month out, and year after year he ground at his classics. His classics were the _Alpha_ and _Omega_; he worshipped them. This era has now passed away. At the present moment there are upwards of twenty thousand Chinese students in Tokyo[H]--whither they went because Japan is the most convenient country wherein to acquire Western knowledge. The new learning, the new learning--they _must_ have the new learning! No high office is ever again likely to be given but to him who has more of Western knowledge than Chinese knowledge. And mere striplings, nursed in the lap of the mission schools, and there given a good grounding in Western education, these are the men far more likely to pass the new examinations. In Yün-nan, where little chance exists for the scholars to advance, the new learning has brought with it a revolutionary element, which would soon become dangerous were it by any means common. I have seen an English-speaking fellow, anxious to get on and under the impression that the laws of his country were responsible for keeping him back, write in the back of his exercise book a phrase against the imperial ruler that would have cost him his head had it come to the notice of the high authorities. One will learn much if he travels across the Empire--facts and figures quite irreconcilable will arise, but even the man of dullest perception will be convinced that much of the reforming spirit in the people is only skin-deep, going no farther than the externals of life. It is at present, perhaps, merely a mad fermentation in the western provinces, wherefrom the fiercer it is the clearer the product will one day evolve itself. Such transitions are full of bewilderment to the European--bewildering to any writer who endeavors to tackle the Empire as a whole. Each province or couple of provinces should be dealt with separately, so diverse are the conditions. But if China, from the highest to the lowest, will only embrace truth and love her for her own sake, so that she will not abate one jot of allegiance to her; if China will let truth run down through the arteries of everyday commercial, social, and political life as do the waterways through her marvelous country; if China will kill her retardative conservatism, and in its place erect honesty and conscience; if China will let her moral life be quickened--then her transition period, from end to end of the Empire, will soon end. Mineral, agricultural, industrial wealth are hers to a degree which is not true of any other land. Her people have an enduring and expansive power that has stood the test of more than four thousand years of honorable history, and their activity and efficiency outside China make them more to be dreaded, as competitors, than any race or any dozen races of to-day. But New China must have this new life. Commerce, science, diplomacy, culture, civilization she will have in ever-increasing measure just in so much as she draws nearer to western peoples. But the new life can come from whence? From within or from without? Luchow, into which I was led just before noon on the fourth day out of Chung-king, is the most populous and richest city on the Upper Yangtze. Exceedingly clean for a Chinese city, possessing well-kept streets lined with well-stocked emporiums, bearing every evidence of commercial prosperity, it however lacks one thing. It has no hotel runners! I arrived at midday, crossing the river in a leaky ferry boat, under a blazing sun, my intention being to stop in the town at a tea-house to take a refresher, and then complete a long day's march, farther than the ordinary stage. But owing to some misunderstanding between the _fu-song_, sent to shadow the foreigner on part of his journey, and my boy, I was led through the busy city out into the open country before I had had a drink. And when I remonstrated they led me back again to the best inn, where I was told I should have to spend the night--there being nothing else, then, to be said. May I give a word of advice here to any reader contemplating a visit to China under similar conditions? It is the custom of the mandarins to send what is called a _fu-song_ (escort) for you; the escort comes from the military, although their peculiar appearance may lead you to doubt it. I have two of these soldier people with me to-day, and two bigger ragamuffins it has not been my lot to cast eyes on. They are the only two men in the crowd I am afraid of. They are of absolutely no use, more than to eat and to drink, and always come up smiling at the end of their stage for their _kumshaw_. During the whole of this day I have not seen one of them--they have been behind the caravan all the time; it would be hard to believe that they had sense enough to find the way, and as for escorting me, they have not accompanied me a single li of the way.[I] Another nuisance, of which I have already spoken, is the necessity of taking a chair to maintain respectability. These things make travel in China not so cheap as one would be led to imagine. Traveling of itself is cheap enough, as cheap as in any country in the world. For accommodation for myself, for a room, rice and as much hot water as I want, the charge is a couple of hundred cash--certainly not expensive. In addition, there is generally a little "cha tsien" (tea money) for the cook. But it is the "face" which makes away with money, much more than it takes to keep you in the luxury that the country can offer--which is not much! After I had had a bit of a discussion with my boy as to the room they wanted to house me in, a woman, brandishing a huge cabbage stump above her head, and looking menacingly at me, yelled that the room was good enough. "What does she say, T'ong?" "Oh, she b'long all same fool. She wantchee makee talkee talk. She have got velly long tongue, makee bad woman. She say one piecee Japan man makee stay here t'ree night. See? She say what makee good one piecee Japan man makee good one piecee English man. See? No have got topside, all same bottomside have got. Master, this no b'long my pidgin--this b'long woman pidgin, and woman b'long all same fool." T'ong ended up with an amusing allusion to the lady's mother, and looked cross because I rebuked him. Gathering, then, that the lady thought her room good enough for me, I saw no other course open, and as the crowd was gathering, I got inside. Before setting out to call upon the Canadian missionaries stationed at the place, I held a long conversation with a hump-backed old man, an unsightly mass of disease, who seemed to be a traditional link of Luchow. I might say that this scholastic old wag spoke nothing but Chinese, and I, as the reader knows, spoke no Chinese, so that the amount of general knowledge derived one from the other was therefore limited. But he would not go, despite the frequent deprecations of T'ong and my coolies, and my vehement rhetoric in explanation that his presence was distasteful to me, and at the end of the episode I found it imperative for my own safety, and perhaps his, to clear out. * * * * * The Canadians I found in their Chinese-built premises, comfortable albeit. Five of them were resident at the time, and they were quite pleased with the work they had done during the last year or so--most of them were new to China. At the China Inland Mission later I found two young Scotsmen getting some exercise by throwing a cricket ball at a stone wall, in a compound about twenty feet square. They were glad to see me, one of them kindly gave me a hair-cut, and at their invitation I stayed the night with them. What is it in the nature of the Chinese which makes them appear to be so totally oblivious to the best they see in their own country? It is surely not because they are not as sensitive as other races to the magic of beauty in either nature or art. But I found traveling and living with such apparently unsympathetic creatures exasperating to a degree, and I did not wonder that the European whose lot had been cast in the interior, sometimes, on emerging into Western civilization, appears eccentric to his own countrymen. But this in passing. I duly arrived at Lan-chï-hsien, and was told that Sui-fu, 120 li away, would be reached the next day, although I had my doubts. A deputation from the local "gwan" waited upon me to learn my wishes and to receive my commands. I was assured that no European ever walked to Sui-fu from Lan-chï-hsien, and that if I attempted to do such a thing I should have to go alone, and that I should never reach there. I remonstrated, but my boy was firm. He took me to him and fathered me. He almost cried over me, to think that I, that I, his master, of all people in the world, should doubt his allegiance to me. "I no 'fraid," he declared. "P'laps master no savee. Sui-fu b'long velly big place, have got plenty European. You wantchee makee go fast, catchee plenty good 'chow.' I think you catchee one piecee boat, makee go up the river. P'laps I think you have got velly tired--no wantchee makee more walkee--that no b'long ploper. That b'long all same fool pidgin." And at last I melted. There was nothing else to do. That no one ever walked to Sui-fu from this place the district potentate assured me in a private chit, which I could not read, when he laid his gunboat at my disposal. This, he said, would take me up very quickly. In his second note, wherein he apologized that indisposition kept him from calling personally upon me--this, of course, was a lie--he said he would feel it an honor if I would be pleased to accept the use of his contemptible boat. But T'ong whispered that the law uses these terms in China, and that nobody would be more disappointed than the Chinese magistrate if I _did_ take advantage of his unmeaning offer. So I took a _wu-pan_, and the following night, when pulling into the shadows of the Sui-fu pagoda, cold and hungry, I cursed my luck that I had not broken down the useless etiquette which these Chinese officials extend towards foreigners, and taken the fellow's gunboat. The _wu-pan_, they swore to me, would be ready to leave at 3:30 a.m. the day following. My boy did not venture to sleep at all. He stayed up outside my bedroom door--I say bedroom, but actually it was an apartment which in Europe I would not put a horse into, and the door was merely a wide, worm-eaten board placed on end. In the middle of the night I heard a noise--yea, a rattle. The said board fell down, inwards, almost upon me. A light was flashed swiftly into my eyes, and desultory remarks which suddenly escaped me were rudely interrupted by shrill screams. My boy was singing. "Master," he cried, pulling hard-heartedly at my left big toe to wake me, "come on, come on; you wantchee makee get up. Have got two o'clock. Get up; p'laps me no wakee you, no makee sleep--no b'long ploper. One man makee go bottomside--have catchee boat. This morning no have got tea--no can catch hot water makee boil." And soon we were ready to start. Punctually to the appointed hour we were at the bottom of the steep, dark incline leading down to the river bank. But my reckonings were bad. The _laoban_ and the other two youthful members of the half-witted crew had not yet taken their "chow," and this, added to many little discrepancies in their reckoning and in mine, kept me in a boiling rage until half-past six, when at last they pushed off, and nearly capsized the boat at the outset. The details of that early morning, and the happenings throughout the long, sad day, I think I can never forget--from the breaking of tow-lines to frequent stranding on the rocks and sticking on sandbanks, the orders wrongly given, the narrow escape of fire on board, the bland thick-headedness of the ass of a captain, the collisions, and all the most profound examples of savage ignorance displayed when one has foolish Chinese to deal with. We reached half-way at 4:30 p.m., with sixty li to do against a wind. Hour after hour they toiled, making little headway with their misdirected labor, wasting their energies in doing the right things at the wrong time, and wrong things always, and long after sundown Sui-fu's pagoda loomed in the distance. At 11:00 p.m., stiff and hungry, and mad with rage, I was groping my way on all fours up the slippery steps through unspeakable slime and filth at the quayhead, only to be led to a disgusting inn as dirty as anything I had yet encountered. It was hard lines, for I could get no food. An invitation, however, was given me by the Rev. R. McIntyre, who with his charming wife conducts the China Inland Mission in this city, to come and stay with them. The next morning, after a sleepless night of twisting and turning on a bug-infested bed, I was glad to take advantage of the missionary's kindness. I could not have been given a kindlier welcome. Sui-fu has a population of roughly 150,000, and the overcrowding question is not the least important. It is situated to advantage on the right bank of the Yangtze, and does an immense trade in medicines, opium, silk, furs, silverwork, and white wax, which are the chief exports. Gunboats regularly come to Sui-fu during the heavy rains. Just outside the city, a large area is taken up with grave mounds--common with nearly every Chinese city. Mr. McIntyre and Mr. Herbert, who was passing through Sui-fu _en route_ for Ta-chien-lu, where he is now working, showed me around the city one afternoon, and one could see everything typical of the social life of two thousand years ago. The same narrow lanes succeed each other, and the conviction is gradually impressed upon the mind that such is the general trend of the character of the city and its people. There were the same busy mechanics, barbers, traders, wayside cooks, traveling fortune-tellers, and lusty coolies; the wag doctor, the bane of the gullible, was there to drive his iniquitous living; now and then the scene's monotony was disturbed by the presence of the chair and the retinue of a city mandarin. Yet with all the hurry and din, the hurrying and the scurrying in doing and driving for making money, seldom was there an accident or interruption of good nature. There was the same romance in the streets that one reads of at school--so much alike and yet so different from what one meets in the Chinese places at the coast or in Hong-Kong or Singapore. In Sui-fu, more than in any other town in Western China which I visited, had the native artist seemed to have lavished his ingenuity on the street signboards. Their caligraphy gave the most humorous intimation of the superiority of the wares on sale; many of them contained some fictitious emblem, adopted as the name of the shop, similar to the practice adopted in London two centuries ago, and so common now in the Straits Settlements, where bankrupts are allowed considerable more freedom than would be possible if fictitious registration were not allowed. I refer to the Registration of Partnerships. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote G: I inspected the railway at Ichang in December, 1910, and found that a remarkable scheme was making very creditable progress. Around the main station centre there was an air of bustle and excitement, some 20,000 coolies were in employment there, all the buildings and equipment bore evidences of thoroughness, and the scheme seemed to be going on well. But in January of this year (1911) a meeting was held at Chen-tu, the proposed destination of the line, and the gentry then decided that as nothing was being done at that end the company should be requested to stop work at Ichang, and start laying the line from Chen-tu, at the other end. "All the money will be spent," they cried, "and we shall get nothing up this end!" If the money ran out and left the central portion of the line incomplete, it did not matter so long as each city had something for its money!--E.J.D.] [Footnote H: This is not true to-day. There has been a great falling off in numbers.--E.J.D., February, 1911.] [Footnote I: This should not be taken to apply to the _fu-song_ everywhere. I have found them to be the most useful on other occasions, but the above was written at Luchow as my experience of that particular day.--E.J.D.] FOURTH JOURNEY. SUI-FU TO CHAO-T'ONG-FU (VIA LAO-WA-T'AN). CHAPTER VII. _Chinese and simplicity of speech_. _Author and his caravan stopped_. _Advice to travelers_. _Farewell to Sui-fu_. _The postal service and tribute to I.P.O._ _Rushing the stages_. _Details of journey_. _Description of road to Chao-t'ong-fu_. _Coolie's pay_. _My boy steals vegetables_. _Remarks on roads and railways_. _The real Opening of China_. _How the foreigner will win the confidence of the Chinese_. _Distances and their variability_. _Calculations uprooted_. _Author in a dilemma_. _The scenery_. _Hard going_. _A wayside toilet, and some embarrassment_. _Filth inseparable from Chinese humanity_. _About Chinese inns_. _Typewriter causes some fun_. _Soldiers guard my doorway_. _Man's own "inner room."_ _One hundred and forty li in a day_. _Grandeur and solitude_. _Wisdom of traveling alone_. _Coolie nearly cuts his toe off_. _Street scene at Puérh-tu_. _The "dying" coolie_. _A manacled prisoner_. _Entertained by mandarins_. _How plans do not work out_. He who would make most abundant excuses for the Chinese could not say that he is simple in his speech. That speech is the chief revelation of the mind, the first visible form that it takes, is undoubtedly true: as the thought, so the speech. All social relations with us have their roots in mutual trust, and this trust is maintained by each man's sincerity of thought and speech. Apparently not so in China. There is so much craft, so much diplomacy, so much subtle legerdemain that, if he chooses, the Chinese may give you no end of trouble to inform yourself on the simplest subject. The Chinese, like so many cavillers and calumniators, all glib of tongue, who know better than any nation on earth how to turn voice and pen to account, have taken the utmost advantage of extended means of circulating thought, with the result that an Englishman such as myself, even were I a deep scholar of their language, would have the greatest difficulty in getting at the truth about their own affairs. As I was going out of Sui-fu my caravan and myself were delayed by some fellow, who held the attention of my men for a full quarter of an hour. I listened, understanding nothing. After another five minutes, by which time the conversation had assumed what I considered dangerous proportions, having the safety of my boy at heart, I asked-- "T'ong, what is it?" "Half a sec.," he replied (having learnt this phrase from the gunboat men down the river). He did not, however, take his eyes from the man with whom he was holding the conversation. He then dived into my food-basket, wrenched off the top of a tin, and pulled therefrom two beautifully-marked live pigeons, which flapped their wings helplessly to get away, and resumed the conversation. Talk waxed furious, the birds were placed by the side of the road, and T'ong, now white with seeming rage, threatened to hit the man. It turned out that the plaintiff was the seller of the birds, and that T'ong had got them too cheap. "That man no savee. He thinkee you, master, have got plenty money. He b'long all same rogue. I no b'long fool. I know, I know." As the cover of the food-basket was closed down I noticed a cooked fowl, two live pheasants with their legs tied together, a pair of my own muddy boots, a pair of dancing pumps, and a dirty collar, all in addition to my little luxuries and the two pigeons aforesaid. Reader, if thou would'st travel in China, peep not into thy _hoh shïh lan tsï_ if thou would'st feed well. T'ong, laughing derisively, waved fond and fantastic salutations to the disappointed vendor of pigeons, and moved backwards on tiptoe till he could see him no more; then we went noiselessly down a steep incline out into an open space of distracted and dishevelled beauty on our way to Chao-t'ong-fu. From Chung-king I had stuck to the regular stages. I had done no hustling, but I decided to rush it to Chao-t'ong if I could, as the reports I heard about being overtaken by the rains in Yün-nan were rather disquieting. I had taken to Sui-fu three times as long as the regular mail time, the service of which is excellent. Chung-king has no less than six local deliveries daily, thus eliminating delays after the delivery of the mails, and a daily service to the coast has also been established. A fast overland service to Wan Hsien now exists, by which the coast mails are transmitted between that port and Chung-king in the hitherto unheard-of time of two days--a traveler considers himself fortunate if he covers the same distance in eight days. There are fast daily services to Luchow (380 li distant) in one day, Sui-fu (655 li) in two days, Hochow (180 li) in one night, and Chen-tu (1,020 li) in three days. It is creditable to the Chinese Imperial Post Office that a letter posted at Sui-fu will be delivered in Great Britain in a month's time. It was a dull, chilly morning that I left Sui-fu, leading my little procession through the city on my way to Anpien, which was to be reached before sundown. My coolies--probably owing to having derived more pecuniary advantage than they expected during the journey from Chung-king--decided to re-engage, and promised to complete the fourteen-day tramp to Chao-t'ong-fu, two hundred and ninety miles distant, if weather permitted, in eleven days. We were to travel by the following stages:-- Length of Height above stage sea 1st day--Anpien 90 li ---- 2nd day--Huan-chiang 55 li ---- 3rd day--Fan-ïh-ts'uen 70 li ---- 4th day--T'an-t'eo 70 li ---- 5th day--Lao-wa-t'an 140 li 1,140 ft. 6th day--Teo-sha-kwan 60 li 4,000 ft. 7th day--Ch'i-li-p'u 60 li 1,900 ft. 8th day--Ta-wan-tsï 70 li ---- 9th day--Ta-kwan-ting 70 li 3,700 ft. 10th day--Wuchai 60 li 7,000 ft. 11th day--Chao-t'ong-fu 100 li 6,400 ft. I knew that I was in for a very hard journey. The nature of the country as far as T'an-t'eo, ten li this side of which the Szech'wan border is reached, is not exhausting, although the traveler is offered some rough and wild climbing. The next day's stage, to Lao-wa-t'an, is miserably bad. At certain places it is cut out of the rock, at others it runs in the bed of the river, which is dotted everywhere with roaring rapids (as we are ascending very quickly), and when the water is high these roads are submerged and often impassable. In some places it was a six-inch path along the mountain slope, with a gradient of from sixty to seventy degrees, and landslips and rains are ever changing the path. Lao-wa-t'an is the most important point on the route. One of the largest Customs stations in the province of Yün-nan is here situated at the east end of a one-span suspension bridge, about one hundred and fifty feet in length. No ponies carrying loads are allowed to cross the bridge, the roads east of this being unfit for beasts of burden. There is then a fearful climb to a place called Teo-sha-kwan, a stage of only sixty li. The reader should not mentally reduce this to English miles, for the march was more like fifty miles than thirty, if we consider the physical exertion required to scale the treacherous roads. Over a broad, zigzagging, roughly-paved road, said to have no less than ninety-eight curves from bottom to top, we ascend for thirty li, and then descend for the remainder of the journey through a narrow defile along the northern bank of the river, the opposite side being a vertical sheet of rock rising to at least a thousand feet sheer up, very similar to the gorges of the Mekong at the western end of the province, which I crossed in due course. To Ch'i-li-p'u, high up on the mountain banks, the first twenty-five li is by the river. At the half-way place a fearful ascent is experienced, the most notable precipice on the route between Sui-fu and Yün-nan-fu, up a broad zigzag path, and as I sat at dinner I could see neither top nor bottom owing to the overhanging masses of rock: this is after having negotiated an ascent quite as steep, but smaller. To Ta-kwan-hsien a few natural obstacles occur, although the road is always high up on the hill-sides. I crossed a miserable suspension bridge of two spans. The southern span is about thirty feet, the northern span eighty feet; the center is supported by a buttress of splendid blocks of squared stone, resting on the rock in the bed of the river, one side being considerably worn away by the action of the water. The longer span was hung very slack, the woodwork forming the pathway was not too safe, and the general shaky appearance was particularly uninviting. From Ta-kwan-hsien to Wuchai is steady pulling. Once in an opening in the hill we passed along and then ascended an exceedingly steep spur on one side of a narrow and very deep natural amphitheatre, formed by surrounding mountains. We then came to a lagoon, and eventually the brow of the hill was reached. Thus the Wuchai Valley is arrived at, where, owing to a collection of water, the road is often impassable to man and beast. Often during the rainy season there is a lagoon of mud or water formed by the drainage from the mountains, which finds no escape but by percolating through the earth and rock to a valley on the east of, and below, the mountains forming the eastern boundary of the Wuchai Valley. To Chao-t'ong is fairly level going. Considering the road, it was not unnatural that my men gibbed a little at the eleven-day accomplishment. I had a long parley with them, however, and agreed to reward them to the extent of one thousand cash among the three if they did it. Their pay for the journey, over admittedly some of the worst roads in the Empire, was to be four hundred cash per man as before, with three hundred and thirty-three cash extra if the rain did not prevent them from getting in in eleven days. They were in good spirits, and so was I, as we walked along the river-bank, where the poppy was to be seen in full flower, and the unending beds of rape alternated with peas and beans and tobacco. T'ong would persist in stealing the peas and beans to feed me on, and for the life of me I could not get him to see that he should not do this sort of thing. But how continually one was impressed with the great need of roads in Western China! It is natural that, walking the whole distance, I should notice this more than other travelers have done, and, to my mind, roads in this part of the country rank in importance before the railways. To the foreign mind it is more to the interests of China that railways should be well and serviceably built than that the money should be squandered to no purpose. If the railway has rails, then in China it can be called a railway, and China is satisfied. So with the roads. If there is any passage at all, then the Chinese call it a road, and China is satisfied. As one meanders through the country, watching a people who are equalled nowhere in the world for their industry, plodding away over the worst roads any civilized country possesses, he cannot but think, even looking at the question from the Chinese standpoint so far as he is able, that, were free scope once given for the infusion of Western energy and methods into an active, trade-loving people like the Chinese, China would rival the United States in wealth and natural resources. The Chinese knows that his country, the natural resources of the country and the people, will allow him to do things on a scale which will by and by completely overbalance the doings of countries less favored by Nature than his own. He knows that when properly developed his country will be one of the richest in the world, yet even when he is filled with such ideas he is just as cunctative as he has ever been. He has the idea that he should not commence to exhaust the wealth of his country before it is absolutely necessary. Above all, he has now made up his mind that he himself, unaided by the foreigner, is going to develop it just as he likes and just when he likes. The day of the foreign concession is gone. The Chinese now is paddling his own canoe, and it is only by cultivating his friendship, by proving to him by acts, and not by words, that the intrusion of privileged enterprises--such as great mining concessions and railway concessions, in which the foreigner demands that he be the only principal--is no longer contemplated, that the day will be won. But it is equally true that only by combining European and Chinese interests on the modern company system, the real Opening of China can be effected. * * * * * Distances are as variable as the wind in the Middle Kingdom. The first forty li on this journey were much shorter than the last thirty, which took about twice as long to cover. I dragged along over the narrow path through the wheat fields, and, making for an old man, who looked as if he should know, I asked him the distance to my destination. His reply of twenty li I accepted as accurate, and I reckoned that I could cover this easily in a couple of hours. But at the end of this time we had, according to a casual wayfarer, five more li, and when we had covered at least four another rustic said it was "two and a bit." This answer we got from four different people on the way, and I was glad when I had completed the journey. One does not mind the two li so much--it is the "bit" which upsets one's calculations. The following day, on the road to Huan-chiang, I lost myself--that is, I lost my men, and did not know the road. I got away into some quaint, secluded garden and sat down, tired and hot, under a tree in the shade, where a faint wind swung the heavy foliage with a solemn sound, and the subdued and soothing music of a brook running between two banks of moss and turf must have sent me to sleep. It was with a dreary sense of ominous foreboding that I woke, as if in expectation of some disaster. Not a living creature was visible, and I doubted the possibility of finding anyone in such a spot. Never, surely, was there a silence anywhere as here! Seized with a solemn fear, my presence there seemed to me a strange intrusion. I looked around, moved forward a little, hastened my steps to get away, but whence or how I knew not. I knew this was a country of erratic distances--it was now getting on for sunset--and the continuous toiling up and down the sides of the difficult mountains had tired me. All of a sudden I heard a noise, heard someone fall, looked round and beheld T'ong, perspiration pouring down his back and front. "Oh, master, this b'long velly much bobbery. I makee velly frightened. I think p'laps master wantchee makee run away." And then, after a time: "You no wantchee catch 'chow'?" "Chow?" No, I could easily have gone without food for that night. I was lost, and now was found. I had no money, could not speak the language, was fatigued beyond words. What would have become of me? Miniature turret-like hills hemmed us in as in a huge park, with a narrow winding pathway, steep as the side of a house, leading to the top of the mountain beyond, and then descending quite as rapidly to Fan-ïh-ts'uen. The coolies told me the next day the road would be worse, and so it turned out to be. At 5:00 a.m. a thick drizzly rain was falling, just sufficient to make the flagstones slippery as ice, and the European contrivances which covered my feet stood no chance at all compared with the straw sandals of the native. I could not get any big enough around here to put over my boots. My carriers had gone ahead, and as I was passing a paddy field one leg went from under me, and I was up to my middle in thin wet mud. In this I had to trudge seven miles before I could get other garments from the coolie, changing my trousers behind a piece of matting held up in front of me by my boy! All enjoyed the fun--except myself. Little boys tried to peer around the side of the matting, and, as T'ong tried to kick them away, the matting would drop and expose me to public view. But I had to change, and that was most important to me. Later on, my ugly coolie--the ugliest man in or out of China, I should think, ugly beyond description--dropped my bedding as he was crossing the river, and I had the pleasure of sleeping on a wet bed at T'an-teo. I must ask the reader's pardon for again referring to Chinese inns. I should not have made any remark upon this awful hovel had not the man laid a scheme to charge me three times as much as he should--a scheme, be it said, in which my boy took no part. It was truly a fearful den, where man and beast lived in promiscuous and insupportable filth. The dung-heap charms the sight of this agricultural people, without in the slightest wounding their olfactory nerves, and these utilitarians think there is no use seeking privacy to do what they regard as beneficial and productive work. The bed here was the worst I had had offered me. The mattress, upon which every previous traveler for many years had left his tribute of vermin, was not fit for use, there were myriads of filthy insects, and I found myself obliged to stop and have some clothes boiled, and for comfort's sake rubbed my body with Chinese wine. Filth there was everywhere. It seemed inseparable from the people, and a total apathy as regards matter in the wrong place pervaded all classes, from the highest to the lowest. The spring is opening, and my hard-worked coolies doff their heavy padded winter clothing, parade their naked skin, and are quite unconscious of any disgrace attending the exhibition of the itch sores which disfigure them. I remember, however, that I am in China, and must not be disgusted. And should any reader be disgusted at the disjointed character of this particular portion of my common chronicle, I would only say in apology that I am writing under the gaze of a mystified crowd, each of whom has a word to say about my typewriter--the first, undoubtedly, that he has ever seen. This machine has caused the greatest surprise all along the route, and it is on occasions when the Chinese sees for the first time things of this intimate mechanical nature that he gives one the impression that he is a little boy. The people crowd into my room; they cannot be kept out, although at the present moment I have stationed my two soldiers in the doorway where I am writing, so as to get a little light, to keep them from crowding actually upon me. It has been said that all of us have an innermost room, wherein we conceal our own secret affairs. In China everything is so open, and so much must be done in public, that it would surprise one to know that the Chinese have an inner room. The European traveler in this region must have no inner room, either, for the people seem to see down deep into one's very soul. But it is when one wanders on alone, as I have done to-day, doing two days in one, no less than one hundred and forty li of terrible road through the most isolated country, that one can enjoy the comfort of one's own loneliness and own inner room. The scenery was picturesque, much like Scotland, but the solitude was the best of all. I had left office and books and manuscripts, and was on a lonely walk, enjoying a solitude from which I could not escape, a reverie which was passed not nearly so much in thinking as in feeling, a feeling to nature-lovers which can never be completely expressed in words. It was indeed a refuge from the storms of life, and a veritable chamber of peace. And this, to my mind, is the way to spend a holiday. Robert Louis Stevenson tells us in one of his early books what a complete world two congenial friends make for themselves in the midst of a foreign population; all the hum and the stir goes on, and these two strangers exchange glances, and are filled with an infinite content Some of us would rather be alone, perhaps; for on a trip such as I am making now, in order to be happy with a companion you must have one who is thoroughly congenial and sympathetic, one who understands your unspoken thought, who is willing to let you have your way on the concession of the same privilege. Selfishness in the slightest degree should not enter in. But such a man is difficult to find, so I wander on alone, happy in my own solitude. Here I have liberty, perfect liberty. I was stopped on my way to Lao-wa-t'an at a small town called Puêrh-tu, the first place of importance after having come into Yün-nan. A few li before reaching this town, one of my men cut the large toe of his left foot on a sharp rock, lacerating the flesh to the bone. I attended to him as best I could on the road, paid him four days' extra pay, and then had a bit of a row with him because he would not go back. He avowed that carrying for the foreigner was such a good thing that he feared leaving it! Upon entering Puêrh-tu, however, he fell in the roadway. A crowd gathered, a loud cry went up from the multitude, and in the consternation and confusion which ensued the people divided themselves into various sections. Some rushed to proffer assistance to the fallen man (this was done because I was about; he would have been left had a foreigner not been there), others gathered around me with outrageous adulation and seeming words of welcome. Meanwhile, I thought the coolie was dying, and, fearful and unnatural as it seems, it is nevertheless true that at all ages the Chinese find a peculiar and awful satisfaction in watching the agonies of the dying. By far the larger part of the mob was watching him dying, as they thought. But no, he was still worth many dead men! He slowly opened his eyes, smiled, rose up, and immediately recognized a poor manacled wretch, then passing under escort of several soldiers, who stopped a little farther down, followed by a mandarin in a chair. On this particular day, more than a customary morbid diversion was thus apparent among the motley-garbed mass of men and women, and the ignominious way in which that prisoner was treated was horrible to look upon. The perpetual hum of voices sounded like the noise made by a thousand swarming bees. The band of soldiers guarding the prisoner suddenly halted, whilst the mandarin conferred with the chief, after which he advanced slowly towards me. I was on the point of telling him in English that I had done nothing against the law, so far as I knew. He bowed solemnly, during which time I, attempting the same, had much trouble from bursting out laughing in his face. He beckoned to me, and then rushed me bodily into a house, where, in the best room, I found another official and his two sons. T'ong followed as interpreter. The mandarin explained that I was wanted to stay the night, that a theatrical entertainment had been arranged particularly for my benefit, that he wished I would take their photographs, that one of them would like a cigarette tin with some cigarettes in it, and that one of them would like to sell me a thoroughbred, hard-working, magnificently-shaped, without-a-single-vice black pony, which they would part with for my benefit for the consideration of one hundred taels down (four times its value), which awaited my inspection without. I stood up and fronted them, and replied, through T'ong, that I could not stay the night, that I would be pleased to tolerate the howling of the theatre for one half of an hour, that it would have given me the greatest pleasure to take their photographs, but, alas! my films were not many. I handed them a cigarette tin, but quite forgot that they asked for cigarettes as well (I had none), and I explained that horse-riding was not one of my accomplishments, so that their quadruped would be of no use to me. They looked glum, I smiled serenely. This is Chinesey. CHAPTER VIII _Szech-wan and Yün-nan_. _Coolies and their loads_. _Exports and imports_. _Hints to English exporters_. _Food at famine rates_. _A wretched inn at Wuchai_. _Author prevents murder_. _Sleeping in the rain_. _The foreign cigarette trade_. _Poverty of Chao-t'ong_. _Simplicity of life_. _Possible advantages of Chinese in struggle of yellow and white races_. _Foreign goods in Yün-nan and Szech'wan_. _Thousands of beggars die_. _Supposed lime poisoning_. _Content of the people_. _Opium not grown_. _Prices of prepared drug in Tong-ch'uan-fu compared_. _Smuggling from Kwei-chow_. _Opium and tin of Yün-nan_. _Remarkable bonfire at Yün-nan-fu_. _Infanticide at Chao-t'ong_. _Selling of female children into slavery_. _Author's horse steps on human skull_. Were one uninformed, small observance would be necessary to detect the borderline of Szech'wan and Yün-nan. The latter is supposed to be one of the most ill-nurtured and desolate provinces of the Empire, mountainous, void of cultivation when compared with Szech'wan, one mass of high hills conditioned now as Nature made them; and the people, too, ashamed of their own wretchedness, are ill-fed and ill-clad. The greater part of the roads to be traversed now were constructed on projecting slopes above rivers and torrents, affluents of the Yangtze, and cross a region upon which the troubled appearance of the mountains that bristle over it stamps the impress of a severe kind of beauty. Such roads would not be tolerated in any country but China--I doubt if any but the ancient Chinese could have had the patience to build them. One could not walk with comfort; it was an impossible task. Far away over the earth, winding into all the natural trends of the mountain base, ran the highway, merrily tripping over huge boulders, into hollows and out of them, almost underground, but always, with its long white extended finger, beckoning me on by the narrow ribbon in the distance. True, although I was absolutely destitute of company, I had always the road with me, yet ever far from me. I could not catch it up, and sometimes, dreaming triumphantly that I had now come even with it where it seemed to end in some disordered stony mass, it would trip mischievously out again into view, bounding away into some tricky bend far down to the edge of the river, and rounding out of sight once more until the point of vantage was attained. Its twisting and turning, up and down, inwards, outwards, made humor for the full long day. With it I could not quarrel, for it did its best to help me with my weary men onwards over the now darkened landscape, and ever took the lead to urge us forward. If it came to a great upstanding mountain, with marked politeness it ran round by a circuitous route, more easily if of greater length; at other times it scaled clear up, nimbly and straight, turning not once to us in its self-appointed task, and at the top, standing like some fairy on a steeple-point, beckoned us on encouragingly. At times it became exhausted and stretched itself wearisomely out, measuring in width to only a few small inches, and overlooked the river at great height, telling us to ponder well our footsteps ere we go forward. To part company with the road would mean to die, for elsewhere was no foothold possible. So in this narrow faithful ledge, torn up by the heavy tread of countless horses' feet beyond Lao-wa-t'an (where horse traffic starts), we carefully ordered every step. Looking down, sheer down as from some lofty palace window, I saw the green snake waiting, waiting for me. Slipping, there would be no hope--death and the river alone lay down that treacherous mountain-side. And then, at times, pursuing that white-faced wriggling demon which stretched out far over the mist-swept landscape in incessant writhing and annoying contortions, we quite gave up the chase. It seemed leading me on to some unknown destiny. I knew not whither; only this I knew--that I must follow. And so each hour and every hour was fraught with peril which seemed imminent. But He who guards the fatherless and helpless, feeds the poor and friendless, guarded the traveler in those days. Mishaps I had none, and when at night I reached those tiny mountain seats, perched majestically high for the most part and swept by all the winds of heaven, I seemed to be the lonely spectator and companionless watcher over mighty mountain-tops, which appeared every moment to be hesitating to take a gigantic dive into the roaring river several hundred feet below our lofty resting-place. Some of the larger villages had the arrogant look of old feudal fortresses, and up the paths leading to them, cut out in a defile in the vertical cliffs, we passed with difficulty coolies carrying on their backs the enormous loads, which are the wonder of all who have seen them, their backs straining under the boomerang-shaped frames to which the merchandise was lashed. Hundreds passed us on their toilsome journey with tea, lamp-oil, skins, hides, copper, lead, coal and white wax from Yün-nan, and with salt, English cotton, Chinese porcelain, fans and so on from Szech'wan. One false step, one slight slip, and they would have been hurled down the ravine, where far below, in the roaring cataract, dwarfed to the size of a toy boat, was a junk being cleverly taken down-stream. And down there also, one false move and the huge junk would have been dashed against the rocks, and banks strewn with the corpses of the crew. As it was, they were mere specks of blue in a background of white foam, their vociferating and yelling being drowned by the roar of the waters. On the road, passing and re-passing, I saw coolies on the way to Yün-nan-fu with German cartridges and Japanese guns, the packing, so different generally to British goods which come into China, being particularly good. This is one of the cries of the importer in China against the British manufacturer; and if the latter knew more of Chinese transport and the manner in which the goods are handled in changing from place to place, one would meet fewer broken packages on the road in this land of long distances. A friend of mine, needing a typewriter, wrote home explicit instructions as to the packing. "Pack it ready to ship," he wrote, "then take it to the top of your office stairs, throw it down the stairs, take machine out and inspect, and if it is undamaged re-pack and send to me. If damaged, pack another machine, subject to the same treatment until you are convinced that it can stand being thus handled and escape injury." This is how goods coming to Western China should be sent away. Gradually the days brought harder toil. The mountains grew higher, some covered with forests of pine trees, which natural ornament completely changed the aspect of the country. Torrents foamed noisily down the gorges, veiled by the curtain of great trees; sometimes, on a ridge, a field of buckwheat, shining in the sun, looked like the beginning of the eternal snows. Food was at famine rates. Eggs there were in abundance, pork also; but it was not to be wondered at that the traveler, having seen the conditions under which the pigs are reared, refrained from the luxury of Yün-nan roast pig. My men fed on maize. The faces of the people were pinched and wan, unpleasant to look upon, bearing unmistakable signs of poverty and misery, and they seemed too concerned in keeping the wolf from the door to attend to me. At Ta-kwan they treated themselves to a _sheng_ of rice apiece--here the _sheng_ is 1.8 catties, as against 11 catties in the capital of the province. At Wuchai, the last stage before reaching Chao-t'ong-fu, the room of the inn had three walls only, and two of these were composed of kerosene tins, laced together with bamboo stripping. (Probably the oil tins had been stolen from the mission premises at Chao-t'ong.) Through the whole night it rained as it had never rained before, but, instead of feeling miserable, I tried to see the humor of the situation. One can get humor from the most embarrassing circumstances, and my chief amusement arose from a small business deal between one of my coolies, who had sublet his contract to a poor fellow returning in the rain, who had arranged to carry the ninety catties ninety li for a fourth of the original price arranged between my coolie and myself. For one full hour they argued at a terrible speed as to the rate of exchange in the Szech'wan large and the Yün-nan small cash, and this was only interrupted when a poor man, deaf and dumb, and of hideous appearance, seeing the foreigner in his contemptible town, rushed in with a carrying pole and felled his grumbling townsman at my feet. My intervention probably averted murder--at any rate, it seemed as though murder would have taken place very soon but for my interference. The whole populace gathered, of course, and the fight waged fiercely until well on into the night. But wrapping myself in my mackintosh, and putting my paper umbrella at the right angle, I went to sleep with the rain dripping on me as they were indulging in final pleasantries regarding each other's ancestry. The first thing I saw at Chao-t'ong the next day was the foreign cigarette, sold at a wayside stall by a vendor of monkey nuts and marrow seeds. No trade has prospered in Yün-nan during the past two years more than the foreign cigarette trade, and the growing evil among the children of the common people, both male and female, is viewed with alarm. From Tachien-lu to Mengtsz, from Chung-king to Bhamo, one is rarely out of sight of the well-known flaring posters in the Chinese characters advertising the British cigarette. Some months ago a couple of Europeans were sent out to advertise, and they stuck their poster decorations on the walls of temples, on private houses and official residences, with the result that the people were piqued so much as to tear down the bills immediately. In Yün-nan, especially since the exit of opium, this common cigarette is smoked by high and low, rich and poor. I have been offered them at small feasts, and when calling upon high officials at the capital have been offered a packet of cigarettes instead of a whiff of opium, as would have been done formerly. One is not, of course, prepared to say whether such a trade is desirable or not, but it merely needs to be made known that towards the middle of the present year (1910) a proclamation was issued from the Viceroy's _yamen_ at Yün-nan-fu speaking in strongest terms against the increasing habit of smoking foreign cigarettes, to show the trend of official opinion on the subject. After having referred to the enormous advances made in the imports of cigarettes, the proclamation deplored the general tendency of the people to support such an undesirable trade, and exhorted the citizens to turn from their evil ways. We cannot stop the importation of cigarettes, it read, but there is no need for our people to buy. * * * * * At Chao-t'ong I stayed with the Rev. Dr. Savin, and spent a very pleasant two days' rest here in his hospitable hands. It was in this district I first came across goitre, the first time I had seen it in my life. It is a terrible disfigurement. Poor indeed is the whole of this neighborhood. Poverty, thin and wanting food to eat, stalks abroad dressed in a rag or two, armed with a staff to keep away the snarling dogs, and a broken bowl to gather garbage. Even the better class, who manage to afford their maize and bean curds, are to be praised for the extreme simplicity which everywhere vividly marks their monotonous lives. Indeed, this is true of the whole area through which I have traveled. No furniture brings confusion to their rooms, no machinery distresses the ear with its groaning or the eye with its unsightliness, no factories belch out smoke and blacken the beauty of the sky, no trains screech to disturb sleepers and frighten babies. The simplest of simple beds--in most cases merely a few boards with a straw mattress placed thereon--the straw sandal on the foot, wooden chopsticks in place of knives and forks, the small variety of foods and of cooking utensils, the simple homespun cotton clothing--much of this finds favor in the eye of the English traveler. The Chinese, of all Orientals, teach us how to live without furniture, without impedimenta, with the least possible amount of clothing in the case of the poorer classes, and I could not fail to be impressed by the advantage thus held by this great nation in the struggle of life. It may serve them in good stead in the struggle of the Yellow Man against the White Man, to which I refer at a later period in this book; also does it incidentally show up the real character of some of the weaknesses of our own civilization, and when one is in China, living near the people, one is forced to reflect upon the useless multiplicity of our daily wants. We must have our daily stock of bread and butter and meats, glass windows and fires, hats, white shirts and woolen underwear, boots and shoes, trunks, bags and boxes, bedsteads, mattresses, sheets and blankets--most of which a Chinese can do without, and indeed is actually better off without.[J] This is not true in every class, however; for whilst there is no denying the charm of the simpler civilization, many of the Chinese of Szech'wan and Yün-nan glory in goods of foreign manufacture, no matter if to them is not disclosed the proper purpose of any particular article adopted. Rice will not grow here in great quantities, owing to the scarcity of water; therefore the people feed on maize, and are thankful to get it. Chao-t'ong is the centre of a large district devastated by recurring seasons of plague, rebellion and famine, when thousands die annually from starvation in the town and on the level uplands surrounding it. The beggars on one occasion, becoming so numerous, were driven from the streets, confined within the walls of the temple and grounds beyond the South Gate, and there fed by common charity. Huddled together in disease and rags and unspeakable misery, they died in thousands, and the Chinese say that of five thousand who crossed the temple threshold two thousand never came out alive. This happened some twenty years ago. The unfortunate victims had for their food a rice porridge, mixed with which was a subtance alleged to have been lime, the common belief being that the majority of those who perished died from the effect of poisoning. Outside the city boundary hundreds of the dead were flung into huge pits, and even now the inhabitants refer to the time when children were exchanged _ad libitum_ for a handful of rice or even less. During my stay in this city, I heard on all hands some of the most blood-curdling stories of the dire distress which, like a dark cloud, still menaces the people, some of which are too dreadful for public print. But I suppose these poor people are content. If they are, they possess a virtue which produces, in some measure at all events, all those effects which the alchemist usually ascribes to what he calls the philosopher's stone; and if their content does not bring riches, it banishes the desire for them. Years ago the people could entertain some small hope of prosperity now and again. If the opium crop were good, money was plentiful. But now no opium is grown, and the misery-stricken people have lost all hope of better times, and seem to have sunk in many instances to the lowest pangs of distressful poverty.[K] Reader, alarm not yourself! I am not here to lead you into a long harangue on opium--it presents too thorny a subject for me to handle. I am not a partisan in the opium traffic; my mission is not essentially to denounce it; I am not impelled by an irresistible desire to investigate facts and put them before you. There is practically no opium in Yün-nan to talk about. This is absolute fact--not a Chinese fact, but good old British truth (although British truth when it touches upon opium has been very, very perverted since we first commenced to transact opium trade with this great country). With the exception of one small patch, some ten miles away from the main road between Yün-nan-fu and Tali-fu, I saw no poppy whatever in the province. This does not mean, however, that no opium is to be had. During the past three weeks[L] no less than five cases of attempted suicide by opium poisoning have come under my personal notice in the town in which I am residing, and there have doubtless been fifty more which have not. If there is no opium, where do the people so easily secure it in endeavors to take their lives upon the slightest provocation? Last year the price of opium here on the streets, although its sale was "illegal," was over three tsien (about nine-pence) the Chinese ounce of prepared opium. At the present time, in the same city, many men would be willing to do a deal for any quantity you like for less than two tsien. Cases of smuggling are frequent. One gets accustomed to hear of large quantities being smuggled through in most cunning ways, and it all goes to show that the _people_ of Yün-nan are not, as some of China's enlightened statesmen and some of the ranting faddists of England and America would have us believe, falling over one another in their zeal to free the province from the drug. The other day some men passed through several towns, on the way to the capital, carrying three coffins. In the first was a corpse, the other two were packed with opium. Being suspected at Yün-nan-fu, the first coffin was opened, and the carriers, making as much row as they could because their coffin had been burst open, secured a fair "squeeze" to hold their tongues, and the second and third coffins were passed unexamined. Quite common is it for men to travel in armed bands from the province of Kwei-chow, traveling by night over the mountains by lantern-light, and hiding by day from any possible official searchers. Opium, which is and always has been so heavily taxed, does not in general follow the ordinary trade routes on which _likin_ stations are numerous, but is carried by these armed bands over roads where the native Customs stations are few, and so poorly equipped as to yield readily to superior force, where the men are compelled to accept a composition much below the official rate. Opium smoking is still common in Western China among people who can afford it. At the time of the crusade against it, wealthy people laid in stocks enough to last them for years; and, so long as there is smuggling from other provinces, which do grow it, into those which do not, there will be no danger of the absolute extermination being carried successfully into effect. Kwei-chow, in common with the western provinces, has undeservedly secured the credit for having practically abolished the poppy; but at the present moment (December, 1909) she is at a loss to know what to do with her supply, and that is the reason why people of Yün-nan are making bargains in opium smuggled over the border. Much has yet to be done. To prevent the growth of a plant which has been in China for at least twelve centuries, which has had medicinal uses for nine, and whose medicinal properties have been put in the capsule for six, is not an easy matter, far more difficult, in fact, than the average Englishman and even those who rant so much about the whole business upon little knowledge can imagine. Opium has been made in China for four centuries, and although used then with tobacco, has been smoked since the middle of the seventeenth century.[M] A few years ago Yün-nan had only two articles of importance with which to pay for extra provincial products consumed, namely, opium and tin. The latter came from a spot twenty miles from Mengtsz, and the value of the output now runs to approximately three million taels. Opium came from all parts of the province and went in all directions, that portion sent to the Opium Regie at Tonkin sometimes being close to three thousand piculs, and the quantity going by land into China being very much greater. Yün-nan opium was known at Canton and Chin-kiang in 1863. In 1879, the production was variously estimated at from twelve thousand to twenty-two thousand piculs; in 1887 it had risen to approximately twenty-seven thousand piculs, and since then to the time of the reform no less certainly than thirty thousand piculs. One afternoon, in November of 1909, the execution ground of Yün-nan-fu was the scene of a remarkably daring proceeding by the officials in the campaign for the total suppression of opium in the province. No less than 20,040 ounces of prepared opium were publicly destroyed by fire in the presence of an enormous crowd of people. The officials of the city were present in person, and everywhere the event was looked upon as the greatest public demonstration that the people had ever seen. The missionary of whom I inquired denied that the infanticide at Chao-t'ong was very great--things must be improving! Previous to my arrival at the city I had instructed my English-speaking boy to make inquiries in the city, and to let me know afterwards, whether girls were still sold publicly. "Have got plenty," he exclaimed, in describing this wholesale selling of female children into slavery. "I know, I know; you wantchee makee buy. Can do! You wantchee catch one piecee small baby, can catchee two, three tael. Wantchee one piecee very much tall, big piecee, can catch fifty dollar." Continuing, he told me that prices were fairly high, a girl who could boast good looks and who had reached an age when her charms were naturally the strongest fetching the alarming amount of three hundred taels. This was the highest figure reached, whilst small children could be had for anything up to twenty. This wholesale disposal of young girls, although the traffic was in some quarters emphatically denied to exist--a denial, however, which was all moonshine--is one of the chief sorrows of the district. And well it might be; for thousands of children are disposed of in the course of a year for a few taels by heartless parents, who watch them being carried away, like so much merchandise, to be converted into silver, in many cases in this poverty-stricken district merely to satisfy the craving for opium of some sodden wretch of a man who calls himself a father. Time and time again, long after I myself passed through Chao-t'ong, did I see little girls from three to ten years of age being conveyed by pack-horse to the capital, balanced in baskets on either side of the animal. This and the terrible infanticide which exists in all poor districts of China menaces the lives of all well-wishers of the entire province of Yün-nan. In the particular district of which I speak it is not an uncommon sight to see little children being torn to pieces by dogs, the scavengers of the Empire, perhaps by the very dogs that had been their playmates from birth. I have been riding many times and found that my horse had stepped on a human skull, and near by were the bones the dogs had left as the remains of the corpse. * * * * * NOTE.--I should mention that, since the above was written, I have lived and travelled a good deal around Chao-t'ong-fu, being the only European traveller who has ever penetrated the country to the east of the main road, by which I had now come down. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote J: Anyone who contemplates a tramp across China must not get the idea that he can still continue the uses of civilization. For the most part he will have to live pretty well as a Chinese the whole time, and he will find, as I found, that it is easy to give up a thing when you know the impossibility of getting it.--E.J.D.] [Footnote K: This was written later. I have altered my views since I have traveled from end to end of Yün-nan. The disappearance of opium, on the contrary, apart from the moral advantage to the people, has done much to place them in a better position financially. In Tali-fu I found not a single shop on the main street "to let," and the trade of the place had gone ahead considerably, and this was a city which people generally supposed would suffer most on account of the non-growth of opium.--E.J.D.] [Footnote L: May, 1910. As a matter of fact the date makes no difference, because unfortunately the number of suicides from opium does not seem to have decreased materially in Western China since the opium crusade was started. Upon the slightest provocation a Chinese woman in Yün-nan will take her life, and it is probable that for the five cases which came to my notice through the mission house there were treble that number which did not--E.J.D.] [Footnote M: This was written at the end of 1909 Now, in July, 1910, things are changed wonderfully. The rapidity with which China is driving out the poppy from province after province is truly remarkable. In Szech'wan, in April, 1909, I passed through miles and miles of poppy along the main road--to-day there is none to be seen It is to be hoped that Great Britain will do her part as faithfully as China is doing hers.] CHAPTER IX. THE CHAO-T'ONG REBELLION OF 1910 _Digression from travel_. _How rebellions start in China_. _Famous Boxer motto_. _Way of escape shut off_. _Riots expected before West can be won into the confidence of China_. _Boxerism and students of the Government Reform Movement_. _Author's impressions formed within the danger zone_. _More Boxerism in China than we know of_. _Causes of the Chao-t'ong Rebellion_. _Halley's Comet brings things to a climax_. _Start of the rioting_. _Arrival of the military_. _Number of the rebels_. _They hold three impregnable positions, and block the main roads_. _European ladies travel to the city in the dead of night_. _A new ch'en-tai takes the matter in hand_. _Rumors and suspense_. _Stations of the rebels_. _A night attack_. _Sixteen rebels decapitated_. _Officials alter their tactics_. _Fighting on main road_. _Superstition regarding soldiers_. _One of the leaders captured by a headman_. _Chapel burnt down and caretaker rescued by military_. _Li the Invincible under arms_. _Huang taken prisoner_. _Two leaders killed_. _Rising among the Miao_. _Mission work at a standstill_. _Child-stealing, and the Yün-nan Railway rumor_. _Barbaric punishment_. _Tribute to Chinese officials_. _British Consul-General_. _Résumé of the position_. _An unfortunate incident_. Despite the fact that this chapter was the last written, it has been thought wise to place it here. It deals with the Chao-t'ong Rebellion, of which the outside world, even when it was at its height, knew little, but which, so recently as a couple of months prior to the date of writing, threatened to spell extermination to the foreigners in North-East Yün-nan. And the reader, too, may welcome a digression from travel. In spite of all that has been written in previous and subsequent chapters, and in face of the universal cry of the progress China is speedily realizing, of the stoutest optimism characteristic of the statesman and of the student of Chinese affairs, a feeling of deep gloom at intervals overcomes one in the interior--a fear of some impending trouble. There is a rumor, but one smiles at it--there are always rumors! Then there are more rumors, and a feeling of uneasiness pervades the atmosphere; a local bubble is formed, it bursts, the whole of one's trust in the sincerity of the reform of China and her people is brushed away to absolute unbelief in a few days, and it means either a sudden onrush and brutal massacre of the foreigners, or the thing blows over after a short or long time of great strain, and ultimately things assume a normality in which the detection of the slightest ruffle in the surface of social life is hardly traceable. Such was the Chao-t'ong Rebellion, luckily unattended by loss of life among the foreigners. It is not yet over,[N] but it is believed that the worst is past. At the end of 1909 probably no part of the Empire seemed more peaceful. Two months afterwards the heads of the Europeans were demanded; missionaries were guarded by armed soldiers in their homes inside the city walls, and forbidden to go outside; native Christians were brutally maltreated and threatened with death if they refused to turn traitor to their beliefs; thousands of generally law-abiding men, formed into armed bands, were defiantly setting at naught the law of the land, and the whole of the main road over which I had passed from Sui-fu to Tong-ch'uan-fu (a distance of over four hundred miles) was blocked by infuriated mobs, who were out to kill,--their motto the famous ill-omened Boxer motto of 1900: "Exalt the dynasty; destroy the foreigner." "Kill, kill, kill!" ran the cry for miles around the countryside, and a fearful repetition of the bloody history of ten years ago was daily feared. Providential, however, was it that no foreigner was traveling at the time in these districts, and that those who, ignorant of the troubles, desired to do so were stopped at Yün-nan-fu by the Consuls and at Sui-fu by the missionaries. It is a matter for gratitude also that throughout the riots, specially safeguarded by the great Providence of God, no lives of Europeans were lost; and owing to the praiseworthy and obvious attitude of the missionaries in this area in endeavoring to keep the thing as quiet as possible, and the notoriously conservative manner in which consular reports upon such matters are preserved in Governmental lockers, practically nothing has been heard of the uprising. At times during the four slow-moving months, however, the situation became, as I shall endeavor to show, complicated in every way. The escape of the foreigners was made absolutely impossible by the fact that the whole of the roads, even those over the rough mountains leading south, were blocked successfully by the rebelling forces, and, when the deep gloom settled finally over the city, the fate of the Westerners seemed sealed and their future hopeless. All round the foreigners' houses the people, infected with that strange, unaccountable, national hysteria, so terrible in the Chinese temperament, rose up to burn and kill. Mayhap it means little to the man who reads. Massacres have always been common enough in China, he will say; and there are thousands of people in Europe to-day who know no more about China than what the telegrams of massacres of European missionaries have told them. Years ago one almost expected this sort of thing; but at the present day, when China is popularly supposed to be working honestly to gain for herself an honorable place among the nations, it is surely not to be expected in the ordinary run of things in days of peace. But we know that such visions are common to every European in Inland China, and even at the coast men talk continually of and believe that riots are going to happen in the near future. Merchant, missionary, traveler and official all agree that there is yet more trouble ahead before the West will be won into the confidence of China and _vice versa_. The people who are studying the Reform Movement of the Young China, however, and who stolidly refuse to study with it the general attitude of the common people, laugh and dismiss with contempt the subject of the possibility of further outbreaks of Boxerism in the outlying parts of the Empire. But they should not laugh. The European cannot afford to laugh, and, if he be a sensible fellow, knows that he cannot afford to treat with contempt the opinions of the people who know. The more we understand the vast interior of China and the conservatism and peculiarities of character of the people of that interior, the less disposed shall we be to jest, the less disposed to ridicule, what I would characterize as the strongest and most deadly of the hidden menaces of the Celestial Empire. One does not wish to be pessimistic, but it is foolish to close one's eyes to bare fact. At the moment I am writing, in the middle of China, I know that I am safe enough here, but I do not disguise from myself that the wildest reports are still current within a quarter of a mile from me about me and my own kind in this peaceful city of Tong-ch'uan-fu. And it takes very little to light the fuse and to cause a terrible explosion here, in common with other places in this province. A man might be quite safe one day and lose his head the next if he did not, at times when the rebellious element is apparent, conform strictly to the general wishes and accepted customs of the people among whom he is living. No, we cannot afford to laugh. We must seek the opinion of those people who were confined within the walls of Chao-t'ong city--the silence of their own homes broken up by the distant uproar of a frantic chorus of yells and angry disputations, sounding, as it were, their very death-knell, as if they were to form a manacled procession dragging their chains of martyrdom to their own slow doom--before we show contempt for the opinion of those who would tell the truth. There is more of Boxerism in the far-away interior parts of China than we know of. Even as late as the middle of January of the year 1910 there was no rumor of any uprising. About this time, however, to supply a serious deficiency in the revenue caused by the dropping of the opium tax, since that drug had ceased to be grown, a general poll-tax was levied, which the people refused to pay, and at the same time they demanded that they be allowed again to grow the poppy. Among the population of Chao-t'ong-fu, or more particularly among the people around the city, especially the tribespeople, this additional tax was supposed to have been caused by the Europeans, and other wild rumors concerning the Tonkin-Yün-nan Railway (to be opened in the following April), which gained currency with remarkable rapidity, added to the unrest. It required only that brilliant phenomenon of the heavens, with its wonderful tail--none other than Halley's Comet--to bring the whole to a climax. This was altogether too much for the superstitious Chinese, and he looked upon the comet as some evil omen organized and controlled by the foreigner especially for the working of his own selfish ends in the Celestial Empire; and a number believed it to be a heavenly sign for the Chinese to strike. That the riot was being started was plain, but the first definite news the foreigners received was on February 5th, when an I-pien (one of the tribes), whose little girl attended the mission school, was captured and compelled to join the rebelling forces between T'o-ch-i (on the River of Golden Sand[O]) and Sa'i-ho, in a westerly direction from the town. A march would take place on the fifteenth of that month, the Europeans would be assassinated, their houses would be burned and looted--so ran the rumor. By this date, for two days' march in all directions from Chao-t'ong, the rebels had camped, and a motley crowd they were--Mohammendans, Chinese, I-pien, Hua Miao, and other hooligans. Mobilization was effected by spies taking round secret cases (the _ch'uandan_) containing two pieces of coal and a feather--a simile meaning that the rebels were to burn like fire and fly like birds. Meanwhile, military forces had been dispatched from Yün-nan-fu, the capital (twelve days away), and from Ch'u-tsing-fu (seven or eight days away), and these, to the strength of a thousand, now came to the city, and it was thought that the brigadier-general would be able to cope with the trouble now that he had so many armed troops. Soldiers patrolled the city walls (which, by the way, had to be built up so that the soldiers might be able to get decent patrol), more were stationed on the premises of the Europeans, and every defensive precaution was taken. The officials were in daily communication by telegraph with the Viceroy, and at first the riot was kept well in hand by Government authorities. But the rebels had by this time got together no less than three thousand men, and were holding three impregnable positions on the adjacent hills, and had effectually cut off communication by the main road. Despite their numbers, they were afraid to strike, however, and lucky it was for the city that the leaders were not sufficiently trusted by their followers, many of them pressed men--men who had joined the rebelling ranks merely to save their own necks and their houses. At this time the _pen-fu_ (a sort of mayor of the city) demanded that the missionaries working among the Hua Miao, and two lady workers paying a visit to that place, should return from Shïh-men-K'an (70 li away), as he could not protect them in the country. A special messenger was dispatched, demanding instant departure, and in the dead of night--a bitter wintry night, icy, dark, slippery, and cold--these ladies came under cover to the city. They reached the mission premises without molestation. By this time a new _ch'en-tai_ (brigadier-general) had arrived from the capital, having been sent as a man who could handle the situation successfully. He was a Liu Ta Ren, who had previously held office in the city, and whose cunning a Scotland Yard detective might envy.[P] Rumors grew more and more serious; the mandarins went all round the countryside endeavoring to pacify the people, and the foreigners could do nothing but "sit tight" through these most trying days. The suspense of being shut up in one's house during a time of trouble of this nature, hearing every rumor which lying tongues create, and unable to get at the facts, is far worse than being in the thick of things, although this would have at once been fatal. But one needs to have lived in China during such a time to understand the awful tension which riots occasion. The rioters were stationed as follows:-- 1. Weining, in Kwei-chow, to the southeast 1,000 men 2. Kiang-ti Hill, in Yün-nan, to the south 1,000 men 3. Several places around the city, to the west as far as the River of Golden Sand 1,000 men On March 13th a night attack was expected. Breathless, the foreigners waited in their suspense, but it passed off without serious damage being done. On the Sunday, the missionaries, almost at their wits' end with mingled fear and excitement, occasioned by the strain which weeks of anxiety must bring to the strongest, feared whether their services would be got through in peace. Meetings were being held all around the city, and gradually the mandarins gained small successes. Prisoners--miserable specimens of men fighting for they hardly knew what--were captured and brought to the city, and, on March 16th, sixteen human heads, thrown in one gruesome mass into a common basket, with upturned eyes gaping into the great unknown, hideous-looking and bearing still the brutish stare of hysterical craving and morbid rage, were carried by an armed squad of military to the _yamen_. They made a ghastly picture when hung over the gate of the city to put the fear of death into the hearts of their brutal compatriots. The officials, hard-worked and themselves feeling the strain of the whole business, and incidentally fearful for the safety of their own heads, were perturbed all this time by rumors coming from Weining, the mutineers of which were alleged to be the fiercest of the three bands. Up to now the officials had been playing a conciliating game. They had been trying vainly to pacify, but now they found that they had to prove their energies and their benevolence by acting the part of tyrants rather than of administrators of mercy, by warring rather than by peace-making, by fighting and forcing rather than by conciliating and persuading. On Easter Tuesday, fighting took place on the main road to the north, when the _pen-fu_ and his men achieved a creditable success. The rebels almost to a man were taken, and among the prisoners was a girl who had been distributing the beans, a lovely damsel of eighteen, said to have been the fiancée of the leader of that band. Both her legs were shot through and she was considerably mutilated; but although the _pen-fu_ thought this sufficient punishment, instructions came from the capital that she must die. She was accordingly taken outside the city and beheaded. This caused some consternation among the rebels, as the death of the girl was looked upon as an omen of direct misfortune. For a very long time she had been going around the country dropping beans into the ground outside any houses she came across, the superstition being that wherever a bean was dropped there in the very spot, perhaps at the very moment, for aught that we know, an invincible warrior would spring up. She had dropped some millions of beans, but the ranks were not swelled as a consequence. The _ch'en-tai_ had also been out all night, and as men were captured so they were beheaded on the spot without mercy and their heads subsequently hung outside the city gates. The headman of a small village--some forty li from the city--succeeded in capturing one of the leaders, and great credit was due to him; but soon the leader was rescued again by his followers, who then brutally killed and mutilated the body of the headman, causing him to undergo the ignominy of having his tongue and his heart cut out. Fighting was going on everywhere, and by the end of March things were at their height. The fact that rain was badly needed tended only to aggravate the situation, and that lustrous comet made things worse. Day by day miserable processions brought the wounded into the city, and the last day of the month, taken by sudden fright and almost getting out of hand, the panic-stricken people raised the cry that the rebels were marching direct for the city gates. Through the capital tactics adopted by the mandarins, however, this was prevented; but, on the following day, the chapel belonging to the United Methodist Mission at an out-station was burnt to the ground and the houses of the people razed and looted. The caretaker, a faithful Hua Miao convert, was taken, stripped of his clothing, and threatened with an awful death if he did not betray the foreigners. He refused manfully to divulge any information whatsoever, and was on the point of being sacrificed, when the _ch'en-tai_ came unexpectedly upon the scene with his military. He released the Miao, captured thirty-six rebels, killed sixteen more where they stood, and carried away many of their horses and the dreaded Boxer flag around which the men rallied. And now comes the smartest thing I heard of throughout the rebellion. A man named Li was the most dreaded of the trio of rebel chiefs, a man of marvelous strength, and who seemed to be able to fascinate his men and get them to do anything he wished--and Liu, the _ch'en-tai_, set himself the task of capturing him. Disguising himself in the garb of a pedlar, Liu went out towards Li's camp, and met three spies on the look-out for a possible clue to the foreigners; they asked him where the _ch'en-tai_ was and all about him, declaring that if he did not tell them all he knew they would take him to Li, and that he would then lose his head. Just behind were a few of Liu's best soldiers. Strolling up quite casually as if they knew least in the world of what was going on, they made their arrest, and clapped the handcuffs on them before their captives knew it. Liu ordered that two be beheaded immediately, which was done, and the other man was kept to show where Li's camp was and where Li himself was hiding. And in this way Li the Invincible was captured also. This was the master-stroke of the situation. Li was brought back to the city with many other prisoners and a few heads, guarded by a strong body of the military. Almost simultaneously, Huang, one of the other rebel chiefs, was captured; and at dusk one evening Li was put to death by the slow process. Afraid that if he were taken outside the city his followers might possibly re-capture him, he was murdered outside the chief _yamen_, about ten hacks being necessary by process adopted to sever the head from the body. Only two men have been put to death inside the walls since the city of Chao-t'ong was built, over two hundred years ago. After death had taken place, Li was served in the same way as he had served the village headman, and his heart and his tongue were taken from his body. Huang was killed in the usual way, and his head placed in a frame on the city gate. And so there died two of the bravest men who have headed rebellions in this part of country of late years. Both were handsome fellows, of magnificent physique and undaunted courage, worthy of fighting for a better cause. It seemed so strange that two such men should have had to die in the very bloom of life, when every strong sinew and drop of blood must have rebelled at such premature dissolution, and by a death more hideous than imagination can depict or speech describe, just at a time in China's awakening when such fellows might have made for the uplifting of their country. And they died because they hated the foreigner. After further desultory fighting, the remaining leader, losing heart, fled into Kwei-chow province, and for a time was allowed to wander away; but later, a sum of a thousand taels was offered for him, dead or alive, and I have no doubt of the reward proving too great a bait for his followers. He has probably been given up.[Q] In the month of May the Miao people rose to prolong the rioting, but their efforts did not come to much, although guerilla warfare was prolonged for several weeks, and British subjects were not allowed to travel over the main road beyond Tong-ch'uan-fu for some time after; indeed, as I write (July 1st, 1910), permission for the missionaries to move about is still withheld. Then, following the rebellion, rumors spread all over the province to the effect that the foreigners were on the look-out for children, and were buying up as many as they could get at enormous prices to _ch'i_ the railway to Yün-nan-fu, which by this time had been opened to the public. Daily were little children brought to the missionaries and offered for sale. Child-stealing became common; the greatest unrest prevailed again. Members of the Christian churches suffered persecution, and adherents kept at a safe distance. Scholars forsook the mission schools. Foreigners cautiously kept within their own premises as much as they could. Mission work was at a standstill, and all looked once more grave enough. Two women, caught in the act of stealing children at Chao-t'ong, were taken to the _yamen_, hung in cages for a time as a warning to others, and then made to walk through the streets shouting, "Don't steal children as I have; don't steal children as I have." If they stopped yelling, soldiers scourged them. A man was lynched in the public streets in that city for stealing a child, and only by the adoption of the most stringent measures, which in England would be considered barbaric, were the mandarins able successfully to deal with the rumors and the trouble thereby caused. Even far away down on the Capital road, children ran from me, and mothers, catching sight of me, would cover up their little ones and run away from me behind barred doors, so that the foreigner should not get them. This latter trouble was felt pretty well throughout the length and breadth of Yün-nan, and it must have been very disappointing to Christian missionaries who had been working around the districts of Tong-ch'uan-fu and Chao-t'ong-fu for over twenty years, and had got into close contact with scores of men and women, to see these very people taking away their children so that they should not be bought up by the very missionaries whose ministrations they had listened to for years. In course of time, things settled down again, but at the time my manuscript leaves me for the publisher the danger zone has not been greatly reduced. In concluding my few remarks on this serious outbreak, the like of which it is to be hoped will not be seen again in this province, it is only fair to chronicle the excellent behavior of the Chinese officials and of the Viceroy of Yün-nan in dealing with the situation. Although he is not, I believe, generally liked by the people as their ruler, Li Chin Hsi did all he could to quell the riots speedily, and saw to it that all the officials in whose districts the rebellion was raging, and who made blunders during its progress, were degraded in rank. It is difficult for Europeans thoroughly to grasp the situation. From Chao-t'ong to Yün-nan-fu, the viceregal seat, is twelve days' hard going, and all communication was done by telegraph--seemingly easy enough; but one must not discount the slow Chinese methods of doing things. Most of the troops were twelve days away, and in China--in backward Yün-nan especially--to mobilize a thousand men and march them over mountains a fortnight from your base is not a thing to be done at a moment's notice. By the time they would arrive, it might have been possible for all the foreigners to have been massacred and their premises demolished, especially as the exits were blocked on all sides. But no time was lost and no pains were saved; and although the Chao-t'ong foreign residents, who suffered in suspense more than most missionaries are called upon to suffer, may differ with me in this opinion, I believe that not one of the officials who took part in endeavors to keep the riots from assuming more actually dangerous proportions could have done more than was done. If a man neglected his duty he lost his button, and he deserved nothing else. In Mr. P. O'Brien Butler, the able British Consul-General, the British subjects had the greatest confidence. He might have erred in having declined from harassing the Chinese Foreign Office to grant permission and protection to Britishers who wished to travel after the leaders of the rebellion had been captured, but he undoubtedly erred on the right side. An unfortunate incident for the United Methodist missionaries was the fact that the Rev. Charles Stedeford, who was sent out by the Connexion to visit the whole of the mission fields, was able to come only so far as Tong-ch'uan-fu, and was forced to return to Europe without having seen any of the magnificent work among the Hua Miao. After my manuscript went forward to my publishers, permission to travel and protection were granted to British subjects again on the main road leading up to the Yangtze Valley. The author was the first Britisher to go from Tong-ch'uan-fu to Chao-t'ong-fu, and as I write, as late as the middle of July, 1910, I am of the opinion that it is unwise to travel over this road for a long time to come, unless it is absolutely imperative to do so. At Kiang-ti I had considerable trouble in getting a place to sleep, and I was glad when I had passed Tao-üen. At the invitation of missionaries working among them, I then spent some months in residence and travel in Miaoland, and only regret that an extended account of my experiences is not possible. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote N: July, 1910.] [Footnote O: The local name for the Yangtze.] [Footnote P: This Liu was a remarkable man, quite unlike the average mandarin. He got the name of Liu Ma Pang, a disrespectful term, meaning that he was fond of using the stick. On a journey towards Chao-t'ong, some years ago, he went on ahead of his retinue of men and horses, and arriving at an inn at Tong-ch'uan-fu, asked the _ta si fu_--the general factotum--for the best room, and proceeded to walk into it. "No you don't," yelled the _ta si fu_, "that's reserved for Liu Ma Pang, and you're not to go in there." After some time Liu's men arrived, and calling one or two, he said, "Take this man" (pointing to the surprised _ta si fu_) "and give him a sound thrashing." He stood by and saw the whacking administered, after which he said, "That's for speaking disrespectfully of a mandarin." Then, "Give him a thousand cash," adding, "That's for knowing your business." Some years ago Liu was the means of saving the life of the late Mr. Litton (mentioned later in this book), at the time he was British Consul at Tengyueh, when there was fighting down in the south of Yün-nan with the Wa's.--E.J.D.] [Footnote Q: He was captured some months afterwards, I believe, at Mengtsz.--E.J.D.] CHAPTER X. THE TRIBES OF NORTH-EAST YÜN-NAN, AND MISSION WORK AMONG THEM Men who came through Yün-nan twenty years ago wrote of its doctors and its medicines, its poverty and its infanticide. There seemed little else to speak of. Although the tribes were here then--and in a rawer state even then than they are at the present time--little was known about them, and men had not yet developed the cult of putting their opinions upon this most absorbing topic into print. To-day, however, scores of men in Europe are eagerly devouring every line of copy they can get hold of bearing upon this fascinating ethnological study. Missionaries are plagued by inquiries for information respecting the tribes of Western China, and it is a curious feature of the situation that, with each article or book coming before the public contradiction follows contradiction, and very few people--not even those resident in the areas and working among the tribes--can agree absolutely upon any given points in their data. The numerous non-Chinese tribes I met in China formed one of the most interesting, and at the same time most bewildering, features of my travel; and I can quite agree with Major H.R. Davies,[R] who tackles the tribe question with considerable ability in his book on Yün-nan, when he says that it is safe to assert that in hardly any part of the world is there such a large variety of languages and dialects as are to be found in the country which lies between Assam and the eastern border of Yün-nan, and in the Indo-Chinese countries to the north of that region. The reason for it is generally ascribed to the physical characteristics of the country, the high mountain ranges and deep, swift-flowing rivers, which have brought about the differences in customs and language and the innumerable tribal distinctions so perplexing to him who would put himself in the position of an inquirer into Indo-Chinese ethnology. I know more than one gentleman in Yün-nan at the present moment having under preparation manuscript upon this subject intended for subsequent publication, and I feel sure that their efforts will add valuable information to the all too limited supply now obtainable. In the meantime, I print my own impressions. I should like it to be known here, however, that I do not in any way whatsoever put myself forward as an authority on the question. I had not, at the time this was written, laid myself out to make any study of the subject. But the fact that I have lived in North-East Yün-nan for a year and a half, and have traveled from one end of the province to the other, in addition to having come across tribes of people in Szech'wan, may justify me in the eyes of the reader for placing on record my own impressions as a general contribution to this most exciting discussion. I also lived at Shïh-men-K'an (mentioned in the last chapter), among the Hua Miao for several months, traveled fairly considerably in the unsurveyed hill country where they live, and am the only man, apart from two missionaries, who has ever been over that wonderful country lying to the extreme north-east of Yün-nan. One trip I made, extending over three weeks, will ever remain with me as a memorable time, but I regret that I have no space in this volume for even the merest reference to my journey. Some of my friends in China might say sarcastically that mankind is destined to arrive at years of discretion, and that I should have known better than to include in my book anything, however well founded, of a nature tending to continue the wordy strife touching this vexed question of Mission Work, and that no matter how strikingly set forth, this is an old and obsolete story, fit only to be finally done with. It is for such to bear with me in what I shall say. There are thousands of men in the West who are entirely ignorant of men in China other than the ordinary _Han Ren_, and if I enlighten them ever so little, then this chapter will have served an admirable end. In North-East Yün-nan the tribes I came most in contact with were:-- (i) The Miao or Miao-tze, as the Chinese call them; or the Mhong or Hmao, as they call themselves. (ii) The I-pien (or E-pien), as the Chinese call them; or the Nou Su (or Ngo Su), as they call themselves. Probably the Nou Su tribes are what Major Davies calls the Lolo Group in his third division of the great Tibeto-Burman Family; but I merely suggest it, as it strikes me that the other branches of that group, including the Li-su, the La-hu, and the Wo-ni, seem to be descendants of a larger group, of which the Nou Su predominate in numbers, language, and customs. However, this by the way. It may not be common knowledge that in most parts of the Chinese Empire, even to-day, there are tribes of people, essentially non-Chinese, who still rigidly maintain their independence, governed by their own native rulers as they were probably forty centuries ago, long before their kingdoms were annexed to China Proper. There are white bones and black bones, noses long and flattened, eyes straight and oblique, swarthy faces, faces yellow and white, coal-black and brown hair, and many other physical peculiarities differentiating one tribe from another. In many instances, these tribes, conquered slowly by the encroaching Chinese during the long and tedious term of centuries marking the growth of the Chinese Empire to its present immensity, are allowed to maintain their social independence under their own chiefs, who are subject to the control of the Government of China--which means that excessive taxation is paid to the _yamen_ functionary, who extorts money from anybody and everybody he can get into his clutches, and then gives a free hand. Others, in a further state of civilization, have been gradually absorbed by the Chinese and are now barely distinguishable from the _Han Ren_ (the Chinese). And others, again, adopting Chinese dress, customs and language, would give the traveler a rough time of it were he to suggest that they are any but pure Chinese. To the ethnological student, it is obvious that so soon as the Chinese have tyrannized sufficiently and in their own inimitable way preyed upon these feudal landlords enough to warrant their lands being confiscated, reducing a tribe to a condition in which, far removed from districts where co-tribesmen live, they have no _status_, the aboriginals throw in their lot gradually with the Chinese, and to all intents and purposes become Chinese in language, customs, trade and life. This absorption by the Chinese of many tribes, stretching from the Burmese border to the eastern parts of Szech'wan, whilst an interesting study, shows that the onward march of civilization in China will sweep all racial relicts from the face of this great awakening Empire. But at the same time there are many branches of a tribal family, some found as far west as British Burma and all more or less scattered and disorganized as the result of this silent oppression going on through the years, who still are ambitious of preserving their independent isolation, particularly in sparsely-populated spheres far removed from political activity. So remote are the districts in which these principalities are found, that the Chinese themselves are entirely ignorant of the characteristics of these tribes. They say of one tribe which is scattered all over China Far West that they all have tails; and of another tribe that the men and women have two faces! And into the official records published by the Imperial Government the grossest inaccuracies creep concerning the origin of these peoples. Yün-nan and Szech'wan--and a great part of Kwei-chow in the main still untouched by the increased taxation necessary to provide revenue to uphold the reforms brought about by the forward movement in various parts of the Empire--are where the aboriginal population is most evident. This part of the Empire might be called the ethnological garden of tribes and various races in various stages of uncivilization. These secluded mountain areas, their unaltered conditions still telling forth the story of the world's youth, have been the cradle and the death-bed of nations, of vigorous and ambitious tribes bent on conquest and a career of glory. THE MIAO Of the Miao, with its various sections, we know a good deal. Their real home has been pretty finally decided to be in Kwei-chow province, and they probably in former times extended far into Hu-nan, the Chinese of these provinces at the present time having undoubtedly a good deal of Miao blood in their veins. They are comparatively recent arrivals in Yün-nan, but are gradually extending farther and farther to the west, maintaining their language and their dress and customs. I personally found them as far west as thirty miles beyond Tali-fu, a little off the main road, but Major Davies found them far up on the Tibetan border. He says: "The most westerly point that I have come across them is the neighborhood of Tawnio (lat. 23° 40', long. 98° 45'). Through Central and Northern Yün-nan they do not seem to exist, but they reappear again to the north of this in Western Szech'wan, where there are a few villages in the basin of the Yalung River (lat. 28° 15', long. 101° 40')." The Major was evidently ignorant of this Miao district of Chao-t'ong, to the north-east of the province. Stretching three days from Tong-ch'uan-fu right away on to Chao-t'ong, in a north line, Miao villages are met with fairly well the whole way; then, three days from Tong-ch'uan-fu, in a north-westerly direction, we come to the Miao village of Loh-Ïn-shan; and then, striking south-west, through country absolutely unsurveyed part of the way, Sa-pu-shan is met. This last place is the headquarters of the China Inland Mission, where, at the present rate of progress, one might modestly estimate that in twenty years there will be no less than a million people receiving Christian teaching. These are not all Miao, however; there are besides La-ka, Li-su, and many other tribes with which we have no concern at the present moment. So that it may be seen that from Yün-nan-fu, the capital, in areas on either side of the main road leading up to the bifurcation of the Yangtze below Sui-fu, in a long, narrow neck running between the River of Golden Sand and the Kwei-chow border, Miao are met with constantly. And then, of course, over the river, in Szech'wan, they are met with again, and in Kwei-chow, farther west, we have their real home. It is a far cry from Miao-land to Malaysia, but as I get into closer contact with the Miao people, the more do I find them in many common ways of everyday customs and points of character akin to the Malays and the Sakai (the jungle hill people of the Malay Peninsula), among whom I have traveled. Their modes of living contain many points in common. Ethnologists probably may smile at this assertion, the same as I, who have lived among the Miao, have smiled at a good deal which has come from the pens of men who have not. In this area there are two great branches of the Miao race:-- (i) The Hua Miao--The Flowery (or White) Miao. (ii) The Heh Miao--The Black Miao. (Many photographs of the Hua Miao are reproduced in this volume.) The latter are considered as the superior of the two sections, speak a different tongue, and differ more or less widely in their methods, dress and customs, a study of which would lead one into a lifetime of interminable disquisitions, at the end of which one would be little more enlightened. Those who wish to study the question of inter-racial differences of the Miao are referred to Mr. Clarke's _Kwei-chow and Yün-nan Provinces_, Prince Henri d'Orleans' _Du Tonkin aux Indes_, and Mr. Baber's works. Major Davies also gives some new information concerning this hill people, and is generally correct in what he says; but in his, as in all the books which touch upon the subject, the language tests vary considerably. In Chao-t'ong and the surrounding districts, for instance, the traveler would be unable to make any progress with the vocabulary which the Major has compiled. I was unable to make it tally with the spoken language of the people, and append a table showing the differences in the phonetic--and I do it with all respect to Major Davies. I ought to add that this is the language of the north-east corner of Yün-nan; that of Major Davies is taken from page 339 of his book. He says that the words given by him will not be found to correspond in every case with those in the Miao vocabulary in the pocket of the cover of his book, and some have been taken from other Miao dialects!. However, the comparison will be interesting:-- N-E. Yün-nan English Word Major Davies's Miao Miao Man (human being) Tan-neng, Tam-ming Teh-neh. Son To, T'am-t'ong Tu. Eye K'a-mwa, Mai A-ma. Hand Api Tee. Cow Nyaw, Nga Niu. Pig Teng Npa. Dog Klie, Ko Klee. Chicken Ka, Kei Ki. Silver Nya Nieh. River Tiang Glee. Paddy Mblei Nglee. Cooked Rice Mao Va. Tree Ndong Ntao. Fire To Teh. Wind Chwa, Chiang Chta. Earth Ta Ti. Sun Hno, Nai Hnu. Moon Hla Hlee. Big Hlo Hlo. Come Ta Ta. Go Mong Mao. Drink Ho Hao. One A, Yi Ih. Two Ao Ah. Three Pie, Po Tsz. Four Pei, Plou Glao. Five Pa Peh. Six Chou Glao. Seven Shiang, I Shiang. Eight Yi, Yik Yih. Nine Chio Chia. Ten Ch'it Kao. The Miao language was until a year or two ago only spoken; it was never written, and no one ever dreamed that it could be written. At the time of the great Miao revival, when thousands of Miao made a raid on the mission premises at Chao-t'ong, and implored the missionaries to come and teach them, it was found absolutely necessary that the language should be reduced to writing, and the whole of this extremely creditable work fell to the Rev. Samuel Pollard, who may be characterized as the pioneer of this Christianizing movement in North-East Yün-nan. In reducing the language to writing, however, considerable difficulty was complicated by the presence of "tones," so well known to all students of Chinese, itself said to be an invention of the Devil. Tones introduce another element or dimension into speech. The number of sounds, not being sufficient for the reproduction of all the spoken ideas, has been multiplied by giving these various sounds in different tones. It is as if the element of music were introduced according to rule into speech, and as if one had not only to remember the words in everything he wished to say, but the tune also. The Miao people being so low down in the intellectual scale, and having never been accustomed to study, it was felt by the promoters of the written language that they should be as simple as possible, and hence they looked about for some system which could be readily grasped by these ignorant people. It was necessary that the system be absolutely phonetic and understood easily. By adapting the system used in shorthand, of putting the vowel marks in different positions by the side of the consonant signs, Mr. Pollard and his assistant found that they could solve their problem. The signs for the consonants are larger than the vowel signs, and the position of the latter by the side of the former gives the tone or musical note required. At the present time there are thousands of Miao now able to read and write, and the work of this enterprising missionary has conferred an inestimable boon upon this people. When I went among the Miao I was able, after ten minutes' instruction, to stand up and sing their hymns and read their gospels with them. Miao women, who heretofore had never hoped to read, are now put in possession of the Word of God, and the simplicity of the written language enables them almost at once to read the Story of the Cross. Surely this is one of the outstanding features of mission work in the whole of China. I hope at some future date to publish a work devoted exclusively to my travels among the Hua Miao, for I feel that their story, no matter how simply written, is one of the great untold romances of the world. As a people, they are extremely fascinating in life and customs, emotional, large-hearted, and absolutely distinct from, with hardly a manner of daily life in common with, the Chinese. MISSION WORK AMONG THE MIAO Whilst referring to mission work, it is a great privilege for the writer to add a word of most deserved eulogy of the United Methodist Mission at Chao-t'ong and Tongi-ch'uan-fu, and to the kindness shown by the missionaries towards me when I came, an absolute stranger, among them in May, 1909. It is to two members of this Mission that I owe a life-long debt of gratitude, for it was Mr. and Mrs. Evans, of Tong-ch'uan-fu, who saved my life, a week or two after I left Chao-t'ong, as is recorded in a subsequent chapter. It was in the old days of the Bible Christian Mission--than which the individual members of no mission in the whole of China worked with more zeal and lower stipends--that a most interesting development in the mission took place. The mass of the Miao are the serfs of the descendants of their ancient kings, who are large landowners, and the Miao are tenants. In 1905 the Miao heard of the Gospel, and came to listen to the preaching, and thousands came in batches at one time and another to the mission house. Their movements thus aroused suspicion among the Chinese, there was a good deal of persecution and personal violence, and at one time it looked as if there might be serious trouble. But the danger quieted down. The chieftain gave land, the Miao contributed one hundred pounds sterling, and themselves put up a chapel large enough to accommodate six hundred people. A year later, a thousand at a time crowded their simple sanctuary, and in 1907 nearly six thousand were members or probationers, and the work has steadily progressed ever since. I am indebted to the Rev. H. Parsons, who had charge of the work at the time I passed through this district, and whose guest I was for several months, for the following interesting details regarding the methods adopted in the running of this enormous mission field. Mr. Parsons is assisted in his work by his genial wife, who is a most ardent worker, and a capable Miao linguist. Mrs. Parsons regularly addresses congregations of several hundreds of Miao, and has traveled on journeys often with her husband; and such work as hers, with several others in this mission, is a testimony to the wisdom of a system advocating the increase of the number of lady workers on the mission field in China. THE NOU-SU (OR I-PIEN) There is a class of people around Chao-t'ong who are called Nou-su, a people who, although occupying the Chao-t'ong Plain at the time the Chinese arrived, are believed not to be the aboriginals of the district. What I actually know about this people is not much. I have heard a good deal, but it must not be understood that I publish this as absolutely the final word. People who have lived in the district for many years do not agree, so that for a mere traveler the task of getting infallible data would be quite formidable. No tribe is more widely known than the Nou-su, with their innumerable tribal distinctions and hereditary peculiarities so perplexing to the inquirer into Far Western China ethnology. The Nou-su are a very fine, tall race, with comparatively fair complexions, suggesting a mixture of Mongolian with some other straight-featured people. Of their origin, however, little can be vouched for, and with it we will have nothing to do here. But at the present time the Nou-su provide a good deal of interest from the fact that their power as tyrannic landlords and feudal chiefs is fast dying, and it may be that in a couple of decades, or a still shorter time, a people who, by obstinate self-reliance and great dislike to the Chinese, have remained unaffected by the absorbing spirit of the arbitrary Chinese, will have passed beyond the vale of personality. Even now, however, they own and rule enormous tracts of country (notably that part lying on the right bank of the River of Golden Sand) in north-east Yün-nan. Some are very wealthy. One man may own vast tracts bigger than Yorkshire. In this tract there may be one hundred villages, all paying tribute to him and subject to the vagaries of his vilest despotism. From his tyranny his struggling tenantry have no redress. So long as the I-pien (the local name of the Nou-su) greases the palm of the squeezing Chinese mandarin in whose nominal control the district extends, he may run riot as he pleases. Social law and order are unknown, justice is a complete contradiction in terms, and whilst one is in the midst of it, it is difficult to realize that in China to-day--the China which all the world believes to be awakening--there exists a condition of things which will allow a man to torture, to plunder, to murder, and to indulge to the utmost degree the whims of a Neronic and devilish temperament. Slave trading is common. If a tenant cannot pay his tribute, he sells himself for a few taels and becomes the slave of his former landlord, and if he would save his head treads carefully. In the early days, when different clans were driven farther into the hills, they each clinched as much land as they could. In course of time, by petty quarrels, civil wars, and common feuds, the Nou-su were gradually thinned out. The Miao-tsi--the men of the hills and the serfs of the landlords, who four thousand years ago were a powerful race in their own kingdom--became the tenants of the Nou-su, whose rule is still marked by the grossest infamy possible to be practiced on the human race. All the methods of torture which in the old days were associated with the Chinese are still in vogue, in many cases in an aggravated form. I have personally seen the tortures, and have listened to the stories of the victims, but it would not bear description in print. It must not, however, be understood that to be a Nou-su is to be a landlord. By no means. For in the gradual process of the survival of the fittest, when the weaker landlords were murdered by their stronger compatriots and their lands seized, only a small percentage of the tribe in this area have been able to hold sway. However, wherever there are landlords in this part of the country, they are always Nou-su or Chinese. The Miao--or, at least, the Hua Miao, own no lands, and are body and soul in the tyrannic clutch of the tyrannic I-pien. Then, again, in the Nou-su tribe there are various hereditary distinctions enabling a man to claim caste advantage. There are the Black Bones, as they style themselves, the aristocrats of the race, and the White Bones, the lower breeds, who obey to the letter their wealthier brethren--or anybody who has authority over them. The Nou-su, who are a totally different race and a much better class than the Miao, are believed to have been driven from the Chao-t'ong Plain, preferring migration to fighting, and many trekked across the Yangtze (locally called the Kin-sha) river into country now marked on good maps as the Man-tze country. It appears that the following are the two important branches:-- (i) The Black (Na-su)--Farmers and landowners. (ii) The White (Tu-su) Generally slaves. Other minor classes are:-- (i) The Lakes (or Red Nou-su)--Mostly blacksmiths. (ii) The A-u-tsï Mostly felt-makers, who rightly or wrongly claim relationship with the Chinese. (iii) Another class, who are mostly basket-makers. The two great divisions, however, are the White and the Black. The latter class, themselves the owners of land, claim that all the White were originally slaves, and that those who are now free have escaped at some previous period from servitude. Men, as usual among such tribes, are scarcely distinguishable from the ordinary _Han Ren_. It is the women, with their peculiar head-dress and picturesque skirts, who maintain the distinguishing features of the race. For the most part, the Nou-su are not idolaters; no idols are in their houses. That portion of the tribe which migrated across the Yangtze, secure among the mountains, has never ceased to harass the Chinese, who now dwell on land which the Nou-su themselves once tilled, or at least inhabited; but they have been driven into remoter districts, and are only found away from the highways of Chinese travel. The race, too, is dying out--in this area at all events--and the Nou-su themselves reckon that their numbers have decreased by one-half during the last thirty years. This is one of the saddest facts. The insanitation of their dwellings, their rough diet, and frequent riotings in wine, opium and other evils, are quickly playing havoc in their ranks, giving the strong the opportunity of enriching themselves at the expense of the weak, with frequent fighting about the division of land. Europeans who can speak the language of the Nou-su are numbered on the fingers of one hand. To one who has traveled in this neighborhood for any length of time, it must be apparent that the unique method generally adopted by the Nou-su, that is, the landlord class, to get rich quickly is to kill off their next-door neighbor. The lives these men live with nothing but scandal and licentiousness to pass their time, are grossly and horribly wicked when viewed by the broadest-minded Westerner. They all live in fear of their lives, and are each afraid of the others, all entertaining a secret hatred, and all ever on the alert to devise some safe scheme to murder the owner of some land they are anxious of annexing to their own--and in the doing of the deed to save their own necks. If they succeed, they are accounted clever men. As I write, I hear of a man, quite a youngster, himself an exceedingly wealthy man, who killed his brother and confiscated his property with no compunction whatever. When tackled on the subject, he said he could do nothing else, for if he had not killed his brother his brother would have killed him Yet there is no sense of crime as we of the West understand it, and nothing is feared from the Chinese law. A man kills a slave, tortures him to death, and when the Chinese mandarin is appealed to, if he is at all, he looks wise and says, "I quite see your point, but I can do nothing. The murdered man was the landlord's slave," and, with a gentle wave of his three-inch finger-nail, he explains how a man may kill his slave, his wife, or his son--and the law can do nothing. That is, if he compensates the mandarin. A Nou-su looked upon a girl one day, when he was out collecting tribute. She was handsome, and he instructed his men to take her. She refused. A sum of one hundred ounces of silver was offered to anyone who would kidnap her and carry her off to his harem. Eventually he got the girl, and had her father tortured and then put to death because he would not deliver his daughter over to him. Yet there is no redress. Nou-su women, their feet unbound, with high foreheads and well-cut features, with fiery eyes set in not unkindly faces, tall and healthy, would be considered handsome women in any country in Europe. They rarely intermarry with other tribes. A good deal of affection certainly exists sometimes between husband and wife and between parents and children, but the looseness of the marriage relation leads to unending strife. Many Europeans, travelers and missionaries, have been murdered in the country inhabited by the independent Lolo people. Although I have not personally been through any of that country, I have been on the very outskirts and have lived for a long time among the people there. I found them a pleasant hospitable race, fairly easy to get on with. And it must not be averred that, because they consider their natural enemy, the Chinese, the man to be robbed and murdered, and because they kill off their fellow-landlords in order the more quickly to get rich, that they treat all strangers alike. Among the Europeans who have suffered death at their hands, it is probable that in some way the cause was traceable to their own bearing towards the people--either a total lack of knowledge of their language or an attitude which caused suspicion. Among the Nou-su, strong as this feudal life still is, the Chinese are fast gaining permanent influence. Their dissolute and drunken and inhuman daily practices are tending to work out among this people their own destruction, and in years to come in this neighborhood the traveler will be perplexed at finding here and there a fine specimen of an upstanding Chinese, with clean-cut face, straight of feature and straight of limb, with a peculiar Mongol look about him. He will be one of the surviving specimens of a race of people, the Nou-su, whose forgotten historical records would do much to clear up the doubt attaching to Indo-China and Tibet-Burma ethnology. The first Nou-su chieftain to come to Chao-t'ong, a man who was renowned as a tryannical brute, was one Ien Tsang-fu, who frequently gouged out the eyes of those who disobeyed his commands; and his descendants are said to have inherited a good many of this tyrant's vices. The landlords prey upon their weaker brethren, and at last, with infinite sagacity, the Chinese Government steps in to stop the quarrels, confiscates the whole of the property, and thus reduces the Nou-su land to immediate control of Chinese authorities. "The Nou-su are, of course, entirely dependent upon the land for their living. They till the soil and rear cattle, and the greatest calamity that can come upon any family is that their land shall be taken from them. To be landless involves degradation as well as poverty, and very severe hardship is the lot of men who have been deprived of this means of subsistence. For those who own no land, but who are merely tenants of the Tu-muh,[S] there seems to be no security of tenure; but still, if the wishes and demands of the landlords are complied with, one family may till the same farm for many successive generations. The terms on which land is held are peculiar. The rental agreed upon is nominal. Large tracts of country are rented for a pig or a sheep or a fowl, with a little corn per year. Beside this nominal rent, the landlord has the right to make levies on his tenants on all special occasions, such as funerals, weddings, or for any other extraordinary expenses. He can also require his tenants with their cattle to render services. This system necessarily leads to much oppression and injustice. It is also said that if a family is hard pressed by a Tu-muh and reduced to extreme poverty, they will make themselves over to him on condition that a portion of his land be given them to cultivate. Such people are called caught slaves, as distinguished from hereditary, and the eldest children become the absolute property of the landlord and are generally given as attendants upon his wife and daughters. "Every farmer owns a large number of slaves, who live in the same compound as himself. These people do all the work of the farm, while the master employs himself as his fancy leads him. Over these unfortunate people the owner has absolute control. All their affairs are managed by him. His girl slaves he marries off to other men's slave boys, and similarly obtains wives for his male slaves. The lot of these unfortunate people is hard beyond description. Being considered but little more valuable than the cattle they tend, the food given to them is often inferior to the corn upon which the master's horse is fed. The cruel beatings and torturings they have been subject to have completely broken their spirit, and now they seem unable to exist apart from their masters. Very seldom do any of them try to escape, for no one will give them shelter, and the punishment awarded a recaptured slave is so severe as to intimidate the most daring. These poor folk are born in slavery, married in slavery, and they die in slavery. It is not uncommon to meet with Chinese slaves, both boys and girls, in Nou-su families. These have either been kidnapped and sold, or their parents, unable to nourish them, have bartered them in exchange for food. Their purchasers marry them to Tu-su, and their lot is thrown in with the slave class. One's heart is wrung with anguish sometimes as he thinks of what cruelty and wretchedness exist among the hills of this benighted district. Even here, however, light is beginning to shine, for some adherents of the Christian religion have changed their slaves into tenants, thus showing the way to the ultimate solution of this difficult problem. "The life in a Nou-su household is not very complex. The cattle are driven out early in the morning, as soon as the sun has risen. They remain out until the breakfast hour, and then return to the stables and rest during the heat of the day, going out again in the cool hours. The food of the household is prepared by the slaves, under the direction of the lady of the house. There is no refined cooking, for the Nou-su despises well-cooked food, and complains that it never satisfies him. He has a couplet which runs: 'If you eat raw food, you become a warrior; if you eat it cooked, you suffer hunger.' No chairs or tables are found in a genuine Nou-su house. The food is served up in a large bowl placed on the floor. The family sit around, and each one helps himself with a large wooden spoon. At the present time the refinements of Chinese civilization have been adopted by a large number of Nou-su, and the homes of the wealthier people are as well furnished as those of the middle-class Chinese of the district. The women of the households also spend much time making their own and their children's clothes. The men have adopted Chinese dress, but the women, in most cases, retain their tribal costume with its large turban-like head-dress, its plaited skirt and intricately embroidered coat. All this is made by hand, and the choicest years of maidenhood are occupied in preparing the clothes for the wedding-day. "The Nou-su, it would seem, used not to beg a wife, but rather obtained her by main force. At the present day, while the milder method generally prevails, there are still survivals of the ancient custom. The betrothal truly takes place very early, even in infancy, and at the ceremony a fowl is killed, and each contracting party takes a rib; but as the young folk grow to marriageable age, the final negotiations have to be made. These are purposely prolonged until the bridegroom, growing angry, gathers his friends and makes an attack on the maiden's home. Arming themselves with cudgels, they approach secretly, and protecting their heads and shoulders with their felt cloaks, they rush towards the house. Strenuous efforts are made by the occupants to prevent their entering, and severe blows are exchanged. When the attacking party has succeeded in gaining an entrance, peace is proclaimed, and wine and huge chunks of flesh are provided for their entertainment. "Occasionally during these fights the maiden's home is quite dismantled. The negotiations being ended, preparations are made to escort the bride to her future home. Heavily veiled, she is supported on horseback by her brothers, while her near relatives, all fully armed, attend her. On arriving at the house, a scuffle ensues. The veil is snatched from the bride's face by her relatives, who do their utmost to throw it on to the roof, thus signifying that she will rule over the occupants when she enters. The bridegroom's people on the contrary try to trample it upon the doorstep, as an indication of the rigor with which the newcomer will be subjected to the ruling of the head of the house. Much blood is shed, and people are often seriously injured in these skirmishes. The new bride remains for three days in a temporary shelter before she is admitted to the home. A girl having once left her parent's home to become a wife, waits many years before she pays a return visit. Anciently the minimum time was three years, but some allow ten or more years to elapse before the first visit home is paid. Two or three years are then often spent with the parents. Many friends and relatives attend any visitor, for with the Nou-su a large following is considered a sign of dignity and importance. When a child is born a tree is planted, with the hope that as the tree grows so also will the child develop. "The fear of disease lies heavily upon the Nou-su people, and their disregard of the most elementary sanitary laws makes them very liable to attacks of sickness. They understand almost nothing about medicine, and consequently resort to superstitious practices in order to ward off the evil influences. When it is known that disease has visited a neighbor's house, a pole, seven feet long, is erected in a conspicuous place in a thicket some distance from the house to be guarded. On the pole an old ploughshare is fixed, and it is supposed that when the spirit who controls the disease sees the ploughshare he will retire to a distance of three homesteads. "A fever called No-ma-dzï works great havoc among the Nou-su every year, and the people are very much afraid of it. No person will stay by the sick-bed to nurse the unfortunate victim. Instead, food and water are placed by his bedside and, covered with his quilt, he is left at the mercy of the disease. Since as the fever progresses the patient will perspire, heavy stones are placed on the quilt, that it may not be thrown off, and the sick person take cold. Many an unfortunate sufferer has through this strange practice died from suffocation. After a time the relatives will return to see what course the disease has taken. This fever seems to yield to quinine, for Mr. John Li has seen several persons recover to whom he had administered this drug. When a man dies, his relatives, as soon as they receive the news, hold in their several homes a feast of mourning called by them the Za. A pig or sheep is sacrificed at the doorway, and it is supposed that intercourse is thus maintained between the living persons and the late departed spirit. The near kindred, on hearing of the death of a relative, take a fowl and strangle it; the shedding of its blood is not permissible. This fowl is cleaned and skewered, and the mourner then proceeds to the house where the deceased person is lying, and sticks this fowl at the head of the corpse as an offering. The more distant relatives do not perform this rite, but each leads a sheep to the house of mourning, and the son of the deceased man strikes each animal three times with a white wand, while the Peh-mo (priest or magician) stands by, and announcing the sacrifice by calling 'so and so,' giving of course the name, presents the soft woolly offering. "Formerly the Nou-su burned their dead. Said a Nou-su youth to me years ago, 'The thought of our friends' bodies either turning to corruption or being eaten by wild beasts is distasteful to us, and therefore we burn our dead.' The corpse is burnt with wood, and during the cremation the mourners arrange themselves around the fire and chant and dance. The ashes are buried, and the ground leveled. This custom is still adhered to among the Nou-su of the independent Lolo territory or more correctly Papu country of Western Szech'wan. The tribesmen who dwell in the neighborhood of Weining and Chao-t'ong have adopted burial as the means of disposing of their dead, adding some customs peculiar to themselves. "On the day of the funeral the horse which the deceased man was in the habit of riding is brought to the door and saddled by the Pehmo. The command is then given to lead the horse to the grave. All the mourners follow, and marching or dancing in intertwining circles, cross and recross the path of the led horse until the poor creature, grown frantic with fear, rushes and kicks in wild endeavor to escape from the confusion. The whole company then raise a great shout and call, 'The soul has come to ride the horse, the soul has come to ride the horse.' A contest then follows among the women of the deceased man's household for the possession of this horse, which is henceforth regarded as of extreme value. It is difficult to discover much about the religion of the Nou-su, because so many of their ancient customs have fallen into disuse during the intercourse of the people with the Chinese. At the ingathering of the buckwheat, when the crop is stacked on the threshing floor, and the work of threshing is about to begin, the simple formula, 'Thank you, Ilsomo,' is used. Ilsomo seems to be a spirit who has control over the crops; whether good or evil, it is not easy to determine. Ilsomo is not God, for at present, when the Nou-su wish to speak of God, they use the word Soe, which means Master. "In the independent territory of the Nou-su, to the west of Szech'wan, the term used for God is Eh-nia, and a Nou-su who has much intercourse with the independent people contends that there are three names indicative of God, each representing different functions if not persons of the Godhead. These names are: Eh-nia, Keh-neh, Um-p'a-ma. The Nou-su believe in ancestor worship, and perhaps the most interesting feature of their religion is the peculiar form this worship takes. Instead of an ancestral tablet such as the Chinese use, the Nou-su worship a small basket (lolo) about as large as a duck's egg and made of split bamboo. This 'lolo' contains small bamboo tubes an inch or two long, and as thick as an ordinary Chinese pen handle. In these tubes are fastened a piece of grass and a piece of sheep's wool. A man and his wife would be represented by two tubes, and if he had two wives, an extra tube would be placed in the 'lolo.' At the ceremony of consecration the Pehmo attends, and a slave is set apart for the purpose of attending to all the rites connected with the worship of the deceased person. The 'lolo' is sometimes placed in the house, but more often on a tree in the neighborhood or it may be hidden in a rock. For persons who are short-lived, the ancestral 'lolo' is placed in a crevice in the wall of some forsaken and ruined building. Every three years the 'lolo' is changed, and the old one burnt. The term 'lolo,' by which the Nou-su are generally known, is a contemptuous nickname given them by the Chinese in reference to this peculiar method of venerating their ancestors. "Hill worship is another important feature of Nou-su religious life. Most important houses are built at the foot of a hill and sacrifice is regularly offered on the hill-side in the fourth month of each year. The Pehmo determines which is the most propitious day, and the Tumuh and his people proceed to the appointed spot. A limestone rock with an old tree trunk near is chosen as an altar, and a sheep and pig are brought forward by the Tumuh. The Pehmo, having adjusted his clothes, sits cross-legged before the altar, and begins intoning his incantations in a low muttering voice. The sacrifice is then slain, and the blood poured beneath the altar, and a handful of rice and a lump of salt are placed beneath the stone. Some person then gathers a bundle of green grass, and the Pehmo, having finished intoning, the altar is covered, and all return to the house. The Pehmo then twists the grass into a length of rope, which he hangs over the doorway of the house. Out of a piece of willow a small arrow is made, and a bow similar in size is cut out of a peach tree. These are placed on the doorposts. On a piece of soft white wood a figure of a man is roughly carved, and this, with two sticks of any soft wood placed cross-wise, is fastened to the rope hanging over the doorway, on each side of which two small sticks are placed. The Pehmo then proceeds with his incantation, muttering: 'From now, henceforth and for ever will the evil spirits keep away from this house.' "Most Nou-su at the present time observe the New Year festival on the same date and with the same customs as the Chinese. Formerly this was not so, and even now in the remoter districts New Year's day is observed on the first day of the tenth month of the Chinese year. A pig and sheep are killed and cleaned, and hung in the house for three days. They are then taken down, cut up and cooked. The family sit on buckwheat straw in the middle of the chief room of the house. The head of the house invites the others to drink wine, and the feasting begins. Presently one will start singing, and all join in this song: 'How firm is this house of mine. Throughout the year its hearth fire has not ceased to burn, My food corn is abundant, I have silver and also cash, My cattle have increased to herds, My horses and mules have all white foreheads K'o K'o Ha Ha Ha Ha K'o K'o, My sons are filial, My wife is virtuous, In the midst of flesh and wine we sleep, Our happiness reaches unto heaven, Truly glorious is this glad New Year.' A scene of wild indulgence then frequently follows. "The Nou-su possess a written language. Their books were originally made of sheepskin, but paper is now used. The art of printing was unknown, and many books are said to have been lost. The books are illustrated, but the drawings are extremely crude."[T] FOOTNOTES: [Footnote R: _Yün-nan, The Link between India, and the Yangtze_, by Major H.R. Davies, Cambridge University Press.] [Footnote S: Literally "Eyes of the Earth"--the landlords.] [Footnote T: A good deal of information in this chapter was obtained from an article by the Rev. C E Hicks, published in the _Chinese Recorder_ for March, 1910. The portion quoted is taken bodily from this excellent article.] FIFTH JOURNEY. CHAO-T'ONG-FU TO TONG-CH'UAN-FU. CHAPTER XI. _Revolting sights compensated for by scenery_. _Most eventful day in the trip_. _Buying a pony, and the reason for its purchase_. _Author's pony kicks him and breaks his arm_. _Chastising the animal, and narrow escape from death_. _Rider and pony a sorry sight_. _An uneasy night_. _Reappearance of malaria_. _Author nearly forced to give in_. _Heavy rain on a difficult road_. _At Ta-shui-tsing_. _Chasing frightened pony in the dead of night_. _Bad accommodation_. _Lepers and leprosy_. _Mining_. _At Kiang-ti_. _Two mandarins, and an amusing episode_. _Laying foundation of a long illness_. _The Kiang-ti Suspension Bridge_. _Hard climbing_. _Tiffin in the mountains_. _Sudden ascents and descents_. _Description of the country_. _Tame birds and what they do_. _A non-enterprising community_. _Pleasant travelling without perils_. _Majesty of the mountains of Yün-nan_. Whilst in this district, as will have been seen, one has to steel himself to face some of the most revolting sights it is possible to imagine, he is rewarded by the grandeur of the scenic pictures which mark the downward journey to Tong-ch'uan-fu. The stages to Tong-ch'uan-fu were as follows:-- Length of Height above stage sea level 1st day T'ao-üen 70 li. ---- ft. 2nd day Ta-shui-tsing 30 " 9,300 ft. 3rd day Kiang-ti 40 " 4,400 " 4th day Yi-che-shïn 70 " 6,300 " 5th day Hong-shïh-ai 90 " 6,800 " 6th day Tong-ch'uan-fu 60 " 7,250 " The Chao-t'ong plateau, magnificently level, runs out past the picturesquely-situated tower of Wang-hai-leo, from which one overlooks a stretch of water. A memorial arch, erected by the Li family of Chao-t'ong-fu, graces the main road farther on, and is probably one of the best of its kind in Yün-nan, comparing favorably with the best to be found in Szech'wan, where monumental architecture abounds. Perhaps the only building of interest in Chao-t'ong is the ancestral hall of the wealthy family mentioned above, the carving of which is magnificent. At the end of the first day we camped at the Mohammedan village of T'ao-üen, literally "Peach Garden," but the peach trees might once have been, though now certainly they are not. It was cold when we left, 38° F., hard frost. All the world seemed buttoned up and great-coated; the trees seemed wiry and cheerless; the legs of the pack-horses seemed brittle, and I felt so. Breath issued visibly from the mouth as I trudged along. My boy and I nearly came to blows in the early morning. I wanted to lie on; he did not. If he could not entertain himself for half an hour with his own thoughts, I, who could, thought it no fault of mine. I was a reasoning being, a rational creature, and thought it a fine way of spending a sensible, impartial half-hour. But I had to get up, and then came the benumbed fingers, a quivering body, a frozen towel, and a floor upon which the mud was frozen stiff. Little did he know that he was pulling me out to the most eventful and unfortunate day of my trip. At Chao-t'ong I had bought a pony in case of emergency--one of those sturdy little brutes that never grow tired, cost little to keep, and are unexcelled for the amount of work they can get through every day in the week. Its color was black, a smooth, glossy black--the proverbial dark horse--and when dressed in its English saddle and bridle looked even smart enough for the use of the distinguished traveler, who smiled the smile of pleasant ownership as it was led on in front all day long, seeming to return a satanic grin for my foolishness at not riding it.[U] The first I saw of it was when it was standing full on its hind legs pinning a man between the railings and a wall in a corner of the mission premises. It looked well. Truly, it was a blood beast! On the second day out, whilst walking merrily along in the early morning, the little brute lifted its heels, lodged them most precisely on to my right forearm with considerable force--more forceful than affectionate--sending the stick which I carried thirty feet from me up the cliffs. The limb ached, and I felt sick. My boy--he had been a doctor's boy on one of the gunboats at Chung-king--thought it was bruised. I acquiesced, and sank fainting to a stone. On the strength of my boy's diagnosis we rubbed it, and found that it hurt still more. Then diving into a cottage, I brought out a piece of wood, three inches wide and twenty inches long, placed my arm on it, bade my boy take off one of my puttees from one of my legs, used it as a bandage, and trudged on again. Not realizing that my arm was broken, in the evening I determined to chastise the animal in a manner becoming to my disgust. Mounting at the foot of a long hill, I laid on the stick as hard as I could, and found that my pony had a remarkable turn of speed. At the brow of the hill was a twenty-yard dip, at the base of which was a pond. Down, down, down we went, and, despite my full strength (with the left arm) at its mouth, the pony plunged in with a dull splash, only to find that his feet gave way under him in a clay bottom. He could not free himself to swim. Farther and farther we sank together, every second deeper into the mire, when just at the moment I felt the mud clinging about my waist, and I had visions of a horrible death away from all who knew me, I plunged madly to reach the side. With one arm useless, it is still to me the one great wonder of my life how I escaped. Nothing short of miraculous; one of the times when one feels a special protection of Providence surrounding him. Pulling the beast's head, after I had given myself a momentary shake, I succeeded in making him give a mighty lurch--then another--then another, and in a few seconds, after terrible struggling, he reached the bank. We made a sorry spectacle as we walked shamefacedly back to the inn, under the gaze of half a dozen grinning rustics, where my man was preparing the evening meal. In the evening, on the advice of my general confidential companion, I submitted to a poultice being applied to my arm. It was bruised, so we put on the old-fashioned, hard-to-be-beaten poultice of bread. Whilst it was hot it was comfortable; when it was cold, I unrolled the bandage, threw the poultice to the floor, and in two minutes saw glistening in the moonlight the eyes of the rats which ate it. Then I bade sweet Morpheus take me; but, although the pain prevented me from sleeping, I remember fainting. How long I lay I know not. Shuddering in every limb with pain and chilly fear, I at length awoke from a long swoon. Something had happened, but what? There was still the paper window, the same greasy saucer of thick oil and light being given by the same rush, the same rickety table, the same chair on which we had made the poultice--but what had happened? I rubbed my aching eyes and lifted myself in a half-sitting posture--a dream had dazzled me and scared my senses. And then I knew that it was malaria coming on again, and that I was once more her luckless victim. Malignant malaria, mistress of men who court thee under tropic skies, and who, like me, are turned from thee bodily shattered and whimpering like a child, how much, how very much hast thou laid up for thyself in Hades! Thank Heaven, I had superabundant energy and vitality, and despite contorted and distorted things dancing haphazard through my fevered brain, I determined not to go under, not to give in. My mind was a terrible tangle of combinations nevertheless--intricate, incongruous, inconsequent, monstrous; but still I plodded on. For the next four days, with my arm lying limp and lifeless at my side, and with recurring attacks of malaria, I walked on against the greatest odds, and it was not till I had reached Tong-ch'uan-fu that I learnt that the limb was fractured. Men may have seen more in four days and done more and risked more, but I think few travelers have been called upon to suffer more agony than befell the lot of the man who was crossing China on foot. From T'ao-üen there is a stiff ascent, followed by a climb up steep stone steps and muddy mountain banks through black and barren country. The morning had been cold and frosty, but rain came on later, a thick, heavy deluge, which swished and swashed everything from its path as one toiled painfully up those slippery paths, made almost unnegotiable. But my imagination and my hope helped me to make my own sunshine. There is something, I think, not disagreeable in issuing forth during a good honest summer rain at home with a Burberry well buttoned and an umbrella over one's head; here in Yün-nan a coat made it too uncomfortable to walk, and the terrific wind would have blown an umbrella from one's grasp in a twinkling. If we are in the home humor, in the summer, we do not mind how drenching the rain is, and we may even take delight in getting our own legs splashed as we glance at the "very touching stockings" and the "very gentle and sensitive legs" of other weaker ones in the same plight. But here was I in a gale on the bleakest tableland one can find in this part of Yün-nan, and a sorry sight truly did I make as I trudged "two steps forward, one step back" in my bare feet, covered only with rough straw sandals, with trousers upturned above the knee, with teeth chattering in malarial shivers, endeavoring between-times to think of the pouring deluge as a benignant enemy fertilizing fields, purifying the streets of the horrid little villages in which we spent our nights, refreshing the air! Shall I ever forget the day? Just before sundown, drenched to the skin and suffering horribly from the blues, we reached one single hut, which I could justly look upon as a sort of evening companion; for here was a fire--albeit, a green wood fire--which looked gladly in my face, talked to me, and put life and comfort and warmth into me for the ten li yet remaining of the day's hard journey. And at night, about 8:30 p.m., we at last reached the top of the hill, actually the summit of a mountain pass, at the dirty little village of Ta-shui-tsing. Not for long, however, could I rest; for I heard yells and screams and laughs. That pony again! Every one of my men were afraid of it, for at the slightest invitation it pawed with its front feet and landed man after man into the gutter, and if that failed it stood upright and cuddled them around the neck. Now I found it had run--saddle, bridle and all--and none volunteered to chase. So at 9:30, weary and bearing the burden of a terrible day, which laid the foundation of a long illness to be recorded later, I found it my unpleasant duty to patrol the hill from top to bottom, lighting my slippery way with a Chinese lantern, chasing the pony silhouetted on the sky-line. Ta-shui-tsing is a dreary spot with no inn accommodation at all,[V] a place depopulated and laid waste, gloomy and melancholy. I managed, however, after promising a big fee, to get into a small mud-house, where the people were not unkindly disposed. I ate my food, slept as much as I could in the few hours before the appearing of the earliest dawn on the bench allotted to me, feeling thankful that to me had been allowed even this scanty lodging. But I could not conscientiously recommend the place to future travelers--a dirty little village with its dirty people and its dirty atmosphere. At the top of the pass the wind nearly removed my ears as I took a final glance at the mountain refuge. Mountains here run south-west and north-east, and are grand to look upon. The poorest people were lepers, the beggars were all dead long ago. In Yün-nan province leprosy afflicts thousands, a disease which the Chinese, not without reason, dread terribly, for no known remedy exists. Burning the patient alive, which used often to be resorted to, is even now looked upon as the only true remedy. Cases have been known where the patient, having been stupefied with opium, has been locked in a house, which has then been set on fire, and its inmate cremated on the spot. Mining used to be carried on here, so they told me; but I was not long in concluding that, whatever was the product, it has not materially affected the world's output, nor had it greatly enriched the laborers in the field. When I got into civilization I found that coal of a sulphurous nature was the booty of ancient days. There may be coal yet, as is most probable, but the natives seemed far too apathetic and weary of life to care whether it is there or not. Passing Ta-shui-tsing, the descent narrows to a splendid view of dark mountain and green and beautiful valley. We were now traveling away from several ranges of lofty mountains, whose peaks appeared vividly above the drooping rain-filled clouds, onwards to a range immediately opposite, up whose slopes we toiled all day, passing _en route_ only one uninhabited hamlet, to which the people flee in time of trouble. After a weary tramp of another twenty-five li--the Yün-nan li, mind you, the most unreliable quantity in all matters geographical in the country--I asked irritatedly, as all travelers must have asked before me, "Then, in the name of Heaven, where is Kiang-ti?"[W] It should come into view behind the terrible steep decline when one is within only about a hundred yards. It is roughly four thousand feet below Ta-shui-tsing. Kiang-ti is an important stopping place, with but one forlorn street, with two or three forlorn inns, the best of which has its best room immediately over the filthiest stables, emitting a stench which was almost unbearable, that I have seen in China. It literally suffocates one as it comes up in wafts through the wide gaps in the wood floor of the room. There are no mosquitoes here, but of a certain winged insect of various species, whose distinguishing characteristics are that the wings are transparent and have no cases or covers, there was a formidable army. I refer to the common little fly. There was the house fly, the horse fly, the dangerous blue-bottle, the impecunious blow fly, the indefatigable buzzer, and others. One's delicate skin got beset with flies: they got in one's ears, in one's eyes, up one's nose, down one's throat, in one's coffee, in one's bed; they bade fair to devour one within an hour or two, and brought forth inward curses and many swishes of the 'kerchief. The village seemed a death-trap. Glancing comprehensively at one another as I entered the higher end of the town, a party of reveling tea-drinkers hastily pulled some cash from their satchels to settle accounts, and made a general rush into the street, where they awaited noisily the approach of a strangely wondrous and imposing spectacle, one that had not been seen in those parts for many days. The tramper, tired as he could be, at length approached, but the crowd had increased so enormously that the road was completely blocked. Tradesmen with their portable workshops, pedlars with their cumbersome gear and pack-horses could not pass, but had to wait for their turn; there were not even any tortuous by-streets in this place whereby they might reach their destination. Children lost themselves in the crush, and went about crying for their mothers. A party of travelers, newly arrived from the south by caravan route, got wedged with their worn-out horses and mules in the thick of the mob, and could not move an inch. As far as the eye could reach the blue-clad throng heaved restlessly to and fro under the blaze of the brilliant sun which harassed everyone in the valley, and, moving slowly and majestically in the midst of them all, came the foreigner. As they caught sight of me, my sandalled feet, and the retinue following on wearily in the wake, the populace set up an ecstatic yell of ferocious applause and turned their faces towards the inn, in the doorway of which one of my soldier-men was holding forth on points of more or less delicacy respecting my good or bad nature and my British connection. At that moment, the huge human mass began to move in one predetermined direction, and then a couple of mandarins in their chairs joined the swarming rabble. I had to sit down on the step for five minutes whilst my boy, with commendable energy, cleared these two mandarins, who had come from Chen-tu and were on their way to the capital, out of the best room, because his master wanted it. As he finished speaking, there came a loud crashing noise and a shout--my pony had landed out just once again, and banged in one side of a chair belonging to these traveling officials. They met me with noisy and derisive greetings, which were returned with a straight and penetrating look. No less than fifty degrees was the thermometrical difference in Ta-shui-tsing and Kiang-ti. Here it was stifling. Cattle stood in stagnant water, ducks were envied, my room with the sun on it became intolerable, and I sought refuge by the river; my butter was too liquid to spread; coolies were tired as they rested outside the tea-houses, having not a cash to spend; my pony stood wincing, giving sharp shivers to his skin, and moving his tail to clear off the flies and his hind legs to clear off men. As for myself, I could have done with an iced soda or a claret cup. Very early in the morning, despite malaria shivers, I made my way over the beautiful suspension bridge which here graces the Niu Lan,[X] a tributary of the Yangtze, up to the high hills beyond. This bridge at Kiang-ti is one hundred and fifty feet by twelve, protected at one end by a couple of monkeys carved in stone, whilst the opposite end is guarded by what are supposed to be, I believe, a couple of lions--and not a bad representation of them either, seeing that the workmen had no original near at hand to go by. From here the ascent over a second range of mountains is made by tortuous paths that wind along the sides of the hills high above the stream below, and at other times along the river-bed. The river is followed in a steep ascent, a sort of climbing terrace, from which the water leaps in delightful cascades and waterfalls. A four-hour climb brings one, after terrific labor, to the mouth of the picturesque pass of Ya-ko-t'ang at 7,500 feet. In the quiet of the mountains I took my midday meal; there was about the place an awe-inspiring stillness. It was grand but lonely, weird rather than peaceful, so that one was glad to descend again suddenly to the river, tracing it through long stretches of plain and barren valley, after which narrow paths lead up again to the small village of Yi-che-shïn, considerably below Ya-ko-t'ang. It is the sudden descents and ascents which astonish one in traveling in this region, and whether climbing or dropping, one always reaches a plain or upland which would delude one into believing that he is almost at sea-level, were it not for the towering mountains that all around keep one hemmed in in a silent stillness, and the rarefied air. Yi-che-shïn, for instance, standing at this altitude of considerably over 6,000 feet, is in the center of a tableland, on which are numerous villages, around which the fragrance of the broad bean in flower and the splendid fertility now and again met with makes it extremely pleasant to walk--it is almost a series of English cottage gardens. Here the weather was like July in England--or what one likes to imagine July should be in England--dumb, dreaming, hot, lazy, luxurious weather, in which one should do as he pleases, and be pleased with what he does. As I toiled along, my useless limb causing me each day more trouble, I felt I should like to lie down on the grass, with stones 'twixt head and shoulders for my pillow, and repose, as Nature was reposing, in sovereign strength. But I was getting weaker! I saw, as I passed, gardens of purple and gold and white splendor; the sky was at its bluest, the clouds were full, snowy, mountainous. Then on again to varying scenes. Inns were not frequent, and were poor and wretched. The country was all red sandstone, and devoid of all timber, till, descending into a lovely valley, the path crossed an obstructing ridge, and then led out into a beautiful park all green and sweet. The country was full of color. It put a good taste in one's mouth, it impressed one as a heaven-sent means of keeping one cheerful in sad dilemma. The gardens, the fields, the skies, the mountains, the sunset, the light itself--all were full of color, and earth and heaven seemed of one opinion in the harmony of the reds, the purples, the drabs, the blacks, the browns, the bright blues, and the yellows. Birds were as tame as they were in the Great Beginning; they came under the table as I ate, and picked up the crumbs without fear. Peasant people sat under great cedars, planted to give shade to the travelers, and bade one feel at home in his lonely pilgrimage. Then one felt a peculiar feeling--this feeling will arise in any traveler--when, surmounting some hill range in the desert road, one descries, lying far below, embosomed in its natural bulwarks, the fair village, the resting-place, the little dwelling-place of men, where one is to sleep. But when towards nightfall, as the good red sun went down, I was led, weary and done-up, into one of the worst inns it had been my misfortune to encounter, a thousand other thoughts and feelings united in common anathema to the unenterprising community. Tea was bad, rice we could not get, and all night long the detestable smells from the wood fires choked our throats and blinded our eyes; glad, therefore, was I, despite the heavy rain, to take a hurried and early departure the next morning, descending a thousand feet to a river, rising quite as suddenly to a height of 8,500 feet. Now the road went over a mountain broad and flat, where traveling in the sun was extremely pleasant--or, rather, would have been had I been fit. Pack-horses, laden clumsily with their heavy loads of Puerh tea, Manchester goods, oil and native exports from Yün-nan province, passed us on the mountain-side, and sometimes numbers of these willing but ill-treated animals were seen grazing in the hollows, by the wayside, their backs in almost every instance cruelly lacerated by the continuous rubbing of the wooden frames on which their loads were strapped. For cruelty to animals China stands an easy first; love of animals does not enter into their sympathies at all. I found this not to be the case among the Miao and the I-pien, however; and the tribes across the Yangtze below Chao-t'ong, locally called the Pa-pu, are, as a matter of fact, fond of horses, and some of them capable horsemen. The journey across these mountains has no perils. One may step aside a few feet with no fear of falling a few thousand, a danger so common in most of the country from Sui-fu downwards. The scenery is magnificent--range after range of mountains in whatever direction you look, nothing but mountains of varying altitudes. And the patches of wooded slopes, alternating with the red earth and more fertile green plots through which streams flow, with rolling waterfalls, picturesque nooks and winding pathways, make pictures to which only the gifted artist's brush could do justice. Often, gazing over the sunlit landscape, in this land "South of the Clouds," one is held spellbound by the intense beauty of this little-known province, and one wonders what all this grand scenery, untouched and unmarred by the hand of man, would become were it in the center of a continent covered by the ubiquitous globe-trotter. No country in the world more than West China possesses mountains of combined majesty and grace. Rocks, everywhere arranged in masses of a rude and gigantic character, have a ruggedness tempered by a singular airiness of form and softness of environment, in a climate favorable in some parts to the densest vegetation, and in others wild and barren. One is always in sight of mountains rising to fourteen thousand feet or more, and constantly scaling difficult pathways seven or eight or nine thousand feet above the sea. And in the loneliness of a country where nothing has altered very much the handiwork of God, an awe-inspiring silence pervades everything. Bold, grey cliffs shoot up here through a mass of verdure and of foliage, and there white cottages, perched in seemingly inaccessible positions, glisten in the sun on the colored mountain-sides. You saunter through stony hollows, along straight passes, traversed by torrents, overhung by high walls of rocks, now winding through broken, shaggy chasms and huge, wandering fragments, now suddenly emerging into some emerald valley, where Peace, long established, seems to repose sweetly in the bosom of Strength. Everywhere beauty alternates wonderfully with grandeur. Valleys close in abruptly, intersected by huge mountain masses, the stony water-worn ascent of which is hardly passable. Yes, Yün-nan is imperatively a country first of mountains, then of lakes. The scenery, embodying truly Alpine magnificence with the minute sylvan beauty of Killarney or of Devonshire, is nowhere excelled in the length and breadth of the Empire. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote U: The incredulous of my readers may question, and rightly so, "Then where did he get his saddle?" So I must explain that I met just out of Sui-fu a Danish gentleman (also a traveler) who wished to sell a pony and its trappings. As I had the arrangement with my boy that I would provide him with a conveyance, and did not like the idea of seeing him continually in a chair and his wealthy master trotting along on foot, I bought it for my boy's use. He used the saddle until we reached Chao-t'ong.] [Footnote V: A new inn has been built since.--E.J.D.] [Footnote W: Pronounced Djang-di. Famous throughout Western China for its terrible hill, one of the most difficult pieces of country in the whole of the west.] [Footnote X: This river, the Niu Lan, comes from near Yang-lin, one day's march from Yün-nan-fu. It is being followed down by two American engineers as the probable route for a new railway, which it is proposed should come out to the Yangtze some days north of Kiang-ti.] CHAPTER XII. _Yün-nan's chequered career_. _Switzerland of China_. _At Hong-sh[=i]h-ai_. _China's Golden Age in the past_. _The conservative instinct of the Chinese_. _How to quiet coolies_. _Roads_. _Dangers of ordinary travel in wet season_. _K'ung-shan and its mines_. _Tong-ch'uan-fu, an important mining centre_. _English and German machinery_. _Methods of smelting_. _Protestants and Romanists in Yün-nan_. _Arrival at Tong-ch'uan-fu_. _Missionaries set author's broken arm_. _Trio of Europeans_. _Author starts for the provincial capital_. _Abandoning purpose of crossing China on foot_. _Arm in splints_. _Curious incident_. _At Lai-t'eo-po_. _Malaria returns_. _Serious illness of author_. _Delirium_. _Devotion of the missionaries_. _Death expected. Innkeeper's curious attitude_. _Recovery_. _After-effects of malaria. Patient stays in Tong-ch'uan-fu for several months_. _Then completes his walking tour_. Yün-nan has had a checkered career ever since it became a part of the empire. In the thirteenth century Kublai Khan, the invincible warrior, annexed this Switzerland to China; and how great his exploits must have been at the time of this addition to the land of the Manchus might be gathered from the fact that all the tribes of the Siberian ice-fields, the deserts of Asia, together with the country between China and the Caspian Sea, acknowledged his potent sway--or at least so tradition says. She is sometimes right. My journey continuing across more undulating country brought me at length to Hong-shïh-ai (Red Stone Cliff), a tiny hamlet hidden away completely in a deep recess in the mountain-side, settled in a narrow gorge, the first house of which cannot be seen until within a few yards of entry. Inn accommodation, as was usual, was by no means good. It is characteristic of these small places that the greater the traffic the worse, invariably, is the accommodation offered. Travelers are continually staying here, but not one Chinese in the population is enterprising enough to open a decent inn. They have no money to start it, I suppose. But it is true of the Chinese, to a greater degree than of any other nation, that their Golden Age is in the past. Sages of antiquity spoke with deep reverence of the more ancient ancients of the ages, and revered all that they said and did. And the rural Chinese to-day says that what did for the sages of olden times must do for him to-day. The conservative instinct leads the Chinese to attach undue importance to precedent, and therefore the people at Hong-shïh-ai, knowing that the village has been in the same pitiable condition for generations, live by conservatism, and make no effort whatever to improve matters. Fire in the inn was kindled in the hollow of the ground. There was no ventilation; the wood they burned was, as usual, green; smoke was suffocating. My men talked well on into the night, and kept me from sleeping, even if pain would have allowed me to. I spoke strongly, and they, thinking I was swearing at them, desisted for fear that I should heap upon their ancestors a few of the reviling thoughts I entertained for them. I should like to say a word here about the roads in this province, or perhaps the absence of roads. They had been execrable, the worst I had met, aggravated by heavy rains. With all the reforms to which the province of Yün-nan is endeavoring to direct its energies, it has not yet learned that one of the first assets of any district or country is good roads. But this is true of the whole of the Middle Kingdom. The contracted quarters in which the Chinese live compel them to do most of their work in the street, and, even in a city provided with but the narrowest passages, these slender avenues are perpetually choked by the presence of peripatetic vendors of every kind of article of common sale in China, and by itinerant craftsmen who have no other shop than the street. In the capital city of the province, even, it is a matter of some difficulty to the European to walk down the rough-paved street after a shower of rain, so slippery do the slabs of stone become; and he has to be alive always to the lumbering carts, whose wheels are more solid than circular, pulled by bullocks as in the days long before the dawn of the Christian Era. The wider the Chinese street the more abuses can it be put to, so that travel in the broad streets of the towns is quite as difficult as in the narrow alleys; and as these streets are never repaired, or very rarely, they become worse than no roads at all--that is, in dry weather. This refers to the paved road, which, no matter what its faults, is certainly passable, and in wet weather is a boon. There is, however, another kind of road--a mud road, and with a vengeance muddy. An ordinary mud or earth road is usually only wide enough for a couple of coolies to pass, and in this province, as it is often necessary (especially in the Yün-nan-fu district) for one cart to pass another, the farmer, to prevent trespass on his crops, digs around them deep ditches, resembling those which are dug for the reception of gas mains. In the rainy season the fields are drained into the roads, which at times are constantly under water, and beyond Yün-nan-fu, on my way to Tali-fu, I often found it easier and more speedy to tramp bang across a rice field, taking no notice of where the road ought to be. By the time the road has sunk a few feet below the level of the adjacent land, it is liable to be absolutely useless as a thoroughfare; it is actually a canal, but can be neither navigated nor crossed. There are some roads removed a little from the main roads which are quite dangerous, and it is not by any means an uncommon thing to hear of men with their loads being washed away by rivers where in the dry season there had been the roads. The great lines of Chinese travel, so often impassable, might be made permanently passable if the governor of a province chose to compel the several district magistrates along the line to see that these important arteries are kept free from standing water, with ditches in good order at all seasons. But for the village roads--during my travels over which I have come across very few that could from a Western standpoint be called roads--there is absolutely no hope until such time as the Chinese village may come dimly to the apprehension that what is for the advantage of the one is for the advantage of all, and that wise expenditure is the truest economy--an idea of which it has at the present moment as little conception as of the average thought of the Englishman. A hundred li to the east of Hong-shiïh-ai, over two impassable mountain ranges, are some considerable mines, with antiquated brass and copper smelting works, and this place, K'ung-shan by name, with Tong-ch'uan-fu, forms an important center. As is well known, all copper of Yün-nan goes to Peking as the Government monopoly, excepting the enormous amount stolen and smuggled into every town in the province.[Y] The smelting is of the roughest, though they are at the present moment laying in English machinery, and the Chinese in charge is under the impression that he can speak English; he, however, makes a hopeless jargon of it. This mining locality is sunk in the deepest degradation. Men and women live more as wild beasts than as human beings, and should any be unfortunate enough to die, their corpses are allowed to lie in the mines. Who is there that could give his time and energy to the removal of a dead man? Tong-ch'uan-fu should become an important town if the rich mineral country of which it is the pivot were properly opened up. Several times I have visited the works in this city, which, under the charge of a small mandarin from Szech'wan, can boast only the most primitive and inadequate machinery, of German make. A huge engine was running as a kind of pump for the accumulation of air, which was passed through a long thin pipe to the three furnaces in the outer courtyard. The furnaces were mud-built, and were fed with charcoal (the most expensive fuel in the district), the maximum of pure metal being only 1,300 catties per day. The ore, which has been roughly smelted once, is brought from K'ung-shan, is finely smelted here, then conveyed most of the way to Peking by pack-mule, the expense in thus handling, from the time it leaves the mine to its destination at Peking, being several times its market value. Nothing but copper is sought from the ore, and a good deal of the gold and silver known to be contained is lost. I passed an old French priest as I was going to Tong-ch'uan-fu the next day. He was very pleased to see me, and at a small place we had a few minutes' chat whilst we sipped our tea. In Yün-nan, I found that the Protestants and the Romanists, although seeing very little of each other, went their own way, maintaining an attitude of more or less friendly indifference one towards the other. The last day's march to Tong-ch'uan-fu is perhaps the most interesting of this stage of my journey. Climbing over boulders and stony steps, I reached an altitude of 8,500 feet, whence thirty li of pleasant going awaited us all the way to Lang-wang-miao (Temple of the Dragon King). Here I sat down and strained my eyes to catch the glimpse of the compact little walled city, where I hoped my broken arm would be set by the European missionaries. The traveler invariably hastens his pace here, expecting to run down the hill and across the plain in a very short space; but as the time passed, and I slowly wended my way along the difficult paths through the rice fields, I began to realize that I had been duped, and that it was farther than it seemed. Two blushing damsels, maids goodly to look upon, gave me the sweetest of smiles as I strode across the bodies of some fat pigs which roamed at large in the outskirts of the city, the only remembrance I have to mar the cleanliness of the place. At Tong-ch'uan-fu the Rev. A. Evans and his extremely hospitable wife set my arm and did everything they could--as much as a brother and sister could have done--to help me, and to make my short stay with them a most happy remembrance. It was, however, destined that I should be their guest for many months, as shall hereinafter be explained. * * * * * A trio of Europeans might have been seen on the morning of Monday, May 10, 1909, leaving Tong-ch'uan-fu on the road to Yün-nan-fu, whither the author was bound. Mr. and Mrs. Evans, who, as chance would have it, were going to Ch'u-tsing-fu, were to accompany me for two days before turning off in a southerly direction when leaving the prefecture. It was a fine spring morning, balmy and bonny. It was decided that I should ride a pony, and this I did, abandoning my purpose of crossing China on foot with some regret. I was not yet fit, had my broken arm in splints, but rejoiced that at Yün-nan-fu I should be able to consult a European medical man. Comparatively an unproductive task--and perhaps a false and impossible one--would it be for me to detail the happenings of the few days next ensuing. I should be able not to look at things themselves, but merely at the shadow of things--and it would serve no profitable end. Suffice it to say that two days out, about midday, a special messenger from the capital stopped Mr. Evans and handed him a letter. It was to tell him that his going to Ch'u-tsing-fu would be of no use, as the gentleman he was on his way to meet would not arrive, owing to altered plans. After consulting his wife, he hesitated whether they should go back to Tong-ch'uan-fu, or come on to the capital with me. The latter course was decided upon, as I was so far from well--I learned this some time afterwards. And now the story need not be lengthened. At Lai-t'eo-po (see first section of the second book of this volume), malaria came back, and an abnormal temperature made me delirious. The following day I could not move, and it was not until I had been there six days that I was again able to be moved. During this time, Mr. and Mrs. Evans nursed me day and night, relieving each other for rest, in a terrible Chinese inn--not a single moment did they leave me. The third day they feared I was dying, and a message to that effect was sent to the capital, informing the consul. Meanwhile malaria played fast and loose, and promised a pitiable early dissolution. My kind, devoted friends were fearful lest the innkeeper would have turned me out into the roadway to die--the foreigner's spirit would haunt the place for ever and a day were I allowed to die inside. But I recovered. It was a graver, older, less exuberant walker across China that presently arose from his flea-ridden bed of sickness, and began to make a languid personal introspection. I had developed a new sensitiveness, the sensitiveness of an alien in an alien land, in the hands of new-made, faithful friends. Without them I should have been a waif of all the world, helpless in the midst of unconquerable surroundings, leading to an inevitable destiny of death. I seemed declimatized, denationalized, a luckless victim of fate and morbid fancy. It was malaria and her workings, from which there was no escape. Malaria is supposed by the natives of the tropic belt to be sent to Europeans by Providence as a chastening for the otherwise insupportable energy of the white man. Malignant malaria is one of Nature's watch-dogs, set to guard her shrine of peace and ease and to punish woeful intruders. And she had brought me to China to punish me. As is her wont, Nature milked the manhood out of me, racked me with aches and pains, shattered me with chills, scorched me with fever fires, pursued me with despairing visions, and hag-rode me without mercy. Accursed newspapers, with their accursed routine, came back to me; all the stories and legends that I had ever heard, all the facts that I had ever learnt, came to me in a fashion wonderfully contorted and distorted; sensations welded together in ghastly, brain-stretching conglomerates, instinct with individuality and personality, human but torturingly inhuman, crowded in upon me. The barriers dividing the world of ideas, sensations, and realities seemed to have been thrown down, and all rushed into my brain like a set of hungry foxhounds. The horror of effort and the futility of endeavor permeated my very soul. My weary, helpless brain was filled with hordes of unruly imaginings; I was masterless, panic-driven, maddened, and had to abide for weeks--yea, months--with a fever-haunted soul occupying a fever-rent and weakened body. At Yün-nan-fu, whither I arrived in due course after considerable struggling, dysentery laid me up again, and threatened to pull me nearer to the last great brink. For weeks, as the guest of my friend, Mr. C.A. Fleischmann, I stayed here recuperating, and subsequently, on the advice of my medical attendant, Dr. A. Feray, I went back to Tong-ch'uan-fu, among the mountains, and spent several happy months with Mr. and Mrs. Evans. Had it not been for their brotherly and sisterly zeal in nursing me, which never flagged throughout my illness, future travelers might have been able to point to a little grave-mound on the hill-tops, and have given a chance thought to an adventurer whom the fates had handled roughly. But there was more in this than I could see; my destiny was then slowly shaping. Throughout the rains, and well on into the winter, I stayed with Mr. and Mrs. Evans, and then continued my walking tour, as is hereafter recorded. During this period of convalescence I studied the Chinese language and traveled considerably in the surrounding country. Tong-ch'uan-fu is a city of many scholars, and it was not at all difficult for me to find a satisfactory teacher. He was an old man, with a straggly beard, about 70 years of age, and from him I learned much about life in general, in addition to his tutoring in Chinese. I had the advantage also of close contact with the missionaries with whom I was living, and on many occasions was traveling companion of Samuel Pollard, one of the finest Chinese linguists in China at that time. So that with a greatly increased knowledge of Chinese, I was henceforth able to hold my own anywhere. During this period, too, many days were profitably passed at the Confucian Temple, a picture of which is given in this volume. END OF BOOK I. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote Y: In the capital there is a street called "Copper Kettle Lane," where one is able to buy almost anything one wants in copper and brass. Hundreds of men are engaged in the trade, and yet it is "prohibited." These "Copper Kettle Lanes" are found in many large cities.--E.J.D.] BOOK II. The second part of my trip was from almost the extreme east to the extreme west of Yün-nan--from Tong-ch'uan-fu to Bhamo, in British Burma. The following was the route chosen, over the main road in some instances, and over untrodden roads in others, just as circumstances happened: Tong-ch'uan-fu to Yün-nan-fu (the capital city) 520 li. Yün-nan-fu to Tali-fu 905 li. Tali-fu to Tengyueh (Momien) 855 li. Tengyueh to Bhamo (Singai) 280 English miles approx. I also made a rather extended tour among the Miao tribes, in country untrodden by Europeans, except by missionaries working among the people. FIRST JOURNEY TONG-CH'UAN-FU TO THE CAPITAL CHAPTER XIII. _Stages to the capital_. _Universality of reform in China_. _Political, moral, social and spiritual contrast of Yün-nan with other parts of the Empire_. _Inconsistencies of celestial life_. _Author's start for Burma_. _The caravan_. _To Che-chi_. _Dogs fighting over human bones_. _Lai-t'eo-p'o: highest point traversed on overland journey_. _Snow and hail storms at ten thousand feet_. _Desolation and poverty_. _Brutal husband_. _Horse saves author from destruction_. _The one hundred li to Kongshan_. _Wild, rugged moorland and mournful mountains_. _Wretchedness of the people_. _Night travel in Western China_. _Author knocks a man down_. _Late arrival and its vexations_. _Horrible inn accommodation_. _End of the Yün-nan Plateau_. _Appreciable rise in temperature_. _Entertaining a band of inelegant infidels_. _European contention for superiority, and the Chinese point of view_. _Insoluble conundrums of "John's" national character_. _The Yün-nan railway_. _Current ideas in Yün-nan regarding foreigners_. _Discourteous fu-song and his escapades_. _Fright of ill-clad urchin_. _Scene at Yang-lin_. _Arrival at the capital_. No exaggeration is it to say that the eyes of the world are upon China. It is equally safe to say that, whilst all is open and may be seen, but little is understood. In the Far Eastern and European press so much is heard of the awakening of China that one is apt really to believe that the whole Empire, from its Dan to Beersheba, is boiling for reform. But it may be that the husk is taken from the kernel. The husk comprises the treaty ports and some of the capital cities of the provinces; the kernel is that vast sleepy interior of China. Few people, even in Shanghai, know what it means; so that to the stay-at-home European pardon for ignorance of existing conditions so much out of his focus should readily be granted. From Shanghai, up past Hankow, on to Ichang, through the Gorges to Chung-king, is a trip likely to strike optimism in the breast of the most skeptical foreigner. But after he has lived for a couple of years in an interior city as I have done, with its antiquated legislation, its superstition and idolatry, its infanticide, its girl suicides, its public corruption and moral degradation, rubbing shoulders continually at close quarters with the inhabitants, and himself living in the main a Chinese life, our optimist may alter his opinions, and stand in wonder at the extraordinary differences in the most ordinary details of life at the ports on the China coast and the Interior, and of the gross inconsistencies in the Chinese mind and character. If in addition he has stayed a few days away from a city in which the foreigners were shut up inside the city walls because the roaring mob of rebels outside were asking for their heads, and he has had to abandon part of his overland trip because of the fear that his own head might have been chopped off _en route_, he may increase his wonder to doubt. The aspect here in Yün-nan--politically, morally, socially, spiritually--is that of another kingdom, another world. Conditions seem, for the most part, the same yesterday, to-day, and for ever. And in his new environment, which may be a replica of twenty centuries ago, the dream he dreamed is now dispelled. "China," he says, "is _not_ awaking; she barely moves, she is still under the torpor of the ages." And yet again, in the capital and a few of the larger cities, under your very eyes there goes on a reform which seems to be the most sweeping reform Asia has yet known. Such are the inconsistencies, seemingly unchangeable, irreconcilable in conception or in fact; a truthful portrayal of them tends to render the writer a most inconsistent being in the eyes of his reader. * * * * * No one was ever sped on his way through China with more goodwill than was the writer when he left Tong-ch'uan-fu; but the above thoughts were then in his mind. Long before January 3rd, 1910, the whole town knew that I was going to Mien Dien (Burma). Confessedly with a sad heart--for I carried with me memories of kindnesses such as I had never known before--I led my nervous pony, Rusty, out through the Dung Men (the East Gate), with twenty enthusiastic scholars and a few grown-ups forming a turbulent rear. As I strode onwards the little group of excited younkers watched me disappear out of sight on my way to the capital by the following route--the second time of trying:-- Length of Height stage above sea 1st day--Che-chi 90 li. 7,800 ft. 2nd day--Lai-t'eo-p'o 90 li. 8,500 ft. 3rd day--Kongshan 100 li. 6,700 ft. 4th day--Yang-kai 85 li. 7,200 ft. 5th day--Ch'anff-o'o 95 li 6,000 ft. 6th day--The Capital 70 li 6,400 ft. My caravan consisted of two coolies: one carried my bedding and a small basket of luxuries in case of emergency, the other a couple of boxes with absolute necessities (including the journal of the trip). In addition, there accompanied me a man who carried my camera, and whose primary business it was to guard my interests and my money--my general factotum and confidential agent--and by an inverse operation enrich himself as he could, and thereby maintain relations of warm mutual esteem. They received thirty-two tael cents per man per diem, and for the stopping days on the road one hundred cash. None of them, of course, could speak a word of English. The ninety li to Che-chi was mostly along narrow paths by the sides of river-beds, the intermediate plains having upturned acres waiting for the spring. At Ta-chiao (7,500 feet), where I stayed for my first alfresco meal at midday, the man--a tall, gaunt, ugly fellow, pockmarked and vile of face--told us he was a traveler, and that he had been to Shanghai. This I knew to be a barefaced lie. He voluntarily explained to the visitors, gathered to see the barbarian feed, what condensed milk was for, but he went wide of the mark when he announced that my pony,[Z] hog-maned and dock-tailed (but Chinese still), was an American, as he said I was. A young mother near by, suffering from acute eye inflammation, was lying in a smellful gutter on a felt mat, two pigs on one side and a naked boy of eight or so on the other, whilst she heaped upon the head of the innocent babe she was suckling curses most horribly blood-curdling. Dogs--the universal scavengers of the awakening interior, to which merest allusion is barred by one's Western sense of decency--just outside Che-chi, where I stayed the night, had recently devoured the corpse of a little child. Its clothing was strewn in my path, together with the piece of fibre matting in which it had been wrapped, and the dogs were then fighting over the bones. To Lai-t'eo-p'o was a day that men might call a "killer." It is a dirty little place with a dirty little street, lying at the foot of a mountain known throughout Western China as one of the wildest of Nature's corners, nearly ten thousand feet high, a terrific climb under best conditions. A clear half-moon, and stars of a silvery twinkle, looked pityingly upon me as I started at 3 a.m., ignorant of the dangerously narrow defile leading along cliffs high up from the Yili Ho. In the dark, cautiously I groped along. Not without a painful emotion of impending danger, as I watched the stellular reflections dancing in the rushing river, did I wander on in the wake of a group of pack-ponies, and took my turn in being assisted over the broken chasms by the muleteers. Two fellows got down below and practically lifted the tiny animals over the passes where they could not keep their footing. Gradually I saw the nightlike shadows flee away, and with the dawn came signs of heavy weather. Snow came cold and sudden. As we slowly and toilsomely ascended, the velocity of the wind fiercely increased; down the mountain-side, at a hundred miles an hour, came clouds of blinding, flinty dust, making the blood run from one's lips and cheeks as he plodded on against great odds. With the biting wind, howling and hissing in the winding ravines and snow-swept hollows, headway was difficult. Often was I raised from my feet: helplessly I clung to the earth for safety, and pulled at withered grass to keep my footing. The ponies, patient little brutes, with one hundred and fifty pounds strapped to their backs, came near to giving up the ghost, being swayed hopelessly to and fro in the fury. For hours we thus toiled up pathways seemingly fitter for goats than men, where leafless trees were bending destitute of life and helpless towards the valley, as the keen wind went sighing, moaning, wailing through their bare boughs and budless twigs. Such a gale, wilder than the devil's passion, I have not known even on the North Atlantic in February. At times during the day progression in the deepening snow seemed quite impossible, and my two men, worn and weary, bearing the burden of an excessively fatiguing day, well-nigh threw up the sponge, vowing that they wished they had not taken on the job. But the scenery later in the day, though monotonously so, was grand. The earth was literally the color of deep-red blood, the crimson paths intertwining the darker landscape bore to one's imagination a vision of some bloody battle--veritable rivers of human blood. To cheer the traveler in his desolation, the sun struggled vainly to pierce with its genial rays through the heavy, angry clouds rolling lazily upwards from the black valleys, and enveloping the earth in a deep infinity of severest gloom. The cold was damp. In the small hemmed-in hollows, whereto our pathway led, the icy dew clung to one's hair and beard. From little brown cottages, with poor thatched roofs letting in the light, and with walls and woodwork long since uniformly rotten, men and women emerged, rubbing their eyes and buttoning up their garments, looking wistfully for the hidden sun. At Shao-p'ai (8,100 feet) a brute of a fellow was administering cruellest chastisement to his disobedient yoke-fellow, who took her scourging in good part. I passed along as fast as I could to the ascent over which a road led in and around the mountain with alarming steepness, a road which at home would never be negotiated on foot or on horseback, but which here forms part of the main trade route. From the extreme summit one dropped abruptly into a protecting gorge, where falling cascades, sparkling like crystal showers in the feeble sunlight occasionally breaking through, danced playfully over the smooth-worn, slippery rocks; a stream foamed noisily over the loose stones, and leapt in rushing rapids where the earth had given way; there was no grass, no scenery, no life, and in the sudden turnings the hurricane roared with heavenly anger through the long deep chasms, over the twelve-inch river-beds at the foot. At Lai-t'eo-p'o accommodation at night was fairly good. Men laughed hilariously at me when I raved at some carpenters to desist their clumsy hammering three feet above my head. Hundreds of dogs yelped unceasingly at the moon, and with the usual rows of the men in mutual invitation to "Come and wash your feet," or "Ching fan, ching fan," the draughts, the creaks and cracks, the unintermitting din, and so much else, one was not sorry to rise again with the lark and push onwards in the cold. Down below this horrid town there is a plain; in this plain there is a hole fifty feet deep, and had my pony, which I was leading, not pulled me away from falling thereinto, my story would not now be telling. To Kongshan (6,700 feet), past Yei-chu-t'ang (8,100 feet) and Hsiao-lang-t'ang (7,275 feet), one hundred li away, was a journey through country considerably more interesting, especially towards the end of the day, a peculiar combination of wooded slope and rough, rock-worn pathways. Hsiao-lang-t'ang, twenty-five li from the end of the stage, overlooks a wide expanse of barren, uninviting moorland. Deep, jagged gullies break the uneven rolling of the mountains; dark, weird caverns of terrible immensity yawn hungrily from the surface of weariest desolation, ever widening with each turn. Mist hid the ugliest spots high up among the peaks, whose white summits, peeping sullenly from out this blue sea of damp haze, told a wondrous story of winter's withering all life to death, a spot than which in summer few places on earth would be more entrancing. But these mountains are breathing out a solitude which is eternal. Man here has never been. Far away beyond lies the country of the aborigines; but even the Lolo, wild and rugged as the country, fearless of man and beast, have never dared to ascend these heights. They are mournful, cheerless, devoid of a single smile from the common mother of us all, lacking every feature by which the earth draws man into a spirit of unity with his God. Horrid, frowning waste and aimless discontinuity of land, harbinger of loneliness and of evil! People, poor struggling beings of our kind, here seemed mocked of destiny, and a hot raging of misery waged within them, for all that the heart might desire and wish for had to them been denied. If, indeed, the earth be the home of hope, and man's greatest possession be hope, then would it seem that these poor creatures were entirely cut off, shut out from life, wandering wearisomely through the world in one long battle with Nature whereby to gain the wherewithal to live in that grim desert. There were no exceptions, it was the common lot. Each day and every day did these men and women, with a stolidity of long-continued destitution, and temporal and spiritual tribulation, gaze upon that bare, unyielding country, pregnant only with aggravation to their own dire wretchedness. In such spots, unhappily in Yün-nan not few, does the mystery of life grow ever more mysterious to one whom distress has never harassed. A great pity seized my heart, but these poor people would probably have laughed had they known my thoughts. As I passed they came uninterestedly to look upon me. They watched in expressive silence; they were silent because of poverty. And I, too, kept a seal upon my lips as I ate the good things here provided under the eyes of those to whom hunger had given none but a jealous outlook. Pitiful enough were it, thought I, merely to watch without allowing speech to escape further to taunt them. So I ate, and they looked at me. I came and went, but never a word was uttered by these men and women, or even by the children, whose most painful feeling seemed that of their own feebleness. They were indeed feeble units standing in a threatening infinitude of life, and their thoughts probably dwelt upon my luxury and wealth as mine could not help dwelling upon their hungry town of hungry men and famished children. Words cannot paint their poverty--men void of hope, of life, of purpose, of idea. Happy for them that they had known no other. We ascended over a road of unspeakable torture to one's feet. Gazing down, far away into a seemingly bottomless abyss, we could faintly hear in the lulling of the wind the rush of a torrent, fed by a hundred mountain streams, which washed our path and in horrible disfigurement tore open the surface of the hill-sides. The long day was drawing wearily to a close. As the sun was sinking beyond the uneven hills over which I was to climb before the descent to the town begins, the effect of the green and gold and red and brown produced a striking picture of sweet poetic beauty. I stood in contemplative admiration meditating, as I waited for my coolies, who sat moodily under a dilapidated roadside awning, nonchalantly picking out mouldy monkey-nuts from some coarse sweetmeat sold by a frowsy female. Then upwards we toiled in the dark, the weird groans of my exhausted men and the falling of the gravel beneath their sandalled feet alone breaking the hollow's gloom. Uncanny is night travel in China. "Who knows but that ghosts, those fierce-faced denizens of the hills, may run against thee and bewitch thee," murmured one man to the others. They stopped, and I stopped with them. And in the darkness, pegging on alone at the mercy of these coolies, my own thoughts were not unsynchronistic. At last, with no slight misgiving, we came down into the city's smoke. Dogs barked at me, and ran away like the curs they are. Midway down the stone footway my yamen runner too cautiously crept up to me in the dark, muttering something, and I floored him with my fist. Afterwards I learnt that he came to relieve me of the pony I was leading. Every room in every wretched inn was occupied; opium fumes already issued from the doorways, and it was now pitch dark, so that I could scarce see the sallow faces of the hungry, uncouth crowd, to whom with no little irritation I tried to speak as I peered carefully into the caravanserai. Evident it certainly was that the duty lying nearest to me at that particular moment, to myself and all concerned therein, was to accept what I was offered, and not wear out my temper in grumbling. My boy, Lao Chang (an I-pien), the brick, expressed to me his regrets, and something like real sympathy shone out from his eyes in the dimness. "Puh p'a teh, puh p'a teh" ("Have no fear, have no fear"), said he; and as I stood the while piling up cruellest torture upon my uncourtly host, he made off to prepare a downstair room (to lapse into modern boarding-house phraseology). First through an outer apartment, dark as darkest night; on past the caterwauling cook and a few disreputable culinary hangers-on; asked to look out for a pony, which I could not see, but which I was told might kick me; then onward to my boy, who stood on a stool and dropped the grease of a huge red Chinese candle among his plaited hair, as he wobbled it above his head to light the way. He gripped me tenderly, took me to his bosom as it were, gave me one push, and I was there. He tarried not. What right had he to listen to what I in secret would say of the horrid keeper and his twice horrid shakedown inn? He passed out swiftly into outer darkness, uttering a groan I rudely interpreted as, "That or nothing, that or nothing." It _was_ a room, that is in so far as four sides, a floor and a ceiling comprise one. Of that I had no doubt. A sort of uncomely offshoot from the main inn building, built on piles in the earth after the fashion of the seashore houses of the Malay--but much dirtier and incomparably more shaky. For many a long year, longer than mine horrid host would care to recollect, this now unoccupied space had served admirably as the common cooking-room--the ruined fireplace was still there; later, it had been the stable--the ruined horse trough was still there. At one extreme corner only could I stand upright; long sooty cobwebs graced the black wood beams overhead, hanging as thick as icicles in a mountain valley; each step I took in fear and trembling (the slightest move threatened to collapse the whole dilapidation). Four planks, four inches wide at the widest part and of varying lengths and thicknesses, placed on a pile of loose firewood at the head and foot, comprised the bedstead on which I tremulously sat down. Upon this improvised apology for a bed, under my mosquito curtains (no traveler should be without them in Western China), I washed my blistered feet on an ancient _Daily Telegraph_, whilst my cook saw to my evening meal. His bringing in the rice tallied with my laying the tablecloth in the same place where I had washed my feet--the one available spot. As I ate, rats came brazenly and picked up the grains of rice I dropped in my inefficient handling of chopsticks, and in scaring off these hardened, hungry vermin I accidentally upset tea over my bed, whilst at the same moment a clod-hopping coolie came in with an elephant tread, with the result that my European reading-lamp lost its balance from the top of a tin of native sugar and started a conflagration, threatening to make short work of me and my belongings--not to mention that horrid fellow and his inn. During the night the moments throbbed away as I lay on my flea-ridden couch--moments which seemed long as hours, and no gleaming rift broke the settled and deepening blackness of my hateful environs. Every thing and every place was full of the wearisome, depressing, beauty-blasting commonplace of Interior China. Stenches rose up on the damp, dank air, and throughout the night, through the opening of a window, I seemed to gaze out to a disconsolate eternity--gaping, empty, unsightly. Waking from my dozing at the hour when judgment sits upon the hearts of men, I sat in ponderous judgment upon all to whom the bungling of the previous day was due. There were the rats and mice, and cats and owls, and creaks and cracks--no quiet about the place from night to morning. Then came the barking of dogs, the noises of the cocks and kine, of horses and foals, of pigs and geese--the general wail of the zoological kingdom--cows bellowing, duck diplomacy, and much else. So that it were not surprising to learn that this distinguished traveler in these contemptible regions was sitting on a broken-down bridge, looking wearily on to the broken-down tower on the summit of a pretty little knoll outside Kungshan, thinking that it were well a score of such were added did their design embrace a warning to evade the place. Having done some twenty li by moonlight, I managed with little difficulty to reach Yang-kai (6,350 feet) by 3.0 p.m. This road, which is not the main road to the capital, was purposely chosen; most travelers go through Yang-lin. The journey is comprised of pleasant ascents and descents over the latter portion of the great Yün-nan Plateau, and a very appreciable difference in the temperature was here noticed. While the people at the north-east of the province, from which I had come, were shivering in their rags and complaining about the price of charcoal, the population here basked under Italian skies in a warm sun. From Lui-shu-ho (7,200 feet) the country was beautifully wooded with groves of firs and chestnuts. At the inn to which I was led the phlegmatic proprietor, after wishing me peace, assumed unostentatiously the becoming attitude of a Customs official, and scrutinized with vigor the whole of my gear, from an empty Calvert's tooth-powder tin to my Kodak camera, showering particularly condescending felicitations upon my English Barnsby saddle and field-glasses thereto attached. His excitement rose at once. He called loudly for his confederates--a band of inelegant infidels--and bidding them stand one by one at given distances, he gaped at them through the glasses with the hilarity of a schoolboy and the stupidity of an owl. He jumped, he shouted, he waved his arms about me, and handing them back to me with both hands, shouted deafeningly in my ear that they were quite beyond his ken; and then he sucked his teeth disgustingly and spat at my feet. His associates were speechless, asses that they were, and could only stare, in horror or impudence I know not. Meantime Lao Chang brought tea, and sallied forth immediately to fraternize among old friends. As I drank my tea, after having invited them one by one to join me, slowly and with a fitting dignity, the empty stare, destitute of sense or sincerity, of these six upstanding Chinese gentry, sucking at tobacco-pipes as long as their own overfed bodies, forced upon me a sense of my unfitness for the unknown conditions of the life of the place, a sense of loneliness and social unshelteredness in the sterile waste of their fashionable life. They spoke to me subsequently, and I bravely threw at them a Chinese phrase or two; but when the conversation got above my head, I told them, quietly but determinedly, that I could not understand, my English speech seemed vaguely to indicate a sudden collapse of the acquaintance, the opening of a gulf between us, destined to widen to the whole length and breadth of Yang-kai, swallowing up their erstwhile confidences. One of them facetiously remarked that the gentleman wished to eat his rice; and as they cleared out, falling over each other and the high step at the entrance to the room, I thought that no matter how old they are, Chinese are but little children. But had I treated them as little children I should have found that they were old men. There was in me withal a sense of better rank in the eyes of this super-excellent few who worshipped, in "heathen" China, the Satan of Fashion. As a matter of fact, their rank had emerged from such long centuries ago that it seemed to me to be so identified with them that they were hardly capable of analysis of people such as myself. As I looked pityingly upon them and the involved simplicity of their immutable natures, I realized an unconquerable feeling of inborn rank and natural elevation in respect to nationality. This is, however, against my personal general conception of Eastern peoples, but I must admit I felt it this afternoon. And so perhaps it is with the majority of Europeans in the Far East, who, because they have no knowledge of the language or a familiarity with national customs and ideas, remain always aliens with the Easterner. They cannot sympathize with him in his joys and sorrows, his likes and dislikes, his prejudice and bias, or understand anything of his point of view. This is one of the hardest lessons for the European traveler in China who has little of the language. Because we do not understand him, we call the Chinese a heathen--it is easier. Now, to the Chinese his country is the best in the world, his province better than any other of the eighteen, and the village in which he lives the most enviable spot in the province--the center of his universe. Speak disparagingly about that little circle, critically or sympathetically, and he is at once up against you. It may develop narrowness of mind and smallness of soul. We Westerners think we know that it does; and the fact that he allows his mental horizon to be bounded by such narrow confines appears to us to render him anything but a desirable citizen and a full-sized man. But no matter. The Chinese, on the other hand, regards as barbarians all those men who have never tasted the bliss of a true home in the Empire which is celestial--part of this feeling is patriotism and love of country, part is rank conceit. But Englishmen are saying that England is the most Christian country in the world for the very same reason! Rationally speaking, John is the "old brother" of the world, oldest of any nation by very many centuries. In common with all other travelers and those who have lived with this man, and who have made his nature a serious study, apart from racial bias, I am perplexed with conundrums which cannot be solved. Some of the conundrums are perhaps superficial, and disappear with a deeper insight into his life; others are wrought into his being. Yet he has a fixedness of character, reaching in some directions to absolute crystallization; he possesses the virility of young manhood and many of the mutually inconsistent traits of late manhood and early youth. I wonder at his ignorance of merest rudimentary political economy--but why? This man explored centuries ago the cardinal theories of some of our present-day Western classics. However, I have to teach him the form of the earth and the natural causes of eclipses. He is frightened by ghosts, burns mock money to maintain his ancestors in the future state, worships a bit of rusty old iron as an infallible remedy for droughts; I have seen him shoot at clouds from the city walls to frighten away the rain--and I despise him for it all. As I revise this copy, a rumor is current in the town in which I am resting to the effect that foreigners are buying children and using their heads to oil the wheels of the new Yün-nan railway, and I despise him for believing it. The Chinese will not fight, and I sneer at him; he abhors me because I do. I ridicule his manner of dress; he thinks mine grossly indecent. I consider his flat nose and the plaited hair and shaven skull as heathenish; but the Chinese, eating away with his to me ridiculous chopsticks, looks out from his quick, almond-shaped eyes and considers me still a foreign devil, although he is too cunning to tell me. His opinions of me are founded upon the narrow grounds of vanity and egotism; mine, although I do not admit it even to myself, from something very much akin thereto.[AA] I have been looked upon in far-away outposts of the Chinese Empire where foreigners are still unknown, as an example of those human monstrosities which come from the West, a creature of a very low order of the human species, with a form and face uncouth, with language a hopeless jargon, and with manners unbearably rude and obnoxious. Not that _I_ personally answer accurately to this description, reader, any more than you would, but because I happen to be among a people who, as far back as Chinese opinion of foreigners can be traced, have considered themselves of a morality and intellectuality superior to yours and mine. I write the foregoing because it sums up what may be termed the current ideas regarding Europeans, ideas the reverse of complimentary, which are the more unfortunate on account of the fact that they are held by the vast majority of a people forming a quarter of the whole human race. This is true, despite all the reform. These ideas may be, and I trust they are, erroneous, but I know that I must keep in mind the extremely important desideratum in dealing with the Chinese that they look at me--my person, my manners, my customs, my theories, my things--through Chinese eyes, and although mistaken, misled, reach their own conclusions from their own point of view. This is what they have been doing for centuries, but we know that it all now is being subjected to slow change. The original stock, however, takes on no change whatever, and several generations must pass before this transfer of mental vision can be effected, when the Chinese will view all things and all peoples in their true light. Next morning my three men were heavy. The lean fellow--I have christened him Shanks, a long, shambling human bag of bones--moved about painfully in a listless sort of way, betokening severe rheumatics; his joints needed oil. Four or five huge basins of steaming rice and the customary amount of reboiled cabbage, however, bucked him up a bit, and holding up a crooked, bony finger, he indicated intelligently that we had one hundred li to cover. Whilst engaged in conversation thus, sounds of early morning revelry reached me from below. My boy, his accustomed serenity now quite disturbed, held threateningly above the head of the yamen runner (who had given me a profound kotow the evening previous prior to taking on his duties) a length of three-inch sugar cane; he evidently meant to flatten him out. This I learned was because this shadower of the august presence wished to take Yang-lin (about 60 li away) instead of going to Ch'ang-p'o (100 li) as I intended. I got him in, looked him as squarely in the face as it is possible when a Chinese wants to evade your scrutiny, told him I wished to go to Ch'ang-p'o, and that I hoped I should have the pleasure of his company thus far. He replied with a grinning smile, which one could easily have taken for a smiling grin-- "Oh, yes, foreign mandarin, Ch'ang-p'o--100 li--foreign mandarin, foreign mandarin." And I thought the incident closed. Such is the appalling gullibility of the Englishman in China. We stopped for tea at a small hamlet ten li out. The place was deserted save for a small starving boy, whose chief attention was given to laborious endeavors to make his clothing meet in certain necessary areas. He evidently had never seen a foreigner. As he directed his optics towards me he winced visibly. He walked round me several times, fell over a grimy pail of soap-suds, stopped, gazed in enraptured enchantment with parted lips and outstretched arms as if he had begun to suspect what it was before him. To the eye of the beholder, however, he gazed as yet only on vacancy, but just as I was about to attempt self-explanation he was gone, tearing away down the hill as fast as his legs could carry him, the ragged remains of his father's trousers flapping gently in the breeze. As I rose to leave crackers frightened my pony, followed, in a few moments by a howling, hooting, unreasonable rabble from a temple near by. I found it was the result of a village squabble. I could scarce keep the order of my march as I left the tea-shop, so roughly was I handled by the irritated and impatient crowd, and had much ado to refrain from responding wrathfully to the repeated jeers of impudent, half-grown beggars of both sexes who helped to swell the riotous cortege. But through it all none of the insults were meant for me, so Lao Chang told me, and they did not mean to treat me with discourtesy. Trees hollowed out and spanned from field to field served as gutters for irrigation; shepherds clad in white felt blankets sat huddled upon the ground behind huge boulders, oblivious of time and of the boisterous wind, while their sheep and goats grubbed away on the scanty grass the moorland provided; high up we saw forest fires, making the earth black and desolate; ruins almost everywhere recalled to one's mind the image of a past prosperity, which now were replaced by traces of misery, exterior influences which seemed to breed upon the traveler a deep discouragement. I came across some women mock-weeping for the dead: at their elbow two girls were washing clothes, and when little children, catching sight of me, ran to their mothers, the women stopped their hulla-baloo, had a good stare at me, exchanged a few words of mutual inquiry, and then resumed their bellowing. Soon it became quite warm, and walking was pleasant. I was startled by the _fu-song_,[AB] who invited me to go to a neighboring town for tea. My men were far behind. I was at his mercy, so I went. Soon I found myself passing through the city gates of Yang-lin, the very town I was trying to keep away from. The yamen fellow turned back at me and chuckled rudely to himself. I insisted that I did not wish to take tea; he insisted that I should--I must. He led me to an inn in the main street, arrangements were made to house me, old men and young lads gathered to welcome me as a lost brother, and the _fu-song_ told me graciously that he was going to the magistrate. In cruel English, with many wildly threatening gestures, did I protest, and the people laughed acquiescingly. "Puh tong, puh tong, you gaping idiots!" I repeated, and it caused more glee. Swinging myself past them all, I dragged my stubborn pony through the mob to the gate by which I had entered. My men were not to be found. I did not know the road nor much of the language. I sat down on a granite pillar to undergo an embarrassing half-hour. Presently my men hailed me, and approaching, swore with imposing loftiness at the discomfited guide. My bull-dog coolie dropped his loads, the _fu-song_ somehow lost his footing, I yelled "Ts'eo" ("Go"), and with a cheer the caravan proceeded. The following day we were at the capital. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote Z: I took a pony because I had made up my mind to return into China after I had reached Burma. In Tong-ch'uan-fu a good pony can be bought for, say, _£3_--in Burma, the same pony would sell for £10. --E.J.D.] [Footnote AA: For further excellent descriptions of the Chinese nature I refer the reader to Chester Holcombe's _China: Past and Present_.--E.J.D.] [Footnote AB: _i.e._ Yamen escort.] CHAPTER XIV. YÜN-NAN-FU, THE CAPITAL. _Access to Yün-nan-fu_. _Concentrated reform_. _Tribute to Hsi Liang_. _Conservatism and progress_. _The Tonkin-Yün-nan Railway_. _The Yün-nan army_. _Author's views in 1909 and 1910 contrasted_. _Phenomenal forward march, and what it means_. _Danger of too much drill_. _International aspect on the frontier_. _The police_. _Street improvements_. _Visit to the gaol, and a description_. _The Young Pretender to the Chinese throne_. _How the prison is conducted_. _The schools_. _Visit to the university, and a description_. _Riot among the students_. _Visit to the Agricultural School, and a description_. _Silk industry of Yün-nan._ Yün-nan-fu to-day is as accessible as Peking. After many weary years the Tonkin-Yün-nan railway is now an accomplished fact, and links this capital city with Haiphong in three days. Reform concentrates at the capital. The man who visited Yün-nan-fu twenty, or even ten years ago, would be astounded, were he to go there now, at the improvements visible, on every hand. A building on foreign lines was then a thing unknown, and the conservative Viceroy, Tseng Kong Pao, the decapitator in his time of thousands upon thousands of human beings, would turn in his grave if he could behold the utter annihilation of his pet "feng shui," which has followed in the wake of the good works done by the late loved Viceroy, Hsi Liang. The name of Hsi Liang is revered in the province of Yün-nan as the most able man who has ever ruled the two provinces of Yün-nan and Kwei-chow, a man of keen intellectuality and courtly manner, and notorious as being the only Mongolian in the service of China's Government. I lived in Yün-nan-fu for several weeks at a stretch, and since then have made frequent visits, and knowing the enormous strides being made towards acquiring Occidental methods, I now find it difficult to write with absolute accuracy upon things in general. But I have found this to be the case in all my travels. What is, or seems to be, accurate to-day of any given thing in a given place is wrong tomorrow under seemingly the same conditions; and although no theme could be more tempting, and no subject offer wider scope for ingenious hypothesis and profound generalization, one has to forego much temptation to "color" if he would be accurate of anything he writes of the Chinese. Eminent sinologues agree as to the impossibility of the conception of the Chinese mind and character as a whole, so glaring are the inconsistencies of the Chinese nature. And as one sees for himself in this great city, particularly in official life, the businesslike practicability on the one hand and the utter absurdity of administration on the other, in all modes and methods, one is almost inclined to drop his pen in disgust at being unable to come to any concrete conclusions. Of no province in China more than of Yün-nan is this true. Reform and immovable conservatism go hand in hand. Men of the most dissimilar ambitions compose the _corps diplomatique_, and are willing to join hands to propagate their main beliefs; and when one writes of progress--in railways, in the army, in gaols, in schools, in public works, in no matter what--one is ever confronted by that dogged immutability which characterizes the older school. So that in writing of things Yün-nanese in this great city it is imperative for me to state bare facts as they stand now, and make little comment. THE RAILWAY The Tonkin-Yün-nan Railway, linking the interior with the coast, is one of the world's most interesting engineering romances. This artery of steel is probably the most expensive railway of its kind, from the constructional standpoint. In some districts seven thousand pounds per mile was the cost, and it is probable that six thousand pounds sterling per mile would not be a bad estimate of the total amount appropriated for the construction of the line from a loan of 200,000,000 francs asked for in 1898 by the Colonial Council in connection with the program for a network of railways in and about French Indo-China. To Lao-kay there are no less than one hundred and seventy-five bridges. The completion of this line realizes in part the ambition of a celebrated Frenchman, who--once a printer, 'tis said, in Paris--dropped into the political flower-bed, and blossomed forth in due course as Governor-General of Indo-China. When Paul Doumer, for it was he, went east in 1897, he felt it his mission to put France, politically and commercially, on as good a footing as any of her rivals, notably Great Britain. It did not take him long to see that the best missionaries in his cause would be the railways. At the time of writing (June, 1910) I cannot but think that profit on this railway will be a long time coming, and there are some in the capital who doubt whether the commercial possibilities of Yün-nan justified this huge expenditure on railway construction. Whilst authorities differ, I personally believe that the ultimate financial success of the venture is assured. There are markets crying out to be quickly fed with foreign goods, and it is my opinion that the French will be the suppliers of those goods. British enterprise is so weak that we cannot capture the greater portion of the growing foreign trade, and must feel thankful if we can but retain what trade we have, and supply those exports with which the French have no possibility of competing. * * * * * THE MILITARY The foreigner in Yün-nan-fu can never rest unless he is used to the sounds of the bugle and the hustling spirit of the men of war. In standard works on Chinese armaments no mention is ever made of the Yün-nan army, and statistics are hard to get. But it is evident that the cult of the military stands paramount, and it has to be conceded, even by the most pessimistic critics of this backward province, that the new troops are sufficiently numerous and sufficiently well-organized to crush any rebellion. This must be counted a very fair result, since it has been attained in about two years. A couple of years ago Yün-nan had practically no army--none more than the military ragtags of the old school, whose chief weapon of war was the opium pipe. But now there are ten thousand troops--not units on paper, but men in uniform--well-drilled for the most part and of excellent physique, who could take the field at once. The question of the Yün-nan army is one of international interest: the French are on the south, Great Britain on the west. On June 2nd, 1909, I rode out to the magnificent training ground, then being completed, and on that date wrote the following in my diary:-- "I watched for an hour or two some thousand or so men undergoing their daily drill--typical tin soldiery and a military sham. "Only with the merest notion of matters military were most of the men conversant, and alike in ordinary marching--when it was most difficult for them even to maintain regularity of step--or in more complicated drilling, there was a lack of the right spirit, no go, no gusto--scores and scores of them running round doing something, going through a routine, with the knowledge that when it was finished they would get their rice and be happy. Everyone who possesses but a rudimentary knowledge of the Chinese knows that he troubles most about the two meals every day should bring him, and this seems to be the pervading line of thought of seven-eighths of the men I saw on the padang at drill. Officers strutting about in peacock fashion, with a sword dangling at their side, showed no inclination to enforce order, and the rank and file knew their methods, so that the disorder and haphazardness of the whole thing was absolutely mutual. "Whilst I was on the field gazing in anything but admiration on the scene, I was ordered out by one of the khaki-clad officers in a most unceremonious manner. Seeing me, he shouted at the top of his thick voice, 'Ch'u-k'ü, ch'u-k'ü' (an expression meaning 'Go out!'--commonly used to drive away dogs), and simultaneously waved his sword in the air as if to say, 'Another step, and I'll have your head.' And, of course, there being nothing else to do, I 'ch'u-k'üd,' but in a fashion befitting the dignity of an English traveler. "The reorganization of the army, with the acceleration of warlike preparedness, has the advantage that it appeals to the embryonic feeling of national patriotism, and affords a tangible expression of the desire to be on terms of equality with the foreigner. That officer never had a prouder moment in his life than when he ordered a distinguished foreigner from the drilling ground, of which he was for the time the lordly comptroller. And it may be added that the foreigner can remember no occasion when he felt 'smaller,' or more completely shrivelled. "Whilst it is safe to infer that the motives that underlie the significant access of activity in military matters in Yün-nan differ in no way from those which have led to the feverish increase in armaments in other parts of the world, such ideas that have yet been formed on actual preparations for possible war are most crude. On paper the appointments in the army and the accuracy of the figures of the complement of rank and file admit of no question, but the practical utility of their labors is quite another matter, and a matter which does not appear to produce among the army officials any great mental disturbance in their delusion that they are progressing. Yün-nan is in need of military reform, reform which will embrace a start from the very beginning, and one of the first steps that should be taken is that those who are to be in the position of administering training should find out something about western military affairs, and so be in a position of knowing what they are doing." The above was my conscientious opinion in the middle of last year. Now--in June of 1910--I have to write of enormous improvements and revolutions in the drilling, in the armaments, in the equipment, in the general organization of the troops and the conduct of them. Yün-nan is still peculiarly in her transition stage, which, while it has many elements of strength and many menacing possibilities, contains, more or less, many of the old weaknesses. All matters, such as her financial question, her tariff question, her railway question, her mining question, are still "in the air"--the unknown _x_ in the equation, as it were--but her army question is settled. There is a definite line to be followed here, and it is being followed most rigidly. Come what will, her army must be safe and sound. China is determined to work out the destiny of Yün-nan herself, and she is working hard--the West has no conception how hard--so as to be able to be in a position of safeguarding--vigorously, if necessary--her own borders. One question arises in my mind, however. Should there be a rebellion, would the soldiers remain true? This is vital to Yün-nan. Skirmishings on the French border more or less recently have shown us that soldiers are wobblers in that area. The rank and file are chosen from the common people, and one would not be surprised to find, should trouble take place fairly soon, while they are still raw to their business, the soldiers turn to those who could give them most. It has been humorously remarked that in case of disturbances the first thing the Chinese Tommy would do would be to shoot the officers for treating him so badly and for drilling him so hard and long. What is true of the capital in respect to military progress I found to be true also of Tali-fu. A couple of years ago a company of drilled soldiers arrived there as a nucleus for recruiting units for the new army. Soon 1,500 men were enlisted. They were to serve a three years' term, were to receive four dollars per month, and were promised good treatment. The officers drilled them from dawn to dusk; deserters were therefore many, necessitating the detail of a few heads coming off to avert the trouble of losing all the men. It cost the men about a dollar or so for their rice, so that it will be readily seen that, with a clear profit of three dollars as a monthly allowance, they were better off than they would have been working on their land. Officers received from forty to sixty taels a month. Temples here were converted into barracks--a sign in itself of the altered conditions of the times--and I visited some extensive buildings which were being erected at a cost of eighty thousand gold dollars. Military progress in this "backward province" is as great as it has been anywhere at any time in any part of the Chinese Empire. THE POLICE Until a few years ago, as China was kept in law and order without the necessary evil of a standing army, so did Yün-nan-fu slumber on in the Chinese equivalent for peace and plenty. As they now are, and taking into consideration that they were all picked from the rawest material, the police force of this capital is as able a body of men as are to be found in all Western China. Probably the Metropolitan police of dear old London could not be re-forced from their ranks, but disciplined and well-ordered they certainly are withal. Swords seem to take the place of the English bludgeon, and a peaked cap, beribboned with gold, is substituted for the old-fashioned helmet of blue; and if the time should ever come, with international rights, when Englishmen will be "run in" in the Empire, the sallow physiognomy and the dangling pigtail alone will be unmistakable proofs to the victim, even in heaviest intoxication, that he is not being handled by policemen of his awn kind--that is, if the Yün-nan police shall ever have made strides towards the attainment of home police principles. However, in their place these men have done good work. Thieving in the city is now much less common, and gambling, although still rife under cover--when will the Chinese eradicate that inherent spirit?--is certainly being put down. One of the features of their work also has been the improvement they have effected in the appearance of the streets. Old customs are dying, and at the present time if a man in his untutored little ways throws his domestic refuse into the place where the gutter should have been, as in olden days, he is immediately pounced upon, reprimanded by the policeman on duty, and fined somewhat stiffly. THE GAOL A great fuss was made about me when I went to visit the governor of the prison one wet morning. He met me with great ostentation at the entrance, escorting me through a clean courtyard, on either side of which were pretty flower-beds and plots of green turf, to a reception-room. There was nothing "quadlike" about the place. This reception-room, furnished on a semi-Occidental plan, overlooked the main prison buildings, contained foreign glass windows draped with white curtains, was scrupulously clean for China, and had magnificent hanging scrolls on the whitewashed walls. Tea was soon brewed, and the governor, wishing to be polite and sociable, told me that he had been in Yün-nan-fu for a few months only, and that he considered himself an extremely fortunate fellow to be in charge of such an excellent prison--one of the finest in the kingdom, he assured me. After we had drunk each other's health--I sincerely trust that the cute, courteous old chap will live a long and happy life, although to my way of thinking the knowledge of the evil deeds of all the criminals around me would considerably minimize the measure of bliss among such intensely mundane things--I was led away to the prison proper. This gaol, which had been opened only a few months, is a remarkably fine building, and with the various workshops and outhouses and offices covers from seven to eight acres of ground inside the city. The outside, and indeed the whole place, bears every mark of Western architecture, with a trace here and there of the Chinese artistry, and for carved stone and grey-washed brick might easily be mistaken for a foreign building. It cost some ninety thousand taels to build, and has accommodation for more than the two hundred and fifty prisoners at present confined within its walls. After an hour's inspection, I came to the conclusion that the lot of the prisoners was cast in pleasant places. The food was being prepared at the time--three kinds of vegetables, with a liberal quantity of rice, much better than nine-tenths of the poor brutes lived on before they came to gaol. Besworded warders guarded the entrances to the various outbuildings. From twenty to thirty poor human beings were manacled in their cells, condemned to die, knowing not how soon the pleasure of the emperor may permit of them shuffling off this mortal coil: one grey-haired old man was among the number, and to see him stolidly waiting for his doom brought sad thoughts. The long-termed prisoners work, of course, as they do in all prisons. Weaving cloth, mostly for the use of the military, seemed to be the most important industry, there being over a score of Chinese-made weaving machines busily at work. The task set each man is twelve English yards per day; if he does not complete this quantity he is thrashed, if he does more he is remunerated in money. One was amused to see the English-made machine lying covered with dust in a corner, now discarded, but from its pattern all the others had been made in the prison. Tailors rose as one man when we entered their shop, where Singer machines were rattling away in the hands of competent men; and opposite were a body of pewter workers, some of their products--turned out with most primitive tools--being extremely clever. The authorities had bought a foreign chair, made of iron--a sort of miniature garden seat--and from this pattern a squad of blacksmiths were turning out facsimiles, which were selling at two dollars apiece. They were well made, but a skilled mechanic, not himself a prisoner, was teaching the men. Bamboo blinds were being made in the same room, whilst at the extreme end of another shed were paper dyers and finishers, carrying on a primitive work in the same primitive way that the Chinese did thousands of years ago. It was, however, exceedingly interesting to watch. As we passed along I smelt a strong smell of opium. Yes, it was opium. I sniffed significantly, and looked suspiciously around. The governor saw and heard and smelt, but he said nothing. Opium, then, is not, as is claimed, abolished in Yün-nan. Worse than this: whilst I was the other day calling upon the French doctor at the hospital, the vilest fumes exuded from the room of one of the dressers. It appeared that the doctor could not break his men of the habit. But we remember that the physician of older days was exhorted to heal himself. Just as I was beginning to think I had seen all there was to be seen, I heard a scuffle, and saw a half-score of men surrounding a poor frightened little fellow, to whom I was introduced. He was the little bogus Emperor of China, the Young Pretender, to whom thousands of Yün-nan people, at the time of the dual decease in recent Chinese history, did homage, and kotowed, recognizing him as the new emperor. The story, not generally known outside the province, makes good reading. At the time of the death of the emperor and empress-dowager, an aboriginal family at the village of Kuang-hsi-chou, in the southeast of Yün-nan province, knowing that a successor to the throne must be found, and having a son of about eight years of age, put this boy up as a pretender to the Chinese throne, and not without considerable success. The news spread that the new emperor was at the above-named village, and the people for miles around flocked in great numbers to do him homage, congratulating themselves that the emperor should have risen from the immediate neighborhood in which they themselves had passed a monotonous existence. For weeks this pretense to the throne was maintained, until a miniature rebellion broke out, to quell which the Viceroy of Yün-nan dispatched with all speed a strong body of soldiers. Everybody thought that the loss of a few heads and other Chinese trivialities was to end this little flutter of the people. But not so. The whole of the family who had promoted this fictitious claim to the throne--father, mother, brothers, sisters--were all put to death, most of them in front of the eyes of the poor little fellow who was the victim of their idle pretext. The military returned, reporting that everything was now quiet, and a few days later, guarded by twenty soldiers, came this young pretender, encaged in one of the prison boxes, breaking his heart with grief. And it was he who was now conducted to meet the foreigner. He has been confined within the prison since he arrived at the capital, and the object seems to be to keep him there, training and teaching him until he shall have arrived at an age when he can be taught a trade. The tiny fellow is small for his eight years, and his little wizened face, sallow and delicate, has a plausible tale to tell. He is always fretting and grieving for those whose heads were shown to him after decapitation. However, he is being cared for, and it is doubtful whether the authorities--or even the emperor himself--will mete out punishment to him when he grows older. He did nothing; he knew nothing. At the present time he is going through a class-book which teaches him the language to be used in audience with the Son of Heaven--he will probably be taken before the emperor when he is old enough. But now he is not living the life of a boy--no playmates, no toys, no romps and frolics. He, like Topsy, merely grows--in surroundings which only a dark prison life can give him. This was the first time I had even been in prison in China. This remark rather tickled the governor, and on taking my departure he assured me that it was an honor to him, which the Chinese language was too poor to express, that I should have allowed my honorable and dignified person to visit his mean and contemptible abode. He commenced this compliment to me as he was showing me the well-equipped hospital in connection with the prison--containing eight separate wards in charge of a Chinese doctor. I smiled in return a smile of deepest gratitude, and waving a fond farewell, left him in a happy mood. THE SCHOOLS One would scarce dream of a university for the province of Yün-nan. Yet such is the case. In former days--and it is true, too, to a great extent to-day--the prominent place given to education in China rendered the village schools an object of more than common interest, where the educated men of the Empire received their first intellectual training. Probably in no other country was there such uniformity in the standards of instruction. Every educated man was then a potential school master--this was certainly true of Yün-nan. But all is now changing, as the infusion of the spirit of the phrase "China for the Chinese" gains forceful meaning among the people. The highest hill within the city precincts has been chosen as the site for a university, which is truly a remarkable building for Western China. One of the students of the late. Dr. Mateer (Shantung) was the architect--a man who came originally to the school as a teacher of mathematics--and it cannot be said that the huge oblong building, with a long narrow wing on either side of a central dome, is the acme of beauty from a purely architectural standpoint. Of red-faced brick, this university, which cost over two hundred thousand taels to build, is most imposing, and possesses conveniences and improvements quite comparable to the ordinary college of the West. For instance, as I passed through the many admirably-equipped schoolrooms, well ventilated and airy, I saw an Italian who was laying in the electric light,[AC] the power for which was generated by an immense dynamo at the basement, upon which alone twenty thousand taels were spent. Thirty professors have the control of thirty-two classrooms, teaching among other subjects mathematics, music, languages (chiefly English and Japanese), geography, chemistry, astronomy, geology, botany, and so on. The museum, situated in the center of the building, does not contain as many specimens as one would imagine quite easily obtainable, but there are certainly some capital selections of things natural to this part of the Empire. The authorities probably thought I was rather a queer foreigner, wanting to see everything there was to see inside the official barriers in the city. Day after day I was making visits to places where foreigners seldom have entered, and I do not doubt that the officials, whilst treating me with the utmost deference and extreme punctiliousness, thought I was a sort of British spy. When I went to the Agricultural School, probably the most interesting visit I made, I was met by the Secretary for Foreign Affairs, a keen fellow, who spoke English well, and who, having been trained at Shanghai, and therefore understanding the idiosyncrasies of the foreigner's character, was invited to entertain. And this he did, but he was careful that he did not give away much information regarding the progress that the Yün-nanese, essentially sons of the soil, are making in agriculture. For this School of Agriculture is an important adjunct. Scholars are taken on an agreement for three years, during which time they are fed and housed at the expense of the school; if they leave during the specified period they are fined heavily. No less than 180 boys, ranging from sixteen to twenty-three, are being trained here, with about 120 paid apprentices. Three Japanese professors are employed--one at a salary of two hundred dollars a month, and two others at three hundred, the latter having charge of the fruit and forest trees and the former of vegetables. In years to come the silk industry of Yün-nan will rank among the chief, and the productions will rank among the best of all the eighteen provinces. There are no less than ten thousand mulberry trees in the school grounds for feeding the worms; four thousand catties of leaves are used every day for their food; five hundred immense trays of silkworms are constantly at work here. The worms are in the charge of scholars, whose names appear on the various racks under their charge, and the fact that feeding takes place every two hours, day and night, is sufficient testimony that the boys go into their work with commendable energy. As I was being escorted around the building, through shed after shed filled with these trays of silkworms, several of the scholars made up a sort of procession, and waited for the eulogy that I freely bestowed. In another building small boys were spinning the silk, and farther down the weavers were busy with their primitive machinery, with which, however, they were turning out silk that could be sold in London at a very big price. The colorings were specially beautiful, and the figuring quite good, although the head-master of the school told me that he hoped for improvements in that direction. And I, looking wise, although knowing little about silk and its manufacture, heartily agreed with the little fat man. There is a department for women also, and contrary to custom, I had a look around here, too. The girls were particularly smart at spinning. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote AC: Soon afterwards a disturbance occurred among the students, and had it not been for the promptitude of the inspector, some of them might have lost their heads. The electric light had just been laid in, and was working so well that the authorities found it imperative to charge each of the 400 resident students one dollar per month for the upkeep. This simple edict was the cause of the riot In a body the boys rolled up their pukais, and marched down to the main entrance, declaring that they were determined to resign if the order was not rescinded. The inspector, however, had had all the doors locked. The frenzied students broke these open, and incidentally thrashed some of the caretakers for interfering in matters which were not considered to be strictly their business. Subsequently the Chancellor of Education visited the college in person, but no heed was paid to his exhortations, and it was only when the dollar charge for lighting was reduced that peace was restored. The Chancellor, as a last word, told them that if they vacated their schoolrooms a fine of about a hundred taels would be imposed upon each man. The occasion was marked by all the foolish ardor one finds among college boys at home, and it seems that, despite the enormous amount of money the college is costing to run, the students are somewhat out of hand.--E.J.D.] SECOND JOURNEY YÜN-NAN-FU TO TALI-FU (VIA CH'U-HSIONG-FU) CHAPTER XV. _Stages to Tali-fu_. _Worst roads yet experienced_. _Stampede among ponies_. _Hybrid crowd at Anning-cheo_. _Simplicity of life of common people_. _Does China want the foreigner? Straits Settlements and China Proper compared_. _China's aspect of her own position_. _Renaissance of Chinese military power_. _Europeans_ NOT _wanted in the Empire_. _Emptiness of the lives of the common people_. _Author erects a printing machine in Inland China_. _National conceit_. _Differences in make-up of the Hua Miao and the Han Ren_. _The Hua Miao and what they are doing_. _Emancipation of their women_. _Tribute to Protestant missionaries_. _Betrothal and marriage in China_. _Miao women lead a life of shame and misery_. _Crude ideas among Chinese regarding age of foreigners_. _Musty man and dusty traveller at Lao-ya-kwan_. _Intense cold_. _Salt trade_. _Parklike scenery, pleasant travel, solitude._ From the figures of heights appearing below, one would imagine that between the capital and Tali-fu hard climbing is absent. But during each stage, with the exception of the journey from Sei-tze to Sha-chiao-kai, there is considerable fatiguing uphill and downhill work, each evening bringing one to approximately the same level as that from which he started his morning tramp. I went by the following route:-- Length of Height stage above sea 1st day--Anning-cheo 70 li 6,300 ft. 2nd day--Lao-ya-kwan 70 li 6,800 ft. 3rd day--Lu-fêng-hsien 75 li 5,500 ft. 4th day--Sei-tze 80 li 6,100 ft. 5th day--Kwang-tung-hsien 60 li 6,300 ft. 6th day--Rest day. 7th day--Ch'u-hsiong-fu 70 li 6,150 ft. 8th day--Luho-kai 60 li 6,000 ft. 9th day--Sha-chiao-kai 65 li 6,400 ft. 10th day--Pu-pêng 90 li 7,200 ft. 11th day--Yün-nan-ï 65 li 6,800 ft. 12th day--Hungay 80 li 6,000 ft. 14th day--Chao-chow 60 li 6,750 ft. 15th day--Tali-fu 60 li 6,700 ft. A long, winding and physically-exhausting road took me from Sha-chiao-kai to Yin-wa-kwan, the most elevated pass between Yün-nan-fu and Tali-fu, and continued over barren mountains, bereft of shelter, and void of vegetation and people, to Pupêng. A rough climb of an hour and a half then took me to the top of the next mountain, where roads and ruts followed a high plateau for about thirty li, and with a precipitous descent I entered the plain of Yün-nan-ï. Then over and between barren hills, passing a small lake and plain with the considerable town of Yün-nan-hsien ten li to the right, I continued in a narrow valley and over mountains in the same uncultivated condition to Hungay, situated in a swampy valley. Having crossed this valley, another rough climb brings the traveler to the top of the next pass, Ting-chi-ling, whence the road descends, and leads by a well-cultivated valley to Chao-chow. After an easy thirty li we reached Hsiakwan,[AD] one of the largest commercial cities in the province, lying at the foot of the most magnificent mountain range in Yün-nan, and by the side of the most famous lake. A paved road takes one in to his destination at Tali-fu, where I was welcomed by Dr. and Mrs. Clark, of the China Inland Mission, and hospitably entertained for a couple of days. The roads in general from Yün-nan-fu to Tali-fu were worse than any I have met from Chung-king onwards, partly owing to the mountainous condition of the country, and partly to neglect of maintenance. Where the road is paved, it is in most places worse than if it had not been paved at all, as neither skill nor common sense seems to have been exercised in the work. It is probably safe to say that there are no ancient roads in Yün-nan, in the sense of the constructed highways which have lasted through the centuries, for the civilization of the early Yün-nanese was not equal to such works. As a matter of fact, the condition of the roads is all but intolerable. Many were never made, and are seldom mended--one may say that with very few exceptions they are never repaired, except when utterly impassable, and then in the most make-shift manner. My highly-strung Rusty received a shock to his nervous system as I led him leisurely from the incline leading into Anning-cheo (6,300 feet), through the arched gateway in a pagoda-like entrance, which when new would have been a credit to any city. The stones of the main street were so slippery that I could hardly keep on my legs. Frightened by one of their number dragging its empty wooden carrying frame along the ground behind it, a drove of unruly-pack-ponies lashed and bucked and tossed themselves out of order, and an instant afterwards came helter-skelter towards my ten-inch pathway by the side of the road. All of my men caught the panic, and in their mad rush several were knocked down and trampled upon by the torrent of frightened creatures. I thought I was being charged by cavalry, but beyond a good deal of bruising I escaped unhurt. Closer and closer came the hubbub and the din of the town--the market was not yet over. As I approached the big street, throngs of blue-cottoned yokels, quite out of hand, created a nerve-racking uproar, as they thriftily drove their bargains. I shrugged my shoulders, gazed long and earnestly at the motley mob, and putting on a bold front, pushed through in a careless manner. Ponies with salt came in from the other end of the town, and in their waddling the little brutes gave me more knocks. It was an awful crowd--Chinese, Minchia, Lolo, and other specimens of hybridism unknown to me. Yet I suppose the majority of them may be called happy. Certainly the simplicity of the life of the common people, their freedom from fastidious tastes, which are only a fetter in our own Western social life, their absolute independence of furniture in their homes, their few wants and perhaps fewer necessities, when contrasted with the demands of the Englishman, is to them a state of high civilization. Here were farmers, mechanics, shopkeepers, and retired people living a simple, unsophisticated life. All the strength of the world and all its beauties, all true joy, everything that consoles, that feeds hope, or throws a ray of light along our dark paths, everything that enables us to discern across our poor lives a splendid goal and a boundless future, comes to us from true simplicity. I do not say that we get all this from the Chinese, but in many ways they can teach us how to live in the _spirit of simplicity_. They were living from hand to mouth, with seemingly no anxieties at all--and yet, too, they were living without God, and with very little hope. And here the foreigner re-appeared to disturb them. Even in Anning-cheo, only a day from the capital, I was regarded as a being of another species, and was treated with little respect. I was not wanted. No international question has become more hackneyed than "Does China want the foreigner?" Columns of utter nonsense have from time to time been printed in the English press, purporting to have come from men supposed to know, to the effect that this Empire is crying out, waiting with open arms to welcome the European and the American with all his advanced methods of Christendom and civilization. It has by general assent come to be understood that China _does_ want the foreigner. But those who know the Chinese, and who have lived with them, and know their inherent insincerity in all that they do, still wonder on, and still ask, "Does she?" To the European in Hong-Kong, or any of the China ports, having trustworthy Chinese on his commercial staff--without whom few businesses in the Far East can make progress--my argument may seem to have no _raison d'etre_. He will be inclined to blurt out vehemently the absurdity of the idea that the Chinese do not want the foreigner. First, they cannot do without him if China is to come into line as a great nation among Eastern and Western powers. And then, again, could anyone doubt the sincerity of the desire on the part of the Celestial for closer and downright friendly intercourse if he has had nothing more than mere superficial dealings with them? Thus thought the writer at one time in his life. He has had in a large commercial firm some of the best Chinese assistants living, in China or out of it, and has nothing but praise for their assiduous perseverance and remarkable business acumen and integrity. As a business man, I admire them far and away above any other race of people in the East and Far East. Is there any business man in the Straits Settlements who has not the same opinion of the Straits-born Chinese? But as one who has traveled in China, living among the Chinese and with them, seeing them under all natural conditions, at home in their own country, I say unhesitatingly that at the present time only an infinitesimal percentage of the population of the vast Interior entertain genuine respect for the white man, and, in centers where Western influence has done so much to break down the old-time hatred towards us, the real, unveneered attitude of the ordinary Chinese is one not calculated to foster between the Occident and the Orient the brotherhood of man. Difficult is it for the foreigner in civilized parts of China--and impossible for the great preponderance of the European peoples at home--to grasp the fact that in huge tracts of Interior China the populace have never seen a foreigner, save for the ubiquitous missionary, who takes on more often than not the dress of the native. Although the Chinese Government recognizes the dangerous situation of the nation _vis-à-vis_ with nations of Europe, and has ratified one treaty after another with us, the nation itself does not, so far as the traveler can see, appreciate the fact that she cannot possibly resist the white man, and hold herself in seclusion as formerly from the Western world. China is discovering--has discovered officially, although that does not necessarily mean nationally--as Japan did so admirably when her progress was most marked, that steam and machinery have made the world too small for any part thereof to separate itself entirely from the broadening current of the world's life. Whilst not for a moment failing to admire the aggressive character of Occidentals, and the resultant necessity of thwarting them--we see[1] this especially in official circles in Yün-nan--Chinese leaders of thought and activity are recognizing that in international relations the final appeal can be only to a superior power, and that power, to be superior, must be thorough, and thorough throughout. So different to what has held good in China for countless ages. That is why China is making sure of her army, and why she will have ready in 1912--ten years before the period originally intended--no less than thirty-six divisions, each division formed of ten thousand units.[A] China is now endeavoring to walk the ground which led Japan to greatness among the nations--she takes Japan as her pattern, and thinks that what Japan has done she can do--and, officially abandoning her long course of self-sufficient isolation, is plunging into the flood of international progress, determined to acquire all the knowledge she can, and thus win for herself a place among the Powers. But I am in Yün-nan, and things move slowly here. All this does not mean that my presence is desired, or that fear of me, the foreigner, has ceased. On the contrary, it signifies that I am more greatly to be feared. The European is _not_ wanted in China, no matter how absurd it may seem to the student of international politics, who sits and devours all the newspaper copy--good, bad and indifferent--which filters through regarding China becoming the El Dorado of the Westerner. He is wanted for no other reason than that of teaching the Chinese to foreignize as much as he can, teaching the leaders of the people to strive to modify national life, and to raise public conduct and administration to the best standards of the West. When China is capable of looking after herself, and able to maintain the position she is securing by the aid of the foreigner in her provinces, following her present mode of thought and action, the foreigner may go back again. But it is to be hoped that the evolution of the country will be different. Another feature impressed upon me was the emptiness of the lives of the people. Education was rare, and any education they had was confined to the Chinese classics. Neither of the three men I had with me could read or write. The thoughts of these people are circumscribed by the narrow world in which they live, and only a chance traveler such as myself allows them a glimpse of other places. Each man, with rare exception, lives and labors and dies where he is born--that is his ambition; and in the midst of a people whose whole outlook of life is so contracted, I find difficulty in believing that progress such as Japan made in her memorable fifty-year forward movement will be made by the Chinese of Yün-nan in two hundred years. Everything one can see around him here, at this town of Anning-cheo, seems to make against it. In my dealings with Chinese in their own country--I speak broadly--I have found that they "know everything." I erected a printing-press in Tong-ch'uan-fu some months ago--a type of the old flat handpress not unlike that first used by Caxton. It was a part of the equipment of the Ai Kueh Hsieh Tang (Love of Country School), and I was invited by the gentry to erect it. Now the thing had not been up an hour before all the old fossils in the place knew all about it. Printing to them was easy--a child could do it. It is always, "O ren teh, o ren teh" ("I know, I know"). These men, dressed in their best, stood with arms behind them, and smiled stupidly as I labored with my coat off fixing their primitive machinery. Yet they did _not_ know, and now, within a few months, not a sheet has been printed, and the whole plant is going to rack and ruin. This is the difference between the Chinese and the tribespeople of Yün-nan. Here we see the god of the missionary again, quite apart from any religious basis. The tribesman comes and lays himself at the feet of the missionary, and says at once, "I do not know. Tell me, and I will follow you. I want to learn." That is why it is that the Chinese stand open-eyed and open-mouthed when they see the Miao making strides altogether impossible to themselves, in proportion to their standard of civilization, and this position of things will not be altered, unless they cease to deceive themselves. I have seen a Miao boy of nine who never in his life had seen a Chinese character, who did not know that school existed and, whose only tutoring depended on the week's visit of the missionary twice a year. I have seen this youngster read off a sheet of Chinese characters no Chinese boy of his age in the whole city would succeed in. I have not been brought into contact with any other tribe as I have with the Hua Miao.[1] But if the progress this once-despised people are making is maintained, the Yün-nanese will very soon be left behind in the matter of practical scholarship. These Miao live the simplest of simple lives, but they wish to become better--to live purer lives, to become civilized, to be uplifted; and therefore they are most humble, most approachable, and are slowly evolving into a happy position of proud independence. Education among the Hua Miao is not lost: among the Chinese much of the labor put forward in endeavors to educate them is lost, or seems to bear no immediate fruit. The Miao are living by confidence and hope that turns towards the future; the Yün-nanese are content with their confidence in the past. The Miao, however, were not like this always--but a few years ago they were not heard of outside China. The coming emancipation of their women, demands some attention. The few Europeans who have lived among the multitudes in Central China would not associate beds of roses with the lives of the women anywhere. The daughter is seldom happy, and unless the wife present her husband with sons, who will perpetuate the father's name and burn incense at his tablet after his death, her life is more often than not made absolutely unbearable--a fact more than any other one thing responsible for the numerous suicides. She is the drudge, the slave of the man. And the popular belief is that all the women of the Middle Kingdom are essentially Chinese; but little is heard of the tribespeople--more numerous probably than in any other given area in all the world--whose womankind are as far removed from the Chinese in language, habits and customs as English ladies of to-day are removed from Grecians. A decade or so ago no one heard of the Miao women: they were the lowest of the low, having no _status_. They were far worse off than their Chinese sisters, who, no matter what they had to endure after marriage, were certainly safeguarded by law and etiquette allowing them to enter the married state with respectability; but no social laws, no social ties protect the Miao women. Until a few years ago their "club" was a common brothel, too horrible to describe in the English language. As soon as a girl gave birth to her first child she came down on the father to keep her. In many cases, it is only fair to say, they lived together faithfully as man and wife, although such cases were not by any means in the majority. The poor creatures herded together in their unspeakable vice and infamy, with no shame or common modesty, fighting for the wherewithal to live, and only by chance living regularly with one man, and then only just so long as he wished. Little girls of ten and over regularly attended these awful hovels, and children grew out of their childhood with no other vision than that of entering into the disgraceful life as early as Nature would allow them. It meant little less than that practically the whole of the population was illegitimate, viewed from a Western standpoint. No such thing as marriage existed. Men and women cohabited in this horrible orgy of existence, with the result that murder, disease and pestilence were rife among them. It was only a battle of the survival of the fittest to pursue so terrible a life. Nearly all the people were diseased by the transgression of Nature's laws. After a time, however, through the instrumentality of Protestant missionaries, these wretched people began to see the light of civilization. Gradually, and of their own free will, the girls gave up their accursed dens of misery and shame, and the men lived more in accord with social law and order. The Miao, too, had hitherto been dependent for their literature upon the Chinese character, which only a few could understand. Soon they had literature in their own language,[AE] and a great social reform set in. They showed a desire for Western learning such as has seldom been seen among any people in China--these were people lowest down in the social scale; and now the latest phase is the establishment of bethrothal and marriage laws, calculated to revolutionize the community and to introduce what in China is the equivalent for home life. Betrothal among the Chinese is a matter with which the parties most deeply concerned have little to do. Their parents engage a go-between or match-maker, and another point is that there is no age limit. Not so now with the Christian Miao. No paid go-between is engaged, and brides are to be at a minimum age of eighteen years, and bridegrooms twenty. The establishment of these laws will, it is hoped, make for the emancipation from a life of the most dreadful misery of thousands of women in one of the darkest countries of the earth.[AF] But now the Miao is pressing forward under his burdens, to guide himself in the struggle, to retrieve his falls and his failures; and in the future lies his hope--the indomitable hope upon which the interest of humanity is based--and he has in addition the grand expectation of escaping despair even in death. It is all the praiseworthy work of our fellow-countrymen, living isolated lives among the people, building up a worthy Christian structure upon Miao simplicity and humble fidelity to the foreigner. But I digress from my travel. Little out of the ordinary marked my travels to Lao-ya-kwan (6,800 feet), an easy stage. My meager tiffin at an insignificant mountain village was, as usual, an educational lesson to the natives. Each tin that came from my food basket--one's servant delighted to lay out the whole business--underwent the severest criticism tempered with unmeaning eulogy, picked up and put down by perhaps a score of people, who did not mean to be rude. When I used their chopsticks--dirty little pieces of bamboo--in a manner very far removed from their natural method, they were proud of me. Outrageously panegyric references were made when an old man, scratching at his disagreeable itch-sores under my nose, clipped a youngster's ear for hazarding my age to be less than that of any of the bystanders, the length of my moustache and a three-day growth on my chin giving them the opinion that I was certainly over sixty.[AG] I entered Lao-ya-kwan under an inauspicious star. No accommodation was to be had, all the inns were literally overrun with sedan chairs and filled with well-dressed officials, already busy with the "hsi-lien" (wash basin). In my dirty khaki clothes, out at knee and elbow, looking musty and mean and dusty, with my topee botched and battered, I presented a most unhappy contrast as I led my pony down the street under the sarcastic stare of bystanding scrutineers. The nights were cold, and in the private house where I stayed, mercifully overlooked by a trio of protesting effigies with visages grotesque and gruesome, rats ran fearlessly over the room's mud floor, and at night I buried my head in my rugs to prevent total disappearance of my ears by nibbling. Not so my men. They slept a few feet from me, three on one bench, two on another. Bedding was not to be had, and so among the dirty straw they huddled together as closely as possible to preserve what bodily heat they had. Snow fell heavily. In the early morning sunlight on January 13th the undulating valley, with its grand untrodden carpet of white, looked magnificently beautiful as I picked out the road shown me by a poor fellow whose ears had got frost-nipped. No easy work was it climbing tediously up the narrow footway in a sharp spur rising some 1,000 feet in a ribbed ascent, overlooking a fearful drop. Over to the left I saw an unhappy little urchin, hardly a rag covering his shivering, bleeding body, grovelling piteously in the snow, while his blind and goitrous mother did her best at gathering firewood with a hatchet. The pass leading over this range, through which the white crystalline flakes were driven wildly in one's face, was a half-moon of smooth rock actually worn away by the endless tramping of myriads of pack-ponies, who then were plodding through ruts of steps almost as high as their haunches. A man with a diseased hip joined me thirty li farther on, dismounting from his pile of earthly belongings which these men fix on the backs of their ponies. It is a creditable trapeze act to effect a mount after the pony is ready for the journey. He had, he said, met me before. He knew that I was a missionary, and had heard me preach. He remembered my wife and myself and children passing the night in the same inn in which he stayed on one of his pilgrimages from his native town somewhere to the east of the province. I had never seen him before! I had no wife; I have never preached a sermon in my life. I should be pained ever again to have to suffer his unmannerly presence anywhere. Ponies were being loaded near my table. The rapscallion in question explained that the black blocks were salt, taking a pinch from my salt-cellar with his grimy fingers to add point to his remarks. I kicked at a couple of mongrels under the rude form on which I sat--they fought for the skins of those potato-like pears which grow here so prolifically. The person announced that they were dogs, and that an idiosyncrasy of Chinese dogs was to fight. Several wags joined in, and all appeared, through the traveling nincompoop, to know all about my past and present, lapsing into a desultory harangue upon all men and things foreign. The street reminded me of Clovelly--rugged and ragged--and the people were wrinkled and wretched; and, indeed, being a Devonian myself by birth, I should be excused of wantonly intending to hurt the delicate feelings of the lusty sons of Devon were I to declare that I thought the life not of a very terrible dissimilarity from that port of antiquity in the West. Salt was everywhere, much more like coal than salt, certainly as black. The blocks were stacked up by the sides of inns ready for transport, carried on the backs of a multitude of poor wretches who work like oxen from dawn to dusk for the merest pittance, on the backs of droves and droves of ponies, scrambling and spluttering along over the slippery once-paved streets. All day long, with the exception of two or three easy ascents, we were travelling in pleasantly undulating country of park-like magnificence. My men dallied. I tramped on alone; and sitting down to rest on the rocks, I realized that I was in one of the strangest, loneliest, wildest corners of the world. Great mountain-peaks towered around me, white and sparkling diadems of wondrous beauty, and at my feet, black and stirless, lay a silent pool, reflecting the weird shadows of my coolies flitting like specters among the jagged rocks of these most solitary hills. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote AD: Hsiakwan would be supplied by a branch line of the main railway in the Kunlong scheme advocated by Major H.R. Davies, leaving at Mi-tu, to the south of Hungay.--E.J.D.] [Footnote AE: The written language was framed and instituted by the Rev. Sam. Pollard, of the Bible Christian Mission (now merged into the United Methodist Mission).--E.J.D.] [Footnote AF: The marriage laws were instituted by the China Inland Mission at Sa-pu-shan, where a great work is being done among the Hua Miao. A good many more stipulations are embodied in the excellent rules, but I have no room here to detail.--E.J.D.] [Footnote AG: The Chinese have the crudest ideas of the age of foreigners. Among themselves the general custom is for a man to shave his upper lip so long as his father is alive, so that in the ordinary course a man wearing a moustache is looked upon as an old man. In Tong-ch'uan-fu the rumor got abroad that three "uei kueh ren" ("foreign men") went riding horses--(two young ones and one old one. The "old one" was myself, because I had hair on my top lip, despite the fact that I was considerably the junior. And the fact that one was a lady was not deemed worthy of the slightest consideration.--E.J.D.] CHAPTER XVI. _Lu-fêng-hsien and its bridge_. _Magnificence of mountains towards the capital_. _Opportunity for Dublin Fusiliers_. _Characteristic climbing. Crockery crash and its sequel_. _Mountain forest_. _Changeableness of climate_. _Wayside scene and some reflections_. _Is your master drunk? Babies of the poor_. _Loess roads_. _Travelers, and how they should travel_. _Wrangling about payment at the tea-shop_. _The lying art among the Chinese_. _Difference of the West and East_. _Strange Chinese characteristic_. _Eastern and Western civilization, and how it is working_. _Remarks on the written character and Romanisation_. _Will China lose her national characteristics? "Ih dien mien, ih dien mien."_ _A nasty experience of the impotently dumb_. _Rescued in the nick of time._ When the day shall come for its history to be told, the historian will have little to say of Lu-fêng-hsien, that is--if he is a decent sort of fellow. He may refer to its wonderful bridge, to its beggars and its ruins. The stone bridge, one of the best of its kind in the whole empire, and I should think better than any other in Yün-nan, stands to-day conspicuously emblematic of ill-departed prosperity. So far as I remember, it was the only public ornament in a condition of passable repair in any way creditable to the ratepayers of the hsien. The wall is decayed, the people are decayed, and in every nook and cranny are painful evidences of preventable decay, marked by a conservatism among the inhabitants and unpardonable indolence. The bridge, however, has stood the test of time, and bids fair to last through eternity. Other travelers have passed over it since the days of Marco Polo, but I should like to say a word about it. Twelve yards or so wide, and no less than 150 yards long, it is built entirely of grey stone; with its massive piers, its excellent masonry, its good (although crude) carving, its old-time sculpturing of dreadful-looking animals at either end, its decorative triumphal arches, its masses of memorial tablets (which I could not read), its seven arches of beautiful simplicity and symmetry and perfect proportion, it would have been a credit to any civilized country in the world. I noticed that, in addition to cementing, the stones and pillars forming the sides of the roadway were also dovetailed. Among the works of public interest with which successive emperors have covered China, the bridges are not the least remarkable; and in them one is able to realize the perseverance of the Chinese in the enormous difficulties of construction they have had to overcome. Passing over the stream--the Hsiang-shui Ho, I believe--I stepped out across the plain with one foot soaked, a pony having pulled me into the water as he drank. Peas and beans covered with snow adjoined a heart-breaking road which led up to a long, winding ascent through a glade overhung by frost-covered hedgerows, where the sun came gently through and breathed the sweet coming of the spring. From midway up the mountain the view of the plain below and the fine range of hills separating me from the capital was one of exceeding loveliness, the undisturbed white of the snow and frost sparkling in the sunshine contrasting most strikingly with the darkened waves of billowy green opposite, with a background of sharp-edged mountains, whose summits were only now and again discernible in the waning morning mist. Snow lay deep in the crevices. My frozen path was treacherous for walking, but the dry, crisp air gave me a gusto and energy known only in high latitudes. In a pass cleared out from the rock we halted and gained breath for the second ascent, surmounted by a dismantled watch-tower. It has long since fallen into disuse, the sound tiles from the roof having been appropriated for covering other habitable dwellings near by, where one may rest for tea. The road, paved in some places, worn from the side of the mountain in others, was suspended above narrow gorges, an entrance to a part of the country which had the aspect of northern regions. The sun, tearing open the curtain of blue mist, inundated with brightness one of the most beautiful landscapes it is possible to conceive. A handful of Dublin Fusiliers with quick-firing rifles concealed in the hollows of the heights might have stopped a whole army struggling up the hill-sides. But no one appeared to stop me, so I went on. Climbing was characteristic of the day. Lu-fêng-hsien is about 5,500 feet; Sei-tze (where we were to sleep) 6,100 feet. Not much of a difference in height; but during the whole distance one is either dropping much lower than Lu-feng or much higher than Sei-tze. For thirty li up to Ta-tsü-sï (6,900 feet) there is little to revel in, but after that, right on to the terrific drop to our destination for the night, we were going through mountain forests than which there are none better in the whole of the province, unless it be on the extreme edge of the Tibetan border, where accompanying scenery is altogether different. From a height of 7,850 feet we dropped abruptly, through clouds of thick red dust which blinded my eyes and filled my throat, down to the city of Sei-tze. I went down behind some ponies. Upwards came a fellow struggling with two loads of crockery, and in the narrow pathway he stood in an elevated position to let the animals pass. Irony of fate! One of the horses--it seemed most intentional--gave his load a tilt: man and crockery all went together in one heap to a crevice thirty yards down the incline, and as I proceeded I heard the choice rhetoric of the victim and the muleteer arguing as to who should pay. Just before that, I dipped into the very bosom of the earth, with rugged hills rising to bewildering heights all around, base to summit clad luxuriously in thick greenery of mountain firs, a few cedars, and the Chinese ash. Black patches of rock to the right were the death-bed of many a swaying giant, and in contrast, running away sunwards, a silver shimmer on the unmoving ocean of delicious green was caused by the slantwise sun reflections, while in the ravines on the other side a dark blue haze gave no invitation. Smoothly-curving fringes stood out softly against the eternal blue of the heavens. Farther on, eloquent of their own strength and imperturbability, were deep rocks, black and defiant; but even here firs grew on the projecting ledges which now and again hung menacingly above the red path, shading away the sunlight and giving to the dark crevices an atmosphere of damp and cold, where men's voices echoed and re-echoed like weird greetings from the grave. Onwards again, and from the cool ravines, adorned with overhang branches, forming cosy retreats from the now blazing sun, one emerged to a road leading up once more to undiscovered vastnesses. Yonder narrowed a gorge, fine and delicately covered, pleasing to one's aesthetic sense. The center was a dome, all full of life and waving leafage, ethereal and sweet; and running down, like children to their mother, were numerous little hills densely clothed in a green lighter and more dainty than that of the parent hill, throwing graceful curtsies to the murmuring river at the foot. As I write here, bathed in the beauty of spring sunlight, it is difficult to believe that a few hours since the thermometer was at zero. Little spots of habitation, with foodstuffs growing alongside, looking most lonely in their patches of green in the forest, added a human and sentimental picturesqueness to a scene so strongly impressive. A thatched, barn-like place gave us rest, the woman producing for me a huge chunk of palatable rice sponge-cake sprinkled with brown sugar. Little naked children, offspring of parents themselves covered with merest hanging rags, groped round me and treated me with courteous curiosity; goats smelt round the coolie-loads of men who rested on low forms and smoked their rank tobacco; smoke from the green wood fires issued from the mud grates, where receptacles were filled with boiling water ready for the traveler, constantly re-filled by a woman whose child, hung over her back, moaned piteously for the milk its mother was too busy to give to it. Near by a young girl gave suck to a deformed infant, lucky to have survived its birth; her neck was as big as her breasts--merely a case of goitre. Coolies passed, panting and puffing, all casting a curious glance at him to whose beneficence all were willing to pander. At tiffin I counted thirty-three wretched people, who turned out to see the barbarian. They desired, and desired importunately, to touch me and the clothes which covered me. And I submitted. This half-way place was interesting owing to the fact that the lady in charge of the buffet could speak two words of French--she had, I believe, acted as washerwoman to a man who at one time had been in the Customs at Mengtsz. Great excitement ensued among the perspiring laborers of the road and the dumb-struck yokels of the district. The lady was so goitrous that it would have been extremely risky to hazard a guess as to the exact spot where her face began or ended; and here, in a place where with all her neighbors she had lived through a period noted for famine, for rebellion, for wholesale death and murder of an entire village, she endured such terrible poverty that one would have thought her spirit would have waned and the light of her youth burned out. But no! The lusty dame was still sprightly. She had been three times divorced. The person at present connected with her in the bonds of wedded life--also goitrous and morally repulsive--stood by and gazed down upon her like a proud bridegroom. He resented the levity of Shanks and his companion, but, owing to the detail of a sightless eye, he could not see all that transpired. However, we were all happy enough. Charges were not excessive. My men had a good feed of rice and cabbage, with the usual cabbage stump, two raw rice biscuits (which they threw into the ashes to cook, and when cooked picked the dirt off with their long finger-nails), and as much tea as they could drink--all for less than a penny. There is something in traveling in Yün-nan, where the people away from the cities exhibit such painful apathy as to whether dissolution of this life comes to them soon or late, which breeds drowsiness. After a tramp over mountains for five or six hours on end, one naturally needed rest. To-day, as I sat after lunch and wrote up my journal, I nearly fell asleep. As I watched the reflections of all these ill-clad figures on the stony roadway, and dozed meanwhile, one rude fellow asked my man whether I was drunk! I was not left long to my reverie. Entering into a conversation intended for the whole village to hear, my bulky coolie sublet his contract for two tsien for the eighty li--we had already done fifty. The man hired was a weak, thin, half-baked fellow, whose body and soul seemed hardly to hang together. He was the first to arrive. As soon as he got in; this same man took a needle from the inside of his great straw hat and commenced ridding his pants of somewhat outrageous perforations. Such is the Chinese coolie, although in Yün-nan he would be an exception. Late at night he offered to put a shoe on my pony. I consented. He did the job, providing a new shoe and tools and nails, for 110 cash--just about twopence. I could not help, thinking of the children I had seen to-day, "Sad for the dirt-begrimed babies that they were born." These children were all a family of eternal Topsies--they merely grew, and few knew how. They are rather dragged up than brought up, to live or die, as time might appoint. Babies in Yün-nan, for the great majority, are not coaxed, not tossed up and down and petted, not soothed, not humored. There are none to kiss away their tears, they never have toys, and dream no young dreams, but are brought straight into the iron realities of life. They are reared in smoke and physical and moral filth, and become men and women when they should be children: they haggle and envy, and swear and murmur. When in Yün-nan--or even in the whole of China--will there be the innocence and beauty of childhood as we of the West are blessed with? Roads here were in many cases of a light loess, and some of red limestone rock, with a few li of paved roads. Many of the main roads over the loess are altered by the rains. Two days of heavy rain will produce in some places seas of mud, often knee-deep, and this will again dry up quite as rapidly with the next sunshine. They become undermined, and crumble away from the action of even a trickling stream, so as to become always unsafe and sometimes quite impassable. Delays are very dear to the heart of every Chinese. The traveler, if he is desirous of getting his caravan to move on speedily, has little chance of success unless he assumes an attitude of profoundest indifference to all men and things around him--never _appear_ to be in a hurry. We are accompanied to-day to Kwang-tung-hsien by the coolie who carried the load yesterday. He sits by staring enviously at his compatriots in the employ of the foreign magnate, who rests on a stone behind and listens to the conversation. They invite him to carry again; he refuses. Now the argument--natural and right and proper--is ensuing with warmth. Lao Chang, with the air of a hsien "gwan," sits in judgment upon them, bringing to bear his long experience of coolies and the amount of "heart-money" they receive, and has decided that the fellow should receive a tenth of a dollar and twenty cash in addition for carrying the heavier of the loads the remaining thirty li, as against ten cents offered by the men. He is now extending philosophic advice to them all, based on a knowledge of the coolie's life; the little meeting breaks up, good feeling prevails, and the loads carried on merrily. I still linger, sipping my tea. Lao Chang has grumbled because he has had to shell out seven cash, and I have already drunk ten cups (he generally uses the tea leaves afterwards for his personal use). But wrangling about payment prevails always where Chinese congregate. In China, by high and low, lies are told without the slightest apparent compunction. One of the men in the above-mentioned dispute had an irrepressible volubility of assertion. He at once flew into a temper, adopting the style of the stage actor, proclaiming his virtue so that it might have been heard at Yün-nan-fu. He was preserving his "face." For in this country temper is often, what it is not in the West, a test of truth. Among Westerners nothing is more insulting sometimes than a philosophic temper; but in China you must, as a first law unto yourself, protect yourself at all costs and against all comers, and it generally requires a good deal of noise. Here the bully is not the coward. In respect of prevarication, it seems to be absolutely universal; the poor copy the vice from the rich. It seems to be in the very nature of the people, and although it is hard to write, my experience convinces me that my statement is not exaggeration. I have found the Chinese--I speak of the common people, for in my travels I have not mixed much with the rich--the greatest romancer on earth. I question whether the great preponderance of the Chinese people speak six consecutive sentences without misrepresentation or exaggeration, tantamount to prevarication. Regretting that I have to write it, I give it as my opinion that the Chinese is a liar by nature. And when he is confronted with the charge of lying, the culprit seems seldom to feel any sense of guilt. And yet in business--above the petty bargaining business--we have as the antithesis that the spoken word is his bond. I would rather trust the Chinese merely on his word than the Jap with a signed contract. The Chinese knows that the Englishman is not a liar, and he respects him for it; and it is to be hoped that in Yün-nan there will soon be seen the two streams of civilization which now flow in comparative harmony in other more enlightened provinces flowing here also in a single channel. These two streams--of the East and the West--represent ideas in social structure, in Government, in standards of morality, in religion and in almost every human conception as diverse as the peoples are racially apart. They cannot, it is evident, live together. The one is bound to drive out the other, or there must be such a modification of both as will allow them to live together, and be linked in sympathies which go farther than exploiting the country for initial greed. The Chinese will never lose all the traces of their inherited customs of daily life, of habits of thought and language, products which have been borne down the ages since a time contemporary with that of Solomon. No fair-minded man would wish it. And it is at once impossible. The language, for instance. Who is there, who knows anything about it, who would wish to see the Chinese character drop out of the national life? Yet it is bound to come to some extent, and in future ages the written language will develop into pretty well the same as Latin among ourselves. Romanization, although as yet far from being accomplished, must sooner or later come into vogue, as is patent at the first glance at business. If commerce in the Interior is to grow to any great extent in succeeding generations, warranting direct correspondence with the ports at the coast and with the outside world, the Chinese hieroglyph will not continue to suffice as a satisfactory means of communication. No correspondence in Chinese will ever be written on a machine such as I am now using to type this manuscript, and this valuable adjunct of the office must surely force its way into Chinese commercial life. But only when Romanization becomes more or less universal. This, however, by the way. My point is, that no matter how Occidentalized he may become, the Chinese will never lose his national characteristics--not so much probably as the Japanese has done. What the youth has been at home, in his habits of thought, in his purpose and spirit, in his manifestation of action, will largely determine his after life. Chinese mental and moral history has so stamped certain ineffaceable marks on the language, and the thought and character of her people, that China will never--even were she so inclined--obliterate her Oriental features, and must always and inevitably remain Chinese. The conflict, however, is not racial, it is a question of civilization. Were it racial only, to my way of thinking we should be beaten hopelessly. And as I write this in a Chinese inn, in the heart of Yün-nan--the "backward province"--surrounded by the common people in their common, dirty, daily doings, a far stretch of vivid imagining is needed to see these people in any way approaching the Westernization already current in eastern provinces of this dark Empire. This is what I wrote sitting on the top of a mountain during my tour across China. But it will be seen in other parts of this book that Western ideas and methods of progress in accord more with European standards are being adopted--and in some places with considerable energy--even in the "backward province." In travel anywhere in the world, one becomes absorbed more or less with one's own immediate surroundings, and there is a tendency to form opinions on the limitations of those surroundings. In many countries this would not lead one far astray, but in China it is different. Most of my opinion of the real Chinese is formed in Yün-nan, and it is not to be denied that in all the other seventeen provinces, although a good many of them may be more forward in the trend of national evolution and progress, the same squalidness among the people, and every condition antagonistic to the Westerner's education so often referred to, are to be found. But China has four hundred and thirty millions of people, so that what one writes of one particular province--in the main right, perhaps--may not necessarily hold good in another province, separated by thousands of miles, where climatic conditions have been responsible for differences in general life. With its great area and its great population, it does not need the mind of a Spencer to see that it will take generations before every acre and every man will be gathered into the stream of national progress. The European traveler in China cannot perhaps deny himself the pleasure of dwelling upon the absurdities and oddities of the life as they strike him, but there is also another side to the question. Our own civilization, presenting so many features so extremely removed from his own ancient ideas and preconceived notion of things in general, probably looks quite as ridiculous from the standpoint of the Chinese. The East and the West each have lessons to offer the other. The West is offering them to the East, and they are being absorbed. And perhaps were we to learn the lessons to which we now close our eyes and ears, but which are being put before us in the characteristics of Oriental civilization, we may in years to come, sooner than we expect, rejoice to think that we have something in return for what we have given; it may save us a rude awakening. It does not strike the average European, who has never been to China, and who knows no more about the country than the telegrams which filter through when massacres of our own compatriots occur, that Europe and America are not the only territories on this little round ball where the inhabitants have been left with a glorious heritage. But I was speaking of my men delaying on the road to Kwang-tung-hsien, when they laughed at my impatience. "Ih dien mien, ih dien mien," shouted one, as he held out a huge blue bowl of white wormlike strings and a couple of chopsticks. "Mien," it should be said, is something like vermicelli. A tremendous amount of it is eaten; and in Singapore, without exception, it is dried over the city's drains, hung from pole to pole after the rope-maker's fashion. Its slipperiness renders the long boneless strings most difficult of efficient adjustment, and the recollection of the entertainment my comrades received as I struggled to get a decent mouthful sticks to me still. After that I hurried on, got off the "ta lu," and suffered a nasty experience for my foolishness. When nearing the city, inquiring whether my men had gone on inside the walls, a manure coolie, liar that he was, told me that they had. I strode on again, encountering the crowds who blocked the roadway as market progressed, who stared in a suspicious manner at the generally disreputable, tired, and dirty foreigner. Each moment I expected the escort to arrive. I could not sit down and drink tea, for I had not a single cash on my person. I could speak none of the language, and could merely push on, with ragtags at my heels, becoming more and more embarrassed by the pointing and staring public. I turned, but could see none of my men. I managed to get to the outer gate, and there sat down on the grass, with five score of gaping idiots in front of me. Seeing this vulgar-looking intruder among them, who would not answer their simplest queries, or give any reason for being there, suspicion grew worse; they naturally wanted to know what it was, and what it wanted. Some thought I might be deaf, and raved questions in my ear at the top of their voices. Even then I remained impotently dumb. Two policemen came and said something. At their invitation I followed them, and found myself later in a small police box, the street lined with people, facing an officer. The man hailed me in speech uncivil. He was huge as the hyperborean bear, and cruel looking, and with a sort of apologetic petitionary growl I sidled off; but it was anything but comfortable, and I should not have been surprised had I found myself being led off to the yamen. After a nerve-trying half-hour, I was thankful to see the form of my men appearing at the moment when I was vehemently expressing indignation at not being understood. CHAPTER XVII. _A bumptious official_. _Ignominious contrasts of two travelers. Diminishing respect for foreigners in the Far East_. _Where the European fails_. _His maltreatment of Orientals_. _Convicts on the way to death_. _At Ch'u-hsiony-fu_. _Buffaloes and children_. _Exasperating repetition met in Chinese home life_. _Unæsthetic womanhood_. _Quarrymen and careless tactics_. _Scope for the physiologist_. _Interesting unit of the city's humanity_. _Signs of decay in the countryside_. _Carrying the dead to eternal rest_. _At Chennan-chou_. _Public kotowing ceremony and its aftermath_. _Chinese ignorance of distance._ All-round idyllic peace did not reign at Kwang-tung-hsien, where I rested over Sunday. Contacts in social conditions gave rise inevitably to causes for conflicts. Arriving early, my men were able to secure the best room and soon after, with much imposing pomp and show, a "gwan"[AH] arrived, disgusted that he had to take a lower room. I bowed politely to him as he came in. He did not return it, however, but stood with a contemptuous grin upon his face as he took in the situation. I do not know who the person was, neither have a wish to trace his ancestry, but his bumptiousness and general misbehavior, utterly in antagonism to national etiquette, made me hate the sight of the fellow. Pride has been said to make a man a hedgehog. I do not say that this man was a hedgehog altogether, but he certainly seemed to wound everyone he touched. He had with him a great retinue, an extravagant equipage, fine clothes, and presumably a great fortune; but none of this offended me--it was his contempt which hurt. He seemed to splash me with mud as he passed, and was altogether badly disposed. In his every act he heaped humiliation upon me, and insulted me silently and gratuitously with unbearable disdain. Luckily, be it said to the credit of the Chinese Government, one does not often meet officials of this kind; such an atmosphere would nurture the worst feeling. It is, of course, possible that had I been traveling with many men and in a style necessary for representatives of foreign Governments, this hog might have been more polite; but the fact that I had little with me, and made a poor sort of a show, allowed him to come out in his true colors and display his unveneered feeling towards the foreigner. That he had no knowledge of the man crossing China on foot was evident. He was great and rich--that was the sentiment he breathed out to everyone--and the foreigner was humble. There is no wrong in enjoying a large superfluity, but it was not indispensable to have displayed it, to have wounded the eyes of him who lacked it, to have flaunted his magnificence at the door of my commonplace. Had I been able to speak, I should have pointed out to this fellow that to know how to be rich is an art difficult to master, and that he had not mastered it; that as an official his first duty in exercising power was to learn that of humility; and that it is the irritating authority of such very lofty and imperious beings as himself, who say, "I am the law," that provokes insurrection. However, I was dumb, and could only return his contemptuous glance now and again. To him I could have said, as I would here say also to every foreigner in the employ of the Chinese Government, "The only true distinction is superior worth." If foreigners in China are to have social and official rank respected, they must begin to be worthy of their rank, otherwise they help to bring it into hatred and contempt. It is a pity some native officials have to learn the same lesson. In several years of residence in the Far East I have noticed respect for the foreigner unhappily diminishing. The root of the evil is in the mistaken idea that high station exempts him who holds it from observing the common obligations of life. It comes about--so often have I seen it in the Straits Settlements and in various parts of India--that those who demand the most homage make the least effort to merit that homage they demand. That is chiefly why respect for the foreigner in the Orient is diminishing, and I have no hesitancy in asserting that the average European in the East and Far East does not treat the Oriental with respect. He considers that the Chinese, the Malay, the Burman, the Indian is there to do the donkey work only. The newcomer generally discovers in himself an astounding personal omnipotence, and even before he can talk the language is so obsessed with it that as he grows older, his sense of it broadens and deepens. And in China--of the Chinese this is true to-day as in other spheres of the Far East--the native is there to do the donkey work, and does it contentedly and for the most part cheerfully. But he will not always be so content and so cheerful. He will not always suffer a leathering from a man whom he knows he dare not now hit back.[AI] Some day he may hit back. We have seen it before, how at some moment, by some interior force making a way to the light, an explosion takes place: there is an upheaval, all sorts of grave disorders, and because some Europeans are killed the Celestial Government is called upon to pay, and to pay heavily. Indemnities are given, but the Chinese pride still feels the smart. [1 Pulling away up the sides of barren, sandy hills in my lonely pilgrimage, I could see wide, fertile plains sheltered in the undulating hollows of mountains, over which in arduous toil I vanished and re-appeared, how or where I could hardly calculate. Suddenly, rounding an awkward corner, a magnificent panorama broke upon the view in a rolling valley watered by many streams below, all green with growing wheat. A high spur about midway up the rolling mountain forms a capital spot for wayfarers to stop and exchange travelers' notes. A couple of convicts were here, their feet manacled and their white cotton clothing branded with the seal of death; by the side were the crude wooden cages in which they were carried by four men, with whom they mixed freely and manufactured coarse jokes. In six days bang would fall the knife, and their heads would roll at the feet of the executioners at Yün-nan-fu. Coming into Ch'u-hsiong-fu[AJ]--the stage is what the men call 90 li, but it is not more than 70--I was brought to an insignificant wayside place where the innkeeper upbraided my boy for endeavoring to allow me to pass without wetting a cup at his bonny hostelry. Had I done so, I should have avouched myself utterly indifferent to reputation as a traveler. But I did not stay the night here. I passed on through the town to a new building, an inn, into which I peered inquiringly. A well-dressed lad came courteously forward, in his bowing and scraping seeming to say, "Good sir, we most willingly embrace the opportunity of being honored with your noble self and your retinue under our poor roof. Long since have we known your excellent qualities; long have we wished to have you with us. We can have no reserve towards a person of your open and noble nature. The frankness of your humor delights us. Disburden yourself, O great brother, here and at once of your paraphernalia." I stayed, and was charged more for lodging than at any other place in all my wanderings in China. My experience was different from that of Major Davies when he visited this city in 1899. He writes:-- "The people of this town are particularly conservative and exclusive. They have such an objection to strangers that no inn is allowed within the city walls, and no one from any other town is allowed to establish a shop.... When the telegraph line was first taken through here there was much commotion, and so determined was the opposition of the townspeople to this new-fangled means of communication that the telegraph office had to be put inside the colonel's yamen, the only place where it would be safe from destruction." The proprietor of the inn in which I stayed was a man of about fifty, of goodly person and somewhat corpulent, comely presence, good humor, and privileged freedom. He had a pretty daughter. He was an exception to the ordinary father in China, in the fact that he was proud of her, as he was of his house and his faring. But in all conscience he should have been abundantly ashamed of his charges, for my boy said I was charged three times too much, and I have no cause for doubting his word either, for he was fairly honest. I once had a boy in Singapore who acted for three weeks as a "ganti"[AK] whilst my own boy underwent a surgical operation, and between misreckonings, miscarriages, misdealings, mistakes and misdemeanors, had he remained with me another month I should have had to pack up lock, stock and barrel and clear. I stayed here a day in the hope of getting my mail, but had the pleasure of seeing only the bag containing it. It was sealed, and the postmaster had no authority to break that seal. There were no telegraph poles in the district through which I was passing; the connections were affixed to the trunks of trees. The telegraph runs right across the Ch'u-hsiong-fu plain, on entering which one crosses a rustic bridge just below a rather fine pagoda, from which an excellent view is obtained of the old city. The wall up towards the north gate, where there is another pagoda, is built over a high knoll. Inside the wall half the town is uncultivated ground. Four youngsters here were having a great time on the back of a lazy buffalo, who, turning his head swiftly to get rid of some irritating bee, dislodged the quartet to the ground, where they fought and cursed each other over the business. Everything that one sees around here is particularly "Chinesey." It may be supposed that I am not the first person who has gone through town after town and found in all that he looks at, particularly the houses, certain forms identical, inevitable, exasperating by common repetition. It has been said that poetry is not in things, it is in us; but in China very little poetry comes into the homes and lives of the common millions: they are all dead dwelling-houses, even the best, bare homes without life or brightness. Among the working-classes of the West there is to be found a kind of ministering beauty which makes its way everywhere, springing from the hands of woman. When the dwelling is cramped, the purse limited, the table modest, a woman who has the gift finds a way to make order and puts care and art into everything in her house, puts a soul into the inanimate, and gives those subtle and winsome touches to which the most brutish of human beings is sensible. But in China woman does nothing of this. Her life is unaesthetic to the last degree. No happy improvisations or touches of the stamp of personality enter her home; one cannot trace the touches of witchery in the tying of a ribbon. Everywhere you find the same class of furniture and garniture, the same shape of table, of stool, of form, of bed, of cooking utensils, of picture, of everything; and all the details of her housekeeping are so apathetically uninteresting. The Chinese woman has no charming art, rather is it a common, horrid, daily grind. She is not, as the woman should be, the interpreter in her home of her own grace, and she differs from her Western sister in that it is impossible for her to express in her dress also the little personalities of character--all is eternally the same. But I know so very little of ladies' clothing, and therefore cease. Quarrying was going on high up among the hills as I left the city. Men were out of sight, but their hammering was heard distinctly. As each boulder was freed these wielders of the hammer yelled to passers-by to look out for their heads, gave the stone a push to start it rolling, and if it rolled upon you it was your own fault and not theirs--you should have seen to it that you were somewhere else at the time. If it blocked the pathway, another had to be made by those who made the traffic. Directly under the quarry I was accosted by a beggar. "Old foreign man! Old foreign man!" he yelled. Stones were falling fast; it is possible that he does not sit there now. Physiognomists do not swarm in China. There is grand scope for someone. There would be ample material for research for the student in the soldiers alone who would be sent to guard him from place to place. He would not need to go farther afield; for he would be given fat men and lean men, brave men and cowards, some blessed with brains and some not one whit brainy, civil and surly, stubby and lanky, but rogues and liars all. Travelers are always interested in their chairmen; oftentimes my interest in them was greater than theirs in me, until the time came for us to part. Then the "Ch'a ts'ien,"[AL] always in view from the outset of their duty, brought us in a manner nearer to each other. As I came out of the inn at Ch'u-hsiong-fu somewhat hurriedly, for my men lingered long over the rice, I stumbled over the yamen fellow who crouched by the doorside. He laughed heartily. Had I fallen on him his tune might have been changed; but no matter. This unit of the city humanity was not bewilderingly beautiful. He was profoundly ill-proportioned, very goitrous, and ravages of small-pox had bequeathed to him a wonderful facial ugliness. He had, however, be it written to his honor, learnt that life was no theory. One could see that at a glance as he walked along at the head of the procession, with a stride like an ox, manfully shouldering his absurd weapon of office, which in the place of a gun was an immense carved wooden mace, not unlike a leg of the old-time wooden bedstead of antiquity. His ugliness was embittered somewhat by sunken, toothless jaws and an enigmatical stare from a cross-eye; he was also knock-kneed, and as an erstwhile gunpowder worker, had lost two fingers and a large part of one ear. But he had learnt the secret of simple duty: he had no dreams, no ambition embracing vast limits, did not appear to wish to achieve great things, unless it were that in his fidelity to small things he laid the base of great achievements. He waited upon me hand and foot; he burned with ardor for my personal comfort and well-being; he did not complicate life by being engrossed in anything which to him was of no concern--his only concern was the foreigner, and towards me he carried out his duty faithfully and to the letter. I would wager that that man, ugly of face and form, but most kindly disposed to one who could communicate little but dumb approval, was an excellent citizen, an excellent father, an excellent son. So very different was another traveler who unceremoniously forced himself upon me with the inevitable "Ching fan, ching fan," although he had no food to offer. He commenced with a far-fetched eulogium of my ambling palfrey Rusty, who limped along leisurely behind me. So far as he could remember, poor ignorant ass, he had never seen a pony like it in his extensive travels--probably from Yün-nan-fu to Tali-fu, if so far; but as a matter of fact, Rusty had wrenched his right fore fetlock between a gully in the rocks the day before and was now going lame. Dressed fairly respectably in the universal blue, my unsought companion was of middle stature, strongly built, but so clumsily as to border almost on deformity, and to give all his movements the ungainly awkwardness of a left-handed, left-legged man. He walked with a limp, was suffering (like myself) with sore feet; if not that, it was something incomparably worse. Not for a moment throughout the day did he leave my side, the only good point about him being that when we drank--tea, of course--he vainly begged to be allowed to pay. In that he was the shadow of some of my friends of younger days. But of men enough. From Ch'u-hsiong-fu on to Tali-fu the whole country bears lamentable signs of gradual ruin and decay, a falling off from better times. The former city is probably the most important point on the route, and is mentioned as a likely point for the proposed Yün-nan Railway. The country has never recovered from the terrible effects of the great Mohammendan Rebellion of 1857. Foundations of once imposing buildings still stand out in fearful significance, and ruins everywhere over the barren country tell plain tales all too sad of the good days gone. Temples, originally fit for the largest city in the Empire, with elaborate wood and stone carving and costly, weird images sculptured in stone, with particularly fine specimens of those blood-curdling Buddhistic hells and their presiding monsters, with miniature ornamental pagodas and intricate archways, are all now unused; and when the people need material for any new building (seldom erected now in this district), the temple grounds are robbed still more. In the days of its prosperity Yün-nan must have been a fair land indeed, bright, smiling, seductive; now it is the exact antithesis, and the people live sad, flat, colorless existences. For three days my caravan was preceded by twelve men, headed by a sort of gaffer with a gong, carrying a corpse in a massive black coffin, elaborate in red and blue silk drapings and with the inevitable white cock presiding, one leg tied with a couple of strands of straw to the cover, on which it crowed lustily. Their mission was an honorable one, carrying the honored dead to its last bed of rest eternal; for this dead man had secured the fulfillment of the highest in human destiny--to have his bones buried near the scene of his youth, near his home. This is a simple custom the Chinese cherish and reverence, of highest honor to the dead and of no mean value to the living. To the dead, because buried near the home of his fathers he would not be subject to those delusive temptations in the future state of that confused and complex life; to the living, because it gave work to a dozen men for several days, and enabled them to have a good time at the expense of the departed. A perpetual and excruciatingly unmusical chant, in keeping with the occasion's sadness, rent the mountain air, interrupted only when the bearers lowered the coffin and left the remains of the great dead on a pair of trestles in the roadway, whilst they drank to his happiness above and smoked tobacco which the relatives had given them. Once this heaper-up of Chinese merit[AM] was dumped unceremoniously on the turf while the headman entered into a blackguarding contest with one of the fellows who was alleged to be constantly out of step with his brethren, because he was a much smaller man. The gaffer gave him a bit of a drubbing for his insolence. Rain came on at Chennan-chou, a small town of about three hundred houses, where I sought shelter in the last house of the street. The householder, a shrivelled, goitrous humpback, received me kindly, removed his pot of cabbage from the fire to brew tea for his uninvited guest, and showed great gratitude (to such an extent that he nearly fell into the fire as he moved to push the children forward towards me) when I gave a few cash to three kiddies, who gaped open-mouthed at the apparition thus found unexpectedly before their parent's hearth. More came in, my beneficent attention being modestly directed towards them; others followed, and still more, and more, whilst the man, removing from his mouth his four-foot pipe, and wiping the mouthpiece with his soiled coat-sleeve before offering it to me to smoke, smiled as I distributed more cash. "They are all mine," he said cutely. Poor fellow! There must have been a dozen nippers there, and I sighed at the thought of what some men come to as the last of half a string of cash slipped through my fingers.[AN] Outside the town, on the lee side of a triumphal arch--erected, maybe, to the memory of one of the virtuous widows of the district--I untied my pukai and donned my mackintosh and wind-cap. A gale blew, my fingers ached with the cold, breathing was rendered difficult by the rarefied air. As we were thus engaged and discussing the prospects of the storm, yelling from under a gigantic straw hat, a fellow said-- "Suan liao" ("not worth reckoning") "only five more li to Sha-chiao-kai." We had thirty li to do. Such is the idea of distance in Yün-nan.[AO] The storm did not come, however, and my men ever after reminded me to keep out my wind-cap and my mackintosh, partly to lighten their loads, of course, and partly on account of the good omen it seemed to them to be. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote AH: "Gwan" is the Chinese for "official."] [Footnote AI: I have seen a European, with an imperfect hold of an eastern language, knock an Asiatic down because he thought the man was a fool, whereas he himself was ignorant of what was going on. The message the coolie was bringing was misunderstood by the conceited assistant, and as a result of having just this smattering of the vernacular, he ran his firm in for a loss of fifty thousand dollars.--E.J.D.] [Footnote AJ: Ts'u-hsiong-fu, as it is pronounced locally, with a strong "ts" initial sound.] [Footnote AK: Meaning a relief hand (Malay).] [Footnote AL: Literally, "tea money."] [Footnote AM: "Heaping up merit" is one of the elementary practices of Chinese religious life.] [Footnote AN: Chennan-chou, which stands at a height of 6,500 feet, has been visited again since by myself. My caravan consisted on this occasion of two ponies (one I was riding), two coolies, a servant, and myself. As we got to the archway in the middle of the street leading to the busy part of the town, my animal nearly landed me into the gutter, and the other horse ran into a neighboring house, both frightened by crackers which were being fired around a man who was bumping his head on the ground in front of an ancestral tablet, brought into the street for the purpose. A horrid din made the air turbulent. I sought refuge in the nearest house, tying my ponies up to the windows, and was most hospitably received as a returned prodigal by a well-disposed old man and his courtly helpmate. The genuineness of the hospitality of the Chinese is as strong as their unfriendliness can be when they are disposed to show a hostile spirit to foreigners. Just as I had laid up for dinner the din stopped, we breathed gunpowder smoke instead of air, everyone from the head-bumping ceremony came around me, and there lingered in silent admiration. My boy came and whispered, quite aloud enough for all to hear, that in that part of the town cooked rice could not be bought, and that I was going to be left to look after the horses and the loads whilst the men went away to feed. He advised the assembled crowd that if they valued sound physique they had better keep their hands off my gear and depart. My friendly host shut the doors and windows, with the exception of that through which I watched our impedimenta, and at once commenced good-natured inquiry into my past, and concerning vicissitudes of life in general. Luckily, I was able to give the old man good reason for congratulating me upon my ancestral line, my own great age, the number of my wives and offshoots--mostly "little puppies"--and as each curious caller dropped in to sip tea, so did one after another of the patriarchal dignitaries who were responsible for the human product then entertaining the crowd come vividly before the imagination of the company, and they were graced with every token of age and honor. (Chinese speak of sons as "little puppies.")] [Footnote AO: In crossing a river here I slipped, and from ray pocket there rolled a box of photographic films, and in reaching over to re-capture it, I let my loaded camera fall into the water. I was disappointed, as most of my best pictures were thus (as I imagined) spoilt. But when I developed at Bhamo, I found not a single film damaged by water, and every picture was a success from both the roll in the tin and the roll in the camera. It is a tribute to the Eastman-Kodak Company Ltd. that their non-curling films will stand being dipped into rivers and remain unaffected. The films in question should have been developed six months prior to the date of my exposure.--E.J.D.] CHAPTER XVIII. _Stampede of frightened women_. _To the Eagle Nest_. _An acrobatic performance, and some retaliation at the author's expense_. _Over the mountains to Pu-pêng A magnificent storm, and a description_. _In a "rock of ages." Hardiness of my comrades_. _Early morning routine and some impressions_. _Unspeakable filth of the Chinese_. _Lolo people of the district_. _Physique of the women_. _Aspirations towards Chinese customs_. _Skilless building_. _Mythological, anthropological, craniological and antediluvian disquisitions_. _At Yün-nan-ï_. _Flat country_. _Thriftless humanity_. _To Hungay_. _A day of days_. _Traveler in bitter cold unable to procure food_. _Fright in middle night_. _A timely rescue_. _Murder of a bullock on my doorstep_. _Callous disposition of fellow-travelers_. _Leaving the capital of an old-time kingdom_. _Bad roads and good men_. _National virtue of unfailing patience_. _Human consumption of diseased animals. Minchia at Hungay_. _Major Davies and the Minchia_. _Author's differences of opinion. Increasing popularity of the small foot._ But the storm came the next day, as we were on our way to Pu-pêng, during the ninety li when we passed the highest point on this journey. By name The Eagle Nest Barrier (Ting-wu-kwan), this elevated pass, 8,600 feet above the level, reached after a gradual ascent between two mountain ranges, was surmounted after a couple of hours' steep climbing, where rain and snow had made the paths irritatingly slippery and the task most laborious. Although the condition of the road was enough to take all the wind out of one's sails, the sublimity of the scenery of the dense woods which clothed the mountains, exquisitely pretty ravines, tumbling waterfalls, running rivulets and sparkling brooks, with little patches of snow hidden away in the maze of greens of every hue, all rendered it a climb less tiring than the narrow pathways over which we were then to travel. Half-way up we met a string of ponies, and I underwent a few nervous moments until they had passed in the twenty-inch road--a slight tilt, a slip, a splutter, probably a yell, and I should have dropped 500 feet without a bump. As we went along together, just before reaching this hill, we saw women carrying bags of rice. They saw us, too. One passed me safely, but with fear. The others carelessly dropping their burdens, scampered off, afraid of their lives; and when one of my soldiers (whose sense of humor was on a par with my own when as a boy I used to stick butterscotch drops on the bald head of my Sunday School teacher, and bend pins for small boys to sit on and rise from) shouted to them, they dived straight as a die over the hedge into a submerged rice-field, and made a sorry spectacle with their "lily" feet and pale blue trousers, covered with the thin mud. In struggling to get away, one of them, the silly creature, went sprawling on all fours in the slime, and with only the imperfect footing possible to her with her little stumps, she would have been submerged, had not the man who had frightened her, at my bidding, gone to drag her out. As it was, they looked anything but beautiful with their wet and muddy garments clinging tightly to their bodies, and betraying every curve of their not unbeautiful figures. One of the women, a comely damsel of some twenty summers, did not jump into the field, but lay flat on the ground behind some bushes, thereby hoping to get out of sight, and now came forward with amorous glances. We, however, sent them on their way, and I will lay my life that they will not "scoot" at the sight of the next foreigner. And now we are at the "Nest." Many travelers have made remarks upon this place, where I was waited upon by a shrivelled, shambling specimen of manhood, whose wife--in contrast to her kind in China--seemed to rule house and home, bed and board. Whilst we were there, a Chinese, bound on the downward journey, endeavored to mount his mule at the very moment the animal was reaching out for a blade of straw. As he swung his leg across the mule took another step forward, and the rider fell bodily with an enormous bump into the lap of one of my coolies, upsetting him and his bowl of tea over his trousers and my own. I could not suppress hearty approval of this acrobatic incident. But the end was not yet. I sat on one end of one of those narrow forms, and this same coolie sat on the other. He rose up suddenly, reached over for the common salt-pot, and I came off--with the multitude of alfresco diners laughing at this smart retaliation until their chock-full mouths emitted the grains of rice they chewed. After that I cleared off. Descending through a fertile valley, from the bottom there loomed upwards higher mountains, looking black and dismal, with clouds black and dismal keeping them company. We had now to cross the undulating ground still separating us from Pu-pêng. The early portion of the ground was something like Clifton Downs, something like Dartmoor. The country was poor, and the people barely put themselves out to boil water for chance travelers. The storm broke suddenly. From the shelter of a hollowed rock I watched it all. Over the submerged plain and the bare hills the blackness was as of night. Red earth without the sun looked brown, brown looked black, and the trees, swaying helplessly before the raging fury of the gale, seemed struck by death. Lightning continued its electrical vividity of fork-like greenish white among the heavy clouds, drooping threateningly from the hill-tops to the darkened valleys below, laden still with their waiting, unshed deluge. Through a narrow incision in the cruel clouds the sun peeped out with a nervous timidity, and a tiny patch over yonder, in a flash illuminated with gold and purple, across which the lightning danced in heavenly rivalry, displayed the magic touch of the Artist of the skies. Then came a rainbow of sweetest multi-color, of a splendor glorious and exquisite, delicate as the breath from paradise, stretching its majestic archbow athwart the waning gloom from range to range. As one drank in the glimpses of that dark corner in this peculiar fairyland, a mighty peal of magnificent, stentorian clashing broke finally upon me, and heaven's electricity again flitted fearfully over the earth, aslant, upwards, downwards again, upwards again, disappearing over the unmoved hills like a thousand tortured souls fleeing from Dante's Hades. And here I sit on, in that veritable "rock of ages" cleft for me, glad that no human touch save that of my own mean clay, that no human voice came between me and the voice of that Infinite beyond. I seemed to have been standing on the verge of another world, another great unknown. The heavens raged and the thunders thereof roared, and the wild wind hissed and moaned and wailed the hopeless wail of a lonely, tormented soul. The cold was intense, and through it all I sat drenched to the skin. On the bleak mountain thus I was the pitifulest atom of loneliest humanity, yet felt no loneliness. The face of the earth frowned in angry fury, the awfulness of the raging elements dwarfed all else to utter annihilation. But even at such a time, coming all too seldom in the lives of most of us, when standing in some remote spot which still tells forth the story of the world's youth, one's inmost nature thrills with a sense of unison with it all beyond human expression. All was so grand, inspiring one with an awe beyond one's comprehension, a peculiar, dread of one's own earthly insignificance. These pictures, graven in one's memory with the strong pencil of our common mother, are indelible, yet quite beyond expression. As in our own souls we cannot frame in words our deepest life emotions, so as we penetrate into the depths of that kindly common mother of us all we find human words the same utterly futile channel of expression. To have our souls tuned to this silent eloquence of Nature, to catch the sweetness of those wind-swept, heaven-directed mountains, to understand the unspoken messages of those rushing rivers and those gigantic gorges, to feel the heart-beat of Nature and her beauty in perfect harmony with all that is best within us, we must be silent, undisturbed, preferably alone. This is not flowery sentiment--it is what every true lover of old and lovely Nature would feel in Western China, yet still unspoiled by the taint of man's absorbing stream of civilization. And in the stress of modern life, and the progress of man's monopolization of the earth on which he lives, it is beautiful to some of us, of whom it may be said the highest state of inward happiness comes from solitary meditation in unperturbed loneliness under the broad expanse of heaven, to know that there are still some spots of isolation where human foot has never turned the clay, and where, out of sight and sound of fellow mortals, we may even for a time shake off the violating, unnatural fetters of a harassing Western life. Soon it seemed as if a silken cord had suddenly been severed, and I had been dragged from a world of sweet infinitude down to a sphere mundane and everyday, to something I had known before.... "....Or what is Nature? Ha! why do I not name thee God? Art thou not the 'Living Garment of God'? O Heaven, is it in very deed, He, then, that ever speaks through thee; that lives and loves in thee, that lives and loves in me?"[AP] I heard the crack of the bamboo and the patter of feet in the sodden, slippery pathway, and I knew my men were come. Crawling out from my rock, I descended again to common things, having to listen to the disgusting talk of my Chinese followers, though a very slender vocabulary saved me from losing entirely the memory of that great picture then passing away. The sun shone through the clouds, which had given place again to blue, the pervading blackness of a few moments before had disappeared, and with the sinking sun we descended thoughtfully to the town. The hill is solid sandstone, and the uneven ruts made by the daily procession of ponies were transformed into a network of tiny streams. That my comrades were drenched to the skin gave them no thought; they turned to immediately, while I dived hurriedly to the bottom of my box and gulped down quinine. They sat around and drank hot water, holding forth with eloquence beyond their wont on the general advantages, naturally and supernaturally, of their native city of Tong-ch'uan-fu. And well they might, for I know no prettier spot in the whole of Western China. Fifty men--coolies who were carrying general merchandise in all directions, and who had taken shelter in the large inn I stayed at--rose with me the next morning. As I ate my morning meal, spluttering the rice over the floor as I tried vainly to control my chopsticks with frost-nipped fingers, they went through the filthy round of early morning routine. Squatting about with their dirty face-rags, and a half-pint of greasy water in their brass receptacle shaped like the soup-plate of civilization, and leaving upon their necks the traces of their swills, they wiped the dirt into their hair, and considered they had washed themselves. Men would emerge from their rooms, fully dressed, with the dishclout in one hand and the hand-basin in the other--on the way to their morning tub. Oh, the filth, the unspeakable filth of these people! Would that the Chinese would emulate the cleanliness of the Japs, though even that I would question. In several years in the Orient I have not yet come across the cleanliness in any race of people to be compared with that cleanliness which in England is next to godliness. The people of Pu-pêng were pleased to see me. They hurried about obligingly to get food for man and beast, and the womankind, poor but light-hearted, cracked suggestive jokes with my men with the utmost freedom. In this town there are many Lolo--it might be said that the entire population is of Lolo origin, although had I suggested to any particular inhabitant that this was a fact he would probably have taken keen offense, and things might have gone badly with me. With the men it is most difficult to tell--there is little difference between the _Han ren_ and the tribesman. But the difference is often most marked in respect to the women. The Chinese woman has a considerably fairer skin than the female of Lolo descent, and her customs and manners, apart from the distinct colloquial accent, are quite evident as pretty sure proof of distinction of race. After the Lolo have mingled with the Chinese for a few years, however, it is quite difficult to differentiate between them, as most of the Lolo women now speak Chinese (in this town I did not hear any language foreign to the Chinese language), and a good many of the men are sufficiently educated to read the Chinese character even if they do not write it. The forward racial condition of the Lolo people in this district is far greater than that of the people of the same tribe to the west of Tali-fu, and in latitudes where their language and customs of life and dress are more or less maintained. The women are generally of better physique than the Chinese, principally on account of the fact that their work is almost exclusively outdoor; but as they begin to copy the Chinese, and live a more sedentary life, this fine physique will probably gradually disappear. A good many already bind their feet. When I came out in the early morning the thermometer was twenty degrees below zero, and my nose was red and without feeling. _Feng-mao_[AQ] and great coat were required, but I was totally oblivious of the hour's stiff climbing awaiting me immediately outside the town, to reach the highest point in which bathed me in perspiration as if I had played three sets of tennis in the tropics. Mountains were wild and barren, with nothing in them to enable one to forget in natural beauty the fatigues of a toilsome ascent. Villages came now and again in sight, stretched out at the extremity of the plain before my eyes, with their white gables, red walls, and black tiled roofs, but during the day we passed through two only. The first was a little place where decay would have been absolute had it not been for the likin[AR] flag, which enables "squeezes" to be extorted ruthlessly from the muleteer and conveyed to the pockets of the prospering customs agent. It boasted only ten or twelve tumbling lean-to tenements, where my sympathy went out to the half-dozen physical wrecks of men who came slowly and stared long, and wondered at the commonest article of my meager impedimenta. They seemed poorer and lower down the human scale than any I had yet seen. On one of the ragged garments worn by a man of about twenty-five I counted no less than thirty-four patches of different shapes, sizes and materials, hieroglyphically and skillessly thrown together to hide his sore-strewn back; but still his brown unwashed flesh was visible in many places. Looking upon them, one did not like to think that these beings were men, men with passions like to one's own, for all the interests, real and imaginary, all the topics which should expand the mind of man, and connect him in sympathy with general existence, were crushed in the absorbing considerations of how rice was to be procured for their families of diseaseful brats. They had no brains, these men; or if Heaven had thus o'erblessed them, they did not exercise them in their industry--their coarse, rough hands alone gained food for the day's feeding. And these mud-roofed, mud-sided dwellings--these were their homes, to me worse homes than none at all. In their architecture not even a single idea could be traced--the Chinese here had proceeded as if by merest accident. All I could think as I returned their wondering glances was that their world must be very, very old. But I have no time or space to talk of them here. To throw more than a cursory glance at them Would lead me into interminable disquisitions of a mythological, anthropological, craniological, and antediluvian nature for which one would not find universal approval among his readers. To those who would study such questions I say, "Fall to!" There is enough scope for a lifetime to bring into light the primeval element so strangely woven into the lives of these people. At Yün-nan-ï bunting and weird street decoration made the place hideous in my eyes. The crowded town was making considerable ado about some expected official. I saw none, more than a courteous youth--to whom, of course, I was quite unknown and deaf and dumb--who graciously shifted goods and chattels from the inn's best room to hand it over to me for my occupation. With due tact and some excitability, I protested vigorously against his coming out. He insisted. Smiling upon him with grave benignity, I said that I would take a smaller room, and gave orders to that effect to my man, adding that my whole sense of right and justice towards fellow-travelers revolted against such self-sacrifice on his part. He still insisted. Smiling again, this time the timid smile of the commoner looking up into the face of the great, I allowed myself reluctantly to be pushed bodily into the best apartment. This was my intention from the first. Although not too familiar with it, I allowed the Chinese to imagine that I was well grounded in the absurdities of his national etiquette; whilst he, observing, too, the outrageous routine of common politeness, probably went away swearing that he had been turned out. He had cut off his nose to spite his face. I cannot truthfully deny, however, that the fellow was very kind, but he would persist in the belief that it was an impossibility for me to tell the truth. Later, pointing at me and eyeing me up and down as I shaved in the twilight, he sneered, "Engleeshman! Engleeshman!" and scooting with an armful of clothing, small pots of eatables, official documents and other sundries, told me point-blank that he did not believe that such a noble person could not speak such a contemptible language as Chinese. Seeing no official, then, I presumed I was their man. Whilst I fed slowly on my rice and cabbage in a small earth-floor room, with my nose as near as convenient to my oil lamp to get a little warmth, the discomfort of Chinese life was forced upon me, and I imagined I was having a good time. I was the best off in the inn by far; the others must have been colder, certainly had worse food to eat, and yet to me it was all the height of utmost cheerlessness. From a hamlet opposite the town, where I sat down by the fire exhausted in an old woman's shaky dwelling, and fed on aged sardines and hot rice (atrocious mixture), there is a plain extending for twenty li to Yün-nan-ï--flat as country in the Fen district. The road was good (in wet weather, however, it must be terrible), and I would drive a motor-car across, were it not for the 15-in. ruts which disfigure the surface. And I know a man who would do this even, despite the ruts: he takes a delight in running over dogs and small boys, damaging rickshaws, bumping into bullock-carts, and so on--he would have done it with liveliest freedom. But what poverty there was! What women! What Children! With barely an exception, the women had faces ground by want and bare necessity, in which every cheerful and sympathetic lineament had been effaced by life-long slavery and misery. In the bitter cold they, women and children, crouched round a scanty fir-wood firing, not enough even to keep alive their natural heat. One long pitiful sight of thriftless poverty. To Hungay was a fearful day. Little to eat could I procure, and the cold gave me a lusty ox's appetite. To me a bellyful came as a windfall. At last we sat down by the roadside at one small table, hearing the test of age, rickety and worm-eaten. We gathered like hogs at their troughs, with the household hog scratching at our feet. I grew impatient and querulous over constant culinary disappointment. I longed not for the heaped-up board of the pampered and luxurious, I wanted food. Indigent man was I, whose dietetical elegancies had been forgotten, a man with ravenous desires seeking sustenance, not relishes; the means of life, not the means of pampering the carcass; I wanted food. And here I had it. The hungry were to be fed. It was a foul orgy, a gruesome spectacle, a horrible picture of the gluttony of famished men. This meal conjured up visions of the "most unlovely of the functions." We fed on _mien_, that long, greasy, grimy, slippery, slimy string of boneless white--I see it now! And the half-done tin of sardines set before me, too, the broken stools in the thatch-worn shed, the dismantled hearth, the muddy earthen floor, the haggard, hungry villains--I see them all again.[AS] It should, however, be said that I went away from the main road over a range of hills where nobody lives. Had I kept to the "ta lu" food would have been quite easy to get. To Hungay was given the honor of entertaining me over the Sunday, a pleasant rest after a week of arduous and exhausting walking. I arrived late at night, and the old town's rough streets were bathed in a silver shower of moonbeams, the air was cold and frosty, little groups of the curious came to the doors of their dwellings, laughing sarcastically, despite their own poverty, at the distinguished traveler thus coming upon them. In marked contrast to this outside animation were the happenings at the inn which gave me shelter. Business was bad. Three undistinguished travelers--coolies with loads--and myself and men made up the meager total of paying guests. This was the reason why it was chosen for me, for peace and quiet. Quiet had been forced upon the household, so I was told, by the death by fits of a haughty and resolute lady; and now that the night had fallen and we had all had our rice, the deep hush--or its equivalent in Cathay, at all events--seemed likely to be unbroken until a new day should dawn. My room here had a verandah overlooking a back court, and here I sat at midnight, unseen by anyone, looking up to the changeless stars in an unpitying sky; and as I stood thus there blew from the gates of night and across the mountains a wind that made me shiver less with physical cold than with a sense of loneliness and captivity. For on to my verandah came four soldiers, and it seemed as if the hour of death drew nigh; and as I looked again, first upon the cloudswept sky and upon the cold and steely glitter of the stars, and then again at the soldiers with their guns, I turned giddy, shuddering at the darkness and the loneliness, and with a nameless fear lying at the center of life like a lurking shadow of an unknown, unseen foe. They addressed me, but I cared not what they said. I pretended I could not speak Chinese, watched the quartet form a circle, and talk slowly and low, and it did not need the mind of a prophet to see that they were discussing how best they could capture me. Were they going to kill me? My boy and the other friends I had in the place were sleeping blissfully, ignorant that their master was in such trying straits. I was asked my name, and the inquirers, not over civil, were told. They again asked me for something, I knew not what, probably for my passport. I had none, and cursed my luck that I had forgotten to pack it when I had left Tong-ch'uan-fu. To me it was quite evident that they were deciding my destiny, or so it seemed in the stillness of the night. Looking upwards, I wondered whether I was soon to learn the secret of the stars and sky, and those men seemed to watch the secret workings of my soul. Outside the wind made moan continuously. Suddenly my door opened noisily, a light was flashed upon us, and I saw the bulky form of the landlord. Then all was well. Soon one of my men appeared, and explained that the soldiers were on their way to meet an official who was coming from Tali-fu, that their instructions were that they would meet him at Hungay. They took me for the "gwan." So my end was not yet. But now, months afterwards, when I stand and listen to the wind at midnight, there seems borne to me in every sob and wail a memory of that hateful night and the four soldiers with their guns. It seemed not long afterwards that I was awakened by noises on the doorstep. Looking out, I found a bullock, its four feet tied together with a straw rope, writhing in its last agonies; the butcher, in his hand a cruel 24-inch bladed knife still red with blood, smiling the smile of ironic torture as he looked down upon his struggling victim. He straightway skinned the animal and cut up the carcass immediately in front of my door, where Lao Chang waited to get the best cut for my dinner. My three fellow-lodgers squatted alongside, going through their apologetic ablutions as if naught were happening. Their dirty face-rags were wrung and rewrung; they got to work with that universal tooth-brush (the forefinger!), and that the dead body of a bullock was being dissected two feet from the table at which they ate their steaming rice was a detail of not the slightest consequence in the world. Hungay is an old-time capital of one of the original kingdoms, destroyed in the year A.D. 749. The road leading out towards Chao-chow was built some considerable time before that year, and has never been subject to any repairs whatever (for this fact I have drawn upon my imagination, but should be very much surprised to know that I am far out in my reckoning). Villagers have appropriated the public slabs and small boulders which comprised the wretched thoroughfare; reminiscent puddles tell you the tale, and the badness of the road renders it necessary for the traveler to be out of bed a little earlier than usual to face the ordeal. The road to-day has been practically as bad as walking along the sides of the Yangtze. But as I studied the patience and physical vitality of my three men, laughing and joking with the light-heartedness of children, with nearly seventy catties dangling from their shoulder-pole, without a word of murmuring, I felt a little ashamed of myself that I, whose duty it was merely to _walk_, should have made such a fuss. These men were prepared to work a very long time for very little reward, as no matter how small the rewards for the terribly exhausting labor, it were better than none at all,--so they philosophized. That quiet persistence and unfailing patience form a national virtue among the Chinese--the capacity to wait without complaint and to bear all with silent endurance. This virtue is seen more clearly in great national disasters which occasionally befall the country. The terrible famine of 1877-8 was the cause of the death of millions of people, and left scores of millions without house, food or clothing; they were driven forth as wanderers on the face of the earth without home, without hope. The Government does nothing whatever in these cases. The people who wish to live must find the means to live, and what impressed me all through my wanderings was the absolute science to which poverty is reduced. In such calamities the Chinese, of all men on the earth's surface, will battle along if there is any chance at all. If he is blessed, he once more becomes a farmer; but if not, he accepts the position as inevitable and irremediable. The Chinese race has the finest power in the world to withstand with fortitude the ills of life and the miseries which follow inability to procure the wherewithal to live. Their nerves are somehow different from our Western nerves. In China nothing is wasted, not only in food, but in everything affecting the common life. That a beast dies of disease is of no concern. It is eaten all the same from head to hoof, from skin to entrail, and the remarkable fact is that they do not seem to suffer from it, either. At Kiang-ti (mentioned in a previous chapter) I saw a horse being pushed down the hillside to the river. It was not yet dead, but was dying, so far as I could see, of inflammation of the bowels. Its body was cut up, and there were several people waiting to buy it at forty cash the catty. From Hungay onwards I met a class of people I had not seen before. They were the Minchia (Pe-tso). Major H.R. Davies, whose treatise on the tribes of Yün-nan at the end of his excellent work on travel in the province, is probably the best yet written, writes that he met Minchia people only on the plains of Tali-fu and Chao-chow, and never east of the latter place. This was in travel some ten or twelve years ago, and the fact that there are now many Minchia families living in Hungay is a testimony to their enterprise as a tribe in going farther afield in search of the means to live. There is little doubt that the Minchia originally came from country lying between the border of the province and round Li-chiang-fu and the Tali-fu plain and lake. Most of them wear Chinese dress; many of the women bind their feet (and the practice is growing in popularity), although those who have not small feet are still in the majority. In a small city lying some few li from the city of Tali all the inhabitants are Minchia, and I found no difficulty in spotting a Chinese man or woman--there is a distinct facial difference. Minchia have bigger noses, generally the eyes are set farther apart, and the skin is darker. Pink trousers are in fashion among the ladies--trace of base feminine weakness!--but are not by any means the distinguishing features of race. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote AP: Carlyle, _Sartor Resartus_.] [Footnote AQ: Wind-cap, a long Chinese wadded hat which reaches over one's head and down over the shoulders, tied under the chin with ribbons.--E.J.D.] [Footnote AR: Likin, as everyone knows, is custom duty. All along the main roads of China one meets likin stations, distinguished by the flag at the entrance.--E.J.D.] [Footnote AS: I passed this spot a month or so afterwards, and am convinced that at the time I wrote the above there must have been something radically wrong with my liver. Had it been in Killarney in summer, nothing could have been more entrancing than the two lakes midway between Yün-nan-ï and Hungay. Patches of light green vegetation, interspersed with brown-red houses, skirting the lake-shore in pleasant contrast to the green of the water, which, bathed in soft sunshine, lapped their walls in endless restlessness. Of that delicate blue which is indescribably beautiful, the morning sky looked down tranquilly upon the undulating hills of grey and brown, which seemed to hem in and guard a very fairyland. Geomancers of the place did not go wrong when they suggested the overlooking hill-sides as suitable resting-places for the departed. All was ancient and primitive, yet simple and glorious, and as one of my followers called my attention to the telegraph wires, I was struck by the fact that this alone stood as the solitary element of what we in the West call civilization. Yet nothing bore traces of gross uncivilization; the people, hard workers albeit, were happy and quite content, with their slow-moving caravan, which we would, if we could, soon displace for the railway engine. Ploughmen with their buffaloes and their biblical ploughshare, raked over the red ground; women, with babies on their backs, picked produce already ripe; children played roundabout, and those old enough helped their fathers in the fields; coolies bustled along with exchanges of merchandise with neighboring villages, quite content if but a couple of meals each day were earned and eaten; the official, the ruler of these peaceful people, passed with old-time pomp--not in a modern carriage, not in a modern saloon, but in the same way as did his ancestors back in the dim ages, in a sedan-chair carried by men. There was plenty of everything--enough for all--but all had to contribute to its getting. There was no greed, their few wants were easily satisfied, and here, as everywhere in my journeyings, I have noticed it to be the case among the common people, there was no desire to get rich and absorb wealth. They wanted to live, to learn to labor as little as the growth of food supplies demanded, to become fathers and mothers, and, to their minds, to get the most out of life. And who will contradict it? They do not see with the eyes of the West; we do not, we cannot, see with their eyes. But surely the living of this simple life, the same as it was in the beginning, has a good deal in it; it is not uncivilization, not barbarism, and the fair-minded traveler in China can come to but one opinion, even in the midst of all the conflicting emotions which result from his own upbringing, that we could, if we would, learn many a good lesson from the old-time life of the Celestial in his own country. Yet these are the very people who may jostle us harshly later on in the racial struggle. I am not suggesting that when the Chinese adopts the cult of the West, and comes into general contact with it--and I believe that I am right in saying that this is the desire, generally speaking, of the whole of the enlightened classes--he continues with his few wants. As a matter of fact, he does not. He is as extravagant, and perhaps more so, than the most of us. I have seen Straits Chinese waste at the gaming tables in their gorgeous clubs as much in one night as some European residents handle in one year, and he is quick to get his motor-car, his horses and carriages, and endless other ornaments of wealth. So that if progress in the course of the evolution of nations means that the Chinese too will demand all that the European now demands, and will cease to find satisfaction in the existing conditions of his life in the new goal towards which he is moving, and if he, in course of time, should increase the cost of living per head to equal that of the Westerner, then he will lose a good deal of the advantage he now undoubtedly has in the struggle for racial supremacy. But if, gradually taking advantage of all in religion, in science, in literature, in art, in modern naval and military equipment and skill, and all that has made nations great and made for real progress in the West, he were also to continue his present hardy frugality in living--which is not a tenth as costly in proportion to that of the Occident--then his advantage in entering upon the conflict among the nations for ultimate supremacy would be undoubted, immeasurable. The question is, will he? If he will, then the Occident has much to fear. China, going ahead throughout the Empire as she is at the present moment in certain parts, will in course of time (as is only fair and natural to expect) have an army greater in numbers than is possible to any European power, and her food-bill will be two-thirds lower per head per fighting man. Subsequently, granting that China fulfils our fears, and becomes as great a fighting power as military experts declare she will, even in our generation, by virtue of her numbers alone, apart from phenomenal powers of endurance, which as every writer on China and her people is agreed, is excelled by no other race on earth, she would be able to dictate terms to the West. But, again, will she? Will the people continue to live as they are living? I personally believe that the Chinese will not. I believe that as the nation progresses, more in accordance with lines of progress laid down by the West, so will her wants increase, and consequent expenses of life become greater. The Yün-nanese even are beginning to acknowledge that they have no ordinary comforts. In other parts of the empire the people are already beginning to learn what comfort, sanitation, lighting, and general organization means--in the home, in the city, in the country, in the nation. And they are learning too that it all costs money, and means, perhaps, a higher state of social life. For this they do not mind the money. They are not going half-way--they are going to be whole-hoggers. And when in the future, near or far, we shall find them, as is almost inevitable, able to compete in everything with other nations, we shall find that they have not been successful in learning the source of strength without having absorbed also some of the weaknesses; they will not escape the vices, even if they learn some of the virtues of the West.--E.J.D.] CHAPTER XIX. _Peculiar forebodings of early morning_. _A would-be speaker of English_. _The young men of Yün-nan and the Reform Movement_. _Teachers of English_. _Remarks on methods adopted_. _Disregard of the customs of centuries_. _A rushing Szech-wanese_. _Missionaries and the Educational Movement_. _Christianity and the position of the foreigner_. _Is the Chinese racially inferior to the European? Interesting opinion_. _Peace of Europe and integrity of China_. _Chao-chow cook gets a bad time_. _The author's levée. Natural "culture" of the people_. _Story of the birth of boys_. _Notes on Hsiakwan_. _Experiences of the non-Chinese-speaking author at the inn_. _How he got the better of an official_. _A magnificent temple_. _Kwan-ïn and the priests._ This morning, from the foot of a high spur, I saw a couple of gawky fellows shambling along in an imitation European dress, and I pricked up my ears--it seemed as if Europeans were about. One of the fellows had on a pair of long-legged khaki trousers ludicrously patched with Chinese blue, a tweed coat of London cut also patched with Chinese blue, and a battered Elswood topee. I saw this through my field-glasses. Soon after, coming out from a cup in the winding pathway, emerged a four-man chair, and I had no doubt then that it was a European on the road, and I began to get as curious as anyone naturally would in a country where in interior travel his own foreign kind are met with but seldom. Hurrying on, I managed to pass the chair in a place where overhanging foliage shut out the light, so that I could not see through the windows, and as the front curtain was down I concluded that it must be a lady, probably a missionary lady. I pushed on to the nearest tavern--a tea tavern, of course--buttoned up my coat so that she should not see my dirty shirt, and waited for the presence to approach. From an inner apartment, through a window, I could see all that went on outside, but could not be seen. What is it that makes a man's heart go pit-a-pat when he is about to meet a European lady in mid-China? Presently the chair approached. From it came a person covered in a huge fur-lined, fur-collared coat many sizes too large for his small body--it was a Chinese. Several men were pushed out of his way as he strode towards me, extending his hand in a cordial "shake, old fellow" style, and yelling in purest accent, "Good morning, sir; _good_ morning, sir!" "Oh, good morning. You speak English well. I congratulate you. Have you had a good journey? How far are you going? Very warm?" I waited. "It is so interesting when one meets a gentleman who can speak English; it is a pleasant change." I waited again. "Will you--" "Good morning, morning, morn--he, he, he." "But pardon me, will--" "Morning, morning--he, h-e-e." "Yes, you silly ass, I know it is morning, but--" "Yes, yes; morning, morning--he-e-e-e-e." He then made for the door, not the least abashed. Later he came back, and invited me to speak Chinese, probably thinking that I was wondering why he had made such an absolute fool of himself. I learned that this august gentleman possessed a name in happy correspondence with a fowl ("Chi"). He pointed contemptuously to a member of that feather tribe as he told me. Whether he could speak Chinese when he was or was not at Chen-tu, or whether he had a son whose knowledge of my language was vast, and who was at that moment at Chen-tu, I could not quite fathom, and he could not explain. He had a look at my caravan generally, and then turned his scrutiny upon my common tweeds, informing me that the quality bore no comparison with his own. He could travel in a four-man chair; I had to _walk_. It was all very "pub hao." After some time he cleared out with much empty swagger, and I followed leisurely on behind, feeling--yes, why not publish it?--pleased that this bolt from the blue had not been a lady. This young fellow--a mere slip of a boy--wore every indication of perfect self-confidence, borne out in a multitude of ways common to his class. He, I presumed, was one of the fledglings who undertake responsibilities far beyond them, or I should not be surprised if he had been one of the army of young men who, having the merest smattering of English, wholly unable to converse, set up as teachers of English. I have found this quite common among the rising classes in Yün-nan. The cool assumption of unblushing superiority evinced in discussing intellectual and philosophic problems is remarkable. The Chinese, in the area I speak of, are little people with little brain: this was a specimen. Yet, to be fair, in China to-day the work of reform is mainly the work of young men, who although but only partly equipped for their work, approach it with perfect confidence and considerable energy, not knowing sufficient to realize the difficulties they are undertaking. In Japan the same thing was done. The young men there undertook to dispute and doubt everything which came in the way of national reorganization, setting aside--as China must do if she is to take her place alongside the ideal she has set up for herself, Japan--parental teaching, ancestral authority, the customs of centuries. A large proportion of the population of China has a passion for reform and progress. This young fellow was a typical example. In the west of China, however, to conform with the spirit of reform and real progress--not the make-believe, which is satisfying them at the present moment--they must needs change their ways. Seventeen memorial plates were passed at the entrance to Chao-chow, a particularly modern-looking place, as one approaches it from the hill. A remarkably ungainly individual, with a hole in the top of his skull and his body one mass of sores, came to me here, addressed me as "Sien seng," and then commenced an oration to the effect that he was a Szech'wanese, that he had known the missionaries down by the Yangtze, and that he knew he would be welcome to accompany me to Hsiakwan.[AT] He switched himself on the main line of my caravan. Here was a man who had been brought in contact with the missionary away down in another province, and he knew he was welcome. I liked that. In all my journeyings in Yün-nan I was increasingly impressed with the value of the missionary, that man who of all men in the Far East is the most subject to malicious criticism, and generally, be it said, from those persons who know little or nothing about his work. You cannot measure the missionary's work by conversions, by mere statistics. I venture to assert that it is through the missionary that the West applied pressure and supplied China with political ideas, and put within her reach the material and instruments which would enable her to carry such ideas into practice--this apart from religious teaching. More particularly is this the case in respect to popular education, perhaps, by means of which the transformation of Old China into New China will be a less long and difficult process. The people may not want the missionary--I do not for a moment say that they do--but they need to know the secret of his power and the power of his kind, and they must study his language, his science, his machinery, his steamboats, his army, his _Dreadnaughts_. They realize that the foreigner is useful not for what he can do, but for what he can teach--therefore they tolerate the missionary. This is virtually the national policy of China towards foreigners, a policy gaining the acceptance of the people with remarkable quickness. After having set aside all considerations of national prejudice and patriotism, it is interesting to ask whether it is actually a fact that the Chinese, as a race, are inferior to the peoples of the West? Much has been said on the subject. I give my opinion flatly that the Chinese is _not_ inferior, and the longer I live with him the more numerous become the lessons which he teaches me. "The question, when we examine it closely, has really very little to do with political strength or military efficiency, or (_pace_ Mr. Benjamin Kidd) relative standards of living, or even the usual material accompaniments of what we call an advanced civilization; it is a question for the trained anthropologist and the craniologist rather than for the casual observer of men and manners. The Japanese people are now much more highly civilized--according to western notions--than they were half a century ago, but it would be ludicrously erroneous to say that they are now a higher race, from the evolutionary point of view, than they were then. Evolution does not work quite so rapidly as that even in these days of 'hustle.' The Japanese have advanced, not because their brains have suddenly become larger, or their moral and intellectual capabilities have all at once made a leap forward, but because their intercourse with Western nations, after centuries of isolated seclusion, showed them that certain characteristic features of European civilization would be of great use in strengthening and enriching their own country, developing its resources, and giving it the power to resist aggression. If the Japanese were as members of the _homo sapiens_ inferior to us fifty years ago, they are inferior to us now. If they are our equals to-day--and the burden of proof certainly now rests on him who wishes to show that they are not--our knowledge of the origin and history of Eastern peoples, scanty though it is, should certainly tend to assure us that the Chinese are our equals, too. There is no valid reason for supposing that the Chinese people are ethnically inferior to the Japanese. They have preserved their isolated seclusion longer than the Japanese, because until very recently it was less urgently necessary for them to come out of it. They have taken a longer time to appreciate the value of Western science and certain features of Western civilization, because new ideas take longer to permeate a very large country than a small one, and because China was rich within her own borders of all the necessaries of life."[AU] And the West, too, must learn that the peace of Europe depends upon the integrity of China. For the time is coming--not in the lives of any who read these lines, but coming inevitably--when China will, by her might, by her immense numbers of trained men, by her developed naval and military strength, be able to say to the nations of the earth, "There must be no more war." And she will be strong enough to be able to enforce it. As with individuals, so with nations, and a people who are marked by such rare physical vitality, such remarkable powers of endurance against great odds, are surely designed for some nobler purpose than merely to bear with fortitude the ills of life and the misery of starvation. It is the easiest thing in the world to criticise--the West criticises the Chinese because he is a heathen, because they do not understand him. Hundreds of millions of the Chinese race hate and fear the man of the West for exactly the same reason as would cause us to hate the Chinese were the situation reversed. I do not need to go into history from the days when the Chinese first began to show their suspicion, contempt, and fear of foreigners, and their interpretation of the motives and purposes which took them to the Celestial Empire; it would take too much space. But if we of the West did our part to-day, as we rub up against the Chinese everywhere, in charitably taking him at his best, things would alter much more speedily that they are doing. Because the Chinese bristles with contradictions and seemingly unanswerable conundrums, we immediately dub him a barbarian, do not endeavor to understand him, do not understand enough of his language to listen to him and learn his point of view. However, it is all slowly passing--so very slowly, too. But still China is progressing, and now this oldest man in the world is becoming again the youngest, but has all the accumulations and advantages of age in all countries to lean upon and learn from. Chao-chow gave me a very decent inn, the top room in front of which was provided with a well-paved courtyard, with every convenience for the traveler--that is, for China. The inn cook and water-carrier was out playing on the street when we put in an early appearance. My men lost their temper, ground their teeth, foamed at the mouth, and got desperate. The only man on the premises was a poor old fellow, who foolishly bumped his uncovered head on the ground on which I stood, as an act of great servility and a secret sign that I should throw him a few cash, and then resumed his occupation in the sun of wiping his already inflamed eyes with the one unwashed garment which covered him. I pitied him; he knew it, and traded upon my pity until I invoked a few choice words from Lao Chang to fall upon him. When the cook did put in an appearance, he and everybody dead and living placed anywhere near his genealogical tree underwent a rough quarter of an hour from the anathematical tongues of my companions. The Old Man--by virtue of the growth on my chin, this epithet of respect was commonly used towards me--wanted to wash his face and drink his tea. He was tired with walking. He was a foreign mandarin. Did the blank, blank, blank cook, the worm and no man, not know that a foreigner was among them? And then they fell to piling up the ignominy again and placing to the cook's dishonor various degrees of lowliest origin common among the Chinese proletariat, which, thank Heaven, I did not quite understand. That evening all Chao-chow came to honor me in my room, and to admire and ask to be given all I had in my boxes. That it was all a huge revelation to many who came and inquired who I might be, and whence I might have come, was quite evident. One fellow, dressed gaudily in expensive silks and satins--probably borrowed--came with pomp and pride; and disappointment was writ large upon his ugly face when he learned that I could not, or would not, speak with him. He mentioned that he was one of the cultured of the city. But the Chinese are all more or less cultured. My own coolies, although not knowing a character, are really "cultured"--they are the most polite men I have ever traveled with. The culture, at any rate, although more apparent than real, has a universality in China which the foreigner must observe in moving among the people, and which as a sort of lubrication, makes the wheels of society run smoother. This man was not cultured in the matter of taste in the choice of colors. He was altogether frightfully lacking in sense of harmony, and when one saw the little boy who trotted along with him, one might have thought that Joseph's coat had been revived for my especial edification. He was a peculiar being, this highly-colored man. He would persist in sitting down on his haunches, despite frequent invitations to use a chair--how is it all Orientals can do this, and not one European out of fifty? Lao Chang afterwards informed me that this man's wife had just presented him with a second son, and great jubilation was taking place. The birth of a child, especially of a boy, is a great event in any Chinese household, and considerable anxiety is felt lest demons should be lurking about the house and cause trouble. A sorcerer is called in just before the birth, to exorcise all evil influences from the house and secure peace. This is the "Exorcism of Great Peace." Simultaneously comes the midwife. Should the birth be attended with great pain and difficulty, recourse is had to crackers, the firing of guns, or whatever similar device can be thought of to scare off the demons. Solicitude is often felt that the first visit to the house after the birth of the child should be made by a "lucky" person, for the child's whole future career may be blighted by meeting with an "ill-starred" person. No outsider will enter the room where the birth took place for forty days. On the anniversary of a boy's birth the relatives and friends bring presents of clothes, hats, ornaments, playthings, and red eggs. The baby is placed on the floor--the earth, which is the first place he touches; he is born into a hole in the ground--and around him are placed various articles, such as a book, pencil, chopsticks, money, and so on. He will follow the profession which has to do with the articles he first touches.[AV] This was the fortieth day, and so my visitant honored me by thrusting his contemptible presence upon me, and he would not go until late at night, when a man with a diseased hip and one eye--and a ghastly thing at that--called to see whether I could treat him with medicine. Hsiakwan in days to come will probably have a big industry in brick and tile making. Fifteen li from the town, on the Chao-chow side, many people now get their living at the business, and one could easily dream of a "Hsiakwan Brick and Tile Company Limited," with the children's children of the present pioneers running for the morning papers to have a look at the share market reports, with light railways connected up with the main line, which has not yet been built, and so on, and so on. Hsiakwan is perhaps the busiest town on the main trade route from Yün-nan-fu to Burma. Tali-fu, although growing, is only the official town, of which Hsiakwan is the commercial entrepôt. It was here that I stayed one Sunday some time after this, at one of the biggest inns I have ever been into in China. It had no less than four buildings, each with a paved rectangular courtyard which all the rooms overlooked. A military official, who was on his way to Chao-t'ong to deal with the rebellion, of which the reader has already learnt a good deal, was expected soon after I arrived. My room was already arranged, however, when the landlord came to me and said-- "Yang gwan, you must please go out!" Now the yang gwan, as was expected, stayed where he was, smiled in magnanimous acquiescence, invited the proprietor--a stout, jolly person with one eye--to be seated, and remained quiet. Again and again was I told that I should be required to clear out, and give up the best room to the official and his aide-de-camp, but unfortunately the inquirer did not improve the situation by persisting in the foolish belief that the foreigner was hard of hearing. He shouted his request into my ear in a stentorian basso, he waved his hands, he pointed, he made signs. The Chinese langage and manner, however, are difficult to an addle-pated foreigner. I, poor foolish fellow, endeavoring to treat the Chinese in a manner identical to that which he would have employed had conditions been reversed, stared vacantly and woodenly into a seemingly bewildering infinite, and timidly remarked, "O t'ing puh lai." Knowing then that my "hearing had not come," he requisitioned my boy, for the aide-de-camp by this time was glumly peering into my doorway; but to his disgust Lao Chang also was equally unsuccessful in making me tumble to their meaning. The best room, therefore, continued to be mine. Soon after the official came, and my dog began by mauling his canine guardian, tearing away half his ear; and in the middle of the night one of my horses got loose and had a stand-up fight with a mule attached to the official party, laming him seriously; and as the foreigner emerged in his night attire to prevent further damage, he encountered the mandarin himself, and pinned him dead against the wall in the dark, after having stepped on his corn. My pony had pulled several morsels of flesh from the mule's carcase. The yang gwan certainly came off best, and the following morning, as the Chinese gwan with his retinue of six chairs and about one hundred and fifty men departed, the yang gwan smiled a happy farewell which was not effusively reciprocated. As I came out of the inn I met a Buddhist priest, worn with general dilapidation and old age, with a huge festering wound in the calf of his leg, so that he could hardly hobble along with a stick--he was probably on his way to the medical missionary at Tali-fu for treatment. This spiritual guide was certainly on his last legs, and has probably by this time handed over the priestly robes and official perquisites to more vigorous young blood. Hsiakwan's High Street reminded me of the main street of Totnes, with its arch over the roadway, and the scenery might have deluded one into the belief that he was in Switzerland in spring, as he gazed upon the glorious spectacle of snow-covered mountains with the world-famed lake at the foot. Tali-fu deserves its name of the Geneva of West China. In the chapter devoted to Yün-nan-fu I have referred to the military of Tali-fu, but here I saw the men actually at drill, and a finer set of men I have rarely seen in Europe. The military Tao-tai lives here. Progress is phenomenal. At Yung-chang, the westernmost prefecture of the Empire, the commanding officer could even speak English. In the famous temple ten li from Tali-fu is an effigy to the Yang Daren who figured conspicuously during the Mohammedan Rebellion. My men somehow got the false information that he was a native of Tong-ch'uan-fu, so they all went down on their knees and bumped their heads on the ground before the image. This Yang, however, was such a brute of a man that no young girl was safe where he was; however, as a soldier he was indomitable. The temple in which he is deified is called the Kwan-ïn-tang,[AW] and there is no place in all China where Kwan-ïn is worshipped with such relentless vigor. Some years ago, so the wags say, when Tali-fu was threatened by rebels, Kwan-ïn saved the city by transforming herself into a Herculean creature, and carrying upon her back a stone of several tons weight, presumably to block the path. The amazement of the rebels at the sight of a woman performing such a feat made them wonder what the men could be like, so they turned tail and fled. The story is believed implicitly by the residents of the city, and the priests, with an open eye to the main chance, work upon the public imagination with capital tact. I saw the stone in the center of a lotus pond, over which is the structure in which the Kwan-ïn sits, not as a weight-lifting woman, but as a tender mother, with a tiny babe in her arms, and none in the whole of the Empire enjoys such favor for being able to direct the birth of male children into those families which give most money to the priests. Women desiring sons come and implore her by throwing cash, one by one, at the effigy, the one who hits being successful, going away with the belief that a son will be born to her. When the deluded females are cleared out, the priest, divesting himself of his shoes, and rolling up his trousers, goes into the water, scoops up the money and uses it for his personal convenience--sometimes as much as thirty thousand cash. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote AT: The commercial center of Tali-fu, the official city is 30 li further on--E.J.D] [Footnote AU: _From Peking to Mandalay_, by R.F. Johnston, London, John Murray. I am indebted to this racily-written work for other ideas in this chapter.--E.J.D.] [Footnote AV: From inquiries I find this custom is not general in some parts of Western China--E.J.D.] [Footnote AW: Temple to the Goddess of Mercy. "Kwan-ïn was the third daughter of a king, beautiful and talented, and when young loved to meditate as a priest. Her father, mother and sisters beseech her not to pass the 'green spring,' but to marry, and the king offers the man of her choice the throne. But no, she must take the veil. She enters the 'White Sparrow Nunnery,' and the nuns put her to the most menial offices; the dragons open a well for the young maidservant, and the wild beasts bring her wood. The king sends his troops to burn the nunnery, Kwan-ïn prays, rain falls, and extinguishes the conflagration. She is brought to the palace in chains, and the alternative of marriage or death is placed before her. In the room above where the court of the inquisition is held there is music, dancing, and feasting, sounds and sights to allure a young girl; the queen also urges her to leave the convent, and accede to the royal father's wish. Kwan-ïn declares that she would rather die than marry, so the fairy princess is strangled, and a tiger takes her body into the forest. She descends into hell, and hell becomes a paradise, with gardens of lilies. King Yama is terrified when he sees the prison of the lost becoming an enchanted garden, and begs her to leave, in order that the good and the evil may have their distinctive rewards. One of the genii gives her the 'peach of immortality.' On her return to the terrestrial regions she hears that her father is sick, and sends him word that if he will dispatch a messenger to the 'Fragrant Mountain,' an eye and a hand will be given him for medicine; this hand and eye are Kwan-ïn's own, and produce instant recovery. "She is the patron goddess of mothers, and when we remember the value of sons, we can understand the heartiness of worship."--_The Three Religions of China,_ by H.G. Du Bose. ] THIRD JOURNEY TALI-FU TO THE MEKONG VALLEY CHAPTER XX. _Stages to the Mekong Valley_. _Hardest part of the walking tour_. _Author as a medical man_. _Sunday soliloquy_. _How adversity is met_. _Chinese life compared with early European ages_. _Womens enthusiasm over the European_. _A good send-off_. _My coolie Shanks, the songster_. _Laughter for tears_. _Pony commits suicide_. _Houses in the forest district_. _Little encampments among the hills, and the way the people pass their time_. _Treacherous travel_. _To Hwan-lien-p'u_. _Rest by the river, and a description of my companions_. _How my men treated the telegraph_. _Universal lack of privacy_. _Complaints of the carrying coolies._ From whichever standpoint you regard the cities and villages of Western China, the views are full of interest. Each forms a new picture of rock, river, wood and temple, crenellated wall, and uplifted roof, crowded with bewildering detail. I am not the first traveler who has remarked this. Several of Mr. Archibald Little's books speak of it. He says: "In Europe, except where the scenery is purely wild, and more especially in America, the delight of gazing on many of the most beautiful scenes is often alloyed by the crude newness of man's work. This is true now of Japan, since the rage for copying western architecture and dress has fallen upon the Islands of the Rising Sun. But here in Western China little has intervened to mar the accord between nature and man." In the country on which we are now entering the natural grandeur is finer than anything I had seen since I left the Gorges, and incidentally I do not mind confessing to the indulgent reader that when I came again through Hsiakwan, again westward bound, I was tired, my feet were blistered and broken, each day and every day had brought me a hard journey, and here I was now facing the most difficult journey yet met with--literally not a li of level road. My journey was by the following route:-- Length Height of Stage Above Sea 1st day Ho-chiang-p'u 90 li 5,050 ft. 2nd day Yang-pi 60 li 5,150 ft. 3rd day T'ai-p'ing-p'u 70 li 7,400 ft. 5th day Hwan-lien-p'u 50 li 5,200 ft. 6th day Ch'u-tung 95 li 5,250 ft. 7th day Shayung 75 li 4,800 ft. T'ai-p'ing-p'u (two days from Tali-fu), bleak and perched away up among the clouds, could never be called a town; it is merely a ramshackle place which gives one sleep and food in the difficult stage between Hwan-lien-p'u and Yang-pi. Like most of the small places which suffered from the ravishings of the Mohammedan destructions of the fifties, it has seen better days. Cottages hang clumsily together on ledges in the mountains, 7,400 feet above the sea, standing in their own vast uncultivated grounds. People are of the Lolo origin, but all speak Chinese; their ways of life, however, are aboriginal, and still far from the ideal to which they aspire. They are poor, poor as church mice, dirty and diseased and decrepit, and their existence as a consequence is dreary and dull and void of all enlightenment. The women--sad, lowly females--bind their feet after a fashion, but as they work in the fields, climb hills, and battle in negotiations against Nature where she is overcome only with extreme effort, the real "lily" is a thing possible with them only in their dreams. By binding, however, be it never so bad an imitation, they give themselves the greater chance of getting a Chinese husband. I stayed here the Sunday, and as I went through my evening ablutions, among my admirers in the doorway was an old woman, who in gentlest confidences with my boy, explained awkwardly that her little daughter lay sick of a fever, and could he prevail upon his foreign master, in whom she placed implicit faith, to come with her and minister? Lao Chang advised that I should go, and I went. My shins got mutilated as I fell down the slippery stone steps in the dark into a pail of hog's wash at the bottom. Having wiped the worst of the grease and slime onto the mud wall, by the aid of a flickering rushlight I saw the "child," who lay on a mattress on the floor in the darkest corner of the room. I reckoned her age to be thirty-five, her black hair hung in tangled masses, the very bed on which she lay stank with vermin, two feet away was the fire where all the cooking was gone through, and everywhere around was filth. When she saw me the "child" raised her solitary garment, whispered that pains in her stomach were well-nigh unendurable, that her head ached, that her joints were stiff, that she was generally wrong, and--"Did I think she would recover?" I thought she might not. Rushing back to my medicine chest, I brought along and administered a maximum dose of the oil called castor, and later dosed her with quinine. In the morning she was out and about her work, while the old mother was great in her praises for the passing European who had cured her child. After that came the deluge! They wanted more medicine--fever elixir, toothache cure, and so on, and so on--but I stood firm. The tedium of the Sunday in that draughty inn gave me an insight into their common lives which I had not before, causing me to meditate upon their simple lives and their simple needs. They did not raise the forests in order to get gold; they did not squander their patrimony in youth, destroying in a day the fruit of long years. They held to simple needs; they had a simplicity of taste, which was also a peculiar source of independence and safety. The more simple they lived the more secure their future, because they were less at the mercy of surprises and reverses. In adversity these people would not act like nurslings deprived of their bottles and their rattles, but would, by virtue of their common simplicity, probably be better armed for any struggles. I do not desire the life for myself, but the ethics of their simple living cannot but be recommended. Multitudes possess in China what multitudes in the West pursue amid characteristic hampering futilities of European life. We would aspire to simple living, and the simplicity of olden times in manners, art and ideas is still cherished and reverenced; but we cannot be simple or return to the simplicity of our forefathers unless we return to the spirit which animated them. They possessed the spirit of real simplicity. And this same spirit the Chinese possess to-day; but they are minus the incomparable features of healthful civilization, inward and outward, of which our forebears were masters. Our ways to-day are not their ways, and their ways not our ways; but one cannot but realize as he moves among them that with a happy infusion of the spirit of their simplicity into the restlessness of our modern life our wearied minds would dream less and realize more of the true simplicity of simple living. * * * * * To a man the village of T'ai-p'ing-p'u turned out early on the Monday morning to express regrets that my departure was at hand. When, in parting with this people who had done all in their power to make my comfort complete, I threw a handful of cash to some little children standing wonderingly near by, general approval was expressed, and elaborate felicities anent my beneficence exchanged by the ear-ringed Lolo women. A short apron hung down over their blue trousers, and as I passed out of their sight, they admired me and gossiped about me, with their hands under their aprons, in much the same manner as their more enlightened sisters of the wash-tub gossip sometimes in the West. It was a beautiful spring morning; the sweet song of the birds pierced through the noise of the rolling river below, the air was fragrant and bracing, and as I left and commenced the rocky ascent leading again to the mountains, the barks of some fierce-disposed canines, who alone objected to my presence among the hill-folk, died away with the rustle of the leafage in a keen north wind. One of my men was poorly, the solitary element to disturb the equanimity of our camp. It was Shanks. He had been suffering from toothache, and unfortunately I had no gum-balm with me; without my knowledge Lao Chang had rubbed in some strong embrocation to the fellow's cheek, so that now, in addition to toothache, he had also a badly blistered face, swollen up like a pudding. Upon learning that I had no means of curing him or of alleviating the pain, Shanks bellowed into my ear, loud enough to bring the dead out of the grave-mounds on the surrounding hill-sides, "Puh p'a teh, pub p'a teh"; then, raising his carrying-pole to the correct angle on the hump on his back, went merrily forward, warbling some squealing Chinese ditty. But Shanks was the songster of the party. He often madly disturbed the silence of middle night by a sudden outburst inte song, and when shouted down by others who lay around, or kicked by the man who shared his bed, and whose choral propensities were less in proportion, he would laugh wildly at them all. Poor Shanks; he was a peculiar mortal. He would laugh at men in pain, and think it sympathy. If we could get no food or drink on the march, after having wearily toiled away for hours, he would not be disposed to grumble--he would laugh. Such tragic incidents as the pony jumping over the precipice provoked him to extreme laughter.[AX] And when I caught him sewing up an open wound in the sole of his foot with common colored Chinese thread and a rusty needle, and told him that he might thereby get blood poisoning, and lose his life or leg, he cared not a little. As a matter of fact, he laughed in my face. Not at me, not at all, but because he thought his laughter might probably delude the devil who was president over the ills of that particular portion of human anatomy. He came to me just outside Pu-pêng, where we saw a coffin containing a corpse resting in the roadway whilst the bearers refreshed near by and, pointing thereto, told me that the man was "muh tsai" (not here)--the Chinese never on any account mention the word death--and his sides shook with laughter, so much so that he dropped his loads alongside the corpse, and startled the cock on top of the coffin guarding the spirit of the dead into a vigorous fit of crowing for fear of disaster. We enjoyed fairly level road, although rough, for ten li after leaving T'ai-p'ing-p'u. It rose gradually from 7,400 feet to 8,500 feet, and then dipped suddenly, and continued at a fearful down gradient. I might describe it as a member of a British infantry regiment once described to me a slope on the Himalayas. It was about eight years ago, and a few fellows were at a smoker given to some Tommies returning from India, when a bottle-nosed individual, talking about a long march his battalion had made up the Himalayas, in excellent descriptive exclaimed, "'Twasn't a 'ill, 'twasn't a graydyent, 'twas a blooming precipice, guvnor." The Himalayas and the country I am now describing have therefore something in common. Just before this the beautiful mountains, behind which was the Tali-fu Lake, made a sight worth coming a long way to see. Midway down the steep hill we happened on some lonely log cottages, twenty-five li from T'ai-p'ing-p'u (it is reckoned as thirty-five li traveling in the opposite direction). In the forest district I found the houses all built of timber--wood piles placed horizontally and dovetailed at the ends, the roofs being thatched. You have merely to step aside from the road, and you are in dense mountain forest; it is manifestly easier and less costly than the mud-built habitation, although for their part the people are worse off because of the lack of available ground for growing their crops. Here the people were still essentially Lolo, and the big-footed women who boiled water under a shed had difficulty in getting to understand what my men were talking about. The second descent is begun after a pleasant walk along level ground resembling a well-laid-out estate, and a treacherously rough mile brought us down to an iron chain bridge swung over the Shui-pi Ho, at the far end of which, hidden behind bamboo matting, are a few idols in an old hut; they act in the dual capacity of gods of the river and the mountain. Tea and some palatable baked persimmon--very like figs when baked--were brought me by an awful-looking biped who was still in mourning, his unshaven skull sadly betokening the fact. As I sipped my tea and cracked jokes with some Szech'wan men who declared they had met me in Chung-king (I must resemble in appearance a European resident in that city; it was the fourth time I had been accused of living there), I admired the grand scenery farther along. Especially did I notice one peak, towering perpendicularly away up past woods of closely-planted pine and fir trees, the crystal summit glistening with sunlit snow; as soon as I started again on my journey, I was pulling up towards it. Soon I was gazing down upon the tiny patches of light green and a few solitary cottages, resembling a little beehive, and one could imagine the metaphorical wax-laying and honey-making of the inhabitants. These people were away from all mankind, living in life-long loneliness, and all unconscious of the distinguished foreigner away up yonder, who wondered at their patient toiling, but who, like them, had his Yesterday, To-day and To-morrow. There they were, perched high up on the bleak mountain sides, with their joys and sorrows, their pains and penalties, struggling along in domestic squalor, and rearing young rusticity and raw produce. On these mountains in Yün-nan one sees hundreds of such little encampments of a few families, passing their existence far from the road of the traveler, who often wished he could descend to them and quench his thirst, and eat with them their rice and maize. Most of them here were isolated families of tribespeople, who, out of contact with their kind, have little left of racial resemblance, and yet are not fully Chinese, so that it is difficult to tell what they really are. Most were Lolo. Walking here was treacherous. A foot pathway was the main road, winding in and out high along the surface of the hills, in many places washed away, and in others overgrown with grass and shrubbery. "Across China on Foot" would have met an untimely end had I made a false step or slipped on the loose stones in a momentary overbalance. I should have rolled down seven hundred feet into the Shui-pi Ho. Once during the morning I saw my coolies high up on a ledge opposite to me, and on practically the same level, a three-li gully dividing us. They were very small men, under very big hats, bustling along like busy Lilliputians, and my loads looked like match-boxes. I probably looked to them not less grotesque. But we had to watch our footsteps, and not each other. We were rounding a corner, when I was surprised to see Hwan-lien-p'u a couple of li away. The _fu-song_ were making considerable hue and cry because Rusty had rolled thirty feet down the incline, and as I looked I saw the animal get up and commence neighing because he had lost sight of us. He was in the habit of wandering on, nibbling a little here and a little there, and rarely gave trouble unless in chasing an occasional horse caravan, when he gave my men some fun in getting him again into line. It was not yet midday, and we had four hours' good going. So I calculated. Not so my men. They could not be prevailed upon to budge, and knowing the Chinese just a little, I reluctantly kept quiet. It was entirely unreasonable to expect them to go on to Ch'u-tung, ninety li away--it was impossible. And I learnt that the reason they would not go on was that no house this side of that place was good enough to put a horse into, even a Chinese horse, and they would not dream of taking me on under those conditions. There was not even a hut available for the traveler, so they said. I had come over difficult country, plodding upwards on tiptoe and then downwards with a lazy swing from stone to stone for miles. Throughout the day we had been going through fine mountain forest, everywhere peaceful and beautiful, but it had been hard going. In the morning a heavy frost lay thick and white about us, and by 10:30 a.m. the sun was playing down upon us with a merciless heat as we tramped over that little red line through the green of the hill-sides. Often in this march was I tempted to stay and sit down on the sward, but I had proved this to be fatal to walking. In traveling in Yün-nan one's practice should be: start early, have as few stops as possible, when a stop _is_ made let it be long enough for a real rest. In Szech'wan, where the tea houses are much more frequent, men will pull up every ten li, and generally make ten minutes of it. In Yün-nan these welcome refreshment houses are not met with so often, and little inducement is held out for the coolies to stop, but upon the slightest provocation they will stop for a smoke. On this walking trip I made it a rule to be off by seven o'clock, stop twice for a quarter of an hour up to tiffin (my men stopped oftener), when our rest was often for an hour, so that we were all refreshed and ready to push on for the fag-end of the stage. We generally were done by four or five o'clock. And I should be the last in the world to deny that by this time I had had enough for one day. Upon arrival I immediately washed my feet, an excellent practice of the Chinese, changed my footgear, drank many cups of tea, and often went straight to my p'ukai. The roads of China take it out of the strongest man. There are no Marathon runners here; progress is a tedious toil, often on all fours. My room at Hwan-lien-p'u was near a telegraph pole; there was a telegraph station there, where my men showed their admiration for the Governmental organization by at once hammering nails into the pole. It was close to their laundry, and served admirably for the clothes-line, a bamboo tied at one end with a string to a nail in the pole and the other end stuck through the paper in the window of the telegraph operator's apartment. But this is nothing. Years ago, when the telegraph was first laid down, the people took turns to displace the wires and sell them for their trouble, and to chop the poles up for firewood. It continued for a considerable period, until an offender--or one whom it was surmised had done this or would have done it if he could--had his ears cut off, and was led over the main road to the capital, to be admired by any compatriot contemplating a deal in wiring or timber used for telegraphic communication purposes. Just below the town the river ran peacefully down a gradual incline. I decided that a comfortable seat under a tree, spending an hour in preparing this copy, would be more pleasant than moping about a noisome and stench-ridden inn, providing precious little in the way of entertainment for the foreigner. Next door a wedding party was making the afternoon hideous with their gongs and drums and crackers, and everywhere the usual hue and cry went abroad because a European was spending the day there. I imparted to my man my intentions for the afternoon. Immediately preparations were set on foot to get me down by the river, and it was publicly announced to the townspeople. The news ran throughout the town, that is Hwan-lien-p'u's one little narrow street, a sad mixture of a military trench and a West of England cobbled court. And instead of going alone to my shady nook by that silvery stream, 1 was accompanied by nine adult members of the unemployed band, three boys, and sundry stark-naked urchins who seemed to be without home or habitation. One of these specimens of fleeting friendship was one-eyed, and a diseased hip rendered it difficult for him to keep pace with us; one was club-footed, one hair-lipped fellow had only half a nose, and they were nearly all goitrous. As I write now these people, curious but not uncouth, are crouched around me on their haunches, after the fashion of the ape, their more Darwinian-evolved companion and his shorthand notes being admired by an open-mouthed crowd. Down below my horse is entertaining the more hilarious of the party in his tantrums with the man who is trying to wash him-- FOOTNOTES: [Footnote AX: The day before, whilst we were passing along the edge of a cliff, we saw a deliberate suicide on the part of a pony. Getting away from its companions, it first jumped against a tree, then turned its head sharply on the side of a cliff, finally taking a leap into mid-air over the precipice. It touched ground at about two hundred and fifty feet below this point, and then rolled out of sight. My men exhibited no concern, and laughed me down because I did. It was, as they said, merely diseased, and the muleteers went on their way, leaving horse and loads to Providence. This sort of thing is not uncommon.--E.J.D.] CHAPTER XXI. _The mountains of Yün-nan_. _Wonderful scenery_. _Among the Mohammedans_. _Sorry scene at Ch'u-tung_. _A hero of a horrid past_. _Infinite depth of Chinese character_. _Mule falls one hundred and fifty yards, and escapes unhurt_. _Advice to future travelers_. _To Shayung_. _We meet Tibetans on the mountains_. _Chinese cruelty_. _Opium smoker as a companion_. _Opium refugees_. _One opinion only on the subject_. _Mission work among smokers and eaters._ Mere words are a feeble means to employ to describe the mountains of Yün-nan. As I start from Hwan-lien-p'u this morning, to the left high hills are picturesquely darkened in the soft and unruffled solemnity of their own still unbroken shade. Opposite, rising in pretty wavy undulation, with occasional abruptions of jagged rock and sunken hollow, the steep hill-sides are brought out in the brightest coloring of delicate light and shade by the golden orb of early morn; towering majestically sunwards, sheer up in front of me, high above all else, still more sombre heights stand out powerfully in solemn contrast against the pale blue of the spring sky, the effect in the distance being antithetical and weird, with the magnificent Ts'ang Shan[AY] standing up as a beautiful background of perpendicular white, from whence range upon range of dark lines loom out in the hazy atmosphere. From the extreme summit of one snow-laden peak, whose white steeple seems truly a heavenward-directed finger, I gaze abstractedly all around upon nothing but dark masses of gently-waving hills, steep, weary ascents and descents, green and gold, and yellow and brown, and one's eyes rest upon a maze of thin white lines intertwining them all. These are the main roads. I am alone. My men are far behind. I am awed with an unnatural sense of bewildered wonderment in the midst of all this glory of the earth. Everything is so vast, so grand, so overpowering. Murmurings of the birds alone break the sense of sadness and loneliness. Away yonder full-grown pine trees, if discernible at all, are dwarfed so as to appear like long coarse grass. For some thirty li the road runs through beautiful woods, high above the valleys and the noise of the river; and now we are running down swiftly to a point where two ranges meet, only to toil on again, slowly and wearily, up an awful gradient for two hours or more. But the labor and all its fatiguing arduousness are nothing when one gets to the top, for one beholds here one of the most magnificent mountain panoramas in all West China. Far away, just peeping prettily from the silvered edges of the bursting clouds, are the giant peaks which separate Tali-fu from Yang-pi--white giants with rugged, cruel edges pointing upwards, piercing the clouds asunder as a ship's bow pierces the billows of the deep; and then, gradually coming from out the mist, are no less than eight distinct ranges of mountains from 14,000 feet to 16,000 feet high, besides innumerable minor heights, which we have traversed with much labor during the past four days, all rich with coloring and natural grandeur seen but seldom in all the world. Switzerland could offer nothing finer, nothing more sweeping, nothing more beautiful, nothing more awe-inspiring. With the glorious grandeur of these wondrous hills, rising and falling playfully around the main ranges, the marvellous tree growth, the delicate contrasts of the formidable peaks and the dainty, cultivated valleys, and the face of Nature everywhere absolutely unmarred, Switzerland could in no way compare. Is it then surprising that I look upon these stupendous masses with wonder, which seem to breathe only eternity and immensity? The air is pure as the breath of heaven, all is still and peaceful, and the fact that in the very nature of things one cannot rush through this pervading beauty of the earth, but has to plod onwards step by step along a toilsome roadway, enables the scenery to be so impressed upon one's mind as to be focussed for life in one's memory. One is held spellbound; these are the pictures never forgotten. Here I sit in a corner of the earth as old as the world itself. These mountains are as they were in the great beginning, when the Creator and Sustainer of all things pure and beautiful looked upon His handiwork and saw that it was good. The country here seems so vast as to render Nature unconquerable by man: man is insignificant, Nature is triumphant. Railways are defied; and these mountains, running mostly at right angles, will probably never--not in our time, at least--be made unsightly by the puffing and the reeking of the modern railway engine. They present so many natural obstacles to the opening-up of the country, according to the standard we Westerners lay down, that one would hesitate to prophesy any mode of traffic here other than that of the horse caravan and human beast of burden. Nature seems to look down upon man and his earth-scouring contrivances, and assert, "Man, begone! I will have none of thee." And the mountains turn upwards to the sky in_ silent reverence to their Maker, whose work must in the main remain unchanged until eternity. It is now 12:30, and we have fifty li to cover before reaching Ch'u-tung. We sit here to feed at a place called Siao-shui-tsing, a sorry antediluvian make-shift of a building, where in subsequent travel I was hung up in bitter weather and had to pass the night. The people, courteous and civil as always, show a simple trustfulness with which is associated some little suspicion. I gave a cake to a little child, but its mother would not allow it to be eaten until she was again and again assured and reassured that it was quite fit to eat. This home life of the very poor Chinese, if indeed it may be called home life, has a listlessness about it in marked contrast to that of the West. There is little housework, no furniture more than a table and chair or two, and the simplicity of the cooking arrangements does not tend to increase the work of the housewife. People here to-day are going about their work with a restful deliberation very trying to one in a hurry. The women, with infants tied to their backs, do not work hard but very long. A mud-house is being built near by, and between the cooking and attending to passing travelers, two women are digging the earth and filling up the baskets, while the men are mixing the mud, filling in the oblong wooden trough, and thus building the wall. At my elbow a man--old and grizzled and dirty--is turning back roll upon roll of his wadded garments, and ridding it of as many as he can find of the insects with which it is infested. A slobbering, boss-eyed cretin chops wood at my side, and when I rise to try a snap on the women and the children they hide behind the walls. Thus my time passes away, as I wait for the coolies who sit on a log in the open road feeding on common basins of dry rice. After that we had to cross the face of a steep hill. We could, however, find no road, no pathway even, but could merely see the scratchings of coolies and ponies already crossed. It was an achievement not unrisky, but we managed to reach the other side without mishap. My horse, owing to the stupidity of the man who hung on to his mouth to steady himself, put his foot in a hole and dragged the fool of a fellow some twenty yards downwards in the mud. My coolies, themselves in a spot most dangerous to their own necks, stuck the outside leg deep in the mud to rest themselves, and set to assiduously in blackguarding the man in their richest vein, then, extricating themselves, again continued their journey, satisfied that they had shown the proper front, and saved the face of the foreigner who could not save it for himself. Then we all went down through a narrow ravine into a lovely shady glade, all green and refreshing, with a brook gurgling sweetly at the foot and birds singing in the foliage. There was something very quaint in this cosy corner, with the hideous echoes and weird re-echoes of my men's squealing. Then we went on again from hill to hill, in a ten-inch footway, broken and washed away, so that in places it was necessary to hang on to the evergrowing grass to keep one's footing in the slopes. One needs to have no nerves in China. Down in the valley were a number of muleteers from Burma, cooking their rice in copper pans, whilst their ponies, most of them in horrid condition, and backs rubbed in some places to the extent of twelve inches square, grazed on the hill-sides. In most places the foot of this ravine would have been a river; here it was like a park, with pretty green sward intersected by a narrow path leading down into a lane so thick with virgin growth as to exclude the sunlight. As we entered a man came out with his p'ukai and himself on the back of a ten-hand pony; the animal shied, and his manservant got behind and laid on mighty blows with the butt-end of a gun he was carrying. The pony ceased shying. To Ch'u-tung was a tedious journey, rising and falling across the wooded hills, and when we arrived at some cottages by the riverside, the _fu-song_ had a rough time of it from my men for having brought us by a long road instead of by the "new" road (so called, although I do not doubt that it has been in use for many generations). Some Szech'wan coolies and myself had rice together on a low form away from the smoke, and the while listened to some tales of old, told by some half-witted, goitrous monster who seemed sadly out at elbow. The soldier meantime smelt round for a smoke. As he and my men had decided a few moments ago that each party was of a very low order of humanity, their pipes for him were not available. So he took pipe and dried leaf tobacco from this half-witted skunk, who, having wiped the stem in his eight-inch-long pants, handed it over in a manner befitting a monarch. It measured some sixty or seventy inches from stem to bowl. From Hwan-lien-p'u to Ch'u-tung is reckoned as eighty li; it is quite one hundred and ten, and the last part of the journey, over barren, wind-swept hills, most fatiguing. In contrast to the beauty of the morning's scenery, the country was black and bare, and a gale blew in our faces. My spirits were raised, however, by a coolie who joined us and who had a remarkable knowledge of the whole of the West of China, from Chung-king to Singai, from Mengtsz to Tachien-lu. Plied with questions, he willingly gave his answers, but he would persist in leading the way. As soon as a man endeavored to pass him, he would trot off at a wonderful speed, making no ado of the 120 pounds of China pots on his back, yelling his explanations all the time to the man behind. Yung-p'ing-hsien lay over to the right, fifteen li from Ch'u-tung, which is protected from the elements by a bell-shaped hill at the foot of a mountain lit up with gold from the sinking sun, which dipped as I trudged along the uneven zigzag road leading across the plain of peas and beans and winter crops. Four eight-inch planks, placed at various dangerous angles on three wood trestles, form the bridge across the fifty-foot stream dividing Ch'u-tung from the world on the opposite side. Across this I saw men wander with their loads, and then I led Rusty in. Whilst the stream washed his legs, I sat dangling mine until called upon to make way for another party of travelers. Remarkable is the agility of these men. They swing along over eight inches of wood as if they were in the middle of a well-paved road. Ch'u-tung is a Mohammedan town. There are a few Chinese only--Buddhists, Taoists and other ragtags; although when the follower of the Prophet has his pigtail attached to the inside of his hat, as it not unusual when he goes out fully dressed, there is little difference between him and the Chinese. Pigs here are conspicuously absent. People feed on poultry and beef. I rested in this city some month or so after my first overland trip whilst my man went to convert silver into cash, a trying ordeal always. Whilst I sipped my tea and ate a couple of rice cakes, I was impressed, as I seldom have been in my wanderings, with the remarkable number of people, from the six hundred odd houses the town possesses, who during that half-hour found nothing whatever to do to benefit themselves or the community, as members of which they passed monotonous lives, but to stare aimlessly at the resting foreigner. The report spread like wildfire, and they ran to the scene with haste, pulling on their coats, wiping food from their mouths, scratching their heads _en route_, one trouser-leg up and the other down, all anxious to get a seat near the stage. A river flows down the center of the street, and into this a sleepy fellow got tipped bodily in the crush, sat down in the water, seemingly in no hurry to move until he had finished his vigorous bullying of the man who pushed him in. Those who could not get standing room near my table went out into the street and shaded the sun from their eyes, in order that they might catch even a glimpse of the traveler who sat on in uncompromising indifference. Several old wags were there who had witnessed the Rebellion--at the moment, had I not become callous, another might have seemed imminent--and were looked up to by the crowd as heroes of a horrid past, being listened to with rapt attention as they described what it was the crowd looked at and whence it came. Had I been a wild animal let loose from its cage, mingled curiosity and a peculiar foreboding among the people of something terrible about to happen could not have been more intense. But I had by this time got used to their crowding, so that I could write, sleep, eat, drink, and be merry, and go through personal and private routine with no embarrassment. If I turned for the purpose, I could easily stare out of face a member of the crowd whose inquisitive propensities had become annoying, but as soon as he left another filled the gap. Quite pitiful was it to see how trivial articles of foreign manufacture--such, for instance, as the cover of an ordinary tin or the fabric of one's clothing--brought a regular deluge of childish interest and inane questioning; and if I happened to make a few shorthand notes upon anything making a particular impression, a look half surprised, half amused, went from one to another like an electric current. Had I been scheming out celestial hieroglyphics their mouths could not have opened wider. As I write now I am asked by a respectable person how many ounces of silver a Johann Faber's B.B. costs. I have told him, and he has retired smiling, evidently thinking that I am romancing. That I impress the crowd everywhere is evident. But with all their questioning, they are rarely rude; their stare is simply the stare of little children seeing a thing for the first time in their lives. It is all so hard to understand. My silver and my gold they solicit not; they merely desire to see me and to feel me. A certain faction of the crowd, however, do solicit my silver. Lao Chang has been buying vegetables, and has brought all the vegetable gardeners and greengrocers around me. The poultry rearers are here too, and the forage dealers and the grass cutters and the basket makers, and other thrifty members of the commercial order of Ch'u-tung humankind. When I came away the people dropped into line and strained their necks to get a parting smile. I was sped on my way with a public curiosity as if I were a penal servitor released from prison, a general home from a war, or something of that kind. And so this wonderful wonder of wonders was glad when he emerged from the labyrinthic, brain-confusing bewilderment of Chinese interior life of this town into somewhat clearer regions. I could not understand. And to the wisest man, wide as may be his vision, the Chinese mind and character remain of a depth as infinite as is its possibility of expansion. The volume of Chinese nature is one of which as yet but the alphabet is known to us. My own men had got quite used to me, and their minds were directed more to working than to wondering. In China, as in other Asiatic countries, one's companions soon accustom themselves to one's little peculiarities of character, and what was miraculous to the crowd had by simple repetition ceased to be miraculous to them. As I put away my notebook after writing the last sentence, I saw a mule slip, fall, roll for one hundred and fifty yards, losing its load on the down journey, and then walk up to the stream for a drink.[AZ] We started for Shayung on February 2nd, 1910, going over a road literally uncared for, full of loose-jointed stones and sinking sand, down which ponies scrambled, while the Tibetans in charge covered themselves close in the uncured skins they wore. This was the first time I had ever seen Tibetans. They had huge ear-rings in their ears, and their antiquated topboots--much better, however, than the Yün-nan topboot--gave them a peculiar appearance as they tramped downward in the frost. Going up with us was a Chinese, on the back of a pony not more than eleven hands high, sitting as usual with his paraphernalia lashed to the back of the animal. He laughed at me because I was not riding, whilst I tried to solve the problem of that indefinable trait of Chinese nature which leads able-bodied men with sound feet to sit on these little brutes up those terrible mountain sides. Some parts of this spur were much steeper than the roof of a house--as perpendicular as can be imagined--but still this man held on all the way. And the Chinese do it continuously, whether the pony is lame or not, at least the majority. But the cruelty of the Chinese is probably not regarded as cruelty, certainly not in the sense of cruelty in the West. Being Chinese, with customs and laws of life such as they are, their instinct of cruelty is excusable to some degree. Not only is it with animals, however, but among themselves the Chinese have no mercy, no sympathy. In Christian England within the last century men where hanged for petty theft; but in Yün-nan--I do not know whether it is still current in other provinces--men have been known to be burnt to death for stealing maize. A case was reported from Ch'u-tsing-fu quite recently, but it is a custom which used to be quite common. A document is signed by the man's relatives, a stick is brought by every villager, the man lashed to a stake, and his own people are compelled to light the fire. It seems incredible, but this horrible practice has not been entirely extirpated by the authorities, although since the Yün-nan Rebellion it has not been by any means so frequent. I have no space nor inclination to deal with the ghastly tortures inflicted upon prisoners in the name of that great equivalent to justice, but the more one knows of them the more can he appreciate the common adage urging _dead men to keep out of hell and the living out of the yamens_! Hua-chow is thirty li from here at the head of an abominable hill, and here women, overlooking one of the worst paved roads in the Empire, were beating out corn. Then we climbed for another twenty-five li, rising from 5,900 feet to 8,200 feet, till we came to a little place called Tien-chieng-p'u. It took us three hours. Looking backwards,towards Tali-fu, I saw my 14,000 feet friends, and as we went down the other side over a splendid stone road we could see, far down below, a valley which seemed a veritable oasis, smiling and sweet. A temple here contained a battered image of the Goddess of Mercy, who controls the births of children. A poor woman was depositing a few cash in front of the besmeared idol, imploring that she might be delivered of a son. How pitiable it is to see these poor creatures doing this sort of thing all over the West of China! For two days we had been accompanied by a man who was an opium smoker and eater. Now I am not going to draw a horrible description of a shrivelled, wasted bogey in man's form, with creaking bones and shivering limbs and all the rest of it; but I must say that this man, towards the time when his craving came upon him, was a wreck in every worst sense--he crept away to the wayside and smoked, and arrived always late at night at the end of the stage. This was the effect of the drug which has been described "as harmless as milk." I do not exaggerate. In the course of Eastern journalistic experience I have written much in defence of opium, have paralleled it to the alcohol of my own country. This was in the Straits Settlements, where the deadly effects of opium are less prominent. But no language of mine can exaggerate the evil, and if I would be honest, I cannot describe it as anything but China's most awful curse. It cannot be compared to alcohol, because its grip is more speedy and more deadly. It is more deadly than arsenic, because by arsenic the suicide dies at once, while the opium victim suffers untold agonies and horrors and dies by inches. It is all very well for the men who know nothing about the effect of opium to do all the talking about the harmlessness of this pernicious drug; but they should come through this once fair land of Yün-nan and see everywhere--not in isolated districts, but everywhere--the ravaging effects in the poverty and dwarfed constitutions of the people before they advocate the continuance of the opium trade. I have seen men transformed to beasts through its use; I have seen more suicides from the effect of opium since I have been in China than from any other cause in the course of my life. As I write I have around me painfullest evidence of the crudest ravishings of opium among a people who have fallen victims to the craving. There is only one opinion to be formed if to himself one would be true. I give the following quotation from a work from the pen of one of the most fair-minded diplomatists who have ever held office in China:-- "The writer has seen an able-bodied and apparently rugged laboring Chinese tumble all in a heap upon the ground, utterly nerveless and unable to stand, because the time for his dose of opium had come, and until the craving was supplied he was no longer a man, but the merest heap of bones and flesh. In the majority of cases death is the sure result of any determined reform. The poison has rotted the whole system, and no power to resist the simplest disease remains. In many years' residence in China the writer knew of but four men who finally abandoned the habit. (Where opium refuges have been conducted by missionaries, reports more favorable have been given concerning those who have become Christians.) Three of them lived but a few months thereafter; the fourth survived his reformation, but was a life-long invalid."[BA] Much good work is now being done by the missionaries, and the number of those who have given up the habit has probably increased since Mr. Holcombe wrote the above. In point of fact, helping opium victims is one of the most important branches of mission work. _China's Past and Future_ (p. 165) by Chester Holcombe. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote AY: The range of mountains which I had skirted since leaving Tali-fu.--E.J.D.] [Footnote AZ: On my return journey into Yün-nan, I again called at Ch'u-tung, traveling not by the main road, but by a steep path intertwisting through almost impossible places, and requiring four times the amount of physical exertion. I was led over what was called a new road. It was quite impossible to horses carrying loads, and only by tremendous effort could I climb up. How my coolies managed it remains a mystery. And then, as is almost inevitable with these "new" roads and the "short" cuts, they invariably lose their way. Mine did. Hopeless was our obscurity, unspeakable our confusion. Men kept vanishing and re-appearing among the rocks, and it was very difficult to fix our position geographically. Up and up we went, in and out, twisting and turning in an endless climb. A gale blew, but at times we pulled ourselves up by the dried grass in semi-tropical heat. After several hours, standing on the very summit of this bleak and lofty mountain, I could just discern Ch'u-tung and Yung-p'ing-hsien far away down in the mists. There lay the "ta lu" also, like a piece of white ribbon stretched across black velvet--the white road on the burnt hill-sides. We were opposite the highest peaks in the mountains beyond the plain, far towards Tengyueh--they are 12,000 feet, we were at least 10,500 feet, and as Ch'u-tung is only 5,500 feet, our hours of toil may be imagined. When we reached the top we found nothing to eat, nothing to drink (not even a mountain stream at which we could moisten our parched lips), simply two memorial stones on the graves of two dead men, who had merited such an outrageous resting-place. I donned a sweater and lay flat on the ground, exhausted. It must have been a stiff job to bring up both stones and men. I strongly advise future travelers to keep to the main road in this district.--E.J.D.] [Footnote BA:] FOURTH JOURNEY THE MEKONG VALLEY TO TENGYUEH CHAPTER XXII. _The Valley of the Shadow of Death_. _Stages to Tengyueh_. _The River Mekong, Bridge described_. _An awful ascent_. _On-the-spot conclusions_. _Roads needed more than railways_. _At Shui-chai_. _A noisy domestic scene at the place where I fed_. _Disregard of the value of female life_. _Remarkable hospitality of the gentry of the city_. _Hard going_. _Lodging at a private house on the mountains_. _Waif of the world entertains the stranger_. _From Ban-chiao to Yung-ch'ang_. _Buffaloes and journalistic ignorance_. _Excited scene at Pu-piao_. _Chinese barbers_. _A refractory coolie_. _Military interest._ The journey which I was about to undertake was the most memorable of my travels in China, with the exception of those in the unexplored Miao Lands; for I was to pass through the Valley of the Shadow of Death, the dreaded Salwen Valley. I had made up my mind that I would stay here for a night to see the effects of the climate, but postponed my sojourn intead to a later period, when I stayed two days, and went up the low-lying country towards the source of the river; I am, so far as I know, the only European who has ever traveled here. Not that my journeyings will convey any great benefit upon anyone but myself, as I had no instruments for surveying or taking accurate levels, and might not have been able to use them had I had them with me. However, I came in contact with Li-su, and saw in my two marches a good deal of new life, which only acts as an incentive to see more. My plan on the present occasion was to travel onwards by the following stages:-- Length Height of Stage Above Sea 1st day--Tali-shao 65 li. 7,200 ft. 2nd day--Yung-ch'ang-fu 75 li. 5,500 ft. 5th day--Fang-ma-ch'ang 90 li. 7,300 ft. 6th day--Ta-hao-ti 120 li. 8,200 ft. 7th day--Tengyueh (Momien) 85 li. 5,370 ft. On Friday, February 26th, 1909, I steamed up the muddy mouth of the Mekong to Saigon in Indo-China in a French mail steamer. To-day, February 3rd, 1910, I cross the same river many hundreds of miles from where it empties into the China Sea. I cross by a magnificent suspension bridge. A cruel road, almost vertical and negotiated by a twining zigzag path, has brought me down, after infinite labor, from the mountains over 4,000 feet below my highest point reached yesterday, and I now stand in the middle of the bridge gazing at the silent green stream flowing between cliffs of wall-like steepness. I am resting, for I have to climb again immediately to over 8,000 feet. This bridge has a wooden base swinging on iron chains, and is connected with the cliffs by bulwarks of solid masonry. It is hard to believe that I am 4,000 feet above the mouth of the river. To my left, as I look down the torrent, there are tea-shops and a temple alongside a most decorative buttress on which the carving is elaborate. At the far end, just before entering the miniature tunnel branching out to a paved roadway leading upwards, my coolies are sitting in truly Asiatic style admiring huge Chinese characters hacked into the side of the natural rock, descriptive of the whole business, and under a sheltering roof are also two age-worn memorial tablets in gilt. My men's patriotic thermometer has risen almost to bursting-point, and in admiring the work of the ancients they feel that they have a legitimate excuse for a long delay. At a temple called P'ing-p'o-t'ang we drank tea, and prepared ourselves for the worst climb experienced in our long overland tramp. The Mekong is at this point just 4,000 feet above sea level, as has been said; the point in front of us, running up perpendicularly to a narrow pass in the mountains, leads on to Shui-chai (6,700 feet), and on again to Tali-shao, itself 7,800 feet high, the mountains on which it occupies a ledge being much higher. For slipperiness and general hazards this road baffles description. It leads up step by step, but not regular steps, not even as regularity goes in China. "There are two small arched bridges in the journey. On the first I sit down and gaze far away down to the shining river below, and must ascend again in the wake of my panting men.... Where the road is not natural rock, it is composed of huge fragments of stone in the rough state, smooth as the face of a mirror, haphazardly placed at such dangerous spots as to show that no idea of building was employed when the road was made. Sometimes one steps twenty inches from one stone to another, and were it not that the pathway is winding, although the turning and twisting makes unending toil, progress in the ascent would be impossible.... Mules are passing me--puffing, panting, perspiring. Poor brutes! One has fallen, and in rolling has dragged another with him, and there the twain lie motionless on those horrid stones while the exhausted muleteers raise their loads to allow them slowly to regain their feet. There are some hundreds of them now on the hill." This description was made in shorthand notes in my notebook as I ascended. And I find again:-- "I have seen one or two places in Szech'wan like this, but the danger is incomparably less and the road infinitely superior. We pull and pant and puff up, up, up, around each bend, and my men can scarce go forward. Huge pieces of rock have fallen from the cliff, and well-nigh block the way, and just ahead a landslip has carried off part of our course. The road is indescribably difficult because it is so slippery and one can get no foothold. My pony, carrying nothing but the little flesh which bad food has enabled him to keep, has been down on his knees four times, and once he rolled so much that I thought that he must surely go over the ravine.... Rocks overhang me as I pass. If one should drop!... But one does not mind the toil when he looks upon his men. In the midst of their intense labor my men's squeals of songs echo through the mountains as the perspiration runs down their uncovered backs; they chaff each other and utmost good feeling prevails. Poor Shanks is nearly done, but still laughs loudly.... A natural pathway more difficult of progress I cannot conceive anywhere in the world; and yet this is a so-called paved road, the road over which all the trade of the western part of this great province, all the imports from Burma, are regularly carried. Should the road ever be discarded, that is if the railway ever comes over this route, only a long tunnel through the mountain would serve its purpose.... We have just sat down and fraternized with the man carrying the mails to Tali-fu, and now we are working steadily for the top, around corners where the breeze comes with delicious freshness. Here we are on a road now leading through a widening gorge to Shui-chai, and as I cross the narrow pass I see the river down below looking like a snake waiting for its prey." Roads are needed far more than railways. Being hungry, we sat down at Shui-chai to feed on rice at a place where a man minded the baby while the woman attended to the food. Over my head hung sausages--my men swore that they were sausages, although for my life I could see no resemblance to that article of food--things of 1 1/2 inches in circumference and from 12 to 60 inches long, doubled up and hung up for sale over a bamboo to dry and harden in the sun. Hams there were, and dried bacon, and dirty brown biscuits, and uninviting pickled cabbage. By the side of the table where I sat was a wooden pun of unwashed rice bowls, against which lay the filthy domestic dog. Outside, the narrow street was lined to the farthest point of vantage by kindly people, curious to see their own feeding implements in the incapable hands of the barbarian from the Western lands, and the conversation waxed loud and excited in general hazards regarding my presence in their city. Stenches were rife; they nearly choked one. A little boy yelled out to his mother in complaint of the food he had been given by a feminine twelve-year-old, his sister. The mother immediately became furious beyond all control. She snatched a bamboo to belabor the girl, and in chasing her knocked over the pun of pots aforesaid. The place became a Bedlam. Men rose from their seats, and with their mouths full of rice expostulated in vainest mediation, waving their chopsticks in the air, and whilst the mother turned upon them in grossest abuse the daughter cleared out at the back of the premises. I left the irate parent brandishing the bamboo; her voice was heard beyond the town. But I was not allowed to leave the town. All the intellect of the place had assembled in one of the shops, into which I was gently drawn by the coat sleeve by a good-natured, well-dressed humpback, and all of the men assembled began an examination as to who the dignitary was, his honorable age, the number of the wives, sons and daughters he possessed, with inevitable questioning into the concerns of his patriarchal forbears. Accordingly I once again searched the archives of my elastic memory, and there found all information readily accessible, so that in a few moments, by the aid of Bailer's _Primer_, I had explained that I was a stranger within their gates, wafted thither by circumstances extraordinarily auspicious, and had satisfied them concerning my parentage, birthplace, prospects and pursuits, with introspective anecdotal references to various deceased members of my family tree. I did not tell them the truth--that I was a pilgrim from a far country, footsore and travel-soiled, that I had been well-nigh poisoned by their bad cooking and blistered with their bug-bites! I rose to go. Like automotons, everyone in the company rose with me. The humpback again caught me, this time by both hands, and warmly pressed me to stay and "uan" ("play") a little. "Great Brother," he ejaculated, "why journeyest thou wearisomely towards Yung-ch'ang? Tarry here." And he had pushed me back again into my chair, he had re-filled my teacup, and invited me to tell more tales of antiquarian relationship. And finally I was allowed to go. Greater hospitality could not have been shown me anywhere in the world. The day had been hard going. We pursued our way unheedingly, as men knowing not whither we went; and at 4:00 p.m., fearing that we should not be able to make Ban-chiao, where we intended stopping, I decided to go no farther than Tali-shao. The evening was one of the happiest I spent in my journeys, although personal comfort was entirely lacking. The place is made up of just a few hovels; people were hostile, and turned a deaf ear to my men's entreaties for shelter. For very helplessness I laughed aloud. I screamed with laughter, and the folk gathered to see me almost in hysterics. They soon began to smile, then to laugh, and seeing the effect, I laughed still louder, and soon had the whole village with tears of laughter making furrows down their unwashed faces, laughing as a pack of hyenas. At last a kind old woman gave way to my boy's persuasions, beckoning us to follow her into a house. Here we found a young girl of about nine summers in charge. It was all rare fun. There was nothing to eat, and so the men went one here and another there buying supplies for the night. Another cleared out the room, and made it a little habitable. The bull-dog coolie cooked the rice, Shanks boiled eggs and cut up the pork into small slices, another fed the pony, and then we fed ourselves. In the evening a wood fire was kindled in the corner near my bed, and we all sat round on the mud floor--stools there were none--to tell yarns. My confederates were out for a spree. We smoked and drank tea and yarned. Suddenly a stick would be thrust over my shoulder to the fire: it was merely a man's pipe going to the fire for a light. Chinese never use matches; it is a waste when there are so many fires about. If on the road a man wants to light his pipe, he walks into a home and gets it from the fire. No one minds. No notice is taken of the intrusion. Everybody is polite, and the man may not utter a word. At a wayside food-shop a man may go behind to where the cooking is being conducted, poke his pipe into the embers, and walk out pulling at it, all as naturally as if that man were in his own house. An Englishman would have a rough time of it if he had to go down on his hands and knees and pull away at a pipe from a fire on the floor. No father, no mother, no elder brother had the little girl in charge. She was left without friends entirely, and a man must have been a hard man indeed were he to steel his heart against such a helpless little one. I called her to me, gave her a little present, and comforted her as she cried for the very knowledge that an Englishman would do a kind act to a little waif such as herself. She was in the act of giving back the money to me, when Lao Chang, with pleasant aptitude, interposed, explained that foreigners occasionally develop generous moods, and that she had better stop crying and lock the money away. She did this, but the poor little mite nearly broke her heart. Ban-chiao, which we reached early the next morning, is a considerable town, where most of the people earn their livelihood at dyeing. Those who do not dye drink tea and pass rude remarks about itinerant magnates, such as the author. I passed over the once fine, rough-planked bridge at the end of the town. In the evening we are at Yung-ch'ang. Here I saw for the first time in my life a man carrying a _cangue,_ and a horrible, sickening feeling seized me as I tramped through the densely-packed street and watched the poor fellow. The mob were evidently clamoring for his death, and were prepared to make sport of his torments. There is nothing more glorious to a brutal populace than the physical agony of a helpless fellow-creature, nothing which produces more mirth than the despair, the pain, the writhing of a miserable, condemned wretch. Great drops of sweat bathed his brow, and as one, looked on one felt that he might pray that his hot and throbbing blood might rush in merciful full force to a vital center of his brain, so that he might fall into oblivion. The jeers and the mockery of a pitiless multitude seemed too awful, no matter what the man's crime had been. Yung-ch'ang (5,500 feet) is as well known as any city in Far Western China. I stayed here for two days' rest, the only disturbing element being a wretch of a mother-in-law who made unbearable the life of her son's wife, a girl of about eighteen, who has probably by this time taken opium, if she has been able to get hold of it, and so ended a miserable existence. On a return visit this mother-in-law, as soon as she caught sight of me, ran to fetch an empty tooth-powder tin, a small black safety pin, and two inches of lead pencil I had left behind me on the previous visit. I have made more than one visit to Yung-ch'ang, and the people have always treated me well. Along the ten li of level plain from the city, on the road which led up again to the mountains, I counted-no less than 409 bullocks laden with nothing but firewood, and 744 mules and ponies carrying cotton yarn and other general imports coming from Burma. There was a stampede at the foot of the town, and quite against my own will, I assure the reader, I got mixed up in the affair as I stood watching the light and shade effects of the morning sun on the hill-sides. Buffaloes, with a crude hoop collar of wood around their coarse necks, dragged rough-hewn planks along the stone-paved roadway, the timber swerving dangerously from side to side as the heavy animals pursued their painful plodding. To the Chinese the buffalo is the safest of all quadrupeds, if we perhaps except the mule, which, if three legs give way, will save himself on the remaining one. But it is certainly the slowest. I am here reminded that when I was starting on this trip a journalistic friend of mine, who had spent some years in one of the coast ports, tried to dissuade me from coming, and cited the buffalo as the most treacherous animal to be met on the main road in China. He put it in this way: "Well, old man, you have evidently made up your mind, but I would not take it on at any price. The buffaloes are terrors. They smell you even if they do not see you; they smell you miles off. It may end up by your being chased, and you will probably be gored to death." The buffalo is the most peaceful animal I know in China. Miniature belfries were attached to the wooden frames on the backs of carrying oxen, and were it not for the huge tenor bell and its gong-like sound keeping the animal in motion, the slow pace would be slower still. Turning suddenly and abruptly to the left, we commenced a cold journey over the mountains, although the sun was shining brightly. A goitrous man came to me and waxed eloquent about some uncontrollable pig which was dragging him all over the roadway as he vainly tried to get it to market. Some dozen small boys, with hatchets and scythes over their shoulders for the cutting of firewood they were looking for, laughed at me as I ploughed through the mud in my sandals. We had been going for three hours, and when, cold and damp, we got inside a cottage for tea, I found that we had covered only twenty li--so we were told by an old fogey who brushed up the floor with a piece of bamboo. He was dressed in what might have been termed undress, and was most vigorous in his condemnation of foreigners. Leng-shui-ch'ang we passed at thirty-five li out, and just beyond the aneroid registered 7,000 feet; Yung-ch'ang Plain is 5,500 feet; Pu-piao Plain-is 4,500 feet. The range of hills dividing the two plains was bare, the clouds hung low, and the keen wind whistled in our faces and nipped our ears. Ten li from Pu-piao, on a barren upland overlooking the valley, a mere boy had established himself as tea provider for the traveler. A foreign kerosene tin placed on three stones was the general cistern for boiling water, which was dipped out and handed round in a slip of bamboo shaped like a mug with a stick to hold it by. Farther on, sugar-cane grew in a field to the left, and near by a man sat on his haunches on the ground feeding a sugar-grinding machine propelled by a buffalo, who patiently tramped round that small circle all day and every day. Turning from this, I beheld one of the worst sights I have ever seen in China. Seven dogs were dragging a corpse from a coffin, barely covered with earth, which formed one of the grave mounds which skirt the road. No one was disturbed by the scene; it was not uncommon. But the foreigner suffered an agonizing sickness, for which his companions would have been at a loss to find any possible reason, and was relieved to reach Pu-piao. Market was at its height. It was warm down here in the valley. The streets were packed with people, many of whom were pushed bodily into the piles of common foreign and native merchandise on sale on either side of the road. A clodhopper of a fellow, jostled by my escort, fell into a stall and broke the huge umbrella which formed a shelter for the vendor and his goods, and my boy was called upon to pay. Fifty cash fixed the matter. I walked into a crowded inn and made majestically for the extreme left-hand corner. Everybody wondered, and softly asked his neighbor what in the sacred name of Confucius had come upon them. "See his boots! Look at his old hat! What a face! It _is_ a monstrosity, and--" But as I sat down the general of the establishment cruelly forced back the people, and screamingly yelled at the top of his voice that those who wanted to drink tea in the room must pay double rates. His unusual announcement was received with a low grunt of dissatisfaction, but no one left. Every table in the square apartment was soon filled with six or eight men, and the noise was terrific. Curiosity increased. The fun was, as the comic papers say, fast and furious; and despite the ill-favored pleasantries passed by my own men and the inquisitive tea-shop keeper-as to peculiarities of heredity in certain noisy members of the crowd, a riot seemed inevitable. I stationed my two soldiers in the narrow doorway to defend the only entrance and entertain the uninitiated with stories of their prowess with the rifle and of the weapon's deadliness. Boys climbed like monkeys to the overhead beams to get a glimpse of me as I fed, and incidentally shook dust into my food. Everyone pushed to where there was standing room. Outside a rolling sea of yellow faces surmounted a mass of lively blue cotton, all eager for a look. The din was terrible. All very visibly annoyed were my men at the rudeness of their low-bred fellow countrymen, and especially surprised at the equanimity of Ding Daren in tolerating quietly their pointed and personal remarks. I became more and more the hero of the hour. Turning to the crowd as I came out, I smiled serenely, and with a quiet wave of the hand pointed out in faultless English that the gulf between my own country and theirs was already wide enough, and that Great Britain might--did not say that she _would_, but might--widen it still more if they persisted in treating her subjects in China as monstrous specimens of the human race. This was rigorously corroborated by my two soldier-men, to whom I appealed, and a parting word on the ordinary politeness of Western nations to a greasy fellow (he was a worker in brass), who felt my clothes with his dirty fingers, ended an interesting break in the day's monotony. In the street the crowd again was at my heels, and evinced more than comfortable curiosity in my straw sandals. They cost me thirty cash, equal to about a halfpenny in our coinage. Since then I have paid other visits to Pu-piao. On one occasion in subsequent travel I had a public shave there. My arrival at the inn in the nick of time enabled me to buttonhole the barber who was picking up his traps to clear, and I had one of the best shaves I have ever had in my life, in one of the most uncomfortable positions I ever remember. My seat was a low, narrow form with no back or anything for my neck to rest upon, and afterwards I went through the primitive and painful massage process of being bumped all over the back. Between every four or five whacks the barber snapped his fingers and clapped his hands, and right glad was I when he had finished. The yard was full, even to the stable and cook-house alongside each other, the anger of a grizzly old dame, who smoked a reeking pipe and who had charge of the rice-and-cabbage depot, being eclipsed only by my infuriated barber as he gave cruel vent to his anger upon my aching back. This reminds me of an uncomfortable shave I had some ten years ago in Trinidad, where a black man sat me on the trunk of a tree whilst he got behind and rested my head on one knee and got to work with an implement which might have made a decent putty knife, but was never meant to cut whiskers. However, in the case of the Chinese his knife was in fair condition, but he grunted a good deal over my four-days' growth. This little story should not convey the impression that I am an advocate of the public shave in China, or anywhere else; but there are times when one is glad of it. I have been shaved by Chinese in many places; and whilst resident at Yün-nan-fu with a broken arm a man came regularly to me, his shave sometimes being delightful, and--sometimes not. I had another rather amusing experience at Pu-piao about a month after this. A supplementary coolie had been engaged for me at Tengyueh at a somewhat bigger wage than my other men were getting, and this, known, of course, to them, added to the fact that he was not carrying the heaviest load, did not tend to produce unmarred brotherhood among them. The man had been told that he would go on to Tali-fu with me on my return trip, so that when I took the part of my men (who had come many hundreds of miles with me, and who had engaged another man on the route to fill the gap), in desiring to get rid of him, he certainly had some right on his side. The day before we reached Yung-ch'ang he was told that at that place he would not be required any longer; but he decided then and there to go no farther, and refused point-blank to carry when we were ready to start. I should have recompensed him fully, however, for his disappointment had he not made some detestable reference to my mother, in what Lao Chang assured me was not strictly parliamentary language. As soon as I learnt this--I was standing near the fellow--he somehow fell over, sprawling to the floor over my walnut folding chair, which snapped at the arm. It was my doing. The man said no more, picked up his loads, and was the first to arrive at Yung-ch'ang, so that a little force was not ineffective. Indiscriminate use of force I do not advocate, however; I believe in the reverse, as a matter of fact. I rarely hit a man; but there have been occasions when, a man having refused to do what he has engaged to do, or in cases of downright insolence, a little push or a slight cut with my stick has brought about a capital feeling and gained for me immediate respect. Fang-ma-ch'ang, off the main road, was our sleeping-place. Travelers rarely take this road. Gill took it, I believe, but Baber, Davies and other took the main road. This short road was more fatiguing than the main road would have been. We again turned a dwelling-house upside down. People did not at first wish to take me in, so I pushed past the quarrelsome man in the doorway, took possession, and set to work to get what I wanted. Soon the people calmed down and gave all they could. My bed I spread near the door, and to catch a glimpse of me as I lay resting, the inhabitants, in much the same manner as people at home visit and revisit the cage of jungle-bred tigers at a menagerie, assembled and reassembled with considerable confusion. But I was beneath my curtains. So they came again, and when I ate my food by candlelight many human and tangible products of the past glared in at the doorway. After dark we all foregathered in the middle of the room and round the camp fire, the conversation taking a pleasant turn from ordinary things, such as the varying distances from place to place, how many basins of rice each man could eat, and other Chinese commonplaces, to things military. Everybody warmed to the subject. My military bodyguard were the chief speakers, and cleverly brought round the smoky fire, for the benefit of the thick-headed rustics who made up the fascinated audience, a modern battlefield, and made their description horrible enough. One carefully brought out his gun, waving it overhead to add to the tragedy, as he weaved a powerful story of shell splinters, blood-filled trenches, common shot, men and horses out of which all life and virtue had been blown by gunpowder. The picture was drawn around the Chinese village, and in the dim glimmer each man's thought ran swiftly to his own homestead and the green fields and the hedgerows and dwellings all blown to atoms--left merely as a place of skulls. They spoke of great and horrible implements of modern warfare, invented, to their minds, by the devilry of the West. Each man chipped in with a little color, and the company broke up in fear of dreaming of the things of which they had heard, afraid to go to their straw to sleep. As I lay in my draughty corner, my own mind turned to what the next day would bring, for I was to go down to the Valley of the Shadow of Death--the dreaded Salwen. I had read of it as a veritable death-trap. CHAPTER XXIII. _To Lu-chiang-pa_. _Drop from 8,000 feet to 2,000 feet_. _Shans meet for the first time_. _Dangers of the Salwen Valley exaggerated_. _How reports get into print_. _Start of the climb from 2,000 feet to over 8,000 feet_. _Scenery in the valley_. _Queer quintet of soldiers_. _Semi-tropical temperature_. _My men fall to the ground exhausted_. _A fatiguing day_. _Benighted in the forest_. _Spend the night in a hut_. _Strong drink as it affects the Chinese_. _Embarrassing attentions of a kindly couple_. _New Year festivities at Kan-lan-chai_. _The Shweli River and watershed_. _Magnificent range of mountains_. _Arrival at Tengyueh._ No Chinese, I knew, lived in the Valley; but I had yet to learn that so soon as the country drops to say less than 4,000 feet the Chinese consider it too unhealthy a spot for him to pass his days in. The reason why Shans control the Valley is, therefore, not hard to find. And owing to the probability that what European travelers have written about the unhealthiness of this Salwen Valley has been based on information obtained from Chinese, its bad name may be easily accounted for. The next morning, as I descended, I saw much malarial mist rising; but, after having on a subsequent visit spent two days and two nights at the lowest point, I am in a position to say that conditions have been very much exaggerated, and that places quite as unhealthy are to be found between Lu-chiang-pa (the town at the foot, by the bridge) and the low-lying Shan States leading on to Burma. A good deal of the country to the north of the Yün-nan province, towards the Tibetan border, is so high-lying and so cold that the Yün-nanese Chinese is afraid to live there; and the fact that in the Shan States, so low-lying and sultry, he is so readily liable to fever, prevents him from living there. These places, through reports coming from the Chinese, are, as a matter of course, dubbed as unhealthy. The average inhabitant--that is, Chinese--strikes a medium between 4,000 feet and 10,000 feet to live in, and avoids going into lower country between March and November if he can. To pass the valley and go to Kan-lan-chi (4,800 feet), passing the highest point at nearly 9,000 feet--140 li distant from Fang-ma-ch'ang--was our ambition for the day. Starting in the early morning, I had a pleasant walk over an even road leading to a narrowing gorge, through which a heart-breaking road led to the valley beyond. Two and a half hours it took me, in my foreign boots, to cover the twenty li. I fell five times over the smooth stones. The country was bare, desolate, lonely--four people only were met over the entire distance. But in the dreaded Valley several trees were ablaze with blossom, and oranges shone like small balls of gold in the rising sun. Children playing in between the trees ran away and hid as they saw me, although I was fifty yards from them--they did not know what it was, and they had never seen one! Farther down I caught up my men, Lao Chang and Shanks, and pleasant speculations were entered into as to what Singai (Bhamo) was like. They were particularly interested in Singapore because I had lived there, and after I had given them a general description of the place, and explained how the Chinese had gone ahead there, I pointed out as well as I could with my limited vocabulary that if the people of Yün-nan only had a conscience, and would only get out of the rut of the ages, they, too, might go ahead, explaining incidentally to them that as lights of the church at Tong-ch'uan-fu, it was their sacred duty to raise the standard of moral living among their countrymen wherever they might wander. Their general acquiescence was astounding, and in the next town, Lu-chiang-pa, these two men put their theory into practice and almost caused a riot by offering 250 cash for a fowl for which the vendor blandly asked 1,000. But they got the chicken--and at their own price, too. As I was thus gently in soliloquy, I first heard and then caught sight of the river below--the unnavigable Salwen, 2,000 feet lower than either the Mekong or the Shweli (which we were to cross two days later). It is a pity the Salwen was not preserved as the boundary between Burma and China. Gradually, as we approached the steep stone steps leading down thereto, I saw one of the cleverest pieces of native engineering in Asia--the double suspension bridge which here spans the Salwen, the only one I had seen in my trip across the Empire. The first span, some 240 feet by 36 feet, reaches from the natural rock, down which a vertical path zigzags to the foot, and the second span then runs over to the busy little town of Lu-chiang-pa. Here, then, were we in the most dreaded spot in Western China! If you stay a night in this Valley, rumor says, you go to bed for the last time; Chinese are afraid of it, Europeans dare not linger in it. Malaria stalks abroad for her victims, and snatches everyone who dallies in his journey to the topside mountain village of Feng-shui-ling. The river is 2,000 feet above the sea; Feng-shui-ling is nearly 9,000 feet. It was ten o'clock as I pulled over my stool and took tea in the crowded shop at Lu-chiang-pa. I saw Shans here for the first time. The village now, however, is anything but a Shan village. Of the people in the immediate vicinity I counted only ten typical Shans, and of the company around me in this popular tea-house twenty-one out of twenty-eight were Chinese, including ten Mohammedans. It was, however, easy to see that several of these were of Shan extraction, who, although they had features distinctly un-Chinese, had adopted the Chinese language and custom. A party of Tibetans were here in the charge of a Lama, in an inner court, and scampered off as I rose to snap their photographs. This was a very low altitude for Tibetans to reach. Whilst I sipped my tea the local horse dealer wanted so very much to sell me a pony cheap. He offered it for forty taels, I offered him five. It was gone in the back, was blind in the left eye, and was at least seventeen years old. The man smiled as I refused to buy, and told me that my knowledge of horse-flesh was wonderful. The road then led up to a plain, where paths branched in many directions to the hills. Men either going to the market or coming from it leaned on their loads to rest under enormous banyans and to watch me as I passed. Horses browsed on the hill-sides. One of my soldiers had laid in provisions for the day, and ran along with his gun (muzzle forward) over one shoulder and four lengths of sugar-cane over the other. Ploughmen with their buffaloes halted in the muddy fields to gaze admiringly upon me; women ran scared from the path when my pony let out at a casual passer-by who tickled him with a thin bamboo. Maidenhair ferns grew in great profusion, showing that we were getting into warmer climate; streams rushed swiftly under the stone roadway from dyked-up dams to facilitate the irrigation, at which the Chinese are such past-masters. All was smiling and warm and bright, dispelling in one's mind all sense of gloom, and breeding an optimistic outlook. We were now a party of nine--my own three men, an extra coolie I had engaged to rush Tengyueh in three days from Yung-ch'ang, four soldiers, and the paymaster of the crowd. We still had ninety li to cover, so that when we left the shade of two immense trees which sheltered me and my perspiring men, one of the soldiers agreed that everyone had to clear from our path. We brooked no interception until we reached the entrance to the climb, where I met two Europeans, of the Customs staff at Tengyueh, who had come down here to camp out for the Chinese New Year Holiday. I knew that these men were not Englishmen. I was so thirsty, and the best they could do was to keep a man talking in the sun outside their well-equipped tent. How I _could_ have done with a drink! A tributary of the Salwen flows down the ravine. Too terrible a climb to the top was it for me to take notes. I got too tired. Everything was magnificently green, and Nature's reproduction seemed to be going on whilst one gazed upon her. But the natural glories of this beautiful gorge, with a dainty touch of the tropical mingling with the mighty aspect of jungle forest, with glistening cascades and rippling streams, where all was bountiful and exquisitely beautiful, failed to hold one spellbound. For since I had left Tali-fu I had rarely been out of sight of some of the best scenery on earth. Yet vegetation was very different to that which we had been passing. There were now banyans, palms, plantains, and many ferns, trees and shrubs and other products of warmer climates, which one found in Burma. What impressed me farther up was the marvelous growth of bamboos, some rising 120 feet and 130 feet at the bend, in their various tints of green looking like delicate feathers against the haze of the sky-line, upon which houses built of bamboo from floor to roof seemed temporarily perched whilst others seemed to be tumbling down into the valley. This spot was the nearest approach to real jungle I had seen in China; but Whilst we were climbing laboriously through this densely-covered country, over opposite--it seemed no more than a stone's throw--the hills were almost bare, save for the isolated cultivation of the peasantry at the base. But then came a division, appearing suddenly to view farther along around a bend, and I saw a continuation of the range, rising even higher, and with a tree growth even more magnificent, denser and darker still. Here I came upon a party of soldiers with foreign military peak caps on their heads, which they wore outside over their Chinese caps. In fact, the only two other garments besides these Chinese caps were the distinguishing marks of the military. Coats they had, but they had been discarded at the foot of the climb, rolled into one bundle, and tied together with a piece of ribbon generally worn by the carrier to keep his trousers tight. We were now in summer heat, and this military quintet made a peculiar sight in dusty trousers, peak caps and straw sandals, with the perspiration streaming freely down their naked backs as they plodded upwards under a pitiless sun. Thus were they clad when I met them; but catching sight of my distinguished person, mistaking me for a "gwan," they immediately made a rush for the man carrying the tunics, to clothe themselves for my presence with seemly respectability. But a word from my boy put their minds at rest (my own military were far in the rear). A couple of them then came forward to me sniggeringly, satisfied that they were not to be reported to Peking or wherever their commander-in-chief may have his residence--they probably had no more idea than I had. By the side of a roaring waterfall, in a spot which looked a very fairyland in surroundings of reproductive green, we all sat down to rest. The air was cool and the path was damp, and water tumbling everywhere down from the rocks formed pretty cascades and rivulets. We heard the clang of the hatchets, and soon came upon men felling timber and sawing up trees into coffin boards. We were in the Valley of the Shadow, and it was the finest coffin center of the district. I took my boots off to wade through water which overran the pathway, and just beyond my men, exhausted with their awful toil, lay flat on their backs to rest; they were dead beat. One pointed up to the perpendicular cliff, momentarily closed his eyes and looked at me in disgust. I gently remonstrated. It was not my country, I told him; it was the "Emperor's." And after a time we reached the top. Shadows were lengthening. In the distance we saw the mountains upon which we had spent the previous night, whose tops were gilded by the setting sun. Down below all was already dark. A cold wind blew the trees bending wearily towards the Valley. And still we plodded on. * * * * * We had come to Siao-p'ing-ho, 115 li instead of the 140 I had been led to believe my men would cover. Every room in the hut was full, we were told, but the next place (with some unpronounceable name), fifteen li farther down, would give us good housing for the night. Lao Chang and I resolved to go on, tired though we were. Before I resolved on this plan I stopped to take a careful survey of the exact situation of the sheltering hollow in which we meant to pass the night. The sun was fast sinking; the dust of the road lay grey and thick about my feet; above me the heavens were reddening in sunset glory; the landscape had no touch of human life about it save our own two solitary figures; and the place, fifteen li away, lay before me as a dream of a good night rather than a reality. Then on again we plodded, and yelled our intentions to the men behind. From the brow of the hill we descended with extreme rapidity--down, down into a valley which sent up a damp, oppressive atmosphere. Through the trees I could see one lovely ball of deep, rich red, painting the earth as it sank in a beauty exquisite beyond all else. Four men met us, stared suspiciously, thought we were deaf, and yelled that the place was twenty li away, and that we had better return to the brow of the hill. But we left them, and went still farther down. In the hush that prevailed I was unaccountably startled to see the form of a woman gliding towards me in the twilight. She came out of the valley carrying firewood. She spoke kindly to my man, and invited me to spend the night in her house near by. I was for the moment vaguely awed by her very quiescence, and gazed wondering, doubting, bewildered. What was the little trick? Could I not from such things get free, even in Inland China? The red light of the sunken sun playing round her comely figure dazzled me, it is admitted, and I followed her with a sigh of mingled dread and desire for rest. Shall I say the shadow of the smile upon her lips deepened and softened with an infinite compassion? Dogs rounded upon me as I entered the bamboo hut stuck on the side of the hill--they knew I had no right there. Inside a man was nursing a squalling baby; our escort was its mother, the man her husband. So I was safe. The place was swept up, unnecessary gear was taken away, fire was kindled, tea was brewed, rice was prepared; and whilst in shaving (for we were to reach Tengyueh on the morrow) I dodged here and there to escape the smoke and get the most light, giving my hospitable host a good deal of fun in so doing; every possible preparation was made for my comfort and convenience by the untiring woman at whose invitation I was there. Their attentions embarrassed me; every movement, every look, every gesture, every wish was anticipated, so that I had no more discomfort than a roaring wind and a low temperature about the region which no one could help. It was bitterly cold. In front of the fire I sat in an overcoat among the crowd drinking tea, whilst the soldiers drank wine--they bought five cash worth. Had my lamp oil run out, I should have bought liquor and tried to burn it instead. Soon the spirit began to talk, and these braves of the Chinese army got on terms of freest familiarity, telling me what an all-round excellent fellow I was, and how pleased they were that I had to suffer as well as they. But they never forgot themselves, and I allowed them to wander on uncontradicted and unrestrained. After a weary night of tossing in my p'ukai, with a roaring gale blowing through the latticed bamboo, behind which I lay so poorly sheltered, we started in good spirits. Twenty-five li farther we reached Kan-lan-chai (4,800 feet), February 9th, 1910, New Year's morning. Nothing could be bought. Everywhere the people said, "Puh mai, puh mai," and although we had traveled the twenty-five li over a terrible road, with a fearful gradient at the end, we could not get anyone to make tea for us. It is distinctly against the Chinese custom to sell anything at New Year time, of course. We had to boil our own water and make our own tea. A larger crowd than usual gathered around me because of the general holiday; and as I write now I am seated in my folding-chair with all the reprobates near to me--men gazing emptily, women who have rushed from their houses combing their hair and nursing their babies, the beggars with their poles and bowls, numberless urchins, all open-mouthed and curious. These are kept from crowding over me by the two soldiers, who the day before had come on ahead to book rooms in the place. I stayed at Kan-lan-chai on another occasion. Then I found a good room, but later learned that it was a horse inn, the yard of which was taken up by fifty-nine pack animals with their loads. Pegs were as usual driven into the ground in parallel rows, a pair of ponies being tied to each--not by the head, but by the feet, a nine-inch length of rope being attached to the off foreleg of one and the near foreleg of the other, the animals facing each other in rows, and eating from a common supply in the center. Everyone in the small town was busy doing and driving, very anxious that I should be made comfortable, which might have been the case but for some untiring musician who was traveling with the caravan, and seemed to be one of that species of humankind who never sleeps. His notes, however, were fairly in harmony, but when it runs on to 3:00 a.m., and one knows that he has to be again on the move by five, even first-rate Chinese music is apt to be somewhat disturbing. From the Salwen-Shweli watershed I got a fine view of the mountains I had crossed yesterday. Some ten miles or so to the north was the highest peak in the range--Kao-li-kung I think it is called--conical-shaped and clear against the sky, and some 13,000 feet high, so far as I could judge. An easy stage brought me to Tengyueh. I stayed here a day only, Mr. Embery, of the China Inland Mission, a countryman of my own, kindly putting me up. But Tengyueh, as one of the quartet of open ports in the province, is well known. It is only a small town, however, and one was surprised to find it as conservative a town as could be found anywhere in the province, despite the fact that foreigners have been here for many years, and at the present time there are no less than seven Europeans here. I was glad of a rest here. From Tali-fu had been most fatiguing. CHAPTER XXIV. THE LI-SU TRIBE OF THE SALWEN VALLEY _Travel up the Salwen Valley_. _My motive for travelling and how I travel_. _Valley not a death-trap_. _Meet the Li-su_. _Buddhistic beliefs_. _Late Mr. G. Litton as a traveler_. _Resemblance in religion to Kachins_. _Ghost of ancestral spirits_. _Li-su graves_. _Description of the people_. _Racial differences_. _John the Baptist's hardship_. _The cross-bow and author's previous experience_. _Plans for subsequent travel fall through_. _Mission work among the Li-su_. On my return journey into Yün-nan, I stopped at Lu-chiang-pa,[BB] and left my men at the inn there while I traveled for two days along the Salwen Valley. My journey was taken with no other motive than that of seeing the country, and also to test the accuracy of the reports respecting the general unhealthy nature of this valley of the Shadow of Death. The people here were friendly, despite the fact that my route was always far away from the main road; and although my entire kit was a single traveling-rug for the nights, I was able to get all I wanted. Lao Chang accompanied me, and together we had an excellent time. I might as well say first of all that the idea of this part of the Salwen Valley being what people say it is in the matter of a death-trap is absolutely false. With the exception of the early morning mist common in every low-lying region in hot countries, there was, so far as I could see, nothing to fear. During the second day, through beautiful country in beautiful weather, I came across some people who I presumed were Li-su, and I regretted that my films had all been exposed. The Li-su tribe is undoubtedly an offshoot from the people who inhabit south-eastern Tibet, although none of them anywhere in Yün-nan--and they are found in many places in central and eastern Yün-nan--bear any traces of Buddhistic belief, which is universal, of course, in Tibet. The late Mr. G. Litton, who at the time he was acting as British Consul at Tengyueh traveled somewhat extensively among them, says that their religious practices closely resemble those of the Kachins, who believe in numerous "nats" or spirits which cause various calamities, such as failure of crops and physical ailments, unless propitiated in a suitable manner. According to him, the most important spirit is the ancestral ghost. Li-su graves are generally in the fields near the villages, and over them is put the cross-bow, rice-bags and other articles used by the deceased. "It is probably from foundations such as these," writes Mr. George Forrest, who accompanied Mr. Litton on an excursion to the Upper Salwen, and who wrote up the journey after the death of his companion, "that the fabric of Chinese ancestor worship was constructed," a view which I doubt very much indeed. I am of the opinion that the Li-su may be closely allied to the Lolo or the Nou Su, of whom I have spoken in the chapters in Book I dealing with the tribes around Chao-t'ong. And even the Miao bear a distinct racial resemblance. They are of bony physique, high cheek bones, and their skin is nearly of the same almost sepia color. The Li-su form practically the whole of the population of the Upper Salwen Valley from about lat. 25° 30' to 27° 30', and they have spread in considerable numbers along the mountains between the Shweli and the Irawadi, and are found also in the Shan States. Those on the Upper Salwen in the extreme north are utter savages, but where they have become more or less civilized have shown themselves to be an enterprising race in the way of emigration. Of the savages, the villages are almost always at war with one another, and many have never been farther from their huts than a day's march will take them, the chief object of their lives being apparently to keep their neighbors at a distance. They are exceedingly lazy. They spend their lives doing as little in the way of work as they must, eating, drinking, squatting about round the hearth telling stories of their valor with the cross-bow, and their excitement is provided by an occasional expedition to get wood for their cross-bows and poison for their arrows, or a stock of salt and wild honey. Mr. Forrest, in his paper which was read before the Royal Geographical Society in June, 1908, speaks of this wild honey as an agreeable sweetmeat as a change, but that after a few days' constant partaking of it the European palate rejects it as nauseous and almost disgusting, and adds that it has escaped the Biblical commentators that one of the principal hardships which John the Baptist must have undergone was his diet of wild honey. In another part of his paper the writer says, speaking of the cross-bow to which I have referred: "Every Li-su with any pretensions to _chic_ possesses at least one of these weapons--one for everyday use in hunting, the other for war. The children play with miniature cross-bows. The men never leave their huts for any purpose without their cross-bows, when they go to sleep the 'na-kung' is hung over their heads, and when they die it is hung over their graves. The largest cross-bows have a span of fully five feet, and require a pull of thirty-five pounds to string them. The bow is made of a species of wild mulberry, of great toughness and flexibility. The stock, some four feet long in the war-bows, is usually of wild plum wood, the string is of plaited hemp, and the trigger of bone. The arrow, of sixteen to eighteen inches, is of split bamboo, about four times the thickness of an ordinary knitting needle, hardened and pointed. The actual point is bare for a quarter to one-third of an inch, then for fully an inch the arrow is stripped to half its thickness, and on this portion the poison is placed. The poison used is invariably a decoction expressed from the tubers of a species of _aconitum_, which grows on those ranges at an altitude of 8,000 to 10,000 feet ... The reduction in thickness of the arrow where the poison is placed causes the point to break off in the body of anyone whom it strikes, and as each carries enough poison to kill a cart horse a wound is invariably fatal. Free and immediate incision is the usual remedy when wounded on a limb or fleshy part of the body."[BC] Some time after I was traveling in these regions I made arrangements to visit the mission station of the China Inland Mission, some days from Yün-nan-fu, where a special work has recently been formed among the Li-su tribe. Owing to a later arrival at the capital than I had expected, however, I could not keep my appointment, and as there were reports of trouble in that area the British Consul-General did not wish me to travel off the main road. It is highly encouraging to learn that a magnificent missionary work is being done among the Li-su, all the more gratifying because of the enormous difficulties which have already been overcome by the pioneering workers. At least one European, if not more, has mastered the language, and the China Inland Mission are expecting great things to eventuate. It is only by long and continued residence among these peoples, throwing in one's lot with them and living their life, that any absolutely reliable data regarding them will be forthcoming. And this so few, of course, are able to do. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote BB: The town by the double suspension bridge over the Salwen.] [Footnote BC: The poisoned arrows and the cross-bow are used also by the Miao, and the author has seen very much the same thing among the Sakai of the Malay Peninsula.] FIFTH JOURNEY TENGYUEH (MOMIEN) TO BHAMO IN UPPER BURMA CHAPTER XXV. _Last stages of long journey_. _Characteristics of the country_. _Sham and Kachins_. _Author's dream of civilization_. _British pride_. _End of paved roads_. _Mountains cease_. _A confession of foiled plans_. _Nantien as a questionable fort_. _About the Shans_. _Village squabble, and how it ended_. _Absence of disagreement in Shan language_. _Charming people, but lazy_. _Experience with Shan servant_. _At Chiu-Ch'eng_. _New Year festivities_. _After-dinner diversions_. _Author as a medico_. _Ingratitude of the Chinese: some instances_. The Shan, the Kachin and the abominable betel quid! That quid which makes the mouth look bloody, broadens the lips, lays bare and blackens the teeth, and makes the women hideous. Such are the unfailing characteristics of the country upon which we are now entering. By the following stages I worked my way wearily to the end of my long walking journey:-- Length Height of Stage Above Sea 1st day--Nantien 90 li. 5,300 ft. 2nd day--Chiu-Ch'eng (Kang-gnai) 80 li. --- 4th day--Hsiao Singai 60 li. --- 5th day--Manyüen 60 li. 2,750 ft. 6th day--Pa-chiao-chai | Approx. 1,200 ft. 7th day--Mao-tsao-ti | 55 English 650 ft. 8th day--Bhamo (Singai) | miles. 350 ft. Shans here monopolize all things. Chinese, although of late years drawn to this low-lying area, do not abound in these parts, and the Shan is therefore left pretty much to himself. And the pleasant eight-day march from Tengyueh to Bhamo, the metropolis of Upper Burma, probably offers to the traveler objects and scenes of more varying interest than any other stage of the tramp from far-away Chung-king. To the Englishman, daily getting nearer to the end of his long, wearying walk, and going for the first time into Upper Burma, incidentally to realize again the dream of civilization and comfort and contact with his own kind, leaving Old China in the rear, there instinctively came that inexpressible patriotic pride every Britisher must feel when he emerges from the Middle Kingdom and sets his foot again on British territory. The benefits are too numerous to cite; you must have come through China, and have had for companionship only your own unsympathetic coolies, and accommodation only such as the Chinese wayside hostelry has offered, to be able fully to realize what the luxurious dâk-bungalows, with their excellent appointments, mean to the returning exile. Paved roads, the bane of man and beast, end a little out of Tengyueh. Mountains are left behind. There is no need now for struggle and constant physical exertion in climbing to get over the country. With no hills to climb, no stones to cut my feet or slip upon, with wide sweeps of magnificent country leading three days later into dense, tropical jungle, entrancing to the merest tyro of a nature student, and with the knowledge that my walking was almost at an end, all would have gone well had I been able to tear from my mind the fact that at this juncture I should have to make to the reader a great confession of foiled plans. For two days I was accompanied by the Rev. W.J. Embery, of the China Inland Mission, who was making an itinerary among the tribes on the opposite side of the Taping, which we followed most of the time. He rode a mule; and am I not justified in believing that you, too, reader, with such an excellent companion, one who had such a perfect command of the language, and who could make the journey so much more interesting, you would have ridden your pony? I rode mine! I abandoned pedestrianism and rode to Chiu-Ch'eng--two full days, and when, after a pleasant rest under a sheltering banyan, we went our different ways, I was sorry indeed to have to fall back upon my men for companionship. But it was not to be for long. Nantien is, or was, to be a fort, but the little place bears no outward military evidences whatever which would lead one to believe it. It is populated chiefly by Shans. The bulk of these interesting people now live split up into a great number of semi-independent states, some tributary to Burma, some to China, and some to Siam; and yet the man-in-the-street knows little about them. One cannot mistake them, especially the women, with their peculiar Mongolian features and sallow complexions and characteristic head-dress. The men are less distinguishable, probably, generally speaking, but the rough cotton turban instead of the round cap with the knob on the top alone enables one more readily to pick them out from the Chinese. Short, well-built and strongly made, the women strike one particularly as being a hardy, healthy set of people. Shans are recognized to be a peaceful people, but a village squabble outside Chin-ch'eng, in which I took part, is one of the exceptions to prove the rule. It did not take the eye of a hawk or the ear of a pointer to recognize that a big row was in full progress. Shan women roundly abused the men, and Shan men, standing afar off, abused their women. A few Chinese who looked on had a few words to say to these "Pai Yi"[BD] on the futility of these everyday squabbles, whilst a few Shans, mistaking me again for a foreign official, came vigorously to me pouring out their souls over the whole affair. We were all visibly at cross purposes. I chimed in with my infallible "Puh tong, you stupid ass, puh tong" (I don't understand, I don't understand); and what with the noise of the disputants, the Chinese bystanders, my own men (they were all acutely disgusted with every Shan in the district, and plainly showed it, because they could not be understood in speech) and myself all talking at once, and the dogs who mistook me for a beggar, and tried to get at close grips with me for being one of that fraternity, it was a veritable Bedlam and Tower of Babel in awfullest combination. At length I raised my hand, mounted a boulder in the middle of the road, and endeavored to pacify the infuriated mob. I shouted harshly, I brandished by bamboo in the air, I gesticulated, I whacked two men who came near me. At last they stopped, expecting me to speak. Only a look of stupidest unintelligibility could I return, however, and had to roar with laughter at the very foolishness of my position up on that stone. Soon the multitude calmed down and laughed, too. I yelled "Ts'eo," and we proceeded, leaving the Shans again at peace with all the world. Shans have been found in many other parts, even as far north as the borders of Tibet. But a Shan, owing to the similarity of his language in all parts of Asia, differs from the Chinese or the Yün-nan tribesman in that he can get on anywhere. It is said that from the sources of the Irawadi down to the borders of Siamese territory, and from Assam to Tonkin, a region measuring six hundred miles each way, and including the whole of the former Nan-chao Empire, the language is practically the same. Dialects exist as they do in every country in the world, but a Shan born anywhere within these bounds will find himself able to carry on a conversation in parts of the country he has never heard of, hundreds of miles from his own home. And this is more than six hundred years after the fall of the Nan-chao dynasty, and among Shans who have had no real political or commercial relation with each other.[BE] I found them a charming people, peaceful and obliging, treating strangers with kindness and frank cordiality. For the most part, they are Buddhists. The dress of the Chinese Shans, which, however, I found varied in different localities, leads one to believe that they are an exceptionally clean race, but I can testify that this is not the case. In many ways they are dirtier than the Chinese--notably in the preparation of their food. And I feel compelled to say a word here for the general benefit of future travelers. _Never expect a Shan to work hard!_ He _can_ work hard, and he will--when he likes, but I do not believe that even the Malay, that Nature's gentleman of the farther south, is lazier. As servants they are failures. A European in this district, whose Chinese servant had left him, thought he would try a Shan, and invited a man to come. "Be your servant? Of course I will. I am honored." And the European thought at last he was in clover. He explained that he should want his breakfast at 6:00 a.m., and that the servant's duties would be to cut grass for the horse, go to the market to buy provisions, feed on the premises, and leave for home to sleep at 7:00 p.m. The Shan opened a large mouth; then he spoke. He would be pleased, he said, to come to work about nine o'clock; that he had several marriageable daughters still on his hands and could not therefore, and would not, cut grass; he objected going to the market in the extreme heat of the day; he could not think of eating the foreigner's food; and would go home to feed at 1:00 p.m. and leave again finally at 5:00 p.m. for the same purpose. He left before five p.m. Another man was called in. He was quite cheery, and came in and out and did what he pleased. On being asked what he would require as salary, he replied, "Oh, give me a rupee every market day, and that'll do me." The person was not in service when market day rolled round, and I hear that this European, who loves experiments of this kind, has gone back to the Chinese. Chiu-Ch'eng (Kang-gnai) was going through a sort of New Year carousal as I entered the town, and everybody was garmented for the festival. I had great difficulty in getting a place to stay. People allowed me to career about in search of a room, treating me with courteous indifference, but none offered to house me. At last the headman of the village appeared, and with many kindly expressions of unintelligibility led me to his house. A crowd had gathered in the street, and several women were taking from the front room the general stock-in-trade of the village ironmonger. Scores of huge iron cooking pans were being passed through the window, tables were pushed noisily through the doorway, primitive cooking appliances were being hurled about in the air, bamboo baskets came out by the dozen, and there was much else. Bags of paddy, old chairs (the low stool of the Shan, with a thirty-inch back), drawers of copper cash, brooms, a few old spears, pots of pork fat, barrels of wine (the same as I had blistered the foot of a pony with), two or three old p'u-kai, worn-out clothes, disused ladies' shoes, babies' gear, and last of all the man himself appeared. Men and women set to to clean up, an old woman clasped me to her bosom, and I was bidden to enter. New Year festivities were for the nonce neglected for the novel delight of gazing upon the inner domesticity of this traveling wonder, into his very holy of holies. I received nine invitations to dinner. I dined with mine host and his six sons. Through the heavy evening murk a dull clangor stirred the air--the tolling of shrill bells and the beating of dull gongs, and all the hideous paraphernalia of Eastern celebrations. The populace--Shan almost to a man--were bent on seeing me, a task rendered difficult by the gathering darkness of night. Soldiers guarded the way, and there were several broken heads. They came, stared and wondered, and then passed away for others to come in shoals, laughingly, and seeming no longer to harbor the hostile feelings apparent as I entered the town. My shaving magnifier amused them wonderfully. There was an outcry as I entered the room after we had dined, followed by a scream of women in almost hysterical laughter. When they caught sight of me, however, a brief pause ensued, and the solemn hush, that even in a callous crowd invariably attends the actual presence of a long-awaited personage, reigned unbroken for a while; then one spoke, then another ventured to address me, and the spell of silence gave way to noise and general excitability, and the people began speedily to close upon me, anxious to get a glimpse of such a peculiar white man. Later on, when the shutters were up and the public thus kept off, the family foregathered unasked into my room, bringing with them their own tea and nuts, and laying themselves out to be entertained. My whole gear, now reduced to most meager proportions, was scrutinized by all. There were four men and five women, the usual offshoots, and the aged couple who held proprietary rights over the place. They sat on my bed, on my boxes; one of the children sat on my knee, and the ladies, seemingly of the easiest virtue, overhauled my bedclothes unblushingly. The murmuring noise of the vast expectant New Year multitude died off gradually, like the retreating surge of a distant sea, and the hot motionless atmosphere in my room, with eleven people stepping on one another's toes in the cramped area, became more and more weightily intensified. The husband of one of the women--a miserable, emaciated specimen for a Shan--came forward, asking whether I could cure his disease. I fear he will never be cured. His arm and one side of his body was one mass of sores. Before it could be seen four layers of Chinese paper had to be removed, one huge plantain leaf, and a thick layer of black stuff resembling tar. I was busy for some thirty minutes dressing it with new bandages. I then gave him ointment for subsequent dressings, whereupon he put on his coat and walked out of the room (leaving the door open as he went) without even a word of gratitude. The Chinese pride themselves upon their gratitude. It is vigorous towards the dead and perhaps towards the emperor (although this may be doubted), but as a grace of daily life it is almost absent. I have known cases where missionaries have got up in the middle of the night to attend to poisoning cases and accidents requiring urgent treatment, have known them to attend to people at great distances from their own homes and make them better; but never a word of thanks--not even the mere pittance charged for the actual cost of medicine. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote BD: The Chinese name for the Shan.] [Footnote BE: Vide _Yün-nan, the Link between India and the Yangtze,_ by Major H.R. Davies.--Cambridge University Press.] CHAPTER XXVI. _Two days from Burma_. _Tropical wildness induces ennui_. _The River Taping_. _At Hsiao Singai_. _Possibility of West China as a holiday resort from Burma_. _Fascination of the country_. _Manyüen reached with difficulty_. _The Kachins_. _Good work of the American Baptist Mission_. _Mr. Roberts_. _Arrival at borderland of Burma_. _Last dealings with Chinese officials_. _British territory_. _Thoughts on the trend of progress in China_. _Beautiful Burma_. _End of long journey._ I was now two days' march from the British Burma border. The landscape in this district was solemn and imposing as I trudged on again, very tired indeed, after a day's rest at Chiu-ch'eng. In the morning heavy tropical vapors of milky whiteness stretched over the sky and the earth. Nature seemed sleeping, as if wrapped in a light veil. It attracted me and absorbed me, dreaming, in spite of myself; ennui invaded me at first, and under the all-powerful constraint of influences so fatal to human personality thought died away by degrees like a flame in a vacuum; for I was again in the East, the real, luxurious, indolent East, the true land of Pantheism, and one must go there to realize the indefinable sensations which almost make the Nirvana of the Buddhist comprehensible. The river Taping farther down, so different from its aspect a couple of days ago, where it rushed at a tremendous speed over its rocky bed, was now broad and calm and placid, and extremely picturesque. The banks were covered with trees beyond Manyüen. Near the water the undergrowth was of a fine green, but on a higher level the yellow and red leaves, hardly holding on to the withered trees, were carried away with the slightest breath of wind. At Hsiao Singai, on February 15th, I again had difficulty in getting a room; so I waited, and whilst my men searched about for a place where I could sleep, an extremely tall fellow came up to me, and having felt with his finger and thumb the texture of my tweeds and expressed satisfaction thereof, said-- "Come, elder brother, I have my dwelling in this hostelry, and my upper chamber is at your disposal." And then he added with a twinkle in his eye, "Ko nien, ko nien,"[BF] whereat I became wary. Lao Chang, however, was more cute. Whilst I was assuring this well-dressed holiday-maker that he must not think the stranger churlish in not accepting at once the proffered services, but that I would go to look at the room, he sprang past us and went on ahead. In a few moments I was slowly going hence with the multitude. Lao Chang nodded carelessly to the strange company there assembled, and passing through the room with a soft, cat-like tread, began to ascend a dark flight of narrow stairs leading to the second floor of the inn. And I, down below startled and bewildered by mysterious words from everyone, watched his blue garments vanishing upwards, and like a man driven by irresistible necessity, muttered incoherent excuses to my amazed companions, and in a blind, unreasoning, unconquerable impulse rushed after him. But I wish I had not. There were several ladies, who, all more or less _en déshabille_, scampered around with their bundles of gear--sewing, babies' clothes, tin pots, hair ornaments, boxes of powder and scented soap of that finest quality imported from Burma, selling for less than you can buy the genuine article for in London!--and then we took possession. If once there is a railway to Tengyueh from Burma, a visit to West China, even on to Tali-fu, for those who are prepared to rough it a little, will become quite a common trip. A few days up the Irawadi to Bhamo, through scenery of a peculiar kind of beauty eclipsed on none other of the world's great rivers, would be succeeded by a day or two over some of the best country which Upper Burma anywhere affords, and then, when once past Tengyueh, the grandeur of the mountains is amply compensating to those who love Nature in her beautiful isolation and peace. From a recuperating standpoint, perhaps, it would not quite answer--the rains would be a drawback to road travel, and it would at best mean roughing it; but for the many in Burma who wish to take a holiday and have not the time to go to Europe, I see no reason why Tengyueh should not develop into what Darjeeling is to Calcutta and what Japan is to the British ports farther East. Expense would not be heavy. To Bhamo would be easy. As things now stand, with no railway, one would need to take a few provisions and cooking utensils, and a camp bed and tent, unless one would be prepared to do as the author did, and patronize Chinese inns, such as they are. The rest would be easy to get on the road. For three days from Bhamo dâk bungalows are available, and to a man knowing the country it would be an easy matter to arrange his comforts. To one who knows the conditions, there is in the trip a good deal to fascinate; for in the lives and customs of the people, in the nature of the country, in the free-and-easy life the traveler would himself develop--having a peep at things as they were back in the ancient days of the Bible--to the brain-fagged professional or commercial there is nothing better in the whole of the East. He would get some excellent shooting, especially in the Salwen Valley, not exactly a health resort, however; and had he inclinations towards botanical, ethnological, craniological, or philological studies, he would be at a loss to find anywhere in the world a more interesting area. But a man should never leave the "ta lu" (the main road) in China if he would experience the minimum of discomfort and annoyance, which under best conditions is considerable to an irritable man. As I sit down now, on the very spot where Margary, of the British Consulate Service was murdered in 1875, I regret that I have sacrificed a great deal to secure most of the photographs which decorate this section of my book. No one, not even my military escort, knows the way, and is being sworn at by my men therefor. How I am to reach Man Hsien, across the river at Taping, I do not quite know. Manyüen, so interesting in history, is a native Shan-Kachino-Chinese town untouched by the years--slovenly, dirty, undisciplined, immoral, where law and order and civilization have gained at best but a precarious foothold, the most characteristic feature of the people being the gambler's instinct. But I remember that I am coming into Burma, into the real East, where the tangle and the topsy-turvydom, the crooked vision and the distorted travesty of the truth, which result from judging the Oriental from the standpoint of the Europeans and looking at the East through the eyes of the West, impress themselves upon one's mind in bewildering fashion as a hopeless problem. Everything is all at cross purposes. However, although I lost my way from Manyüen to Man Hsien, I got my photographs of Kachins, those people whose appearance is that they have no one to care for them body or soul. Their thick, uncombed locks, so long and lank as to resemble deck swabs, overlapped roofwise the ugliest aboriginal faces I ever saw in Asia or America, and their eyes under shaggy brows looked out with diabolical fire. So much information is to be obtained from the